Текст книги "Water Walker"

Автор книги: Ted Dekker

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3

Day Two 5:43 am

Special Agent Olivia Strauss’s mind clawed its way out of her haunting nightmare at the sound of buzzing on her nightstand. Cell phone . . .

Michelle?

Eyes blinking against the patchwork of shadows that blanketed her studio apartment, she lay still, shirt soaked through with sweat. No, it wasn’t Michelle. Her daughter was dead. Had been for many years.

She leaned over, picked up her phone and stared at the familiar name on its bright screen. Todd Benner. She thumbed the Talk button and brought it to her ear.

“Tell me you have a good reason for calling at this hour,” she said.

“Sorry to drag you out of bed.”

“I was up anyway. What’ve you got?”

“Abduction case was just called in. They’ve asked for the Bureau’s consult.”

“Who? Where?”

“Hour away, Greenville. A thirteen-year-old girl was taken from her foster home.”

Silence.

“Liv?”

“What’s her name?”

“Alice. Alice Ringwald.”

She could feel the sudden surge of her pulse. Her own daughter would be thirteen if she were still alive.

“Liv?”

“I’m still here.” Her mind shifted. She was already on her feet and halfway across the room, snatching a robe from the back of a chair. “When did it happen?”

“Between seven and eight o’clock last night. I’m still waiting on the full report so details are sketchy. The abductor, a single middle-aged male, fled the scene in a truck with Tennessee plates.”

She glanced at the clock. “He’s got ten hours on us . . . they could be halfway across the country by now.”

“Which is why we’re being called in.”

“Any of our people on scene yet?”

“Forensics will be there at seven. I told them we’d be close on their heels.”

“What else do we know?”

“The local detective talked with the mother. He’ll be on scene when we arrive.”

“She was there?”

“She’s the only witness.” A beat. “Liv?”

“Yeah,” she said, swapping the phone from one hand to the other.

“Listen, if you’re not up for this . . . I know this week is tough for you every year.”

“Come on, Todd. You know me better than anyone else.”

“Which is why I’m saying it.”

“It’s also what makes me one of the best.”

“I’m just concerned about you. That’s all.”

“Just get what you can from Murphy. We’ll brief on the way. I’m headed out the door in twenty. I’ll swing by and pick you up.”

Olivia ended the call and sat in silence. Glanced at a framed picture of her daughter that hung on the wall.

It’s what makes me one of the best.

It was the truth. Her passion bordered on personal obsession. If her superiors knew how close she stood to the brink they might rethink her assignment.

Seven years had passed and the wound was still raw. It had been a perfect afternoon. Her husband, Derek, was away on a business trip so she’d taken off work for a girls’ day out, just like the old days when Michelle had been younger—pancakes at Dominy’s, then to the zoo, then a Disney movie marathon at the local dollar theater.

At six o’clock that night Michelle had fallen asleep on the couch while Olivia set about whipping up a batch of her daughter’s favorite: peanut butter cookies. But a quick look in the fridge revealed that they were out of milk to go with the cookies.

Milk. Just a quick trip to the store down the street to buy a quart of milk. Five minutes tops. Problem was, she’d been in such a rush to get there, get the milk, and get back that she’d forgotten to lock the door on her way out.

When she returned, the door was ajar and Michelle was gone.

After three days of frantic searching, the detective delivered the news she’d dreaded. A utility worker had stumbled across Michelle’s dead body in a field three miles from their house.

The life Olivia had known ended that day. Her daughter was forever gone and within six months, so was everything else. Sleep was the first to go. Then her job. Then her friends. Then her husband, who might have coped with his own loss if not for her unrelenting depression.

Why? Because of her. Because she, and no one else, had left the door open.

Three years later, she’d found a new home with the FBI. Michelle’s case had gone cold and remained so to this day, but there were a thousand Michelles out there, and Olivia made every one of them her own.

Olivia snatched the bottle of Xanax that perched on the nightstand, emptied one into her hand, and grabbed the half-filled water bottle on her nightstand to wash it down.

The clock was ticking.

Forensics was already processing the house when Olivia arrived at the Clarks’ residence. They’d been briefed by the local supervisory detective, Randy Smith, on the drive. A dozen protocols were already in full motion, teams of people already engaged in the search—dispatchers, patrol officers responding to the Amber Alert, detectives, CSI, citizens now being informed of the abduction on the news. Evidence was being compiled, a case would be quickly built based on that evidence, searches would be made. What could be done was being done by caring, very capable investigators.

But for Olivia, only one question really mattered now: Why?

“I want to talk to them alone,” she said, staring at the front door, now open. Benner knew both her penchant for connecting emotionally to a case, and her preferences for how to do so.

“I’ll join you in a bit. Smith is with the witness who saw the vehicle.”

She nodded, watched him depart, and stared up at the house. They were all the same, really. Every crime scene would offer up its evidence: the where, the when, the what, the process, the means. But it was the why that kept Olivia awake at nights.

Why do you take children?

Why did you choose her?

Why did you take her?

Her mind skipped tracks.

Why did I leave the door open?

Why did you kill my daughter?

Alice wasn’t Michelle and there was no evidence that she’d been killed, but Alice was a Michelle and if they didn’t find her in time . . .

Why? To understand that single question, Olivia had to connect with Alice’s parents and to her environment.

She took a deep breath and walked up the sidewalk, through the front door, and into the home from which Alice had been taken.

A middle-aged couple stood in the middle of the dining room, watching two technicians combing for fibers. Neither looked like they’d slept.

She approached them and extended her hand to the mother.

“John and Louise Clark?”

Louise took her hand.

“My name’s Olivia Strauss. I’m the special agent in charge of the FBI’s investigation.” She offered Louise a smile as she looked into her swollen eyes. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I’m so sorry you’re going through this. I know it’s hard.”

“Thank you.” A fresh tear slid down the mother’s face.

Olivia took a tissue from her pocket. Offered it to Louise. “Do you mind if I ask you some questions?”

John cleared his throat. “We’ve been asked a lot of questions. Truthfully, we could use some answers.”

“I understand. You can be assured that we’re doing everything we can. A whole set of procedures were set in motion last night.”

“What procedures?”

“Local authorities sealed off the immediate area and issued a statewide Amber Alert within an hour of the abduction. That turned a lot of eyes—local and state police, as well as the public—our way. The National Center for Missing and Exploited Children was immediately notified and Alice’s information was entered into the National Crime Information Center’s database. A leads management system is in place—every tip will be followed up. The team has already processed more than two dozen. It may not look like it, but the search for Alice is in full swing out there.”

Louise softened. “They asked for some of her clothes.”

“For the scent. The local K-9 unit established an active search grid of a half-mile in every direction and detectives started working door-to-door last night, talking with anyone who might’ve seen anything out of place. They’ll pick it up again this morning. We’ve also cross-checked criminal and sex-offender databases to determine if any might be principal suspects or possible participants in the crime.”

“They said our neighbor reported the truck,” John said.

“Yes and she got the plate number too. We already know that the truck was reported stolen several weeks ago in Nashville. We’ll find it.”

They stared at her, no less concerned, but at least she’d given them something to hold on to.

“We’re going to do everything we can to find Alice, I promise you. This isn’t just my job. It’s my life.”

“Thank you,” John said.

She gave him a nod and turned to Louise. “I understand you were here when he took her.”

“Yes.”

“I know you’ve already told the detective everything you remember, but I need to hear it from you. Walk me through it. Beginning with the first encounter at the front door.”

“Alice answered the door first.”

“Show me where you were standing when you first saw him.”

Louise walked to a spot about eight feet from the front door and stopped. “Here.”

Olivia sized up the door from Louise’s vantage point. “The report said the man was wearing gloves when he entered the house. What about when he first came to the door? Did you notice whether or not he wore gloves?”

Louise thought a moment then shook her head. “No, I don’t think he was. I would’ve remembered.”

“You’re certain?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

No gloves the first time. Why?

Because he didn’t expect to have to use force.

Olivia caught the attention of a CSI tech in a blue windbreaker. “We need to double check the work-up for this area, especially the doorbell—prints, fibers, skin. The abductor had exposed hands.”

“Will do.”

Back to Louise: “What happened next?”

Louise led her through the house, starting at the living room and ending at the closet. She recounted in detail the terror she and Alice had experienced. The man. The way he forced her to the ground. Everything she could remember.

Olivia stood at the foot of the stairs, mind churning. Why come into the house? Why not wait for a better opportunity, when Alice was away from the house? Why risk a home invasion in daylight, and while the mother was home?

He was desperate. Inexperienced. He hadn’t come for a girl; he’d come specifically for Alice.

“Can you show me her room?”

Louise led her upstairs. Four doors flanked the short hallway. To the right, a hall bathroom and the entry to the master bedroom. To the left, two other bedrooms.

Olivia angled into the bathroom. “This is the bathroom Alice used?”

“Yes. John and I have our own.”

She scanned the countertop. A pair of hairbrushes sat on top of a neatly folded hand towel. A pump bottle of Burt’s Bees hand soap. A red toothbrush next to a half-used tube of toothpaste.

Alice’s, but in Olivia’s mind they were as much Michelle’s.

She turned to Louise. “Can you show me her room?”

The woman led her directly across the hall and nudged the door open. To her right, rays of sunshine highlighted yellow-painted walls the color of daffodils. A full size bed with a lavender comforter sat against the far wall, and a small desk nestled beneath the window was stacked with books. Several framed pictures, black-and-white landscapes of the desert, were laid out on the bed.

Olivia stepped deeper into the room. Picked up one of the pictures.

“She was going to hang those up last night,” Louise said. “She picked them out herself. She was beginning to feel like this was her home too.”

“Tell me about Alice. What is she like?”

“Quiet. Curious. She’s unusual for her age, we saw that the first week she was with us.”

“How so?”

“John and I have raised two so we’re used to the turmoil that comes with this age.” Her face lightened. “But Alice is different. She’s more like an adult trapped in a young person’s body. Unusually quick-minded, but naïve to the ways of the world. She trusts too much. That scares me the most. When the man broke in, she just sat there on the couch. She did what he told her. She didn’t say a thing.”

“And the man? How did he react to her?”

“That’s the thing. He seemed apologetic. Scared even. It was so strange. He forced me down only because I tried to run. I know it sounds crazy, but when he said he wouldn’t hurt us, I believed him.”

“Did he say anything else? Anything unusual that sticks out?”

Louise thought for a moment then shook her head. “Not that I can think of.”

“The detective who interviewed you last night wrote in his report that Alice suffered from amnesia. That she couldn’t remember anything beyond six months ago. There’s nothing in the file that explains why.”

“They say her amnesia probably came from trauma she suffered at some point. Her brain’s way of protecting her, like post-traumatic stress disorder.”

“What do you know about her parents?”

“Nothing. They said the documents are confidential. Do you think someone from her past took her?”

Yes.

Everything pointed to an abductor who valued Alice for who she was and his connection to her. It was why he’d come to the front door first. Why he hadn’t worn gloves when he’d come. Why he’d been apologetic. Why he hadn’t harmed either of them. It was always in the whys.

But she didn’t say yes. Not yet.

“Half of all children who’re abducted are taken by family members. It’s a possibility that we can’t rule out.”

Louise blinked. “Actually, now that you say that, there was something else. He said Alice was a special girl. He made a point of saying it.”

“Special?”

“Yes. No . . . Very special. He said she was very special.” She paused. “What do you think he meant?”

Olivia’s thoughts spun back to Michelle’s abduction. A monster that could not fathom the meaning of special had crushed their lives.

Five minutes. That was the time difference between saving Michelle and allowing her to be taken. Time. In Alice’s case, it wasn’t the time it took to get a quart of milk; it was the time she’d lived prior to her amnesia.

“It means we have hope,” she said, reaching for her phone. “It means he values her. It means we may have more time. It means the key to her abductor probably lies in her past.”

“A past she doesn’t remember.”

“But someone else does. Whoever that is, I have to find them.”

She dialed the field office on her cell phone and got her lead analyst. “Get me Alice Ringwald’s adoption files. I want everything, as far back as you can go. And find out who’s running the orphanage that handled her adoption. I want them on the phone ASAP.”

4

Day Two 10:23 am

I DON’T KNOW how long it had taken us to reach the cabin in the woods—maybe two hours after we left the city—but it felt much longer because all I could think was that at any second the police were going to pull up with flashing red-and-blue lights behind the truck and take me back. Each minute it didn’t happen felt like an hour; every mile farther felt like the distance between the earth and the moon.

Back in the house I’d been in too much shock to fully realize what was happening, but the moment we pulled onto the highway with me sitting in the cab, gray duct tape over my mouth, I realized that everything I knew might be changed forever. I really was being taken. Stolen. Driven away into the darkness without a clue about what would happen to me.

I might end up a slave. I might end up dead. I didn’t think the man would kill me—my thoughts were more about suddenly feeling totally lost. For six months I had carefully constructed my world from nothing, and now that nothing seemed to be coming back to me.

There on the highway I began to cry silently.

The man had been focused on getting away as quickly as possible and the sight of tears on my cheeks so surprised him that he swerved. He reached over and took the tape off my mouth, apologizing profusely: “I’m so sorry. Are you okay? I promise I’ll take the tape off your hands as soon as I can pull over, but I have to get to a safer place. Please don’t cry . . . It’s going to be okay. You’ll see . . . you’ll see . . . .Please don’t cry, sweetheart.”

He told me that his name was Wyatt; that he was my father; that everything was going to be okay. That my mother’s name was Kathryn and that she was going to be out of her mind with excitement when she heard that he’d rescued me.

But I kept crying.

Worried, he pulled out his cell phone and called her. On one hand, I could hear the enthusiasm in his voice when he told her he’d rescued me, but his face went flat when he told her that I was crying. He listened intently for a while.

“I will, sugar. I promise.” He listened again. “You’re right . . . It would be too much. I will, sugar. I promise.”

They spoke a little while longer and then he hung up. He glanced at me with sad eyes.

“Kathryn said just to let you feel whatever you need to feel. It’s going to be okay. This is a big shock to your system and you’re going to be confused for a little while. To let you sleep and tell you more when you wake up. You just need to know that she loves you very much. You’re going to be so much happier now. You’ll see, sweetheart . . . you’ll see.”

“Why are you doing this?” I asked. I think those were my first words to him.

“Because you’re our daughter. You deserve to belong to your own family. It’s the way it should be. I can’t tell you everything right now; Kathryn said you should go ahead and cry if you want to. It’s okay. I promise.”

By the time we left the highway maybe an hour later, my mind was numb and my tears had stopped. We followed a few paved roads then turned onto a dirt road that wound up into the hills to an old cabin hidden in tall trees. It was dark so I couldn’t see much as he led me into the house and to a bedroom at the back.

He lit a small oil lamp and brought me some pickles, a glass of milk, and two Snickers bars with a plate of crackers. The small bed had been neatly made and the room looked tidy. A brown teddy bear sat on the white pillow, smiling at me with one white eye.

We’d hardly spoken during the ride—him because Kathryn had told him to leave me alone, I suspected; me because I felt too lost to voice any of my thoughts. Every time I thought of a question or wanted to say how I felt, I would realize that it was pointless. But when I sat down on the bed, I looked up at him and told him that I was afraid.

He stood at the end of the bed, looking at me awkwardly, at a loss for words. So I told him I wanted to go back home.

“I am taking you home, Eden,” he said. He meant his home, where he thought I belonged. “I know you’re afraid. And I’m sorry. But please don’t be. I’m going to be right outside on the couch. There’s bears in the woods up here, so don’t go outside. No one can hurt you here, I promise.” He looked around uncomfortably. “Okay, get some rest, okay? Okay . . . I’ll be right outside if you need anything. It’s going to be okay, I promise.”

My first thought was that he was telling me about the bears because he didn’t want me to run away. But after he left, it occurred to me that he could just as easily, and probably had, locked all the doors and windows to keep me in, so he probably was serious about the bears, for my own safety.

I only had to leave the room once—to use the bathroom, which he quickly showed me to. Then I returned to the room, ate one of the Snickers bars, drank some of the milk, lay down, and stared at the ceiling. It took me a long time, but I finally fell into a numb sleep.

It was late morning when I awoke and my first thought was that I’d had a terrible nightmare. That Louise was downstairs setting the table with eggs and bacon, because I could smell it. But it only took a few seconds for the events from the night before to come crashing into my mind.

I was in a cabin. In the woods. With a man named Wyatt who’d kidnapped me. I was still alive. He hadn’t threatened or hurt me. He claimed to be my father and was taking me to my mother.

It took me a few minutes to work up the courage to get out of bed and open the door, and when I did, I had a direct line of sight down a small hall into the kitchen. He was there, leaning over a skillet, dressed in the same clothes from last night, humming softly to himself.

My fear eased a little as I watched him, thinking that he didn’t look like a man who’d committed a terrible crime. I glanced to my right and saw that the hall ended at the bathroom I’d used last night. The window in there was too small to climb out, I remembered that.

But it was day now—what if I could climb out the bedroom window? Once outside, I could sneak to the road and make a run for it. Maybe find someone who could help me. Hide in the forest if Wyatt came after me.

I slowly backed into the room and closed the door, then rushed to the window, grabbed the two handles at the bottom, and yanked up.

It didn’t budge. I immediately saw why. The edges were painted shut. Staring beyond the smudged glass, I saw that rusted nails pinned the window to the frame. And there would be no way to break out through the glass because metal bars blocked the way, maybe to keep bears out.

Or maybe to keep me in.

No, the bars looked too old. The cabin had been sealed shut a long time ago to keep robbers or animals from entering while it was vacant. The only way out was probably through the front door.

A knock startled me and I spun around.

“Eden?”

“Yes?” I slid back onto the bed.

The door opened and Wyatt stood there, smiling awkwardly. “You’re up. Did you sleep well?”

I blinked at him, wondering if he could tell by the guilty look on my face that I’d just tried to climb out the window.

“Yes.”

“That’s good. Are you hungry? I made up some eggs and bacon. You like eggs?”

It felt strange, him asking me the kinds of questions someone would ask if nothing at all was out of place.

“Yes.”

“I thought you would. Want to come eat?”

I was too nervous to be hungry, but I saw no choice but to follow him into the main room. An old brown sofa and two wooden chairs sat around a large crate in front of a fireplace on the left; the kitchen and a small table stood on the right.

“Go on, sit at the table.”

I crossed to it, carefully pulled out one of the chairs, and sat with my hands in my lap.

He set in front of me a green metal plate loaded with more scrambled eggs than I could eat. Five strips of bacon. Then he carefully laid an aluminum fork to the right of the plate and finished the setting off with a glass of milk. His hands were thick and his nails could have used a cleaning, but he moved with care, as if he was performing a very special task for a queen.

He beamed at me, proud of his accomplishment. Maybe fixing breakfast wasn’t so common for him.

Wyatt sat across from me and put his hands on the table, palms down. “Go ahead and eat. I’ve already had mine.”

I stared down at the large helping. “I don’t think I can eat all of this.”

He smiled. “I guess I did overdo it a bit. You eat as little or as much as you want. It’s okay, we’re only gonna be here three days and I have plenty to last us that long.”

“Three days?” I looked around, unnerved by the idea of spending so much time away from John and Louise. But it could be much longer than that.

He looked at me sympathetically, then nodded. “I’m sure you have lots of questions. You have no idea how much trouble we went to, tracking you down and rescuing you. We’ve been looking for years. It was Zeke who finally found you—contact of his came across your name a couple months ago. Alice Ringwald. But that’s not the name your mother gave you. She named you Eden, because you’re the place of perfect new beginnings,” he patted his chest, “in here, where it counts.”

I didn’t know how much to believe, but not knowing my own past, I had no reason not to believe anything he said either. Which only meant that I didn’t know what to think.

“Go ahead, sweetheart—you can ask me anything you want.”

“Anything?”

“Anything. I’ll tell you everything.”

________________________

WHILE ALICE searched her mind for the right questions to ask the man who’d taken her, Special Agent Olivia Strauss sat at her desk in Columbia’s FBI station, reading through the thin adoption file yet again.

Far too thin. Why were the details regarding Alice’s past so scarce? Still no call from the orphanage she’d left to join the Clarks. Evidence was being gathered, processed, and quickly compiled, but the whys and motivations behind abductions were the real case breakers. Whys led to who.

And who was what they needed to know. Who had taken Alice?

Her phone buzzed and she snatched it up. “Strauss.”

“I tracked down your guy. Andrew DeVoss, from Saint Thomas Orphanage. Line two.”

“Thank you.”

She punched up the line.

“Mr. DeVoss?”

“Please, call me Andrew.”

“Andrew. This is Olivia Strauss, special agent in charge of an active missing-persons case involving a child who left your orphanage a few months ago.”

“Oh my,” he said. “Who?”

“Alice Ringwald.”

There was a brief moment of silence. “Oh, no.”

“We’ve pulled our best resources, but I’ve run into a snag. I’m hoping you can answer a few questions for me.”

“Of course. Anything.”

“What can you tell me about Alice’s history? We suspect that someone from her past, possibly a close relative, is involved in the abduction.”

The phone went silent.

“Andrew?”

“She’s . . . Oh my . . .”

“What is it?”

“You must find her!”

His intensity surprised her.

“We’re trying. But to do that I need to know who from her past might have had any reason to take her.”

“No, no, it’s not that. She has no past outside of the orphanage.”

“She had a birth mother and a birth father.”

“Yes. Her father was James Paul Ringwald—”

“The congressman who was killed in the plane crash a few years ago?”

“Yes. He had an affair with a woman right before his presidential bid. When he discovered she was pregnant he cut her out of his life. Several years later, she committed suicide.”

“What was her name?”

“Catherine Miller. But you see, they’ve both passed. As to Alice’s missing years . . . I doubt any information I could give you would help you find her.”

“It’s my job to determine what information will help us. If I’m going to find her, I have to know more about her past.”

“It’s just that . . .”

“It’s just what?”

She heard him take a deep breath.

“This is very sensitive information, you understand. No one must know, for Alice’s sake as well as the others.”

“What others?”

“The other children. Promise me that what I tell you goes no further.”

She thought about his request.

“I have to file—”

“No files. Just you. Promise me.”

“Okay. Just me.”

“I can trust you?”

“You have my word.”

Another short pause.

“A project was established in the Colorado mountains. Thirteen years ago, thirty-six orphans were legally adopted by a classified orphanage, totally isolated from the rest of the world. I’m not at liberty to reveal any specific details about the location or the project . . . It’s best for the children, and there’s nothing there that would help you find her.”

She doubted that.

“Then tell me something that will help. What happened at this orphanage?”

“You should know that Alice isn’t just any girl. She, like the others, is quite special.”

Special. Alice is a very special girl . . .

“What do you mean?”

“Before the project was shut down, some of the children were able to affect the world in ways bordering on the paranormal. Some of it got out of hand, but it was all self-contained. It was why the project was shut down, you understand? Fortunately, none of the children has any memory of their years at the monastery.”

“Monastery?”

“The orphanage was located in an ancient monastery.”

“How did they lose their memory?”

He hesitated.

“They were exposed to a substance that had some side effects, one of which was to eliminate memory. It was the only way they could be reintegrated into society.”

“What kind of substance?”

“A poison of sorts, produced by an extremely rare species of worm. It’s no longer of relevance. Either way, you must find Alice. Beyond this, I’m afraid I can be of no further assistance.”

“What about the other children? Isn’t it possible that someone who worked with them is now targeting all of them?”

“Highly unlikely. We have our ways of monitoring them.”

“Ways that obviously failed Alice.”

He didn’t respond. So she pressed.

“It could happen again.”

“That’s our concern. Yours is to find her.”

“That’s not enough.”

“And yet it has to be.” He paused. “Find her, Agent Strauss. Find her quickly.”

WYATT, THE MAN who’d taken me, said that he would tell me everything, and that I could ask him anything. So I did.

“Are you my real father?”

“Yes.” He shifted in his chair. “Well, not by birth, no. Which is why your last name isn’t Ringwald anymore either. It’s Lowenstein. My name. Your birth father was James Ringwald, a senator from Nevada. He died a few years ago. He was the one who took you away from your mother because he wanted nothing to do with either of you after you were born. Sent you away to an orphanage and forced Kathryn into an institution to cover his tracks and save his career.”

“Now you’re doing that to me?”

“Doing what?”

“Forcing me.”

He looked horrified. “No, it’s not like that. Those people have no right to you by blood. You belong with your mother. And me. It’s the way God designed it. Sometimes the law just isn’t on God’s side, is all.”

“Shouldn’t I have a say? I know I’m only thirteen, but I’m not a nobody that can be pushed and pulled around.”

“No, sweetheart! No, of course you’re not.”

“What if I want to go back?”

Judging by the look on his face, this seemed like a new idea to him. So I continued.

“You frightened me and hurt Louise, who loves me very much. Why didn’t Kathryn just come to the door and ask to speak with me?”

“You don’t understand. They put her in an institution to get her away from you! You think they would just let her take you back?”

“Why would they want to keep my mother away from me?”

“Because James Ringwald was an evil man. He didn’t want Kathryn to mess things up for him—he was married to someone else and he wanted to keep her quiet so he accused her of being crazy and sent her to an institution. When she got out, you were gone and there was no way for her to find you.”

It sounded like it could be true, but I didn’t know if I could believe him.

“I may be young and I may have lost all my memory from before I was thirteen, but I can still make my own decisions. If my mother loves me, she would understand that.”