Spore (5 page)

Chapter Six

Thankful for the worn familiarity of Dani and Mikey’s dinky apartment, Mindy sat on their couch while they argued in the kitchen just a few feet away.

“I don’t care who or what she is,” Mikey grumbled, his voice low. “She can’t stay.”

“But what if she
really is
Mindy?” Dani asked him. Again. “We can’t just put my sister out on the—“

“Mindy’s dead. You know it, I know it,
everyone
knows it!” Mikey snapped. He blew out a tight breath and paced beside the fridge, head bent and work-worn hands balled. “She’s obviously given you some drug to believe this nonsense.”

“Gonna use the bathroom,” Mindy said, standing. Without glancing at the pair huddled by the fridge, she walked to the bathroom and closed herself in.

Of course he doubts me,
she thought, catching her reflection in the mirror.
I’d doubt me, too.

Her own grimy face stared back and she leaned close, examining every pore and freckle. The thin scar above her eyebrow was gone, as was the little pucker along the edge of her upper lip. No acne scars, and her ear piercings had disappeared.
Weird.

Same eyes though, mahogany brown with flecks of gold around the edges of the iris. Same slightly crooked nose. Same faint cleft in her chin. Same unruly mop of hair. She pulled her lips back to see her teeth then frowned before leaning forward to examine them again. Her right eyetooth, chipped by the softball that had split her lip, was intact. “Shit,” she whispered before opening her mouth to look deeper inside. No fillings.

How much weirder can this get?

Using the mirror, Mindy examined the rest of her body. No scar on the back of her elbow from her fall down the porch stairs. No sunburn scarring on her shoulders. No marks from the stitches that had closed the arch of her foot after stepping on glass barefoot. Her birth control implant was no longer in her upper arm. And the mole by her belly button she’d removed because Jeff didn’t like it was right back where it had once been.

It’s like I’m all new. Newly Minted Mindy.

Smiling slightly, she sat on the toilet. The bathroom looked the same as always, other than the baby stuff in a net suction-cupped to the back of the shower surround. The same faded blue rug. The same iPod player on the same brass shelf behind the toilet. Same cheesy picture of butterflies on the wall over the towel bar. Same Pantene conditioner on the tub edge.

Nope. Not quite the same,
she thought, standing.
The label design is a little different. More blue, less gold. And the bottle’s flatter. The same, but still different.

She gazed into the shower with longing.
Soap. Warm water. A good scrub. Be clean, feel clean. Not so grimy and sticky.

Someone rapped on the door. “You okay in there?” Dani asked.

“Yep, almost done.” Mindy closed her eyes and released a tired sigh as she pulled up her stolen pants.
Not pink, not pink,
she thought before looking down.

Normal golden urine tinted the water in the toilet bowl.

She glanced at the ceiling and muttered, “Thank you,” before flushing it away. After washing her hands, she opened the door.

Dani stood in the hall and held a couple of plastic store bags stuffed with clothes. “I… I have these. If you want them,” she said, thrusting them toward Mindy.

Mindy recognized her own clothes. Jeans. Sweaters. The lacy undies she’d bought for Valentine’s Day in the hope he’d notice her. She couldn’t hide her flinch.
Jeff. How could you?

A baby fussed from the spare bedroom and Mikey brushed past without looking at either of them. Dani flinched when he slammed the door. He looked tired and smelled of manure and sweat. Probably from helping his dad on the farm or something.

“He’s not himself,” Dani said. “Things are tough at work. He’s worried that…” She shrugged and lowered her gaze.

“It’s tough everywhere,” Mindy said, gently taking the bags from her sister’s hands. “Lots of folks are out of work.”

Dani met Mindy’s gaze. “Not so much now. The economy’s on the mend, especially in Ag products. Lots of guys are bolting for better paying jobs. His team’s lost two people this month, and he got a call this afternoon asking for references for a third guy.” She shrugged. “If he goes too, that’ll just leave Mikey and Nate to do the work of five. He’s kinda cranky.”

“It’s okay. I know I’m being a pain. Complicating everything.”

Dani’s face turned blotchy. “You look so much like her, sound like her,” she said, voice cracking. “But this can’t be real.”

“I know, but it is,” Mindy sighed. She chewed her lip for a moment, hesitating. “Can I… Can I ask a favor?”

Suspicion darkened her sister’s gaze, and Dani shifted to lean back, one hand covering her rounded belly. “What kind of favor?” she asked, voice tentative.

Mindy willed herself not to cry. Now even Dani doubted her. “I’m filthy. Can I take a shower? Just a shower, then I’ll go.”

It broke her heart to see Dani’s gaze turn calculating, as if gauging what valuables and precious trinkets Mindy might steal. “Okay,” she said at last. “The towels are—“

“In the linen closet, here in the hall, I
know
,” Mindy sighed as she walked to the door and opened it. Bed and bath linens filled the shelves, with a hamper and vacuum beneath, along with a tangled pile of winter boots. Mindy pulled a towel from the shelf and turned to face Dani. “I helped you move here. Helped you unpack. Remember? I bought you that vacuum as a housewarming gift.” She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand as she slipped past her sister to the bathroom. “I’ll be quick. Tell Mikey I said you can check all my pockets before I go.”

Before Dani could respond, Mindy locked herself in. She leaned against the door and let herself cry.

Sean crumpled up yet another sheet of paper.
I’ve never had a drawing blockage like this,
he thought, letting the paper fall to the kitchen floor.

Mare stood at the sink, sorting dishes. “You want to go to the cemetery? You sure?” She tested running water with one hand and squirted dish soap with the other. “What about the sheriff?”

“Those folks came to our house,” Sean muttered, his hands clenching into his hair at his temples as he tried not to look at the microwave clock or the scattered wads of paper. Out of all of the loose sketches he’d drawn since locking out the news crews, only two featured Ghoulie. The rest were children, and most were detailed drawings of the same scared boy. None, not even the Ghoulie sketches, had anything what-so-ever to do with the script. Forcing himself to sit down and draw anyway, even with his zone-out-and-create music blaring on the iPod, garnered him no useful progress. Just the boy, other kids, then the boy again and again and again.
And the dog, don’t forget the fucking dog,
he thought, pounding his fists against the side of his head. He’d worked for nearly six hours and had nothing useful to send to Murphy or Black Pawn, only a splitting headache and hand cramps.

Mare washed dishes awhile, head nodding to Sean’s music. “Our house or not, you’re not responsible for those people, hon, or where they came from. The six o’clock news showed the cemetery driveway blocked off and patrolled, with scads of people shaking protest signs. Looked like a madhouse.”

“They also edited me to look like a raving, zombie-spouting lunatic,” Sean muttered. “Just ‘cause it was on the news doesn’t make it true.”

He tried again to draw Ghoulie facing down a mob of zombie construction workers, as per instructions. “Something happened to bring those folks back,” he said, barely aware of his own voice as his pencil drew a young face around Ghoulie’s world-weary eyes, “and whether I can get in or not, whether anyone believes me or not, I still have to try. Maybe figure out what’s going on and why it won’t let me draw Ghoulie!” He muttered a curse and wadded up the page, tossing it onto the pile with the others.

“You okay?” Mare asked, drying her sudsy hands.

“Not really.” He tried to smile at her as she rubbed his shoulders. “It’s just something I have to do. I’m thinking pretty late. Maybe midnight, ish. You can come along, if you want.”

She grinned and perched on his lap. “I haven’t been arrested since the street riots my freshman year.” She kissed him soundly and handed him his bottle of Excedrin. “Might be fun.”

Siren blaring, Deputy Todd Anderson pulled into the GetGoin’ parking lot, first on the scene at less than one minute after the missing kid call came through. He checked in and exited the vehicle to sweltering midday heat and assessed the spectators and location, a block off Highway 30 and moments away from escape in any direction.

He hoped this was just a pissed off kid playing a scary trick on his folks, but his gut insisted it was a helluva lot worse.

The crowd parted, opening a path to the store, and he used every inch and pound of his towering bulk to appear imposing. A quick head count gave him eight individuals and, in the distance, he heard Boone Police approaching. “Everyone stay here, all right? In case we have questions.”

The people nodded, some swallowing and looking incredibly worried, not that he could blame them. Child abductions were terrible on everyone. The not-knowing, the endless slavering fear, the guilt of ‘if only I’d done this or been over there’ that might have prevented the horror in the first place.

“Whatever we can do,” an elderly woman said, her crone hands crushing her purse into a rag.

“Eight on site,” Todd muttered into his shoulder radio. “Notify local they’ve agreed to be questioned.”

The dispatcher squawked her affirmative as he opened the gas station’s door.

The chilled air and darkness assaulted him, along with the familiar scent of fountain pop and hot dogs. A nervous clerk stood aside while a young family huddled together beside the counter in the otherwise vacant store. The infant slept, apparently oblivious to the upheaval, while Mom and Dad soaked their pullover shirts and short khakis with sweat and terrified tears.

Already grieving, already thinking he’s dead or molested.

The GetGoin’ employee wrung his hands and let out a sigh of relief as Todd walked in. “That was quick!” he said.

“Was just passing the Ford dealership on the highway when I got the call,” Todd replied as both parents looked up, startled.

“Bought our minivan there,” the father said, chin quivering.

“It’s a good shop. Can you tell me what happened?”

“Justin’s gone!” the mother wailed, turning red as she slumped against her husband.

“We’ll do everything possible to find him,” he said, knowing that while most kids come home, sometimes they never resurface, at least not alive. “Let’s start with your names?”

Brent and Jill Lansing. Baby Eva. Justin, the missing boy, was eleven. Todd wrote down Justin’s description and immediately called it in, only to hear his dispatcher re-broadcast the information to every police department, country sheriff, and state trooper in Iowa. The dad produced a couple of photos from his wallet.
Skinny, regular-looking kid.

Todd couldn’t tell if the Lansings were reassured or alarmed by the urgent chatter on his radio as he tucked the photos into his notebook. “What brought you to GetGoin’ today?”

“Needed gas.” The dad pointed to the north. “We live a few blocks from here. We’re here all the time. I pump, Justin pays.”

“He’s right,” the clerk said. “The kid’s in here every day or two for pop, chips, whatever. Kid knows how to use the ATM card.”

“Was that the wrong thing to do?” the mom asked, clutching the infant tighter. “Giving him the card? Sending him in alone?”

Not supposed to be wrong in small town Iowa but the world’s a hard place sometimes. Least we’re finally taking these calls seriously and not waiting. Might save a few more kids,
Todd thought as he noted the information. After getting the mother’s ATM card, he asked, “Did you see him enter the store?”

“Oh, he entered,” the clerk blurted. “Even paid. I’ve got it all on tape.”

“We’ll need to have that.” Todd relayed the presence of a surveillance video to dispatch. “What happened after he paid?”

“Went to use the restroom,” the clerk said.

Both parents nodded. “He told us he needed to pee.” The dad embraced the mom who folded right in. “I told him to hurry, we’re supposed to be in Des Moines by four thirty. Family picnic thing.”

Least they’re not blaming each other,
Todd thought as he nodded and wrote.
So many folks do.

“I told him he should have gone before he left the house,” the mom wailed. “But kids, they never plan ahead, do they?”

“Not usually, ma’am.” Todd had used the GetGoin’ restroom several times and he glanced down the short hall to confirm his memory. The men’s room was right by the back door. “Is there a camera back there?” he asked the clerk.

“No. It’s locked from the outside. We just have cameras on the counter.”

“Did you see him enter the bathroom?”

“No, but I did see him waiting to use it. We got busy, and I lost track of him. He rides his bike up here most afternoons. I didn’t think nothing of him standing back there by himself.”

Todd managed to not purse his lips. He wouldn’t let his daughter Hailey ride her bike beyond the end of the driveway without supervision. “Did anyone go around back to look for him?”

“I did,” the dad said. “There’s just a dumpster and a field. I yelled but couldn’t find him. It’d been ten minutes, maybe, since I seen him. So I ran in and we called you.”

So a possible opportunistic abduction, either from a customer in the store, or whoever was already in the bathroom. Or, hopefully, he snuck out with another kid and is whooping it up at a park or the movies.

“Need a forensic team, ASAP,” Todd told dispatch as local police came in. “And put a track on the father’s ATM card,” Todd said before relaying the mom’s banking information to the dispatcher.

“Did you go through the back door or walk around?” Todd asked.

The dad’s face flushed. “Through. I’ve ruined evidence, haven’t I?”