Makaila 41 to 50

 

41

Larry Carleton waved the city’s list of required repairs, standing in the front room of an old, neglected house. “I don’t know where to start.”

Tying her hair back and pushing the sleeves of her oversized sweatshirt up, Arianna smiled. “Too easy. We clean.” The small group of Freaks nodded.

“And, get the electricity turned on.”

“And, get candles in the windows.”

“Then, we do one thing at a time.” She handed Larry a can of white spray paint. “Put an X on anything you don’t think worth keeping. Out it goes.”

Larry shook the paint.

The city not only provided a list of repairs, but also provided a list of city services to help the new homeowner with the task of reclaiming properties from time. Larry, somewhere along the way, took a secondary role to Arianna’s leadership. Arianna was better doing what needed to be done and saying what needed to be said to get cooperation from other people. Larry had no idea, with one telephone call and a simple request, they could get a city trash container placed in the driveway.

Arianna giggled, pointing to paperwork. “It’s right here. The city wants the house fixed as much as we do, just for a different reason.”

As darkness filled the house on the first day, everyone gathered in the large front room. They pooled their money, sent for cold cuts and soda, and relaxed. Larry addressed everyone. “We did lots today, but the work we need to do is really ahead of us.”

The thirty teenagers nodded in agreement.

“Arianna’s going to type up a list of stuff we have to do. If you know how to do any of this stuff, put your name next to it. She’s going to type out a list of stuff we’re going to need. If you can beg, borrow or steal any of it, let her know. We’re going to need money for what we can’t do and can’t gather.”

With a mouthful of sandwich, Arianna added: “I’d like to know where we stand in the next couple of days.”

“Now, this is important.” Larry paced, pulling on his chin, watching the floor. “Don’t tell any outsiders anything. There’re forces out there that would stop us. The cops came around asking me questions. They know, or think they know.”

“I saw the cops drive by earlier.”

“A lady cop?”

“No.”

“A lady cop was the first they sent. There’ll be more. Don’t say nothing to nobody.”

 

Five days and three trash containers later, Arianna sat on a wobbly wooden chair at the old oak desk Larry decided to keep. Yellow highlighter marked only half of what they needed to get done, which would be a real problem if not for George who said: “I can do that,” each time she pointed to something.

George was not a Freak, really. He didn’t go to the school. He was a stranger. Though he was not a Freak, he was a social misfit: dirty and worn tee shirt, faded jeans with a wallet on a chain, green Ike jacket with Out my face where the nametag should be and an upside down American flag haphazardly sewn on the back. He smelled as if he hadn’t had a bath in a month.

The house was not located in the best of neighborhoods. On the third day, Larry sent Terri, an eleven-year-old, two blocks up for cold cuts, bread and soda. When she left the small grocery, a gang of youths surrounded her. She held tight to the bag as they pushed her back and forth.

The air burst with the sound of straight pipes as a motorcycle slid to a stop. The rider leaned his bike on the kickstand, shut the engine off and removed his helmet, placing the headwear on his rearview mirror. Flipping off his sunglasses, he said to the group of six teenagers: “I love a good fight, but not with little girls.”

Swinging his leg over the seat, he slid an iron pipe from a side holder and approached, wielding wildly, connecting and not connecting with his targets. The teenagers ran off. “Damn. What’s a guy gotta do to get a good fight?” He looked at Terri. “Stupid kid. Don’t walk around here alone. What the hell’s wrong with you?”

Terri pouted, then the tears came.

“Stupid crying kid!” He sat hard on his motorcycle. “Aw, hop on, stupid. I’ll give you a ride home.”

The blast of noise in the driveway drew Larry from the house. The machine’s roar fell away after two revs. The rider did not remove his helmet or sunglasses. He let Terri to the ground. “If you’re the idiot who sent this child by herself down the street you oughta be shot.”

Terri’s face was wet with tears.

Larry yelled back. “What’d you do to her?” His fist came up.

He pushed Larry with a flat hand. Larry stumbled back and down. Placing his helmet as before, he was off the bike and nailed Larry with a right hook as Larry tried to gain his feet.

“No good fight here, either.” He climbed back on the bike.

Terri fell to her knees and quickly recounted the event at the grocery. Arianna and many others came from the house. The rider spit and replaced his helmet.

“Wait!” Larry called from the ground, in no hurry to get up. “I misunderstood.”

He looked down his nose, sneering. “Like all other people do. Get out my face and get a life while you’re at it.”

Ride away, sucker. Larry felt bad, regretful. “Have a sandwich with us?”

George Potter removed his helmet again. “I never turn down free food. You never know when you’re going to get a chance to eat.”

He was intense, angry and never smiled unless he was calling something or someone stupid, which he often did. Arianna was amazed he knew how to do so much for a guy his age. He wasn’t saying, but Arianna made him about eighteen. He was incredibly good with his hands. Larry wished he’d go away. Arianna saw the help he could provide. After an intense argument, he was invited to stay, but not as a Freak.

Arianna explained who was coming, in short.

“I don’t need no saving. Don’t matter to me who comes, as long as they stay out my face.”

You’ll see.

She liked something else about George. His eyes were dead, cold and calculating, never with a hint of lust. She thought he might be gay, but that didn’t matter. She felt safe around him.

“And,” she told Larry. “There’s lots he can do.” Arianna secretly thought she-who-is-like-God sent George.

 

42

A tragedy was averted by the alert actions of local residents in the small farming community when three men, Roger Baske, age 28, Mark Royen, age 31, and Robert Simms, age 25, died in the woods near the county fair grounds.

 

Josephine McCarthy read the article, twice, and pulled the sheets on the three men. The article was short on details, with the attack on a child involved, the news search flagged it. The three men had outstanding warrants on assault charges and a laundry list of attacks on children and adults alike. They were drifters. No records indicated any of the three were ever on Josephine’s turf.

She painstakingly compared the dates of their arrests with the dates of her missing seven children. The three men could be accounted for at the time of the disappearance of most the girls. She called the local sheriff. He couldn’t – or wouldn’t – provide any details the local newspaper didn’t. A call to the newspaper, which provided the article to the wire, yielded the same results.

Josephine’s experience and intuition nagged at her. She knew everything wasn’t being said. Nothing was said about how they died. She imagined a lynching of some sort.

If anyone deserved to be lynched, it was these three.

However, that certainly didn’t make it right in a society nor in Josephine’s thinking. She didn’t always agree with the laws, but she respected the process that created the laws. She folded the newspaper, set it on the desk next to the computer and continued her search for the newest of the missing girls.

Larry Carleton said his sister was dead. An exhaustive search of records didn’t prove it out. Mr. Carleton said his daughter was in a place, sent away. Again, no records.

Armed with a file of Jane Doe’s, she painstakingly tried to match the records to her missing girls, not getting close. Pulling the picture of her latest girl from the corkboard, she ran her thumb over the face, deep in thought.

Got it! If the family’s not talking, someone has to know something. She put the picture on top the newspaper and banged away on the computer keyboard, looking for Larry Carleton’s school records and police file, if he had one.

Glancing toward Makaila’s picture for inspiration, the picture on the newspaper page jumped out at her. In half-profile slightly from the back, the picture showed a girl with her hands raised to the air, butterflies around her head. She squinted at the newspaper, back to Makaila’s picture and then again.

“God, I hate to fly.” She picked up the telephone, calling her travel agent.

 

“I’ll go, personally,” Jordan Harshaw stated to the air more than to his men. Those damn doctors have no backbone. “$100,000 a year?”

“What is?” Bixby asked.

“The doctors down there.”

“$150,000.”

“$150,000 a year and all they have to do is keep people where we put them.” Harshaw slammed a hand on his desk. “Why the hell didn’t the bastard pick up the phone?”

“He said the papers were legal enough. And, he didn’t think it really mattered.”

“He doesn’t get paid to be a lawyer and he knows it. Replace him, today.”

Bixby made a note. “Retirement plan?”

Harshaw snickered grimly. “Sure, a warm bed and a meal once in a while. Give him the best care F-36 can provide.”

“I believe he’s taken out insurance.” Bixby raised an eyebrow.

“Doesn’t matter. Pull the file. Track it down and negate it. Whatever it takes.” Harshaw waved the newspaper over his head and turned on Marks. “All the millions of dollars of equipment you have to work with and for half a buck I find what you can’t!”

“I was getting close.”

He opened the newspaper to the middle. “See? More dead people.” He indicated an article. “Were you going to wait until she murders half the population?”

“We don’t know it was her.”

“Only if we’re stupid!” He slammed the paper on the desk. “I’ll drive out in the morning. You two get down to F-36 and lock it up tighter than a total blink. I’ll have her back inside before the sun goes down, or otherwise fixed.”

“You shouldn’t go alone.” Bixby raised an eyebrow. “Protocol.”

He shrugged, holding up a single piece of paper. “Larry Elderage? Why is he involved? How come there’s no background here?”

Marks looked toward the floor. “He’s a man of no great distinction. He has no background. He’s just a common lawyer who doesn’t do much of anything.”

“We’ll see. Get on this, too. Everything he’s into. There must be a connection. He has something to do with something. Dig. Who hired him? I want to know.”

 

George Potter’s fingers danced over the keyboard as Elderage came up behind him. “Electrical code, eh?”

“Yes, sir. You saw the report. The house is a mess and these kids aren’t up to it.”

Potter was a prodigy. A pleasant looking and well-mannered man of twenty-eight, he graduated college, masters in law, at the age of eighteen. He had a relatively short career in the Service, became disillusioned with government along with moral conflicts and drifted from career to career until he found Larry Elderage. Elderage offered variety and variation from day to day, which Potter was looking for.

“I haven’t seen your initial summary report.”

“I haven’t had the time, sir.”

“Make the time. I have to stay on top of this and need to know what’s going on.”

Potter turned from his reading. “It’s an odd group of twenty-nine children, ages eleven to eighteen, led by Arianna Kaine, age eighteen.”

“Now all indications thus far show Larry Michael Carleton’s the leader.”

“He is and he isn’t. He’s more like a figurehead and everyone looks to him, but it’s really Arianna Kaine pulling the strings.”

“Power behind the throne?”

“Yes, but it’s strange, really. They’re preparing for the return of someone.”

“That would be Makaila Marie Carleton.”

“From the reports, that’s what I thought at first.”

Elderage was surprised. “And, now?”

“God. The person returning is dead now. They fully believe God is coming.”

Elderage reached around Potter, closing all the windows with a single push of a button. “Forget everything else. I want your full report and summary before you think about doing anything else.”

 

Back in his office, Elderage held up a single sheet of paper for Sally to see. “This is it?”

She leaned forward to identify the report on the institution. “Afraid so. Commitment’s by invitation only and we can’t find who does the inviting. Salesmen and utility workers couldn’t get in the door. We can’t find anyone who’s been sent there or let out. We can’t get an employee list, even through tax filing records. If not for the building, you wouldn’t know the place even existed.”

“Use a B and E man, a good one. I want to know. If that doesn’t work, maybe we’ll storm the place.” He laughed, flipping some papers around. “Lean on Judge James Bosch and check for a money trail. We know he had some part in sending at least one person there. If we can find a payment or payments, we can trace the money back and maybe find a doorway.”

This is getting much too complex.

He wanted to know exactly what happened to get Makaila’s involvement started, but all the official records were missing. He had an idea from the newspaper archives, but much of the news reports were speculation, not fact. He knew of one person who knew the true story.

I should deliver this myself, in person.

He inspected a set of official forms, then handed the stack to Sally. “Messenger this out right away.”

The emancipation declaration would give Makaila legal status. His only instructions were to free her from bondage, but with her telephone call, Elderage took upon himself to expand those instructions, protecting her freedom. He knew he had to find out who was behind the incarceration before the party or parties discovered her liberation.

Potter entered, placing an eight-page report on the desk. Elderage checked his watch, less than an hour passed. Before George could get out the door, Elderage asked: “You ever heard of this Special Crimes Commission?”

George turned smartly. “Sure, Mr. Elderage. But, if I tell you, I’d have to kill you.” He smiled. “Really. It’s a shell.”

“For?”

“What any shell’s for. To hide the identity of the actual agency who’s taking the action.”

Elderage gave Potter a stern look. “I know what a shell is. I want to know what this shell is.”

“Oh, in this case. Could be a number of agencies. If I had to guess, I’d say a covert, high up Fed agency.” Holding Elderage’s eyes, his mind worked to connect all he knew from the many reports. “I can’t say for sure right now, not enough data. But, when they show up, I should be able to tell you more.”

“You think they’ll surface?” Sally asked.

“I know they will. We stuck an irritating thorn in their side and they’re not going to like it.”

Elderage looked disturbed. “Do you need backup?”

Potter gave him a twisted smile. “Got one. God. He’s coming back.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. When they show up, and if they make me and they will, only God’s going to be of any help if they decide this little group of kids is in the way of what they want. It would help me to know exactly, beyond information gathering, what our objective is and what my personal limits are in obtaining that objective.”

I wish I knew. “Protect Makaila Marie Carleton. No limits.”

Potter leaned forward with a single cocked eyebrow. “Shouldn’t I be in Ohio, then?”

“Maybe. I feel she’s safe for now. Her brother doesn’t even know where she is.”

“They do. You can count on that.”

“I’m not so sure.”

“Be sure. You can’t, but try to stay one step ahead of them.”

Maybe I should go. Elderage was sure if there were an imminent danger to Makaila, he’d have been told. “You stay inside here, gather information and wait. She’ll come to you.”

“In that case, I have some house wiring to do.”

As Potter disappeared, Elderage informed Sally: “I’m going to be out of town for a day or so. If anything breaks, just get everyone together and make the best decision.”

“Ohio?”

“No, not actually. Fishing.”

“I’ll get you on the cell if I need to.”

Elderage smiled as his attention drifted away. “Cell won’t work where I’m going, and I wouldn’t turn it on if it did.”

“Oh.”

 

43

Arianna stood on the sidewalk across the street, list in hand, looking up toward the roof where George and three others worked on repairs.

“Okay. The guy’s good. He still spooks me for some reason.” Larry glanced at the list. “I never thought we’d get this much done this quick.”

“Get enough people and throw them at it, you can do anything. How do you think they built the pyramids?” The house was scraped and painted, the shutters replaced, sills repaired and half the porch rebuilt. The yard was reclaimed from the jungle and gardens laid out. Larry argued the garden landscaping wasn’t required, but Arianna insisted.

An elderly neighbor three doors down liked the painting so much, she asked whether they could paint her house. “But, I don’t have much money.”

“Buy the paint and buy us some new shutters and you have a deal.”

Larry grumbled at Arianna’s arrangement.

“It’s a small house and we need shutters.”

She took Larry by the arm. “George says we can open the fireplaces without too much trouble. That would be nice at Christmas. What do you think?”

Larry gave her a sour face. “Christmas is about Christ.”

“Who? Christmas, to me, has never been about Christ. It’s been about friends and family.” She pulled on his arm. “We’re allowed to have a good time.”

“Maybe. I’ll be glad when she gets back. Then, we’ll know for sure.”

A small, dented car in need of a wash pulled next to them. A man in his late twenties, wearing clothes like from the secondhand store, climbed out. “Hello! I’m from the Community News. The weekly? You guys are doing such a great job on the rehab, we’re going to do a feature on your project.”

Larry couldn’t remember the last time he received praise for anything. He beamed. “It’s lots of hard work. But, it is looking good.”

Arianna blushed.

“Let me start with your names.”

A loud whistle, George’s, screamed from the far off roof. Arianna and Larry looked, George was nowhere to be seen. The three teenagers stopped working, showing six upside-down M’s.

“What’s that mean?” the reporter asked.

Arianna’s hand found Larry’s clenched fist. “I think you should come back and talk to the owner of the house.”

He looked at his notebook. “That would be Arianna Kaine?”

“Yeah.” Arianna nodded.

Larry followed her lead. “Older woman, about your height with gray hair.”

“She’s out of town, visiting a sick relative, her aunt, taken ill last week, nothing serious, but she needs someone to take care of her.”

Arianna tried to look as serious as she could. “Ms. Kaine likes to help kids out by giving them work to do. She’s really a great person. We’ll have her call you when she gets back.” She accepted his card, which looked real enough.

“Can I look around in the meantime, to get background on the story?”

“Oh!” Arianna widened her eyes dramatically. “We aren’t allowed to let anyone into someone else’s house! That just won’t be right, would it?” She looked at Larry.

“Why, no! People are always talking about how us teenagers aren’t responsible. We are responsible.”

Perplexed, the man returned to his car. Arianna and Larry, with an arm around each other, waved as he pulled off. “What was that all about?” Arianna asked.

“Let’s ask George and see if he gives us a straight answer.”

George was in the front room, peeking around the curtain. Before they could ask, he offered: “That man, no matter what he said he was, was not telling you the truth.”

“How do you know?” Larry demanded.

George twisted a smile. “Because you weren’t swinging your fists at him.”

“A cop?” Arianna asked.

“Sort of. He’s a Fed.

“FBI?”

“Sort of.” George pointed up the street. “See that van pulling up? He didn’t get the information he wanted so they’re going to try another way. Photographs.”

Arianna pulled on Larry’s arm. “I’m scared. What are we going to do?”

Larry was scared, too, not admitting it. “I don’t know. We haven’t done anything illegal. I’m not sure that really matters.”

“It doesn’t. Here’s what we’re going to do for now. Keep all your members away from the front of the house. And, let’s have a party. Open invitation. Invite everyone you know and people you don’t know.”

Arianna giggled, bouncing on her toes. “That’s great! They’ll have so many pictures to run down, they won’t have a clue and just be chasing their tails!”

“For a while anyway.”

Larry narrowed his eyes. “Might be a good time to call for those inspections and get anything and everything delivered that we can. Maybe get a real reporter out here.”

“You got the idea.” George nodded.

 

44

Makaila watched Audrey’s soft, sweet face bounce as Jill moved quickly though the night crowd. “She’ll be okay.” Mike gave Makaila’s hand a squeeze.

“Yeah, the ankle will mend.” She’ll never be who she was. The vague song of fiddles rose in the distance. The crowd, curious and happy faces, moved all around her. The many amusement rides started, stopped, and started again. Nothing changed but the undercurrent, an anticipation of things to come.

“Some psychic, that friend of yours.”

Mike laughed. “It’s all a show, young Makaila. You want your money back?”

She answered with a sour laugh. “She didn’t charge me anything.”

“Then you got your money’s worth.”

She looked up to Mike with hard eyes. “Can I trust you?”

Mike half-smiled. “Only you can answer that.”

She bit her lip. “I’m in big trouble. Can you hide me until I figure out what I’m going to do?”

“I’m a magician, aren’t I? If I can’t make you disappear, I’d better find another job.”

“Can you help me bury something?”

“What?”

She went on her toes, her mouth to his ear. “Three bodies.”

Mike led Makaila behind the stands and tents. “Anyone I know?”

“Don’t know. I don’t even know who they were. I killed them because of what they were doing not who they are.”

“Okay. What were they doing?”

“They had Audrey, in the woods.”

“The child you were carrying?”

“Yeah.”

“And, you killed three men? Grown men?” He squeezed her upper arm, eyes mockingly wide.

“They didn’t see me coming. It was dark.” She held up the baseball bat. “I gotta return this and apologize.”

Mike snickered. “You do that, I don’t think you’ll be in any trouble.”

She looked to the ground. “That’s just not the way it works. I’m going away again if they catch me.”

Mike opened the door of a small trailer. “You stay here until I come and get you. I have some business to take care of.”

 

Mike found Megan. “Show me.”

Megan, in a trance, led Mike into the woods beyond the carnies. She walked with her head up until she stumbled on something.

“Here, Mike.” She knelt.

Mike shone the flashlight over the lifeless forms. “Tell me what you see.”

Megan closed her eyes and moaned, yelped and then jumped up, breathing hard. “Oh, Mike. This is them!”

“Them, who?”

“All those unsolved events we’ve had happening over the past few months. This is them!”

“They’ve been dogging us.”

“Yes!”

“Large crowds, nice weather, low security and a lot of confusion. Ideal for people like this.” He took her shoulder. “What killed them?”

She closed her eyes again. “A child?” Her eyes popped open in the darkness. “The child? Did this?”

“She says she did.”

“She told you? Why?”

“She thinks she’s in trouble. Asked for my help.”

“Why you?”

Mike snickered. “Maybe I have a trustworthy face? I don’t know, ask her.” He narrowed his eyes. “Give me your best shot. What’s the best course of action?”

Megan closed her eyes and moaned. “She is in trouble, but not because of this.”

Mike shook his head. “Focus in, Megan. This. What do we have to do?”

She laughed, losing her accent. “You don’t need to be a psychic! Let’s have a parade and give her a medal! She’s a freaking hero the likes I’ve never experienced in my life! She risked her life to save that girl!”

“I can’t argue with that. What of these farmers?”

“Hard to say without my Tarot cards. It would seem they’d see it the same way.”

“She says she’ll be sent away again. What do you think?”

“Again? Away? Where?”

“Didn’t say.”

Megan’s eyes flashed with an inner light. “She won’t be sent away again.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. She’ll die first. We can’t let that happen. She shows the Mark.”

“No offense, but leave the mythology nonsense out of it. Let’s deal with the real world.”

Megan took a deep breath, resisting the urge to argue theology. “No parade. No Medal. Must be kept low-key and her name has to be kept out of it. She’s in hiding.”

“From?”

“She doesn’t even know. I’m not sure she knows she’s hiding.”

“Okay. Let me scare up the locals.” He handed the flashlight over. “You stay here. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

 

45

Cat smiled brightly as Makaila came up the hill. “Like my new hat?” Cat tilted her head from side to side showing off the round brim straw hat sporting a band of real flowers.

“New look, huh?”

“Kinda. I’ve had it for a while.”

“I’m used to the ball cap.”

“Well, the ball cap’s better for the woods, sure. But I get around, you know.”

“Do you ever dress up?”

“You mean like a girl?”

“Yeah.”

“All the time. If I do it up good, I look ten years older.”

Makaila looked around. “Guess there’s no point in dressing up out here.”

Giggling. “I told you before, I don’t live here. I’m just staying here for a while. You really don’t get it, do you?”

“Only because you always talk in circles and never really tell me anything.”

“Okay, okay.” Dropping her feet off the railing, she put her palms up. “I’ll give you a big clue so you can get a clue!” She put her hat on Makaila’s head. “See how Uncle Joseph likes your new hat.” She winked. “It looks better on you than me anyway. Timmy will love it.”

“Doesn’t matter. All that’s over.”

“Stupid comes to mind, but you’re much too smart for me to call you stupid. You might even be smarter than me, but I’d never admit it. You gotta get over that doom and gloom thing.”

“I’ll be sent away again if I get caught. I’m trusting this guy to hide me for now simply because I got no choice. It’s a matter of time.”

“No, you won’t get sent away again. Not for this nonsense, anyway.”

“I murdered three people! How do you call that nonsense?”

“Why did you murder these people? I mean, what if, in that moment, you didn’t do what you did?”

Makaila shifted the hat for a more comfortable fit and bit her lip. “Audrey.”

“Right, dummy! If you stood there and did nothing, it would have been the same as if you killed her yourself!” She smacked her own forehead with an open palm. “No action is the same as an action.” She smacked her forehead again. “You’re just as responsible!”

“Yeah, I get that, but will others?”

“Let’s see, hmm?” She returned her feet to the railing. “Let’s ask Timmy? Audrey’s folks? Why did Timmy say he killed the wolf? How thick is that skull of yours, anyway? You did a good thing!”

“Like before and look what happened!”

“That’s different.”

“How’s it different?”

“Who knows what you did and why?”

“I’m not even sure why.”

“Liar! You just can’t fit it into a framework you think others would understand.”

Makaila looked at her hands, tears in her eyes. “I don’t want to be me. I want to be like everyone else. I don’t want any of this.”

Cat giggled a warm and beautiful little girl giggle. “Makaila, I love you more than you can know and I love you for who you are. Someday you’ll understand all this. Promise. Know this: you are the purest soul to ever take flesh. I know you can’t see this, but it’s true. Even if you can’t see this, trust it.

“Besides, being normal’s got to be boring.”

 

46

To the outsider, Sheriff Powers seemed a country bumpkin, unsophisticated and scarcely aware of his surroundings. He liked the way he lived his straightforward and simple life, getting cats out of trees, calming down locals who might drink too much on a Saturday night and knitting sweaters for pigs. He was also a Yale graduate and been around the world twice.

When Makaila told him they should fill cities in with concrete and make them airports, he knew exactly what she was talking about. He saw her light, her zest for life. He also saw the pain around her eyes, a pain from something past, something awful.

As he hurried through the crowd with Mike, Mike lobbied the need to keep events as quiet as possible. Powers secretly agreed. He let Mike do the talking.

Things like this don’t happen here, even when they do happen.

Powers would handle the reports, downplay any details, particularly any involvement Makaila had. He didn’t want to attract any national attention or have the Feds poking around, speculating and leaking nonsense to the media.

Powers lived a quiet life and planned to keep it that way. Before Mike found him, he listened to the hysterical story of Audrey’s. She told him a man, who met two other men, dragged her off into the woods. They hadn’t said much, but beat her around before pinning her to the ground. Even at her age, she was able to articulate their obvious intention.

Then the hysterics came in. “Just as he ripped my dress open, an angel. An angel, with a flaming sword came down on them and smashed them dead! Then. Then, Makaila was there and carried me back.”

“The fair’s two more days,” Powers told Mike. “There’s to be nothing about this until it’s over.”

Mike agreed. “We’re not going to say anything. Not in our interest. It’d paint our show.”

Our show, too. Powers nodded to Megan and bent over each body in turn. Angel with a flaming sword, indeed. “Who did this?”

“Does it matter?” Mike asked carefully. “I mean really.”

Only to me.  “Makaila?”

“Yes.” Mike didn’t hesitate to answer, seeing no advantage complicating things with a lie.

“Is she okay, physically and emotionally?”

“Physically, yes. Emotionally, she’s scared to death.”

The sheriff stood in the darkness. “Of? Do you know?”

“Being punished.”

“Fiddlesticks!” The sheriff shook his head. “I don’t think I could’ve done this. She’s a better man than I am.” Powers looked at each in turn. “I don’t know how you two got involved.”

Megan smiled in the dim light. “We met Makaila.”

The sheriff nodded. “She’s something.”

“Shining star.” Mike agreed.

“Okay, here’s what I need from you two. About four miles down the road, we have a potter’s field. I’ll take any ID’s they might have and handle the legal side of it. Can you handle that? Bury them as close to proper as you can?”

“Before the sun rises,” Mike said.

Megan nodded.

 

Mike showed Powers to the trailer and hurried off to gather help. The sheriff pulled the door open. “Makaila, my friend. You are not in trouble.”

“I’m not?” She pushed the carving knife down into the chair cushion.

“Absolutely not. Audrey told me the whole story. May I come in?”

“Yeah.”

He stepped up and into the light.

“I’m not in trouble?”

The sheriff smiled warmly. “Not one bit.”

She read his subtle body. He told the truth. She wondered whether the determination was completely in his hands.

“According to Audrey, you saved her life. That’s a good thing, regardless of what you did.” He sat across from her in the cramped trailer. “Did you do that?”

Her mind reeled with the last time she was asked the same question. Controlling her subtle body, she remained relaxed and calm. “Did I do what?” She held his eyes, looking for the slightest hint of betrayal.

“Audrey told me that she was kidnapped by three men and dragged into the woods. Did you free her from that?”

“I guess.”

He let out a long sigh. “Makaila, I don’t really care how you did it, but you did a great thing and I thank you. Audrey is such a special child and we couldn’t stand to lose her.” He winked. “We couldn’t stand to lose you, either. I’m not going to let that happen.”

Makaila froze for a brief moment and would have jumped out of her skin if she could, staring behind the sheriff.

The sheriff looked at the window, expecting to see the Devil looking in. He had his gun half-drawn. “What?”

With a deep breath, she calmed herself. “Like my new hat?”

She believed the sheriff told the truth.

 

Powers offered to take Makaila home, she declined, explaining she needed time to think and put things together. “If you could tell Pops, Ma and Timmy I’m okay and I’ll see them soon, I’d like that.” With a smile and a nod, he left. He did like her new hat.

Makaila stared at the hat, touched it all over and smelled it. The hat was as real as anything else and the sheriff saw it. She tucked the hat back on her head. “This is supposed to give me a clue?” If the hat was on her head and she was in a trailer on the fair grounds in Ohio, then that meant the dream was not a dream, somehow.

“I don’t go anywhere!”

Timmy sat and watched her while she was in the dream. Yet, the hat was on her head.

It’s a trick, just like butterflies.

Makaila decided to demand an explanation, exactly how the trick worked.

Mike told the gun carny it’s all magic. Everything’s a trick of some sort?

She still felt they were going to take her away. She didn’t know who they were. She had no reason not to believe Cat, saying she’d not be sent away.

Time slipped into the night, the noise from the rides well past. Mike didn’t return. Makaila decided to work her way back home, only a few miles and a pleasant walk in the country.

When she opened the door, she knew the hour late. Every carny, it looked like, stood facing the trailer, each holding a candle. She looked for the familiar face of Mike, but he wasn’t there. Jill came forward. “This is our thank you.” She bowed slightly.

“For?”

“Being you and sharing your light with us.”

Grunts attracted Makaila’s attention. The deformed man from earlier offering up a yellow rose. Stepping down, she bent, kissing his gruesome forehead. “Thank you.” She took the rose, standing erect. “Thank you all!” Heads gave a slight bow as she walked toward the fairgrounds and beyond.

 

47

In the days to follow, Makaila couldn’t shake the idea somehow she brought evil to a perfect place. She ran down ifs. If she hadn’t taken her eyes off Audrey. If she hadn’t insisted Tim go to the carny side. If she had taken the few minutes to explain to Timmy what the problem was.

If she had never come to Ohio in the first place.

By her hand, she brought death to a perfect place. She found bringing death much too easy. Popping heads with a baseball bat was just as easy as twisting a chicken’s neck. She tried to make everything fit into what Cat said.

“Okay.” She walked through the woods with the morning sun dancing around the branches. “If I didn’t smash their skulls when I did, Audrey would be dead.” If she were standing on the sand at the lake in the dream, and Cat fell in the water and Makaila just watched, no action would be the same as if she held Cat’s head under water. “My decision would lead to her death.” However, the question Makaila had was the value of human life.

Does Audrey’s life have more value than the other three? “From where I’m standing, sure,” she told the trees. She couldn’t find a place in her mind where the three men were human beings at all. They were no different from a rabid wolf bent on murder. Here, she found her difficultly.

“I’m more like them than I’m like Audrey.” Again, she spoke to the trees. She wished she could talk to Dr. Zogg. His telephone had been disconnected, temporarily the recording said. Touching the brim of her new hat, faith in the things Zogg said lost all texture. The dream is not just imagination. Dr. Zogg didn’t have all the answers.

“Did you ever kill anyone?” she asked Joseph at breakfast the day after the fair.

His eyes turned cold, emotionless. “Not really. In war.”

“How’s that different?”

Joseph ran his hand from his forehead to the back of his head, staring at the wall behind her. “I don’t know.”

“Do you regret it?”

Joseph twisted uncomfortably in his chair. “Yes, I do.”

Why don’t I?

Cat said there’s no good and evil, bad and good, but Makaila just couldn’t find a reason to believe this to be true. Like Dr. Zogg, Cat could be just as easily wrong as she is right.

Purest soul ever born. “Yeah, right.”

She didn’t feel she belonged in her environment anymore, which was nothing new. That night in the woods did change everything. People were happier to see her, she was welcomed even more. They were happy, anyway, Audrey wasn’t murdered.

She wondered whether she could just as easily kill Joseph and Marcy. All those months before, she had no doubt if they stood in the way of her freedom. If Timmy hadn’t let go of her arm, she knew she’d have clobbered him. “Nothing stands in the way of what I want.”

There it was.

The three men wanted something and no laws, morals or concerns for other human beings were going to stand in their way. Joseph regretted killing, even in war. These three had no regrets, no remorse. They may not have known what they did was wrong. Makaila understood what she did was wrong but didn’t understand why it was wrong.

“You are not like other people,” Cat and Dr. Zogg both said more than once.

“Yeah,” she agreed, again aloud to the trees. “In the psych books, they have a word for people like me: psychopath.”

Another messenger arrived the day before, put an envelope in her hand and left as quickly as he came. The personal note from Elderage was simple and didn’t offer much more than well-wishes. The legal form was her emancipation declaration. Her first paycheck accompanied the paperwork.

Who is this guy?

Makaila was now an employee of the RiteWay Legal Research Foundation. The short letter provided information as to salary, with little about the actual job. The letter informed her she was required to demonstrate to the court she had an income. She was now the Assistant to the Secondary Secretary to the Senior Board Research assistant. Her status at work was now: extended paid leave of absence.

“Smoke and mirrors,” she explained to Joseph.

Soft, far off in the distance, the slow ring of the bell sounded. She counted three sets of five rings, a long pulse and then repeated. She set a hurried, yet not fast pace to the house. The bell pattern meant she was needed at the house, not an emergency. Checking the sun, she knew it wasn’t anywhere near lunchtime.

A large dark car sat in the drive. Joseph met her on the front porch. “There’s news and I hope you think it’s good news.” He looked joyfully sad, putting a strong arm around her. “Larry Elderage is here. Everything’s worked out. You can go home.”

 

48

Stunned, Makaila wanted to run, hiding in the barn. At the same time, having seen what kind of work Elderage capable of, she had no doubt he could have worked everything out. Yet, she was not excited about returning to her parent’s house, packaged food and people who didn’t care about her.

“I don’t want to leave.” She held onto her uncle.

“That’s the great thing. Mr. Elderage says you can go back with him now and if things don’t work out for any reason, you can come back here.” Joseph looked out over the field. “Me and Ma don’t want you to go, either. But, they’re your family and you should give them a shot, try to work it out.”

Makaila nodded. “Let’s go meet Mr. Elderage, then.” With mixed emotions, she followed Joseph into the dining room. Marcy and the stranger sat at the table, drinking coffee.

“Mr. Elderage, this is Makaila. Makaila, Larry Elderage.”

The man turned in his chair. Makaila evoked every ounce of conscious effort to control her subtle body and not betray herself. “Mr. Elderage!” She feigned excitement. “It’s great to meet you!”

The well-dressed man smiled. “Did Joseph explain everything to you? We can go as soon as you’re ready.”

“Boy, this is all of a sudden! I can’t wait to get home! Let me just run upstairs and get my things!” With that, she disappeared into the house, skipping joyfully.

“She’s taking it well,” Marcy observed.

Makaila returned in less than a minute, not with her things. She planted the butt of Joseph’s 12-gauge double-barrel shotgun in her shoulder like Timmy showed her and placed the side-by-side business end in the man’s face. With jaw taut, her eyes flashed with deep, direct intent. “Hands flat on the table, breathe wrong and your head’s splattered all over the wall. You know who I am so you know I’ll pull both these triggers and then sit down to lunch.” Without taking her eyes from the man’s eyes, she nodded. “Pops, call the sheriff. This is not Mr. Elderage.”

Marcy gasped, more from the shotgun than the revelation. Joseph reached for the telephone.

The man raised a hand from the table. “I can explain –”

Makaila let go one of the barrels, taking out the window and a good hunk of the man’s ear. “Shut up and don’t move!”

He didn’t flinch, Marcy screamed, Joseph dialed faster.

“Now, no one’s going to move. We wait for the sheriff.”

The man’s stoic composure impressed Makaila, blood dipping down his neck onto his shoulder. He had incredible control of his subtle body. Her impulse was to blow his brains out and if Marcy and Joseph weren’t there, she would have.

Time was suspended until Sheriff Powers arrived. Makaila, the man and shotgun like a statue.

“Well, this ain’t no cat in the tree,” the sheriff said, almost with humor. He moved into Makaila’s line of sight. “What’s the story here?”

“Cuff him first.”

The sheriff complied. The man sat in silence. “The story?”

“Get his gun.”

The sheriff removed a .44 magnum. Marcy had a towel to the man’s head. Powers looked at Makaila as she broke the shotgun, removed the spent shell, replaced it and locked the gun down.

“You’re something for thirteen.”

“Almost fourteen. I hope to live to see it.” Cradling the shotgun, she half-smiled. “This clown showed up claiming to be who he’s not.” She rolled her eyes. “Whom he’s not? Anyway, he wants to take me away.” Her eyes hardened at the sheriff. “You made a promise.”

He nodded.

Powers leaned on the table, squinting at the man. “Who are you and what do you want?”

“Finally. My name is Larry Elderage. I’m Makaila’s lawyer. I’ve come to take her home. I have identification in my inside pocket.”

“Just a nick.” Marcy reported on the ear.

“Too bad.” Makaila pulled an envelope from her pocket and handed the papers to Powers. “What’s my job title, Mr. Elderage?”

Powers eyed the papers quickly. “I have an easier question. This came yesterday.” He waved the emancipation declaration. “What is it?”

“I deal with so many legal forms.”

“Not like this.” He looked at the man’s identification and handed it to Makaila who glanced and handed the plastic coated card to Joseph. “I’ll even give you a hint. It’s a declaration. Of what?”

“I don’t remember.”

Powers smiled. “Larry Elderage signed it two days ago. You aren’t Larry Elderage. You can admit that now or I’ll take your prints, put you in a cell, send them off to New Jersey and wait for them to tell me you’re not Elderage.”

Joseph set the identification on the table, took the shotgun from Makaila and held it menacingly. “He’s a spook, Randy.”

“You sure?” Powers moved just his eyes to Joseph.

“Years pass.” He indicated the identification. “Some things never change.”

Powers nodded and looked painfully at Makaila. Back to the man, he went nose to nose. “What’s the fail-safe?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Fail-safe?” Makaila was ignored.

“I’m a lawyer. Larry Elderage. This is all a misunderstanding.”

Powers stiffened. “Look. We’re on the same side. We both have the same employer: the people of the United States of America.”

Joseph had gone to war, to work for the people of the United States of America. It’s the only time he was away from the farm and the simple life. He’d seen much in those few years and was taken prisoner. If not for covert operations, he might never have been freed. He owed a lot to the operators, who they called spooks, and in the months with them, saw how they worked and what they were capable of. However, this was not war. This was a thirteen-year-old child.

Joseph nodded to Makaila, she returned his nod and backed quietly from the room. He nodded to his wife, who left the room to join Makaila.

“I’m not understanding any of this.” Marcy put a hand to Makaila’s face as Makaila quickly stuffed a knapsack.

“I gotta get out of here.”

“Why? You’re safe here.”

No, you don’t understand any of this. “No one’s safe while I’m here. That’s the man who had me locked up. He’s pretty stupid to think I wouldn’t remember him.” Or he thought I was just a kid and so what.

“Where you going to go?”

“I don’t know for sure. I’ll find a way to let you know when I get to where I’m getting.” She slung the bag over her shoulder. “Pops knows I’m going. They’re trying to make him think I’m still standing there behind him. You gotta go back and sit where you were sitting. Give me a head start.”

She nodded, tears in her eyes and hugged Makaila. “I love you, Makaila.”

Makaila allowed herself a moment of pure joy in the timeless unconditional love, with her own wet eyes. She put her new hat on Marcy and kissed her on the lips. “I love you both and thanks for everything.” She smiled, wondering when her next real smile would be. “Give me three minutes, no more, no less, and make some noise.” With that, she slipped down the steps and out the front door. When she heard pots falling in the kitchen, she started the stranger’s car and headed off down the lane.

 

49

“Cool car, huh, Eddie,” she said to the mechanic in the local gas station. “Fill it up, please.”

His eyes went big. “Sure is, Butcher. Gassing it up for someone?”

“Yeah.” She produced her first paycheck. “I need this cashed, too. And, a map. I’m working on a project.”

“Wow! Let me run it across to the bank! This is lots of money!”

She picked the cleanest run straight west and caught Route 70 out of Columbus. She guessed the police would ignore the car given the nature of its owner until the net came down. Then, the car would send off bells and whistles. To be safe, she gave herself three hours behind the wheel. She parked the car within walking distance of the bus station in Indianapolis. After buying a bus ticket in her name and making a big ordeal out of it, to Houston, Texas, she found a gypsy taxi and took a ride to the Metropolitan Airport where she booked a seat on a commuter flight to Chicago.

Settling in at the lunch counter for coffee and a snack, she let herself miss the farm. At the same time, she could feel the net coming down, knew she had to get out and away from the airport. As she read the subtle body of her fellow travelers, she noticed how people walked around with tunnel vision, not really seeing their environment.

So lonely. She was reminded of her home. She felt alone in the crowd.

She carefully picked out a mark. “Boy, I hate flying anymore,” she said, half into her coffee.

The young woman, casually dressed and with only one suitcase, looked over. “Oh, you know it!” She accepted the coffee from the clerk.

“Since my parents split up and moved to different states, it seems I live on planes and get stuck in airports waiting for rides, like they really don’t care about me.”

“That sucks. I just have to get to and from college.” She turned toward Makaila. “Do you mean you’re stuck here?”

“Kinda sorta, I guess.”

“I have a car. Which way you heading.”

“That’s cool of you. I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble. Which way you going?”

“North, kinda, with a little east thrown in.”

“Isn’t that a coincidence.”

 

Makaila shifted in the seat to watch the Indianapolis Metropolitan Airport disappear over the hill behind her.

“Is it gone now?” Judy Madison was a smart, laid-back woman of twenty-two. In her fifth year of psychology, she felt she was getting to know human beings well. Human behavior had always been a hobby of hers and she hoped to make it a profession. “Do you think you’re safe now?”

Makaila laughed. “Are any of us ever really safe?”

“Runaway? You didn’t fool me for a minute. I bet your parents are worried about you.”

Worried I might show up. “Do you always guess what’s going on with people?”

“You’re easy. You have one small bag. Not the luggage of a girl who lives in two households.”

“Okay. I lied. You caught me. And, yeah, I had to get out of the airport and said what I had to for you to give me a ride. You can let me off anywhere you want.”

“Oh, calm down. You’re a minor in some sort of trouble. I may be able to help you work it out. Why’d you run away?”

Some spook wants to make me disappear. “I didn’t run away. I can do anything I wish.”

“You are how old?”

“Almost fourteen.”

“Well, then, the law says –”

“I’m emancipated.”

“For real?”

“Yeah.” Makaila flashed the document.

“That changes everything I was thinking.”

“Yeppers.”

“So where you going?”

“Can’t tell you.”

“Did you kill someone or something?”

Kinda sorta, but that’s not the problem. “I pissed off some powerful guy.”

“How?”

“I’m too cute for my socks.”

Judy didn’t know what to make of her new friend but found her interesting just the same. “You don’t trust me, do you?”

“I can’t really afford to trust anyone right now.”

“Fair enough. Do these people want to kill you?”

“You watch too much TV. They want to lock me away.”

“I don’t know about you, but I believe there’s truth in a lot of the conspiracy theories. What are you charged with?”

“I’m not. There’s no warrants out on me, that I know of.”

“Come on. They can’t lock you up without charges.”

“I got an eighteen-month chunk out of my life that says different.”

“Jail? Juvenile detention? Wait! An institution?”

“Yeah, you get ten points. Want to go for twenty and guess what for?”

“You still have to go before a judge. Need a court order. I had a course or two on that.”

“Didn’t see anyone in a robe, the inside of a court room, talk to any doctors or even pass go and get my two-hundred dollars!”

Judy laughed. “That sucks. You don’t look nuts. Have you ever been diagnosed?”

“My opinion: I bother the neighbors.”

She laughed again. “That’s a birthright in America.”

“Only within accepted limits.”

“Too true. What do the docs say?”

“Blah, blah, blah, blah, which means: We couldn’t buy a clue with a major credit card. I would’ve been better off with a voodoo priest but then, my parents did try an exorcism.”

“An exorcism!”

“Well, that’s not exactly true: it was twice.”

Judy shook her head. “You seem perfectly functional to me. It was a well-planned scheme to get a ride out of the airport. You seem to do just fine.”

“Other end of the scale. I’m a psychopath.”

Judy sat up quickly and snapped her head to the left. “Aw, there’s a poor cat dead in the road.”

Makaila climbed up to look back. “Ow meow! That sucks. They should keep them off the highway. Cats don’t know nothing from cars.”

“I have a brother, two years younger than me. He was born with only half his arms.”

Makaila blinked twice. “God, life must be tough for him!”

“You’re not a psychopath. I’ll send you a bill.”

“I’m not?”

“Nope. Psychopaths care nothing for cats or people with no arms.”

“A few days ago, I meet a man with horrid Elephantiasis and it ripped my heart out. I just had to hold him and cry.”

“A psychopath wouldn’t have cared one way or another.”

“I killed someone and don’t feel bad about it. Doesn’t that make me a psychopath?”

Judy blinked hard. “Not in and of itself, no, but some people might see it that way. Did you really kill someone?”

“My uncle said he killed people in war and felt bad about it.”

“You’re not your uncle. A lot of people kill in war and don’t feel guilty about it. Killing in war is accepted but killing for a candy bar is different. Understand?”

“Well, yeah. Killing chickens to eat them is good. Killing people is bad.”

“You’re thinking too dualistically.”

“You caught me. I don’t know what that means.”

“It means seeing things in black and white, either/or. You’re trying to see it as good or bad when that’s not the case at all. Question: Is killing people bad? You want to answer with a yes or no.”

Makaila giggled. “I do that. I look for one rule, over and over, to cover all things.”

“Moral and social values are relative to the context and not absolute.”

“That’s it! Relative morality!”

“I’ve been working on a thesis paper on that: Relative morality in social cultures.”

“There’s no right and wrong. There’s no good and evil. There’s only choices.”

“That’s good, yes. Is that a quote? I can use it. Who said it?”

“Now that you think I’m sane, I don’t think I should tell you.”

Judy giggled seriously. “You can tell me. I’ve been around insane people. You’re not one.”

“That’s a quote someone in a dream told me.”

“Like when you’re asleep?”

“No, awake, kinda. I call it the dream. It’s like a meditation my therapist, Dr. Zogg, taught me.”

“Charles Zogg?”

“Yeah, Chuckles.”

“You’re kidding? Reach that blue notebook in the backseat. I have some of his papers there on creative visualization and the chronically insane. His theory was that the chronically insane live in an imaginary world that seems very real to the patient. He said treatment was to help the patient come away from the creative visualization and back to the real world.”

Makaila opened the notebook and read the opening of an article photocopied from a magazine. “This was published?”

“In a trade journal.”

Makaila’s eyes popped. “This big time sucks!” She read: “Nine-year-old Makaila Carleton refused to accept the non reality of the creative visualization and spent most of her time living in that world.” She beat the papers on the dashboard. “No! No! No! He taught me the dream and pushed me into it! These are all lies!” She took a deep breath, smoothed the papers and finished reading. “I’ll kill the bastard. This was all private.”

Betrayed again!

“That’s you? Really?”

“Loosely based on facts! Bastard!”

“Well, anyway, you can’t kill him. He’s already dead.”

“I think I’ll be selectively psychopathic and say: good. Probably murdered by one of his other patients he betrayed.”

“They don’t know who killed him. Random act, they think. Tell me about this dream of yours.”

“Out of curiosity or for professional reasons?”

“Professional. I want to help people.”

Makaila ripped the papers in half. “Or help yourself get published?”

“I’m not Charles Zogg.”

Makaila sat on her leg to face Judy. “I’m in big trouble, and I’m really in a spot. I gotta get my head down and stay out of sight from guys who have eyes everywhere and what seems like unlimited resources. Dualistically, I have a choice. I can trust you or I can kill you. In my mind, this moment, I find killing you easier.” Makaila laughed darkly. “But, I can’t speckle the landscape with bodies, either.”

Judy laughed back, not sure why. She knew Makaila was serious, yet the whole idea was absurd. “In for a penny.” She glanced at her watch. “I’ll make a deal with you. You tell me your whole story and I’ll take you where you’re going. Trust me or kill me: you can make up your mind when we get there.” Judy didn’t believe Makaila would really kill her.

Makaila dug out her map, eyeing it briefly. “Keep going north until we hit 80/90. Bang a right and we’ll be going just over three-hundred miles.” She snuggled back in her seat.

“I gotta catch up to some friends.”

 

50

Josephine couldn’t hold back the fantasy, thinking finding just one of the seven girls would be the key to all the missing girls. She wasn’t sure whether the picture of the girl on the front of the newspaper was Makaila Marie Carleton, but if it wasn’t, she was a dead-ringer. She thought the first plane was small until she caught the connecting flight, a puddle jumper. She was glad to have her feet back on the ground.

She rented one of the two cars available and found her way directly to the small town and the storefront sheriff’s office. As she entered, the sheriff sat with his feet on the desk, leaning back in his chair. A much younger man, sharply dressed, stood in front of the desk.

“It’s a legal writ from a federal judge. I demand you honor it!”

“Why, sure it is. I just have to process the paperwork and that takes time. I need to wait for the call back on why no one’s named. Whoever I’m detaining. What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means the man you have in there!”

“What can I do for you, young lady?” Powers turned to Josephine.

“Josephine McCarthy, Sheriff Powers.”

Powers stood to shake her hand.

“We spoke a couple of days ago on the phone?”

“Of course, Detective. You have to forgive me, we don’t have any pretty detectives around here.” He waved the man back. “Have a seat somewhere, would you?” Back to Josephine: “You’re investigating missing children, right? Wanted to know about the three men in the woods?”

She didn’t have a drink in two days and felt unsteady. Once she saw the picture, she put her bottle aside. She placed the newspaper on the desk and followed with Makaila’s picture. “Makaila Marie Carleton. She went missing the first week of December 1997.”

The younger man disappeared out the door. Powers fell back in his chair, speechless.

“Do you know where she is?”

“Forgive this simple country boy. Could you repeat that?”

“Sure. Makaila Marie Carleton. She’s been missing almost two years.”

He looked back toward the lockup, toward the door and then to Josephine. “You just stepped in some trouble, pretty lady. Are you armed?”

Puzzled, she was honest. “Came in by plane.”

He opened a drawer, produced a .38, made sure the gun was loaded and handed it to her. She checked the load out of habit and tucked the gun in her belt.

“What?”

“To tell you the truth, I don’t really know. We got this guy in lockup with bad identification. He came for Makaila, but she got the drop on him. Now I have a federal writ to let him out.”

“The girl’s not missing?”

“She is now. Took off, disappeared. She’s been here since May.”

“Where was she before that?”

“Says she was locked up. By this guy.” He thumbed toward the back. “I’m dragging my feet as long as I can to give her time to get somewhere, anywhere.”

She twisted her face, puzzled. “Why didn’t you just protect her?”

“This.” He waved a paper. “Is a federal writ. There’s no protection on earth. He’s a spook.”

Josephine smiled grimly. “That’s whom I’ve been looking for. His prints and your computer?”

“Nothing comes back.”

“I have some codes you don’t.”

The sheriff smiled, showing his guest the other room. After thirty minutes, she reported: “It says he doesn’t exist.”

“That’s what I got.”

“That’s not what I mean. I get a denial of his existence.”

The sheriff nodded. “All this for a kid?”

“Let me talk to him. Get your DA down here.”

 

She began with a smile in the interview room. “Care to tell me your name?”

“My name would be meaningless to you.”

“I’ll give you some names then. Makaila Marie Carleton, Jack Percy, Judge James Bosch.” She leaned back in her chair across from Harshaw. “I don’t need your name. I don’t even need to know why. I got you, sucker, and I can make it stick. Kidnapping, false imprisonment, child endangerment. That’s before I get to the federal constitutional issues.”

He turned his head just a little. “You don’t have anything.”

Josephine went for the gun, much too slow. The door flew open, Marks fired twice into her chest, sending her sprawling back and to the floor.

“Took you clowns long enough to figure it out,” Harshaw said as Marks undid the cuffs. “This lady has too much put together. Burn her house.”

They left quickly.

 

 

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