His head shook. “I wonder how many there were.”
“Isn’t that like the Sparrow Institute?” I asked. “Araneae can’t lose sleep because she isn’t helping every victim. Instead, she needs to keep working to help the ones she can.”
“No wonder I’m so fucked up.” He collapsed back into the large leather chair. “My mother sat there discussing this as if it wasn’t only her duty but some clique of which she was an honored member—rich biddies gathered around a parlor, drinking tea, playing mahjongg, and ordering the deaths of their husbands’ mistresses and children if they refused to have abortions.” His head shook. “Just another day in paradise.”
“It shouldn’t shock us. We have a long list of deceased who became that way either by our orders or our hands.”
“You’re right, it shouldn’t and we do. This is my mother. Part of me wanted to believe that she didn’t know what my father did, to pretend her only guilt was compliancy.” His fist pounded upon the table. "That would have been enough to secure her spot in hell next to my father, but it isn’t all she’s done. Genevieve Sparrow has her own share of blood on her hands.”
“We all do.”
Sparrow’s nostrils flared. “You heard her; she wants it all to stay buried.”
“What are our plans in San Clemente?” I asked, changing the subject.
“We’re paying an unexpected visit to the Millstones.” He stood and straightened his suit coat. “They’re retired. Utilizing home security cameras, we know they have one maid. GPS on her car shows that she leaves each afternoon for errands. If her recent history stays true, she’s gone from near one until four each day.”
“And the Millstones?”
“Should be home,” he said. “You asked our plans? First, information. Second, extermination. This won’t be only for Madeline. If they’re both guilty of supplying product for the sexual exploitation in Chicago and have incriminating evidence, it will implicate not only McFadden but also the Sparrow outfit.”
“So we’re on our way to some seaside house on a cliff…” Mason had sent us the address and pictures of the residence. It was impressive. “…to save the Sparrow outfit from negative publicity.”
“Yes and no. We’re on our way for the same reason we went to my mother’s—for information that only they can provide. What do you want from them?” Sparrow asked.
“I want to know what happened to Roberto and Kristine from the Charitable Heart Mission. Because as much as I want to watch the Millstones take their last breath, I want to see the pastor and his wife suffer. Hell, if we still had your father’s stables, I’d personally deliver Kristine to the door.”
“Then it’s settled. In and out. This isn’t a job I want to trust to anyone else,” Sparrow said.
“In and out.”
Madeline
Over sixteen years ago
Wakefulness came slowly, as if I were present in mind but not in body. My heavy eyelids tried to open, to blink away the slumber, yet each one weighed too much. The weight wasn’t only in my eyelids; it was a blanket keeping my arms, legs, and body in place. Nerve endings that once alerted me to stimuli were muted. My ability to speak didn’t transmit to my tongue and lips. Thoughts formed and evaporated into nothingness. Scents and sounds disappeared before they could register. Neither warm nor cold, I was engulfed within a cocoon of nothingness.
I wasn’t certain of how long it lasted, how long I floated outside the boundary of consciousness, until the tightly constructed shell around me began to crack. Small splinters at first fissured until foreign sounds penetrated the darkness.
A cry.
A baby’s cry.
My name.
“Madeline.”
It was repeated over and over as I searched the darkness. Such as wandering through a forest on a pitch-black night, I couldn’t find my way to the child.
Was it the baby that called out to me or someone else?
I was trapped in the darkness, eager to wake.
Finally, I willed my eyes to open. Just as quickly, I blinked them shut.
The room around me was bright with sunlight, and beside the bed, where once there had been a chair, was now the small baby bed they called a bassinet. A groan came from my dry throat as I attempted to move. My hands came to my midsection and my fingers splayed. Beneath my nightgown, my flesh was tender and soft. My abdomen was no longer enlarged; my baby was gone.
“Help,” I called, quietly at first, but with each attempt my volume rose.
Scoot by scoot, I made my way to the side of the bed. My once-muted nerves came back to life as pain radiated from my midsection. Ignoring the warning, I pulled myself to the edge of the bed and lowered my feet to the floor. Before I could stand, the door behind me opened.
“Madeline, you must rest.”
I quickly turned to Irina. “My baby.”
“Yes,” she said, rushing toward me. “Lie back. You must be careful of your stitches.”
“No.” I didn’t care about my stitches or the pain or anything other than my baby. I forced myself to stand.
Peering down into the small bed, my knees gave out.
The bed was empty.
“Where is my baby?” I cried, fighting the onset of emotions. There were too many to recognize, creating a tidal wave capable of submerging me until I was tossed about like a buoy freed in a turbulent storm only to be lost at sea.
Irina rushed to the side of the bed. “She’s in the nursery. Dr. Kotov has looked her over…”
She.
Her.
My baby was a girl.
“A girl,” I said, looking up at the woman before me.
“Yes, and she is small, but the doctor is confident she’ll be well.”
“I need to see her, Irina.” When she didn’t respond, I did all I could do. I begged. “Please, take me to her.”
“You must rest, too, for her.”
“Please, Irina.”
Her expression cooled as her lips came together, yet despite that, she reached for my hands and with an arm around my shoulder helped me stand. “Slowly,” she instructed.
“Thank you.”
My teeth clenched as with each step, what had been a dull ache throbbed to life inside me. Fire streaked through me, shooting pain until tears teetered upon my lids. “Did I have surgery?”
“Yes, your daughter became distressed.”
“But she’s all right?” I asked.
As we came to the pocket door separating my suite from her room, I saw the clear bed where the bassinet had been. There were boxes near it with monitors and numbers. The bed was enclosed with a light above it.
I took another step closer. “What are they doing to her?”
“The bed has oxygen. Her lungs are too young. She needs help breathing.”
My fingers splayed over the glass as I peered down at the beautiful baby within. Even being early, her small head was covered in a fine layer of dark hair. Her eyes were covered by a small blindfold as a light shined down upon her. Only wearing a tiny diaper, her skin was almost translucent, showing a network of red and blue lines beneath.