Sanders 01 - Silent Run (23 page)

“I know. I need to embrace the facts you just gave me and try to believe them. Try to make them work for me. I'm someone named Jessica who grew up in foster care after my parents died. And these people, Catherine, Teresa, and Andy, were my friends.” Maybe if she kept saying their names, she'd remember them. “What else?"

“There are some gangs who use tiger tattoos as a sign of their affiliation. Some can be traced back to the Russian Mafia."

“The Mafia?” she echoed. How could she be involved with the Russian Mafia? It seemed unbelievable, and yet there was something about his statement that made her nerves tingle and her chest tighten. She felt a rush of panic as she struggled to breathe. She pressed the button to roll down the window, but her window was locked. “Please, Jake, I need some air."

Jake rolled down her window, watching as she drew in some much-needed gulps. Her pulse steadied, but it was still beating fast.

“Better?” he asked.

“Yes."

“Good. We must be coming close to the truth, because you're getting more scared."

“Yeah, I can't wait to see what happens next,” she said, trying to make light of her terrifying fear. She felt as if she were standing on the edge of a cliff. One false step and she'd plummet to her death.

“What comes next is that we get Caitlyn back,” he said.

She wished she could share his confidence, but she couldn't beat down the feeling that things were going to get worse before they got better. “What do we do now? Go to where I worked?"

“I think we should first talk to the social worker, Eleanor Murphy. Apparently she doesn't live too far from here. Maybe seeing someone from your past, if you are Jessica, will jog something loose."

* * *

Eleanor Murphy lived in a quiet, modest neighborhood of single story ranch-style homes that butted up against a busy LA freeway. An old blue sedan sat in the driveway. The lawn was badly in need of cutting, and three newspapers rested against the front door.

“Doesn't look like anyone's home,” Sarah said, noting the closed blinds.

Jake rang the bell. He waited half a minute, then rang it again.

“Jake, look,” Sarah said, her gaze catching on a broken window at the corner of the house. Shattered glass lay on the ground. A piece of plywood covered where the window had been. Her nerves tightened. Something was wrong. She backed down the stairs, her hand to her mouth, feeling as if she were going to be sick.

“Sarah, what are you doing?"

“Leaving. We need to leave."

“Why?"

Sarah was in such a panic to get away, she stumbled on the cement path. As she stared down at the jagged crack, her mind fled back to the past.

Her pink shoelaces were untied. She wanted to stop and tie them, but someone had hold of her hand and was pulling her toward the driveway.

“It will be all right, Jessica. The next house will be better. You'll see."

“Can't I just stay with you?” she pleaded. She didn't want to get into the car. She didn't want to meet another family. She wanted to go back inside the house, where it was warm and cozy and smelled like chocolate-chip cookies. She wanted to sleep in the big leather armchair with Mrs. Murphy's cat, Whiskers, on her lap. “I'll be good,” she said. “I promise. I won't be any trouble. You won't even know I'm there. I can be really quiet."

Mrs. Murphy stopped and squatted down next to her. She had the warmest brown eyes Jessica had ever seen.

And crinkly lines around her eyes and her mouth, especially when she smiled. But she wasn't smiling now. She looked sad, too.

“I'm sorry, honey, but it's against the rules for me to keep you. It's my job to find you a good home. The Garrisons are a wonderful family, and they have a few other foster children. You'll have brothers and sisters and a mother and a father. That's more than I could give you, sweetie. It won't be like the last place.” She stroked Jessica's hair. “I wish I could keep you. But I will always, always be here if you ever have a problem. You have my phone number, and you know my address, right?"

Jessica slowly nodded, her eyes filling with tears. She wasn't supposed to cry, but she couldn't help it. “I'm scared."

“Trust me."

“Sarah.” Jake took hold of her arm and gave her a little shake.

She stared up at him, still lost in the past. “I'm her,” she said.

“Who?"

“Jessica.”

“I was here when I was a little girl. My name was Jessica then.” Sarah swallowed hard at the realization. She waited for her memories to come flooding back now that she knew her name, her past, but where was the rest? “That's all I know,” she said in amazement. “Why don't I remember everything?"

Jake's eyes filled with disappointment and frustration, and he bit down on his bottom lip, probably to stop himself from swearing at her. She didn't blame him for his anger. She wanted her memory back now.

“Okay. You said you were here. Why?” he asked.

“I stayed here in between foster homes. Mrs. Murphy was taking me to another house, and I didn't want to go, but she said I'd be safe and that if I ever had a problem I could come to her. I felt like I cared a lot about her."

“Maybe you did come to her. Maybe you came here when you ran away from me."

“Do you think so? My memory was from so long ago. I was a child."

Jake looked back the house. “We need to get inside."

“We can't break into her house."

“Someone did,” he said, tipping his head toward the broken window.

“It was probably just a baseball or something."

“Maybe there's a back door. Or a hiding place for a key.” He put his hands on his hips as he stepped back and surveyed the porch.

Her heart skipped a beat. “What did you say?"

“A hiding place for a key,” he repeated.

She swallowed hard, something tugging at her memory. “Third flowerpot on the right,” she said.

Jake moved down the steps and glanced at the flowerpots lined up along the front path.

“In the dirt,” she said, “not underneath the pot."

He dug his hands into the dirt and pulled out a key. “Good job, Sarah."

“I don't know how I knew that."

“Doesn't matter. We're going in."

“It still feels wrong. This is someone else's home, and maybe someone I haven't seen since I was a child."

“She told you where you could always find a key. I don't think she'll get angry if you're here."

Jake slid the key into the lock and opened the door. Sarah felt another wave of fear wash over her. Was her uneasiness coming from the past or the sense that something was wrong with this little house and the broken window?

She stepped into the living room and paused, staring around at the comfortable furnishings. There was a big brown leather chair in the corner with a rumpled afghan on the seat, just like the chair in her memory. She wandered over to the fireplace mantel. There were dozens of photographs, all children. Her gaze caught on one in particular, three girls, one blonde, one redhead, one brunette. They were sitting on a merry-go-round at a park. Across the bottom of the photo were scrawled two words:
My girls
.

Her heart stopped and she picked up the photo and pressed it to her heart. She knew those girls -- what were their names? “Catherine and Teresa,” she said, looking at the picture again. “And that's me in the middle."

Jake moved across the room to join her. He took the photo from her hand. “You must be about eleven or twelve. What else do you know?"

His eyes were encouraging, supportive, but her memory was seeping in slowly, uncertainly. “We lived together at the Garrisons'. Catherine was the oldest. She took care of me. She's the redhead. Teresa was a tomboy. We were all really different, but we had one thing in common: We were alone in the world, except for one another.” She let out a sigh. “Mrs. Murphy was kind, caring. She tried really hard to make things right."

Sarah stopped talking to gaze around the room. “I wonder where she is. Something is wrong.” She shook her head as new details in the room jumped out at her: the coffee mug with the red lipstick stain on the table in front of the couch, the half-eaten bagel on the plate next to it. “Mrs. Murphy never left food out."

She picked up the plate and mug and headed toward the kitchen, following her instincts. But as she pushed open the kitchen door, she stopped dead in her tracks. On the floor was a large dark red stain that looked like... The mug fell from her hand. “Oh, my God!”

Jake pushed past her. He knelt down next to the stain, then stared up at her. “It's blood."

She put a hand to her chest in horror. “Something happened to Mrs. Murphy."

“Do you know that, Sarah, or are you guessing?"

“I... I'm not sure."

Jake got up and walked over to the counter. “Goddammit!” He held up a small bib with the word Angel written across the front. “This is Caitlyn's."

Images snapped through her mind like the photos from a camera.

She saw herself handing a bottle to Caitlyn. Mrs. Murphy was stirring something at the stove. She wanted to stay, but she knew she couldn't bring danger to the woman who had been like a mother to her. She was going to get herself an apartment, a place to stay.

“You were here,” Jake said. “Caitlyn was here in this house. When?” His eyes were wild as he came back to her. Is this where you brought Caitlyn on Wednesday? Is this where you ran? Is that Caitlyn's...” He choked on his words as he stared back down at the dark red stain on the tile floor.

“No, Jake, that's not Caitlyn's blood,” Sarah said. “It can't be."

“But you don't know, do you?” He thrust the bib under her nose. “Take it. Smell it. Try to remember."

She took the bib from his hand, her fingers curling around the material.

She tied the bib around Caitlyn's neck. Caitlyn was throwing Cheerios on the floor -- the floor, the otherwise clean floor.

“The blood wasn't there when I was here. I know it wasn't.” She froze as a third voice suddenly came from behind her.

“You remembered,” Amanda said.

“What are you doing here?” Sarah whirled around in surprise.

Amanda had on a navy blue Nike sweat suit and tennis shoes. A large ring of keys hung from one hand. “I went home and found the apartment building on fire. The firemen told me it looked like arson, and you were nowhere to be found. I thought you might come here once you got your memory back."

“It's not all the way back,” Sarah said. “Jake's brother tracked my past to foster care and Mrs. Murphy. So I came here to find out if she knew who I was."

“So you still don't remember?"

“Just bits and pieces of being here when I was a child."

“Where is she?' Jake asked Amanda. “Where's Mrs. Murphy?"

“In the hospital. Someone broke into her house on Monday night. She's been in a coma ever since."

Sarah stared at Amanda, realizing her neighbor had not been honest with them earlier. “You lied to me before. You said we'd met when I moved into the building, and you didn't know anything about me, but if that's the case, how do you know Mrs. Murphy?"

Amanda hesitated, an odd light flickering in her eyes. “That wasn't a lie. We did meet when you moved into the building, but Mrs. Murphy knew about the apartment because of me. I was one of her foster kids, too. She told me that you needed a place to stay and someone to be a friend. She introduced you as Samantha Blake, although I guess that wasn't your real name."

“Why didn't you tell me this before?” Sarah demanded. “My daughter is missing, and you withheld information -- why?"

“Because of your amnesia, and because of him,” Amanda said, nodding in Jake's direction. “I don't trust him, and I don't think you should either."

“Where is my daughter?” Jake asked, steely determination in his voice. “You know, don't you?"

“You have to tell us,” Sarah added quickly. “Caitlyn is in danger."

“You said you had to hide Katie away. That's all you told me."

“Where is Mrs. Murphy?” Jake interrupted.

“St. Francis Hospital -- it's a few miles from here, on Russell Street off the Coast Highway. She was beaten up pretty bad, and the doctors don't know if she'll recover."

“Why would someone do that to such a sweet woman?” Sarah asked.

“The cops don't know -- maybe a robbery. This area has been going downhill. Lots of drugs. Someone might have thought they could get some quick cash out of Mrs. Murphy."

Sarah's heart went out to the gentle woman in her memory, but she didn't believe for a second that this was a random robbery. “This had to do with me,” she muttered. “The timing is too coincidental. Mrs. Murphy knew where I was. Maybe that's how the guy in the elevator found me. Are you sure you've told me everything?” Sarah asked Amanda. “We called your work earlier and they said you didn't have any classes today."

“It was at a different gym from where I usually work,” Amanda said. “Teaching aerobics isn't exactly a full-time job; I pick up classes all over the place. I was later getting back than I thought I would be.” She paused. “I still can't believe someone set fire to the building. Everything I owned is gone. I have nothing but the clothes I had in my car and at the gym."

“I'm so sorry,” Sarah said. “I'm sure the fire was set to get me out of the building."

“You must be in a hell of a lot of trouble,” Amanda said. “But at least you escaped. Everything else can be replaced. I'm used to starting over. I can do it again. Where are you going now? Can I help?"

Sarah glanced at Jake. His gaze was fixed on Amanda, suspicion in his eyes. He didn't believe her. Why not?

“We're not sure,” Jake said, answering for her. “What about you?"