Chapter Eight
Knocking at my Door
Rachel’s trip to her visit her mother left her with more questions than answers. What was this Gift? How did her mother get it? Was Rachel truly the only one capable of seeing the Orphans? Thinking about made her head hurt. Only one truth matter, she needed to solve Barnes murders and then she’d be free.
She spent the next few hours in the library archives, hunched over the microfilm kiosk and reading every news report regarding the 1983 massacre. The stories were the same: family of four killed in robbery. Barnes lumber purchased by bank. Life returns to normal. Rachel sat back in her chair and pinched the bridge of her nose. She closed her eyes, feeling a wave of sleepiness splash over her. The repetition of the same facts beat down on her. Nothing was moving forward. If Detective Peak had any leads, it wasn’t enough to stop the Barnes killers. Otherwise, the Orphans and the incomplete feeling Rachel had inside would’ve departed.
Rachel imagined the case like an artistic sketch. She had the framing but the details were lacking. Rachel typed in the database “Highlands Lumber” and started pulling microfilm from different boxes. There wasn’t much news to work with. After all, the lumber trade isn’t a part of everyday conversation. Finally, Rachel stumbled across a small 1985 article called Lumber Kings. The picture showed much younger David Winsler and Allen Umber with wide grins and a stack of timber at their back. With them stood another man, Ian Linx. Unlike the other two men, Ian seemed uneasy. Upon further inspection of the article, Rachel discovered that he was both of these men’s lawyer and was credited with bartering negating some profitable deals for Umber and Winsler. The journalist called it a “friendly but shameless” promotion of the attorney. The lawyer’s involvement seemed to stand out. Was his appearance only coincidence or did he have a larger role in the death of the Barnes?
After some research into Linx’s practice, Rachel was pleased to hear the attorney was local. She couldn’t deal with two out of state trips in such a short period of time. She dialed Ian and scheduled an appointment. On the off-kilter street, Rachel felt eyes on her. Is it an Orphan? Parked a block down the road sat an unfamiliar car with tinted windows. A cab pulled in front of Rachel. She climbed in and took off down the wavy street. The vehicle followed Rachel to lawyer’s office but kept driving on after Rachel exited. Rachel couldn’t shake the crawling feeling on her skin. She chalked it up to paranoid but her mother words about the Sense and its ability to feel danger bubbled in the back of her mind.
With a head of dyed blond hair, Ian Linx wore a three-piece suit and a cheesy smile. Like his office, his eyes were big and American blue. The uncomfortable expression on the newspaper article picture was nowhere to found. He guided Rachel into his semi-circle office, offered her refreshments and locked his fingers on his desk. “I didn’t pick up all the details on the phone. You said wanted to discuss a past crime and needed my expertise?”
Rachel nodded. “Something like that, Mr. Linx.”
The lawyer raised a brow.
“I’m looking into the 1983 Barnes’s massacre. I wanted to hear your take on what happened.”
The side of Ian’s lip twitched. He hid the feature with a smile. “Are you a detective?”
“I’m a novelist,” Rachel lied. If he had contact with Allen Umber and David Winsler, she needed to keep her story consistent.
“Why is novelist interested in that story?” Ian replied.
“Conspiracy. Murder. It’s a tale dying to be told,” Rachel smiled as cockily as she could.
“Well, I don’t know what you want from me.”
“You made your name by helping Allen Umber and David Winsler conquer the local lumber trade in ‘85. That’s something that would’ve only been possible with Reginald Barnes’s demise.”
“I didn’t realize I was in courtroom,” Ian replied. He stood from his seat, walked around Rachel and closed the door to the office.
“Children were slaughtered.” Rachel stated.
“I am aware of the robbery.” He returned to his seat and relocked his fingers on the desk.
“Does that not bother you?”
Linx’s lip twitched again. “I wish I could help you with whatever questions you may have, but I cannot share any information regarding my past clientele.”
“Even if they may be involved in a quadruple murder?” Rachel felt nothing like an artist today. She projected herself as a combination of her favorite TV detectives. “Besides, you only worked as a negotiator for them. Not to protest their involvement in murders they were never even suspected of committing. Everything you say should be completely legal. You would only want to hide that fact if you knew something.”
Linx leaned in. “Let me tell you something, Mrs. Harroway, and then you can be on your way. Stay away from this. Whatever story you’re trying to write or mystery you’re trying to uncover. It is not worth it.”
Rachel watched him intently. “Why?”
Linx locked eyes with her. “It’s dangerous.”
“I know,” Rachel replied. “But the dead are restless, Mr. Linx. Justice has been denied for too long. Tell me what you know and let’s put an end to that danger.”
“What are you going to do with the information?” He said in the most condescending way possible.
“The right thing. Tell the police, have them arrest the murderers, and move on with my life,” Rachel said honestly.
“Honorable goals,” Linx admitted. “The men you’re dealing with don’t share the same ethics.”
Rachel crossed her arms. “I know it’s about the money and scare tactics. At this point, I could care less about their reaction or motivations. I want results.”
“I admire your courage,” Linx said with a faint smile. “So I’ll give you this: you’re on the right track.”
Rachel chuckled in her frustration. “That doesn’t get me anywhere. If you know something, say it.”
“By doing that I endanger my life and my practice,” Linx argued.
“You’re going to live with the guilt then?” Rachel asked. Her face flushed red.
Linx’s lip twitched. They were at a standstill for a moment. “If I tell you this, there’s no going back. If you’ve been asking around, there’s a chance you’ve already endangered yourself.”
“I’m aware.”
“Cocky is what you are,” Linx said.
Rachel smirked. “Possibly, but you haven’t thrown me out of the room so that means that part of you wants to talk.”
Linx separated his fingers and twisted his chair around. He began filling two scotch glasses. “We’re both going to regret this.”
“Not if it’s the right thing to do.”
Linx handed one of the glasses to Rachel. “Weeks prior to the murders, rumors circulated in town that Reginald had received multiple death threats, witnessed bricks being thrown his window, and had his tires slashed. I only knew about this because I represented a few of laborers Regi had fired unjustly. They’d talk a lot and invited me to sort of union meet they were having.
“I thought it’d be a good place to scout new clientele. I attended one evening, listened to their rants, networked with them, but when David Winsler got on stage, there was a shift in the atmosphere. What felt like work concerns turned to blind hated for Reginald. Winsler mentioned he’d do something about their problem. After the meeting, I saw him and Allen Umber talking lowly. The massacre happened soon after.”
“You really think it was them?” Rachel asked, wary of taking a sip.
“I had my concerns, but after that reporter was beaten bloody in her home, I knew they were involved somehow.”
“Why didn’t you contact the police?”
Linx frowned. “They came to me first, remembering me from the union-esc meeting and hired me to negotiate with other yard owners. I couldn’t say no, and remembering what happened those children, I didn’t want to say no. I helped them buy up the lumber yards from the bank and from tho
se who re-purchased their properties from said bank. It was land grab through and through, and a lot of yard owners were too scared to deny selling. Unlike Reginald, Umber and Winsler allowed the previous owners to keep their company name and workers. They gave them management positions and healthy slice of the sales.
“During this time, I overheard them talking about burning down the Barnes house. Umber—always the more level headed of the two—said it would raise suspicion,” Linx finished his amber drink.
“You have hard evidence of this?” Rachel asked, feeling her heart race. Her freedom neared.
“I keep transcripts and audio recordings from all my client meetings. The audio clip about burning down the house should be in there. However, it’s been awhile since I dust off that old recorder. It’s hard to say how much survived.”
Rachel stood from her seat. “How soon can you deliver it to the police?”
“A week. Maybe two,” Linx replied. “It’s a lot of audio.”
I can last that long. Rachel felt to urge to dance, but stopped herself before looking like a fool. “Whatever you need from me. Whatever makes this easier, call me. Please,” Rachel said. “I know you don’t want to do this, but it’s right thing to do.”
“Heh, if someone told me this is how my day would go, I’d call them crazy.”
“I’m serious, Linx. I’m with you in this.” Rachel reaffirmed.
The lawyer shook his head. “I’m the one with the evidence. It’s me who has to deliver it.”
Rachel shook his hand. “Then I wish good luck.”
“Oh, and Rachel. If we’re wrong, the real killers will come after us.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Highlands is a small place. Word spreads quickly.”
Rachel smiled at him. “Then make sure we aren’t wrong.”
Linx raised his glass to that. “See, not all lawyers are evil.”
The Hadley House was a welcoming sight, even with the black clouds encroaching from its flank. Rachel parked the car and closed the door and that chapter of her life. That should be enough justice for the Orphans, she hoped. The courts will take care of the rest. Inside, Brett washed the dishes.
He didn’t hear her enter, so she tipped toed up behind him and constricted him with her arms. Brett twisted back, looking like he would strike her but then suddenly concerned. “Are you alright?” He asked.
Rachel nodded enthusiastically. Brett’s torso may have been damp from dishwater but that didn’t stop Rachel from pushing her body against his. She looked at his handsome rugged beard and disheveled onyx hair. “Let’s make something good tonight.”
Together, they unpacked their spaghetti noodles and rolled the meatballs. Rachel kept the topic of conversation on him and his work. She knew that the win was still on her mind and didn’t want to tell him everything. Not just yet.
The downpour began soon after they set the table. Strong winds smashed against the old walls and the house groaned in response. Fat and violently rain pelted the windows and pinged loudly against the rooftop. Lightening flashed on a nearby mountaintop. Rolls of thunder followed. It was Rachel’s type of romantic night.
“… After we got the tripods set up, the rest was history. I only wish my shorts didn’t need sowing.” Brett adjusted his glasses at the bridge of his nose. “How was your mother?”
Rachel stopped her noodle wrapped fork halfway between the plate and her mouth. “She’s… not who I thought she was. She taught me some things I never knew about myself.”
“Good,” Brett replied. His dark eyes looked particularly tired this evening behind his glasses and his dark hair was slightly disheveled. As the meal declined, he cleared his throat. “There’s something I want to talk to you about. I wanted to wait until after we finished eating before I went on.”
Rachel set aside her utensils. In the nearby hallway, she felt the presence of Amanda and Benny Barnes watching her just out of sight. “What is it?”
“I booked us on a cruise for next month,” Brett said with smile.
“Really?” A smile curled up Rachel’s face. “That’s… thanks, Brett. Truly.”
“Before we discuss more about that, there’s a few things I say and I want you to listen.”
“Are you blackmailing me?” Rachel joked.
Brett smirked. His tone suddenly changed to somberness. “You haven’t been the same these last few days. I reviewed the security footage and saw you sketching on our easel in a zombie-like state, and then I reviewed the sketches and… They were of the family that was murdered. But the dates on the footage were days before you started... investigating. I don’t get what is going on. Did you know about the murders before we moved in? Is that why you’re acting so weird?”
Rachel scrambled for words but couldn’t find any.
“It scares me, Rachel,” Brett continued. “The long hours you’re away from home, the secrecy, it all adds to this fear that… that you aren’t yourself anymore. Or you are, and I just don’t know you as well as I thought.”
“I’m still me,” Rachel said, almost instantly doubting her. “And you do know me.”
Brett looked her intensely. “Then what’s happening? And I don’t want to hear that you're fine because that’s not true. Tell me the truth, Rachel. Please.”
“You wouldn’t like what I told you.”
Confusion swept over Brett’s face. It twisted to determination. “I’m ready.”
“I…” Rachel took a breath. The case is closed. I can lie to him. Once the Orphan’s leave in the next few weeks, life will be normal. Guilt hit Rachel like a train. “I want you to promise me that whatever I say stays between us.”
“Of course,” Brett replied.
Rachel thought for a moment about how she wanted to word this. “The family that was murdered here, I believe they're responsible for everything that has happened.”
Brett stared at her intently. “Like… ghosts?”
Rachel shifted in her seat. “Orphans. They’re lost. They need to find their way home.”
“Orphans?”
Rachel detested the way he looked at her. “I know it sounds crazy, but think about it. The break-ins, my mother’s shattered China, it all make sense, right?”
“I don’t know, Rachel. This is a lot to swallow.”
“It sounds wacky but if you saw the things I saw…” Rachel rose from her seat and ran to her purse.
Brett watched her from his seat, not saying anything.
Rachel return and tossed him her mother’s journal.
Gingelly, Brett opened it. His brow crinkled as she scanned over the pages.
“That’s my mother’s. She calls it the Gift. It’s the ability to see, to feel the dead. See,” Rachel pointed out the passage about the Sense.
Brett didn’t look up from the page. “Rachel. Half of this isn’t even in English.”
“I know, Brett.” Rachel said frustratingly. “I don’t have all the answers, but the stuff in there describes exactly what I’m going through.”
Brett closed the book and looked up at her. His face was stark white. “I think we need to go to the hospital.”
“I’m not crazy.”
“I believe you, but…”
“Either you believe more or you don’t.” Rachel took his hand into her own. “Brett, please. I’m your wife. Give me the benefit of the doubt here.”
Brett opened his mouth to speak.
THUNK, THUNK, THUNK.
Simultaneously, they turned to the front door. Rachel felt her skin crawl and sickening feeling form in her stomach.
THUNK, THUNK, THUNK.
They knocked again.
Brett stood from his seat.
Rachel grabbed him by the arm. “Don’t open the door.”
“Why?” Brett asked, sensing her concern.
“Trust me.”
Brett pried loose of her grip.
The doorknob jiggled. Brett approached the door. Rachel turned the kitchen
and the knife rack within. Brett peaked out the window and to the porch.
“Brett, listen to me,” Rachel pleaded. “Back away from that door.”
Brett turned to his wife and then the door. Sighing, he placed the safety bar beneath the doorknob. He whispered to Rachel, “Who is that is guy?”
Rachel felt her skin being nagged on every direction. “The Barnes killer.”
There was a loud thump at the backdoor.
Brett paused for moment, unsure what to do. There was another loud thump.
“Upstairs,” Brett commanded. “And call the police.”
Rachel pulled knife from the rack and sped up the stairs. Brett followed behind. They reached the master bedroom and closed the door. Rachel booted up her laptop.
Glass shattered downstairs. Rachel opened the live feed for her security camera. A masked gunman crawled through a shattered front window. He wore a transparent poncho that dripped rain across the floor. In his hand was a black .45 caliber pistol.
“Oh my…” Brett said, watching the footage with wide eyes.
“This is the Highlands police department. Please state your emergency.” The operator said into Rachel’s ear.
“There are two gunmen in my house.”
One of the masked gunmen craned his neck up to the camera lens. He shouted to the other man who’d bashed through the backdoor. The second man turned around and rushed outside. After a moment, the power to the entire house cut out. Rachel and Brett turned to one another. The laptop screen illuminated their faces. All the cameras were dead.