Second Nature (19 page)

“I expect nothing less.
My priority is Jake though. I just don't know where to start with him.”

“Should we all stick our
hands in and do a
go team?”

Rita laughed but the rest
of us just stood there awkwardly.

“Tough crowd,” Ashton
muttered. “Guess I’m a little too excited to not be the ghost in the attic.”

I turned and looked at
him. “Attic?” The word brought an image to mind.

He scowled. “What?”

“Lain?” Sierra gave me a
concerned look.

“Jake’s in an attic. Look
at the plywood floors and the plastic covering the insulation.
The slant to the walls here in the rafters.
It’s all the
same as in the picture. Jake’s in an attic.” I put my hand out. “Let me see
your phone.”

Lindsey shuddered and
pulled the phone out of her pocket, entering her code and bringing up the
picture of Jake, bound and apparently dead.

I emailed the picture to
myself from her phone. “Rita, you done with the computer?”

“Yup.” She got up and let
me have it. I sat and opened the email, enlarging the photo. I ran it through
some different filters, trying to see the things in the shadows. “Holy shit.” I
stared at the screen.

In one of the photos with
the filter changing the contrast, a stamp could be seen on some of the lumber.
It gave me pause, making me look around the room. “Look.” I pointed at the
three triangles intersecting and then pointed at the same mark on the lumber
next to us.

“Oh my God. He’s in an
attic here, somewhere.”

“A vacant house maybe.”

“Jesus, we need to find
him.”

“Whose house could that
be?”

I lifted my gaze to them.
“It could be any house with an attic. We need the designs.” I looked at Sage.

She swallowed hard but it
was Ashton who spoke, “Tom was screaming at someone about this time last year.
Something about different lumber for the framing and rafters.
He was angry he couldn't get something so he fired the supplier and hired
someone new. He said the new wood wasn't quite as good, but it was still
superior to anything on the market, and he needed it because they were out of
lumber.”

“So the houses that are
one year old or less would be out of the running.”

“Yeah. Anything over one
year old and has an attic.” He sighed. “Sierra, you go to New York with Lindsey
and Vincent. Sage, you go home and look through the plans in Tom’s computer.
Lainey, you and Rita go see Lori. Don't hesitate to bring some New Yorker down
on her.”

Rita nodded, no longer
smiling at Ashton over every little thing.

“I’ll stay here and keep
looking through that photo. Maybe there are other clues. The moment someone finds
something connected to Jake, we all meet up there.”

We all got up, looking
rough and streaky.

“What day is it?” I
realized I was still a bit lost.

“Saturday.”

“Jake’s been missing a
week?” That didn't sound possible.

“Yeah.” Lindsey nodded
and bit her lip.

“Oh my God.” I sighed.
“What if he’s—”

“Stop.” Ashton walked to
me and lifted my chin. “Jake is strong.
Stronger than any of
us.
Plus the police and FBI are looking for him. Maybe they’ll find him
before we do.”

I tried to hear the
things he said. I tried not to hear my fears.

It wasn't easy. I didn't
imagine pretending I still gave a shit about Lori and Silver Hills would be
easy either.

I was going to go insane
waiting for word on Jake.

Tom the
douche
jerkface.
Douche isn’t a nice word

In the car I glanced over
at Rita. “Did I miss homecoming?”

She nodded as she drove.
“You did. Be glad. Worst party I ever went to.”

“It’s usually pretty
awesome. They really go over the top. Last year we had Lady Gaga entertain us
for the night.”

“This year we had bitches
crying and crappy punch. I didn't even dare spike it, in case the crying girls
got worse.”

I laughed. I couldn’t
even stop myself.

She drove up to the gate
of the Bueller household and smiled wide for the guard. “Hi!” She waved.

I leaned in too so he
could see my face.

The large gate opened
slowly. I waved at him as we drove by. When we drove up to the front door,
Robert opened it.

He smiled pleasantly, but
he looked rough. I knew he was
friends
with Jake’s
butler. They all got together once a week and played poker.
Likely
to bitch about us.

Matt and Aaron, Lindsey’s
little brothers and hellish little weasels I considered a form of birth
control, came running out the front door. They waved at me on their way into
the yard with plastic guns and large russet potatoes.

“What the what?” Rita
scowled.

“Stay clear of them.
They’re a form of evil you likely haven’t ever endured.”

She chuckled and nodded.
“I don't do well with being nice to little brothers.” She cocked a dark
eyebrow. “But big
brothers, that
I can handle.”

I rolled my eyes. “So
cliché.”

“I know it and I don't
even care.”

We climbed out of the
car.

“Hi, Robert.”

He bowed his head. “Miss
Lainey, how are you?”

“Pretty crappy, Robert.
This is Rita.”

“Of course it is. Miss
Marguerite, how are you?”

“Keeping on. Thanks,
Robert.”

“Uhm.” I cleared my
throat, not even sure how this was going to go down. “We came to see Lori. We
had some questions.”

His kind eyes sparkled.
“I will fetch her, if you want to wait in the front room.”

“Okay.” We walked to the
sofas and sat. It felt weird being at Lindsey’s house to ask her cook things
without her here.

Lori came in, walking
quickly and wiping her hands on her apron. “What’s going on?” She was impatient
and hateful, as always.

Rita nodded at the chair
before I could talk. “Have a seat.” She sounded badass.

Lori flinched but took a
chair.

“We know you worked at
that Silver Hills and we need some answers.”

Lori pulled back. “Oh,
okay. Well let’s just say I can’t give you any. I signed a non-disclosure form.
Have a nice day.” She got up but I snapped, “Sit!”

Her eyes narrowed, but
she got comfortable in the chair again.

“My maybe-boyfriend is
missing. My friend is dead. My friend’s dad is dead. Your sister hurt Mr.
Bueller, preying on a weak widower. She blackmailed him. It isn’t going to be
hard to add you to that list of people screwing with us when it’s handed over
to the feds. So stop being a bitch and answer our questions. We aren’t going to
tell anyone what you say. This is for us. It’s to verify some things. After
that we leave you alone.”

Rita cocked her head and
pointed at me. “That's right. Now talk.”

“What do you want to
know?” Lori sighed.

“When Vincent’s mom came there,
was she suicidal or had her husband tried to kill her?”

Lori’s eyes widened. She
gulped and shook her head.

“We know the truth. We
just need you to verify it.”

She swallowed another
lump in her throat before she nodded. “Let me just say, it was never believed
that she had tried to self-harm, regardless of what the institution had been
paid to write down.”

I winced, sorry for his
poor mother. “And she and Rachel’s mom were friends?”

“Closer than sisters. I
have a sister, trust me I know this.”

“In all the time you
worked there, did you see my mom or any of our other parents go there, for
anything?”

Her eyes widened.
“Everyone finds themselves at Silver Hills eventually. It’s not for bad things,
mostly just sadness or addiction.”

“Does any of it seem like
it would be something that the rest of us should fear? Is anyone crazy or
psychotic or twisted?” I hated asking this.

She nodded once, very
slowly. Her eyes darted to the right. “There was once a person in your little
group who wasn't all there.”

“Who?”

Sweat started to form on
her brow as she hesitated, driving me to the brink of insanity. She bit her lip
and closed her
eyes,
clearly afraid of the words she
was about to speak. “Her name was Lucinda Wentworth.”

“The Wentworth family?
They never lived in Crimson Cove. My family sees them all the time in
Manhattan. We’ve always been close friends. I don't think I was even born when
they became close friends.”

I turned and gave Rita a
look, wondering if this was why she was sucked into something she had no part
in. But my mind moved too quickly, shoving off from that thought and into
another. “I knew the Wentworths too. I must have been very young. I hardly
recall it, but I do. Maybe three or four.”

“Yeah, three. It was the
year I started at Silver Hills, thirteen years ago. They replaced a lot of
staff because of Lucinda Wentworth. She stabbed one of the nurses in a fit of
rage. We lost half of the staff to it.” Lori shook her head.

“Why?”

“The hospital covered it
up. Said that the nurse died of a stroke. Covered up the actual cause when they
had her accidentally cremated before the body could be seen by anyone other
than employees and paid-off police officers. The nurses quit, refusing to take
part in the cover-up. One of the nurses tried to go to the press. She was
killed in a car accident. Everyone else hushed it up then.”

Hendricks? Was this his role?

Rita paled. “Lucinda
Wentworth, the husky
brunette with the brain damage
?”

“Lobotomy, you mean?”

I gasped but Rita looked
confused. “What’s that?”

“It’s a procedure that's
not done anymore.” Lori didn't look like she wanted to say anything else.

“It’s a neurosurgical
psycho-procedure done to disconnect the prefrontal cortex—”

“Whoa, dumb it down.”
Rita waved a hand. “I don't understand how or why psychos would do surgery.

She was definitely not a
nerd, regardless of typing fast and knowing some. “It was done in the past to
disconnect the wires in your head so that your signals in your brain didn't
move. There was no firing.” I rolled my eyes. “Like a zombie. You can do basic
motor function but that’s it. When Rosie Kennedy got hers they asked her to
recite the Lord’s Prayer as they cut away tissue in her brain. When she wasn't
able to talk anymore, they stopped cutting. But it was too much. They left her
like a coma patient essentially. She went from being mentally delayed to a
vegetable almost.”

“The Kennedy family?”
Rita still looked confused, but it became disgusted confusion.

“JFK’s sister.” Lori
nodded.

“I didn't know that.”

I sighed. “It was a terrible
crime to do to someone then, in the forties. Now they are not done. It was
terrible.”

“Lucinda’s parents made
her a vegetable? Why?” Rita was taking it hard. “Lucinda doesn't talk or do
anything. She can eat and sit in her wheelchair. Her own parents made her that
way? She can’t walk or talk or do anything. She stares out the window all the
time.”

Lori pressed her lips
together for a moment before whispering, “I haven’t ever told anyone that
story.” She sighed and closed her eyes. “Lucinda was the only person I ever saw
at Silver Hills who might have done something like what’s going on here now.
But as you have seen yourself, Rita, she doesn't stand a chance. She’s
unresponsive.”

“Sometimes she doesn't
get the food in her mouth. She’s got to be close to thirty, and she can’t eat
alone.”

“She’s twenty-five,” Lori
offered with a distant smile.

“That's too old for
diapers.” Rita looked like she might cry. “I guess too young for adult
diapers.”

I reached over and took
Rita’s hand in mine. “It’s terrible what they did.”

“Oh it’s terrible,
Lainey. But they had no choice. She was a sick and twisted girl. She got put in
Silver Hills because she was a rich kid. She should have gone to a place for
the criminally insane.”

“What?”

“That's what I’m trying
to tell you. She was crazy as hell before she got to Silver Hills. She stabbed
that nurse fifty-some-odd times. She killed cats and dogs and even once gave a
baby a bottle of bleach when her friend was babysitting. The baby didn't drink
it, thank God.” Lori nodded. “She was nuts and violent.”

I swallowed hard. “You
know lobotomy patients can regain lost abilities, right? The brain can heal
itself.”

It was Lori’s turn to
pale as she shook her head. “I don't know anything about them. They aren’t done
anymore. We didn't even study lobotomies.”

“By the end of her life,
Rosie Kennedy could walk. She never spoke again, and she certainly didn't do
anything remarkable, but she did walk again. Her arms moved a bit. And then
there was Howard Dully, a school bus driver, who became sort of the voice for
opposing lobotomies. He eventually regained everything, but his memories from
his early childhood. They’d said he needed one when he was really little
because he was a schizo, but he wasn't and over time he got better.” I looked at
Lori. “If he got better, Lucinda might have as well.”

“But she’s slow and fat
and not able to leave her wheelchair,” Rita pointed out the flaw in the theory.

“But she has money and
everyone underestimates her. So no one is likely to be watching what she’s
doing. If she’s the killer, she’s hired it out. But she’s planning it all. For
all we know, she’s watching us all.”

“Ohhhhhhh shit. Good
call,” Rita recoiled. “So she’s all like that Stephen Hawking dude and just
running it from the wheelchair. Yikes.”

“Right.” I agreed and
fought the urge to point out that Stephen Hawking and Lucinda likely didn't
have much in common, but Rita was catching on so I left it alone.

“Excuse me for a moment.”
She pulled her buzzing cell phone from her pocket. “Hello?” She got up and
walked from the room.

Lori gave me a worried
look. “You think this is a possibility?”

“Maybe. I think we need
to add this to the list of conceivable things.” I sighed. “I need to find
Jake.”

She offered me a sweet
smile, one I never got from her. “I know you do, sweetie. And you will.” She
offered a wink and stood. “If I think of anyone else, I’ll let you know. But
honestly, in the years I worked there, I never saw anything like Lucinda
Wentworth.” She left the room. I sat very still, contemplating why Lucinda
Wentworth would have hated me and my friends or any of our parents.

It was just another
branch, another start with no answers or conclusions.

“We gotta go now!” Rita
ran past me, headed for the front door. I got up and ran with her. She jumped
in the driver’s seat and started the car. I was barely in when she started
driving away.

“Where are we going?”

“That was my friend in
New York. Rachel’s phone pinged at Sage’s house.”

“Oh shit!” I closed my
eyes and tried to see how and why that would be the case.

“Look at y’all cussing up
a storm now.” The Southern version of Rita was back.

I smiled and nodded like
my Latin teacher had told me to do when I didn't understand something. Her
being a New Yorker and a Southerner was about as conflicting as the Civil War
had been.

She passed cars, driving
like a city girl, making me grip the seats so hard my broken nail throbbed.
When she skidded into Sage’s driveway I flinched, imagining how angry Tom the
douche—no jerkface—was going to be. I needed to get a handle on my
cussing before it became something I couldn’t stop, and I ended up like one of
those girls who used the F-word as a noun, adjective, verb, and adverb.

We raced inside, blowing
passed Hennessey and rushing to Tom’s office.

Sage was bent over the
desk, leaning on her elbows and looking like she might pass out any second.
“Hey.” She sounded like she was already sleeping.

“Rachel’s phone is here.”

Sage’s eyes popped open.
“Oh God, the killer’s in my house?” She turned, looking about the large
mahogany décor and pointed at the doors leading into other rooms. Her breath
became ragged as she turned in a worried circle. “We should run.”