Текст книги "Water Walker"

Автор книги: Ted Dekker

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“You lost your memory?”

So he didn’t know.

“You don’t remember anything?”

I wondered if I should explain. Then thought it would better not to.

“Everything up until six months ago.”

“How did that happen?”

“I don’t know.”

“You see? You poor thing, you’ve been hurt. You belong with your mother. I promise, after you meet your mother and brother in a few days, you can make your own decision. Kathryn would never make you stay. That wouldn’t be right.”

I stared at him, confused.

“I have a brother?”

“Yes. Bobby. He’s ten and I know you’re going to love him. He needs his big sister, you’re going to see that too. You belong with us, Eden. But you can decide for yourself. Promise.”

He used that word a lot. Maybe he meant it. Maybe he didn’t. But the idea of having a brother worked its way into my mind—one more thing to make my head spin.

“Then why not just take me now and let me decide?”

“I’m going to, but I can’t yet. Zeke says the first two or three days are the most critical. I can’t be on the roads. He set it up so we could spend three days here—it’s an old ’shiner’s place, empty for a couple months. Right now the FBI’s all over the place hunting for my truck. It’s got Tennessee plates so they’ll think I’ve gone there, but we’re right here, hidden in their backyard. We’ll leave the truck here when we go. They’ll eventually find it but we’ll be long gone and back home. Then, if you decide not to stay, you can come back.”

I could leave a note, I thought. When they did find this place, they would find the note.

“Where are you taking me?”

“A long way away. But I can’t tell you where, not yet. You’ll see for yourself. No one can know. If they find us, they’ll put your mother in jail. Both of us. Even if you decide to leave us, you can’t ever tell them where we live. You have to promise me that much. Okay?”

He was going to trust me? Maybe he really did mean everything he said. Or maybe he had no intention of ever letting me go.

“I promise,” I said. But I don’t know if I meant it.

“So you’ll come with me?”

It was a strange question.

“Aren’t you making me?”

“Not really, no.”

“Then you’ll take me back?”

“No. No, I can’t do that. It would kill your mother. You can come with me and you’ll see.”

“And then I can leave if I want to?”

He hesitated a moment, then dipped his head. “Sure. But you have to come with me first, of course.”

His thinking was a little upside-down, I thought. As if he wanted my participation in what he was actually forcing on me, maybe to make himself feel better. Which meant he did care. But he’d taped me up and kidnapped me.

“So you’ll come?” he asked again.

I nodded.

He slapped the tabletop. “That’s what I’m talking about! Kathryn will be delighted. If we had cell service up here, I’d call her now and let you talk to her. Wait here.”

He stood up, hurried into the kitchen, withdrew a jar of clear liquid from the cupboard, and came back, grinning ear to ear.

“We’re going to make a toast,” he said, unscrewing the jar’s lid. “To you. To Kathryn.”

“What’s that?”

“Moonshine, sweetheart. Made it myself. It’s strong but it will purify you inside and out.”

He took a drink and swallowed, then passed the jar to me.

“Me?”

“It’s holy juice. Just take a small sip. You’ll see.”

I took the jar tentatively, sniffed it, then took a tiny sip.

It tasted like poison and I spewed most of it out.

He laughed. “Good, isn’t it?”

“It’s horrible!”

“Well, yes, at first I guess it is a bit strong. But it’s the real deal, sweetheart. You’re now purified. Welcome to the family.”

For a moment I actually felt like part of some strange family, and I think I might have even given him a little grin.

Then I remembered where I was and I wasn’t so sure.

Not at all.

5

Day Four 9:03 am

OLIVIA LOOKED over downtown Greenville from the second-floor conference room as the morning sun made its undeterred journey to mark the beginning of this, the fourth day since Alice had been taken.

Four days too long.

Although her office at the FBI headquarters in Columbia was only an hour-and-a-half drive south, the local field office had become her base for the last three days because of its proximity to the crime scene.

Behind her, several caseworkers sat around the long table that filled the room, poring over the situation reports that had come in during the night from local police who were helping follow up on leads.

“You should think about getting some sleep,” Benner said and passed her a steaming cup of coffee.

“I’m not tired.”

“Well, you look it.”

She took a sip.

“At least get a bite to eat.”

She turned on her heel and walked toward the front of the room. “Not hungry.”

Olivia set the coffee on the table’s edge and stopped, arms crossed, in front of the flat-panel TV mounted on the wall. Multicolored markers dotted a digital map, each one indicating a lead in the case. Three days ago, the majority had been yellow and green—good, or at least viable, leads mostly reported sightings of the truck after the Amber Alert had been issued.

Now she was staring at a landscape of red.

We’re losing her.

Professionalism only went so far. No one could bury their frustration forever. The energy in the room had taken a negative turn—she didn’t want it to take root.

She turned to face them. “All right, people. Let’s run through what we’ve got.”

The low murmur of activity stopped. All eyes focused on Olivia.

“We’ve missed something. Something right in front of us. Today’s the day we find it. We start at the beginning.”

The beginning again. Yes, again. Always from the beginning.

“Tell me what we do know about the perpetrator.”

“No positive ID on the man,” Benner said as he settled into a chair. “We canvassed the whole area; the artist’s sketch of the suspect didn’t turn up anything.”

“Kristen, anything new from forensics?” Olivia focused on the petite blond next to Benner.

“Nothing new. We’ve expanded the database search for the partial print CSI lifted from the doorbell to include Canadian and UK repositories. I want to rule out all possibilities.”

“Still no hits on CODIS?”

Kristen shook her head. “I’ve run our data set through the paces and we’re oh for three on hair, fiber, and prints. Our guy’s a ghost.”

“Nothing on the ViCAP cross-reference?” The violent crimes database.

“No, ma’am. If our abductor’s a career criminal, he knows how to stay off the grid.”

A ghost. Unfortunately, Alice had also been a ghost.

Olivia’s enigmatic conversation with Andrew DeVoss ran through her mind. She’d gone as high and as far as she could in an attempt to uncover more information on the project he’d referenced, but come up empty-handed. She’d also kept the information to herself, as promised.

Information from Alice’s mysterious past might be helpful, or it might not, as Andrew insisted. Either way, it wasn’t in play.

“Anything new from known associates? Tutors, teachers, her therapist?”

Benner: “We covered all the bases—neighbors, friends, school administrators, grocery store clerks, gas station attendants, anyone who could’ve had contact with the family. Local vice detectives also tapped their sources for possible child trafficking connections. Nothing.”

Olivia picked up a remote from the table and pointed it at the TV. An image of a young woman filled the screen.

“Which brings us to our most likely connection. Her mother.”

How far would Olivia have gone to recover her own daughter? Pretty far.

“Catherine Miller of Houston, Texas. Raised in a broken home, ended up with child services.”

The screen transitioned to a headshot of a teenager. Catherine.

“She ran away from an orphanage and eventually turned up in Vegas where she got a job in Ringwald’s campaign office. They hit it off and she got pregnant. Typical story. Ringwald shut her out and arranged for their daughter to enter an orphanage. Then he put Catherine in an institution to keep her quiet. Clearly, the man had some expensive lawyers.”

She clicked the remote and the image shifted to a mug shot of Catherine, now staring into the camera with vacant eyes.

“Two years later, she escapes the mental facility and turns up dead. I still think she’s our best lead.”

“She’d not a lead,” Benner said. “A maid found her remains in a Reno motel. Police report said she was seen with a local pimp that night.”

“There’s no conclusive evidence that she died in that room. They never found a body.”

“Because it was in pieces. They found a severed finger positively identified with her fingerprint from her police record. There was enough blood to paint a small bedroom.”

“We still don’t have a body. And I have a missing girl who was abducted by someone who appeared desperate to get her. We can’t dismiss the possibility that she faked her death and went after her daughter.”

“We’ve chased it down,” Benner said. “There’s no record of a Catherine Miller meeting that description alive in the country today. If it is her, she’s out of reach.”

“Then chase it down again!” Olivia snapped.

They stared at her in silence.

The whole chain of evidence was disintegrating. No forensics that linked them to anyone. No witnesses. Nothing they could sink a hook into.

“What’ve we got on the truck? From the top.”

“It’s registered to a Donald Harper from Lawrenceburg, Tennessee.” Jay Lee, an analyst with unruly hair, sat at the opposite end of the table. “It was swiped from long-term parking at Nashville International Airport six days ago. No helpful footage from security cameras. Metro PD in Nashville contacted the owner after we ran the plate. Apparently, he’d left the keys in a magnetic box in the wheel well.”

“And no link between him and the Clarks or Alice?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing new on the contents reported stolen? Just the toolbox?”

He flipped through a copy of the police report. “Just the toolbox in the back. And a cell-phone charger.”

“Cell phone charger? Why would the owner report a cell-phone charger worth twenty bucks?”

“Exactly. Worthless.”

“That’s not the point. Why?” she reiterated. “Why would anyone report a cell-phone charger missing? It makes no sense.”

Unless . . .

“Get on the phone with the owner. Find out if he meant cell-phone charger, or cell phone and charger. If he had a cell phone, find out what kind. If it has GPS capabilities and was on, the wireless company may be able to track the phone’s movement.”

“It’s been eight days since the truck was taken. Even if it was on, the battery’s probably dead.”

“Depending on the make and model it could still have juice. Call him.”

“On it,” Jay said, heading for the door.

It was a long shot, but at this juncture, she’d take a long shot over no shots. She scanned the room, thinking she should say something. But there was nothing new to say. They’d covered the same ground today as they had yesterday. Nothing but dead ends.

She slid into a chair, ran a hand through her hair, and stared at the wall. The waiting was always the hardest part. Hours, days, weeks, months . . .

Years.

That was a lot of whys.

“No further sightings in Tennessee?” she asked absently.

“None.”

“Nothing new from the DMV?”

“No.”

She slammed her hand on the table and took her frustration out on no one in particular. “Come on, people! There has to be something out there that we’re missing! Think!”

The door swung in. “Got a hit,” Jay said, phone still plastered to his ear. “He had a smartphone in the truck for work. Said he reported it stolen with the toolbox. Cell phone and charger.”

She felt her pulse spike.

“Did he have it on?”

“He couldn’t remember.”

She was out of her chair. “Phone number and carrier.”

Jay asked the owner, quickly jotted down the information on a pad, and handed it to Benner.

“Call them . . .” Olivia said.

But he was already calling.

She could hear the throb of her pulse in her ears as she paced. Her lungs tightened. If the cell phone had been left on, they would be able to track its movements for as long as the phone had held its charge.

On the other hand, if the cell phone had been off, or died before Alice had been taken, they would know nothing.

It would be back to waiting. God, she hated waiting.

Benner covered the receiver with his hand. “They got it. It’ll take some time for them to work it on their end, but they’ve got an active signal. Phone’s still on.”

ACCORDING TO THE data provided by the carrier, the blue truck carrying Alice and her abductor had traveled north out of Greenville on US 25 on the night of the abduction. Well outside of town, the man had veered west on I-26, exited near Asheville Regional Airport and made his way onto the Blue Ridge Parkway.

Despite the difficult terrain and dense vegetation, the wireless company had been able to track the vehicle’s southbound progress into the mountains to where it had angled off the main road and onto a ribbon of dirt road that disappeared into the woods. Five miles in, the truck had stopped where it had remained for the past three days.

Because the smartphone had been in standby mode, the battery life had been conserved long enough for them to determine the exact GPS coordinates of the device. And the truck.

Within hours, a tactical team had been assembled and converged on the location.

Olivia knelt in the thick shade that pooled beneath the trees at the clearing’s edge and scanned the scene. Thirty yards away, the blue truck was parked next to an old cabin with a green metal roof that drooped over a covered porch. The building’s darkened windows gazed out like hollow eyes at the thick forest that crowded it on every side.

Her attention lingered on the truck for a long moment.

“You okay?” Benner said at her side. He was clad in a black Kevlar vest and held a 9mm by his side.

“I’m fine.”

They’d staged their operation from the main road and moved on foot to avoid drawing attention. The plan was simple: Olivia and Benner would enter the front with Asheville SWAT and secure the cabin. Local FBI assets would provide secondary support on the exterior. Speed was the key, which is why they were moving now, with the sun still high in the sky, not later. Every minute they waited was a minute wasted.

“Adam Three in position,” a voice crackled in her earpiece. The backup unit was in place.

“Copy that, Adam Three,” she whispered. She gave a nod to the captain of the SWAT unit. “Let’s roll.”

He motioned his team of five forward with Olivia and Benner bringing up the rear. Moving low and fast, they left the cover of the forest and angled toward the northeast corner of the cabin in single file, weapons raised.

Olivia’s pulse quickened with each step, her nerves raw and humming with adrenaline. They reached the edge of the cabin, rounded the corner, passed beneath the front windows in a low crouch as they closed the distance to the front porch.

The SWAT leader lifted a clenched fist as they approached the front stairs, bringing everyone to a silent halt.

Olivia’s eyes flicked from the door to the window. No movement that she could see. She scanned the clearing, half expecting the man to make a run for the truck. But there was no sign of the man, no sign that they’d been seen.

We have to move . . . we have to move . . .

After a breath, the man motioned forward with two fingers. One of the men broke rank and climbed the steps with a black battering ram at his side. In unison, the others followed close as he crossed the porch and, in one smooth motion, swung the metal ram.

It connected with a loud boom that rattled the cabin’s front windows. The force of impact nearly knocked the door from its hinges as it swung open violently.

The man stepped aside, dropped the ram and drew his weapon as the others rushed past him and into the cabin.

Olivia entered the dimly lit cabin close on the SWAT unit’s heels.

Weapon leveled, she crossed the room, eyes sweeping right to left as she went. The main room was empty. Daylight filtered through the grimy windows and the tang of woodsmoke and bacon hung on the air. Her focus clicked through the surroundings, registering every detail as she moved toward a narrow hallway straight ahead.

To the left: a dinette with two wooden chairs and a small kitchen.

To the right: a brown couch and two chairs gathered around a large crate used as a coffee table. Beyond it, a fireplace with a heap of gray ash.

She pulled up in the hallway as SWAT kicked in the door on the right and two men rushed through, weapons snugged against their shoulders. The fast rustle of bodies and gear. Boots clomping against the hardwood floor.

“Clear!” the voice came from inside the room.

The remaining officers turned their attention to the rickety door on the opposite side of the hallway. Forced their way in without hesitation. Two seconds later it too was declared clear. Empty. Then the next room: a bathroom.

Olivia angled into the first room. She stopped, eyes searching. A small bed covered with a tattered quilt. A pillow with a teddy bear, one eye missing, on top of it. A single window—bars on the exterior.

But no Alice. They were gone.

“Get forensics in here! I want every inch of this place searched. She’s a smart girl, she might have left something behind for us.”

Benner stood in the doorway with his gun at his side. “You got it.”

“And gather the others. Our guy’s made a run for it.”

6

AN INVESTIGATIVE team comprised of thirty-two local police and FBI agents gathered in front of the cabin as the whump of a circling helicopter filled the air. Two men held a large map of the area as Benner spoke.

“The only tire marks coming or leaving the cabin are the truck’s. That means he didn’t drive out of here. The K-9 unit picked up Alice’s scent in the house and followed it to two sets of fresh tracks leading into the woods on the south side of the property. Our guy left on foot, and he may have left under cover of night. We don’t know.”

He drew a line with his finger from the cabin’s location to the flowing green contours of the mountains. “There’s nowhere else for him to go, but along this ridge or over it. Search Group Three is staged here.” He pointed to a location to the south. “They will sweep north and converge with the teams departing from here. If our perpetrator’s in the area we’ll box him in. We don’t know how much of a head start he has, but he’s got Alice in tow, so he’ll be slower than us.”

He looked at Olivia. “Local police has eyes in the sky providing support. If our guy’s still in the area, we’ll get him. Special Agent Strauss will coordinate Search Group Two and Captain Richardson with Asheville PD will oversee Group One. Any questions?”

The group was restless, but no one spoke.

Olivia scanned the team. “This is our best chance, folks. Remember, we don’t know what this man is capable of or what his mindset is. We have to assume he’s armed and willing to harm Alice if he gets pinned down. Be smart; I don’t want her hurt.”

They watched her without responding—she was saying nothing they didn’t already know.

“Let’s go.”

The group broke up, each team forming up and setting out from the clearing with their assigned task.

Olivia stood for a long moment, studying the squat cabin, which now stood vacant and lifeless. The CSI team meticulously processed the blue truck sitting next to it.

Judging by the contents of the trash bag Forensics found behind the cabin, the perpetrator had kept Alice here for several days, likely since the night of the abduction. Question was, when had they left?

She turned from the cabin and hurried to join the search.

Hold on, Alice. Just hold on a little longer.

7

Day Six 5:37 pm

LOUISIANA. That’s all I knew. Because Wyatt had blindfolded me and asked me to lie down on the front seat for the last four hours of the drive.

He’d kept me at the cabin in the woods for three days, just as he’d said he would. I felt like I was living in a strange dream most of the time. Sometimes, like when I thought about how he’d taped Louise up and put her in the closet, it felt like a nightmare, but mostly it felt like we were just pretending. And most of that was because of Wyatt.

He was a moonshiner, he said, and being in the woods was home to him. He was perfectly happy living on a diet of eggs, bacon, sausage, white bread, peanut butter, boiled cabbage, pork, milk, an occasional Snickers bar (which was a real treat for him), and a slug of moonshine now and then, though he was careful not to drink too much. He said it could make you go silly in the head.

But it wasn’t only that Wyatt was at home in the woods; he didn’t seem to have a care in the world apart from making sure that I was safe and comfortable. Not once did he talk about any concern that the authorities might find and take me, or the trouble he might be in for kidnapping me. He was only thrilled that he’d succeeded in rescuing me, as he kept putting it.

Watching him, I couldn’t help thinking that he actually thought he was on a vacation with his daughter, and his enthusiasm was sometimes a little infectious.

He didn’t tell me much more about Kathryn and nothing about where we were going, because he said Kathryn wanted it all to be a surprise. Instead he talked about moonshining and told me stories from his days in the enterprise, his successes and mishaps and avoiding the law. Evidently there were laws about selling alcohol, all of which were an abuse of rights, he said.

When he wasn’t telling stories, he was trying to convince me to play one game or the other—I spy, find the pine cone, poker with an old deck of cards and pebbles as money. It took some convincing on his part to persuade me to play, but as I did I found some comfort in the distraction, particularly since I almost always won once I learned the rules. As the days passed, I began to see that Wyatt was a kind man with a good heart who rarely showed any deep concern.

In fact, the only time he became uptight at all was when he talked about Kathryn. I didn’t see it at first, but I began to notice that lines sometimes formed over his brow when he spoke about her. He seemed fiercely loyal and deeply caring of her, but there might have been some fear in those lines as well.

In the middle of the second night, I scratched out a note on an old piece of paper I’d found outside. There were no pencils or pens I’d seen so I used a piece of charred wood from the fireplace. In the note I gave my name and said that Wyatt Lowenstein, a moonshiner, had kidnapped me and was taking me somewhere to meet my real mother, Kathryn. I also wrote that my real father was a senator from Nevada named James Ringwald who was now dead.

I tried to think of what else might be useful but couldn’t think of anything. I didn’t want John or Louise to worry about me too much so I added one more line: Please don’t worry. Wyatt is a kind man and is taking good care of me. He said I can come home soon.

I folded the note up and hid it under the mattress. If they found it, they would at least be able to assure Louise that I wasn’t being mistreated.

At dusk on the third evening, which was actually the fourth night of my kidnapping, Wyatt cleaned up the cabin, wiped the truck down with great care, and led me through the woods, south, to a small clearing. A blue car was hidden there under branches—our ride home, he said, with a big grin.

Home. The word frightened me.

Thirty minutes later we were back on a main highway, again headed south. Two days later we were in Louisiana, and I was curled up in the front seat, blindfolded.

He’d explained that I had to wear the blindfold so that I wouldn’t know where they lived in the event I decided I didn’t want to stay. The authorities would force me to tell them where they lived and they couldn’t risk that. And I had to lie down because if anyone saw a girl wearing a blindfold in a car they might be suspicious and call the cops. They couldn’t risk that either.

On one hand, that made sense to me. On the other hand, I already knew their names—wasn’t that enough information for the authorities to go after them?

So why the secrecy?

But I still chose to believe that I really would be able to leave if I wanted to, so I had no problem lying down blindfolded. I didn’t want anyone to hurt Wyatt, however strange that might seem. In fact, I even wondered whether I should have given his name in the note I’d left. If it led the authorities to Wyatt, they might put him in prison, like he said.

He might have been wrong in taking me the way he did, but part of me didn’t blame him. He and Kathryn had only gone to terrible trouble and risked so much because they were so eager to have me back. Part of me felt desperately wanted and maybe that’s what being a daughter was supposed to feel like.

“Okay, sweetheart. You can sit up and take the blindfold off.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now. We’re almost home.”

I pushed myself up and pulled off the blindfold. The sight that greeted me through the windshield was unlike any I’d ever seen.

It was late afternoon, dusk, and a bit gloomy. We were on a narrow, gravel road with tufts of grass growing down the center. But it was the thick blanket of trees that struck me. Huge trees, with drooping branches and vines as far as I could see. The road dropped off into deep, wide ditches on either side as if they’d been dug to protect the road from the tangle of encroaching trees.

“Where are we?”

“Home.”

I stared at the huge trees on my right and saw that the gravel road was built up, higher than the ground, which looked wet. No, not just wet.

Flooded with water.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“The swamp,” he said. “You’re going to love it. Lots of water. We have lakes, rivers . . . Our house is just around the corner.

I immediately thought about what little I knew of swamps and images of snakes and beady-eyed alligators strung through my mind. The sound of the road crunching under the tires somehow worsened the sudden fear that gripped me. I felt totally isolated and far away from anything that was familiar or safe.

And then we were around the corner and driving down a dirt driveway.

“End of the line,” Wyatt said. “This is as far as the road goes. We already passed the last house half a mile back. We have all the land you could dream of down here. You’ll see.”

We passed a square outbuilding with a sloping tin roof. No windows that I could see. Maybe it had something to do with moonshine because barrels were stacked behind it. Three old trucks sat out front, one of which was on blocks, missing its rear wheels.

We passed a swing set—metal tubes that formed a teepee with hanging chains that held two tires. A small woodshed sat by itself just past the swing set. Maybe a toolshed. The ground was partly grassed, partly bare, without any care given to it. Bushes and trees grew up here and there, wherever seeds had happened to fall.

It was hard to believe that I was somehow connected to such a strange place hidden away in the swamps. It was all so foreign.

An old, white house with a porch loomed between the trees ahead, to our right. Windows across the front, a black roof, three steps leading up to a porch—about what I might expect in a house.

What I didn’t expect was the large, paper sign with the words Welcome Home written in red that hung from the porch’s roof. Nor the sight of the dark-haired woman wearing a flowered dress with long sleeves, standing under it, watching us intently. Nor the short boy who stood next to her.

“That’s your mother and your brother,” Wyatt said.

I don’t know what I expected because up until that moment I had only thought of ‘mother’ in terms of an idea without putting any face or body to it. But now I was looking at her and I panicked.

What if I didn’t like her? What if she wasn’t as kind as Wyatt? What if she was disappointed in me?

What if she wasn’t my real mother?

“Don’t be nervous, sweetheart. It’s going to be just fine, you’ll see.”

Wyatt brought the car to a stop at the end of the driveway fifty feet from the house, put the shifter in neutral, and turned off the engine.

I stared up at the two people on the porch, mind suddenly blank. The blond-haired boy was staring in wide wonder, and I could see the strangeness of him immediately. His head seemed a little large for his body, and his face looked . . . well, I didn’t know quite how to think of it except . . . off.

I shifted my eyes and looked at the woman. Kathryn. Who was peering at me through the windshield, looking as tense as I felt. For a moment I thought she might be frightened.

This was the mother who’d gone to such great lengths to find me?

Maybe she was afraid . . . I was, wasn’t I? Maybe a voice in her head was telling that it was all too good to be true. Or that I was too skinny to be her daughter. Or maybe she was afraid that I wouldn’t measure up to her expectations for the daughter she’d dreamed about for so many years. Or maybe she was just nervous.

She was suddenly moving, rushing down the steps in her ankle-length dress with long sleeves, then running toward us, nearly frantic.

I didn’t know what was expected of me, and a glance at Wyatt told me that neither did he. He just watched, hands on the wheel.

Kathryn flew up to the car, gripped the door handle on my side, yanked the door open, and stared at me, speechless, lips trembling.

I was only distantly aware of the heat and humidity that rushed into the car when she opened the door. I barely heard the chorus of a million bugs and insects that might have otherwise convinced me to quickly shut the door.

This was my mother?

Her hair was dark, pulled into a bun at the back of her head, and she wore black leather flats. I wasn’t terribly given to style, but hers was like nothing I’d ever seen. She looked like she’d stepped out of the pages of an old magazine.

Tears suddenly flooded Kathryn’s eyes and her face began to relax as relief washed over her. She lifted both arms and held trembling hands out to me.

“It’s really you. God has brought you home. Come to your mother, sweetie. Come into your mother’s arms.”

I didn’t know if I really wanted to go to her, because I wasn’t sure she really was my mother. But I didn’t know what else I could do, so I climbed out of the car.

Before I could go to her, she closed the distance between us, wrapped her arms around my body, and pulled me close to her bosom.