The Faithful (15 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Back in Josh’s office, there was a minute of silence as they listened to his clipped retreat down the hallway. Dean Forster’s stomach was in knots.

“He won’t give it up, will he?” Warner asked.

There was no point in lying. “No.”

He knew Josh well, knew how important the case was to him. It was an obsession. Dean liked Josh. He liked him a lot. Which is why he had begged Michael Warner for this one chance to deter the agent from his current path.

“You know what needs to be done, Dean.”

Dean couldn’t look at him. “Do what you have to do. Just leave me out of it, please.”

“Of course.” Dean flinched as Deputy Director Warner clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s hard to lose a good agent.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

“Is this Senior Special Agent Metcalf?” Josh muted the TV and checked his watch. It was just after nine o’clock in the evening.

“Who is this?”

“This is Agent Rosa Ortiz calling from the field office in Albuquerque. Agent Dennis Chang asked me to call you.”

“All right. What’s up?” Josh remembered Dennis Chang well. He had worked with Josh on a kidnapping in Santa Fe five years before.

“Well, sir, we have a kidnapping case Agent Chang says you might be interested in?”

Josh grabbed a pen and paper off his coffee table. “What can you tell me?”

“A six-year-old girl, Leora Wylie, was kidnapped from a park near Las Cruces this afternoon. Agent Chang wanted me to tell you there was blood found at the scene. They are still typing it, but they don’t think it’s from the victim.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes sir, he told me to say ‘Other factors might be similar as well.’ I don’t know what he means.”

“That’s okay, I do. Anything else, Agent Ortiz?”

“Yes, sir. This is why Agent Chang wanted me to get ahold of you so urgently. He says you’ll probably want to get here as soon as possible.”

“Why?” Josh leapt up and took the stairs two at a time. He flicked on the bedroom light, moving toward his closet.

“There was a witness. She tried to stop the kidnapping and got pretty banged up. She’s in Mesilla Valley Hospital. Agent Chang thought you’d want to talk to her.”

He was already throwing clothes into his duffel bag.

“I sure do. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“A flower cannot bloom without the kiss of the sun, and a child cannot flourish without the nourishment of food. You must eat, my dear.”

Through the curtain of her red hair, she watched him place the bowl of soup on the bedside table. Turning her back, she curled in on herself and pulled the quilt over her face. Blessed darkness. It was a soothing balm against her puffy eyelids. Inside the quilt cocoon, she cupped her hands over her ears, blocking out the man’s voice. Just before she was taken, she had been reading a library book about wormholes. The idea of a tunnel through time captured her imagination.

Now she pictured her mind as a wormhole, and she used it to swim away from the man who was trying to make her forget. She swam and swam, letting his voice recede behind her as she moved back toward home, toward her mother and a sweet-smelling Sunday in the spring.

None of the girls at Penny Marsh’s birthday party wanted to play with her, and she was sitting on the front steps, watching as they bounced on the trampoline that was set up in the yard. She had just decided to leave—her house was only five blocks away and no one would miss her—when Penny’s grandma sat down beside her.

“Don’t you feel like going on the trampoline, dear?”

“I guess not.”

“It’s just not right for a young girl to be sitting all by herself on such a beautiful spring day. Why don’t you go join your friends for a bounce?”

“They’re not my friends.”

“Nonsense. You were invited to the party, weren’t you?”

“Penny’s mom probably made her invite me. Every girl in the class is here.”

“Hmm. Like that, is it?”

“Yeah.”

The woman leaned back against the steps. “I’d place a bet everyone feels like you’re feeling right now, on occasion. Like you just don’t fit in with the rest of the world around you. Like you wish you had just one good friend. Does that about sum it up?”

She nodded. “How did you know?”

The woman chuckled, but her eyes looked kind of sad. “Might be I’ve felt that way myself a time or two.”

“Really?”

“Well, sure. It happens more as you get older, you know. Young folk start to think they know better than you, that all your understanding of the world is outdated.

“Comes a time you start to believe they might be right. And then even your own kin don’t acknowledge you anymore. You’re sitting right there in the armchair, but the conversation just keeps passing back and forth right over the top of your head. You might as well be a houseplant, sitting neglected in the corner of the room.”

“That’s really sad.”

Penny’s grandma patted her chest, chuckling. “Oh, look at me going on like an old fool. A young girl doesn’t need to be listening to this kind of drivel. The point I was trying to make is you’re young. I know you sometimes feel afraid, or like you don’t quite belong. But never mind that; it’s just the ‘scaredies’ trying to get you down. You’ve got to pick yourself up and get back into the thick of it. You get my meaning?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, then. What are you waiting for?”

She hesitated for another moment and Penny’s grandma shooed her forward. “Go on with you, already!”

Nervously, she approached the trampoline. When no one yelled at her to leave, she clumsily pulled herself up and over the blue lip and rolled onto the wildly bouncing surface.

The next forty minutes turned out to be some of the best of her young life. She bounced and laughed and spun and danced. Just like any normal girl.

Every once in a while, she looked out toward the stairs. The older lady would smile and wave in response, and once she even gave her a thumbs-up.

“Who are you waving at?” Deborah Matheson asked. She was bouncing in front of her, blond pigtails flying. Penny Marsh was bouncing and spinning in circles beside Deborah, giggling madly.

“Penny’s grandma,” she answered absently, focused on a jump where she did the splits in midair. The goal was to grab her ankles at the top, and then come back down on her feet without falling over.

She came down from a split-jump, proud of the perfect execution of her move, and noticed the two girls staring at her.

“That’s not funny,” Deborah said. Penny’s eyes were wet, her lower lip trembling.

“You should apologize to Penny.”

“For what?” she asked, perplexed.

“For what you just said, you freak.” Teresa Hernandez sidled up on Penny’s other side and held her elbow in support.

“What did I say?” The trampoline was suddenly still. Silent. All eyes were focused on her, and she could feel the heat beginning to creep up her neck.

“That you were waving at my grandma.” Penny’s voice was soft.

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Penny’s grandma died last month, freak show,” Jennifer Morrow said, her eyes angry and cold.

“What . . . ?”

“I think you should apologize,” Deborah said again.

“I . . . Penny, I didn’t know.” She looked over at the stairs, but they were empty.

“You should go,” Penny said.

“I’m sorry! Penny, I’m sorry!”

Penny turned on her, screaming. “Just get the hell out of here, you . . . freak!”

In her haste, she fell getting off the trampoline. A few girls snickered. She grabbed her shoes and ran home, sobbing.

Her mom was on the phone, but she quickly hung up when she saw the state of her daughter.

“What happened, Boo?” her mother asked, coming toward her.

She inhaled the soothing smell of her mother’s lotion, which always reminded her of violets baking in the sun. Between sobs and hiccups, she managed to get the story out. Her mom listened with that same sad look on her face she got every time her daughter came home this way. When she was done, her mom mopped up her face, kissed her raw cheeks, and pulled her up off the couch.

“Who needs them and their stupid trampoline, anyway? Not when we’ve got the coolest trampoline in town, right here.” Her mom pulled her toward the back of the house, to the master bedroom.

“Come on!” She pressed the power button on the ghetto blaster, turning the volume all the way up. It played the same song it always did: Katrina and the Waves’ “Walking on Sunshine.” It was their theme song.

Her mom jumped up on the bed and started singing and bouncing. She had a terrible singing voice and it always made her daughter laugh. “Come on, get up here!”

But she was too busy giggling. The sight of her mother bouncing on the bed like a kid was too funny. And the more she laughed, the louder and more off-key her mom’s singing became.

“Come on, Ryanne! Don’t be a party pooper!”

She climbed onto the bed and joined in, holding hands with her mom as they bounced crazily around the bed.

They sang together, daughter as off-key as her mother, giggling and bouncing like two little girls.

Through the wormhole and a million light years away, she sang softly to herself under the quilt, pretending she was back there, in that bedroom with her mom on a sweet-smelling Sunday in the spring. Remember, she thought. Remember the sunshine.

“I’m Dr. Sanchez, the doctor on call this evening. You’re at Mesilla Valley Hospital. Do you remember what happened to you?”

I licked my lips. They were so dry. “Yeah. I decided to wrestle with a Ford Escape and lost.”

His smile was tight. “That sums it up, but you put up a better fight than one might expect.”

“Can I have some water, please?”

“Of course.” I waited while he filled a Styrofoam cup and stuck a straw into it. He bent the straw to my lips and held it while I sipped. Once the cup was empty, he placed it on the side table.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. How are you feeling?”

“Sore. My head is pounding. My right leg feels numb.”

“The car ran over the lower portion of your right leg. Your X-rays show no broken bones, but your leg is swollen and bruised. It’s wrapped in ice; that’s probably why it feels numb. Expect to have pain and swelling for the next five to seven days, and some difficulty putting weight down on the leg while it’s healing. There is a small chance of a blood clot forming, so we will be keeping an eye on that.”

“Okay.”

“Your left shoulder was partially dislocated, and we’ve put it back into place. Your arm will need to be in a sling for the next week, and it’s also going to be sore for a while. Pretty much every other part of you has been cut or scraped in some way, but nothing serious. The worst of your injuries is a concussion.”

“I got thrown headfirst into a tree.”

He blinked several times. “I see; well, the tree did more damage to you than the car did. We’re going to keep you overnight for observation. I’m going to give you acetaminophen to help with the headache and other body pains. Are you experiencing any nausea or sensitivity to light?”

“No nausea, but yes to the light.”

“How about your vision?” he asked. “Is it blurry, or are you seeing double of anything?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Good. I think it’s a mild concussion. I’m not too concerned. But please let us know right away if you experience any vomiting, or seizures, or difficulty with your balance and motor skills.”

“Okay.”

“Now, cognitive symptoms of a concussion can include confusion, irritability, and difficulty focusing your attention. Also, on occasion, there can be issues with amnesia.”

I couldn’t help it. I giggled.

Dr. Sanchez sat watching me, perplexed. With some effort, I managed to control myself and apologize.

“Do you have any family around? Anyone who can drive you home from the hospital and help you out?”

In deference to the hammer trying to break its way out of my skull, I shook my head slowly. “Just a coworker, Dan.”

“Is that the Dan Parks listed as the ‘In Case of Emergency’ in your cell phone?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“I believe he’s been called, but I’ll double-check. Your backpack was given to the paramedics. It’s over there on the counter. Would you like anything from it before I leave?”

“My phone, please.”

Dr. Sanchez rummaged around in the bag and handed it over. “Nurses will be checking on you throughout the night, and I’ll be back in the morning. In the meantime, get some rest. Press the call button if you need anything; a nurse will be in shortly with some pain meds.” He turned back at the doorway. “No web surfing, okay? It’s a bad idea after a concussion.”

“I promise,” I lied.

“Also, there’s an FBI agent waiting to speak to you. Do you feel up to it?”

“All right.”

“I’ll send him in.” He gave me another tight smile and departed, the staccato sound of his footsteps receding down the hall.