Chapter 7 #3
“Well, the Puritans wanted something different from the Church of England because they thought the ceremonies and other bits of practice were too similar to Catholicism. They wanted a religion that, in their minds, came straight from the Bible. Then many fled England for New England to keep from being persecuted because they were under fire from the Church and the Crown. Then they turn around and accuse people of witchcraft in their new colony?”
He turned and shrugged before grinning. “A group moved to Holland first in 1608, and then to Plymouth in 1620. The Puritans didn’t think of themselves as ‘separatists.’ But they were incredibly intolerant.”
“And they met up with the Native Americans,” Skye murmured.
“Well, the world is still wretchedly intolerant,” he reminded her. “But that’s why our Founding Fathers were so insistent on freedom of religion being in the Constitution. And to this day, many people are intolerant of others.”
“But they aren’t hanging them as witches,” Skye argued.
“Ah, but that’s because it’s not accepted in society—or under the law. We like to think we’ve made some progress in human relations!”
“Okay, good point. We’ve got a way to go on that, though. And we’re here.”
“We are,” Zach said.
Zach parked and grimaced at her as he stepped out of the car. They headed on in and he said, “I’m going to sit—”
“Wherever is best for you—I can close myself up in the bedroom if you need to be alone—”
“No, if you don’t mind, stay with me in the parlor. Oh, I may brew a cup of coffee first.”
“I’ll get the coffee going,” Skye volunteered.
He nodded to her, reaching in his jacket pocket to pull out Patricia’s brush.
He sat with it while she started making the coffee.
But he was watching her while he held the brush. Skye wasn’t sure how that helped him feel or see anything through the brush, but …
“You drink it—” she began.
“Black. Too many places we wind up have milk or cream that’s soured.”
“True. And sugar—”
“You know the saying. I’m too sweet already.”
“I might argue with that saying!” Skye teased.
That time, he didn’t answer her.
The second the coffee was brewed, she poured two cups and came out to join him, taking one of the armchairs that sat by the sofa, and setting the cups on the little table between them. He didn’t look at her. With his free hand, he reached for his coffee cup and took a long sip.
She didn’t speak; he was staring at the brush, thoughtful.
“Patricia is alive. She isn’t hurt, but she is scared. She’s by Jeremy; she’s terrified herself, but she’s doing her best to reassure Jeremy and …”
“And?” Skye prompted softly.
“She’s telling him just to do what the witches were telling them to do; to pretend to listen to everything that’s being said.”
“What’s being said?”
“I don’t know, because they aren’t being spoken to now. They’ve been sent to bed.”
“Where are they going to bed?”
“I can’t tell; it’s dark. It looks as if there are … mattresses on a floor.”
“But there is a floor.”
He nodded. “I think it’s inside. But there’s barely any light. There are others in the room.”
“Jane Howell and Sophie?”
He nodded. Then he suddenly set the brush down and looked at her.
“Jane and Sophie—and at least two other people.”
Almost as if on cue, their phones rang. It was Lieutenant Gavin Bruns.
“I’ll get it and we’ll go speaker,” Zach said, answering the call and telling Bruns that they were together and both listening.
“We found something,” Bruns told them.
“Something that could lead us—” Zach began.
“No, I’m afraid not. But we’ve been doing the search of local areas. Two young teens disappeared from a dance in Saugus. That’s about eleven or twelve miles—”
“Yeah, we both know the area,” Zach said. “Detective—”
“Gavin, guys, just call me Gavin, please. This may prove to be a long journey we’re on.”
“Okay, Gavin. Specifics, please!”
“Allie Mason, seventeen, and Beau Carter, just turned eighteen, disappeared from a school dance two weeks ago.”
“And this is the first we’re hearing about it?” Zach demanded incredulously.
“Red flags didn’t go off anywhere. The two teens had talked about eloping; and while their parents were furious, they were angry with the kids, not with law enforcement.
They think that once they’ve gotten to a place where they can hide out, they’re waiting for the next three weeks for Allie to reach her eighteenth birthday so that they can be legally married without parental consent.
They’ve had trouble with the pair, which is a pity.
Nothing horrendous, no alcohol or drug dependency, but a lot of rebelliousness.
It’s an ugly situation, of course. Mr. and Mrs. Mason are blaming Beau, and Mr. and Mrs. Carter are blaming Allie.
Now, of course, we can’t assume that these disappearances have anything to do with what’s going on here; the two missing teens are older than the children who have been taken.
Now, yes, Patricia was older, and Jane Howell is older still, but they were taken with little children. But I figured—”
“You figured right,” Zach told him. “We’re going to want to see where the dance was and speak with the parents, of course.”
“And we’d also like to speak with the Bolton couple. We haven’t done that yet, and while I know your detectives spoke with them …” Skye said, pausing briefly to glance at Zach. “I think it’s important we have communication with everyone involved.”
“Yeah, I should have set that up with you before,” Gavin said.
“All right—you know what? Screw desk duty. I have a phone. I’d like to take this one with you, if that doesn’t …
um, mess up your chemistry. I’ll swing by in the morning at about nine, take you to see Mr. and Mrs. Bolton, and then we can head down to Saugus. If that’s all right.”
The two Feds might be better off alone, but they needed Bruns in the long run. He was the one smoothing the way for them when they needed something.
Zach gave her a barely perceptible nod.
“Of course,” Skye said.
“Oh!” Gavin stopped them before they could end the call. “What about Professor Stanley? Did he give you anything? Did you find him suspicious in any way?”
“Just to the contrary. He was credible in all that he said, just a man passionate about Salem and his state and teaching,” Zach answered.
“But he has promised to go through his records and notes and see if he can find anyone who might have gotten off the path of the law and started off on some ridiculous blend of history and fiction.”
“Well, good, maybe he’ll come up with someone or something. Okay, I’ll see you in the morning. I’m punctual. I’ll be there at nine.”
The line went dead as Gavin Bruns ended the call.
“Strange. Did the couple run away?” Skye wondered aloud.
“It would be a changeup from what’s going on. But …”
“You said there were more people in the dark room with Patricia and Jeremy.”
Zach nodded. “Okay, well, I’ve been theorizing that it’s a brainwashing thing.
I mean, Salem, where the major witchcraft trials in the United States took place, and then making a witch combo by dressing up.
Maybe someone out there is trying to make a point?
Prove that you can get people to believe anything by working with children or those who are vulnerable?
If so, I’m not sure two rebellious teenagers fit the bill. Then again …”
“It’s going to be important to see where they were last. And,” Skye said, “we need to get our hands on objects that each of them owned.”
He nodded. “It may be easy to see if they are just off somewhere—or if they are part of what’s going on. But …” Zach hesitated and went still, Patricia’s brush in both of his hands. Skye stayed silent, watching him, waiting.
Zach looked at her at last, then closed his eyes and shook his head before he looked at her again.
“Patricia is just staring up into the darkness,” he said.
“I can see what she’s seeing, darkness. I’m going to need to do this in the daylight to see what she sees.
She’s lying down by Jeremy—her little pallet, cot, or whatever, is right next to his.
She’s afraid, and she’s confused, and she’s still telling herself to pretend to believe it all; it’s the only way she can make sure she keeps Jeremy safe.
And she’s worried! There’s someone there she’s worried about, another young girl, someone who keeps protesting everything that’s going on …
It’s as if she believes their only way to survive is to behave exactly as they’re told, to listen to every word that’s being said … ”
He broke off for a minute and looked at her before he spoke again.
“Patricia is very afraid someone else is going to die.”
Skye looked at him, feeling as if something strange swept through her. She moved over to where he sat, taking a position next to him and putting her hands over his as he held the brush.
He looked at her and smiled. “I’m okay. I’m frustrated and I want to find Patricia, Jane, the kids—and whoever else has been swept up into this.”
“We will find them. But you and I both know, we must find the clues, the leads, and track them down,” Skye said.
“Yeah, I know,” Zach said. He twisted to look at her and smiled. His eyes were really something; he could appear tall and indomitable, and then give her that smile …
“Okay,” she murmured. “Okay.” She forced a huge smile herself.
She didn’t want to leap away from him, despite the fact she was realizing that she was an idiot for having come so close both physically—and mentally.
Or through empathy, or … whatever it was that she was coming to feel. Friendship. That was it. Friendship.
But she felt as if there was electricity leaping through her … from touching him.
“Good, right! Okay, we’ll get on it. That’s what we need to do, and it’s what we will do,” Skye said, speaking to fill the air between them.
“Well, tomorrow we will start early!” he observed succinctly.
Skye nodded and then left. She didn’t want to feel that she fled—but maybe at that moment, she did do so. What she was feeling was crazy!
But as she showered and got ready for bed, ridiculous thoughts kept sweeping through her head.
High-stress jobs. Hey, they could use stress relievers, like …
Sex?
Oh, that was pushing it! And she really needed to get a grip on herself. Of course, she’d considered him attractive and impressive when they’d met. Handsome, striking, maybe. But now …
She considered him to be too handsome, too attractive, too …
Seductive.
She groaned aloud and grabbed her towel, glancing toward the door to her room. She imagined him bursting in, taking her into his arms, letting her feel that poor fire again.
The door didn’t burst open.
Of course not. They were professional law enforcement agents working on a case, even if they were slightly … different.
He would never do such a thing.
She finished drying off and donned her comfy flannel nightgown and crawled into bed. She lay awake.
She groaned.
Had she been waiting? Hoping?
With a groan, she smashed her head into her pillow. She needed to sleep.