The White Carnation (32 page)

Faye used the commode, grateful she'd managed to hang on to that much of her dignity. This time when she stood, the blood flow to her feet was less painful. She wrinkled her nose and noted the dark stains all over her clothes.
I smell worse than a horse.
The shirt was ruined, and it was one of her favorites. Stripping, she used the goat's-milk soap provided and washed herself as well as she could. The fresh, clean scent of the soap reminded her of babies, and she frowned. Hadn't she suspected she might be pregnant?
Let's hope I'm wrong.
She rinsed herself with the clear, tepid water and dried off as best she could with one of the small linen towels. She wet her hair in the bowl, massaged some of the soap into it, and rinsed it. By the time she'd rubbed it dry, both linen towels were soaked.

The woman hadn't provided underwear, and Faye was loathe to put her soiled ones back on. Reaching for the nightgown, she hesitated. She realized it was similar to those worn by the Harvester's victims, but the room was cool, leaving her no choice. In the small plastic bag Faye found a new hairbrush, deodorant, a toothbrush, and toothpaste, further proof this cult or whatever it was didn't forsake all modern amenities. She'd barely finished rolling up her dirty clothes when the woman returned with a tray holding a bowl of hot cereal and a steaming mug.

“Sit and eat.” The woman placed the tray on the small desk. “I'll fetch the linens.” She left, locking the door behind her once more.

The smell of cinnamon made Faye's stomach rumble. When had she eaten last? She quickly polished off the oatmeal and the mug of warm milk. She'd just finished the last mouthful of cereal when the woman returned with sheets, a pillow, a yellow, wool blanket, and a beautiful, white cotton quilt. She quickly made the bed and placed the yellow blanket at the foot of the bed.

“It's cool tonight. You may want to use your blanket. I'll take those dirty things with me when I'm done.” She pointed to the clothes Faye had piled beside the commode. “You'll get your daytime garments in the morning. Now that you've finished eating, please lie on the bed on your back, bend your knees, and let your legs drop. I'm sure you've assumed this position before. Nothing to be shy about. I need to examine you. This won't take but a moment.”

“You don't have to do that, Mother,” Faye spoke quickly. “I haven't had a period in close to nine weeks.”

Faye thought she could see sympathy in the woman's eyes.

“I don't understand you outsiders. You'll drop your drawers for any man who calls himself a doctor, and yet you all act as if my examining you is the most humiliating thing you've ever undergone. Get used to it. It's my job to check and confirm the good news. I know you're afraid, but you won't come to any harm here. You're a wife. James is your husband. You'll get the best care. Now. Relax. It doesn't hurt if you relax.”

“He's not my husband.”

The woman chuckled. “Of course he's not, but he will be soon. Now, let's get this over with. It's late, and you need sleep, as do I.”

Humiliated, afraid to learn what she suspected was true, and holding back the tears that threatened to fall, Faye complied, only because the survivalist mantra she'd been taught to use in hostage situations kept running through her mind.
Mustn't show fear, keep calm, cooperate, mustn't show weakness, don't make them angry, don't panic.

Despite Faye's deepest fears, the woman's touch was gentle.

“Congratulations. You're breeding. Early in the first trimester to be sure, but it looks good. You've got good, strong hips—made for birthing. Jimmy has chosen wisely. The Prophet will be pleased. Get some rest. You need to keep up your strength. We leave in five days, and the journey will be a long one. I'll see you in the morning.”

“Wait! What journey? Where are we going?”

“So many questions. Curiosity is the devil's tool, but since you're new to our ways, I'll indulge you this time. You're in the primary stable with all the other exceptional young mares. The exodus starts tomorrow, but we leave for the Promised Land in five days.”

“Why do you call me a mare? I'm not a horse.”

The woman laughed. “I see you have a temper. We'll soon rid you of that. Tell me, Faye … That is your given name?”

Faye nodded.

“What would
you
call females selected specifically for breeding, who live in a stable?”

She left the stall, closing the door behind her. The bolt slid into place, and Faye heard her chuckling to herself as she moved away.

Faye shivered, not from the cold but from fear. The woman was right about one thing—she needed to keep up her strength. She'd find a way out of this hellhole if it was the last thing she ever did. Neither she nor Mary were brood mares.
Damn it. I'm a liberated woman.
She left the tray on the desk, used the commode again, and walked back to the bed.

Another rule of survival was to know your environment. She stood on the bed and looked out over the side of her enclosure. It was dark, but her light brightened it enough that she could see four enclosures beside her and that many across what must be a hallway. She was in the second stall, so that meant one on the other side. How many were there? Ten? More?

Mother had placed the lamp on the bedside table; Faye turned off the light and let her eyes adjust to the darkness. Now that she knew a little about where she was, she could let herself think of her predicament. She was pregnant—not as big a surprise as it might have been since she'd suspected it several days ago. There were ways to terminate an unwanted pregnancy, but at the moment, that wasn't an option. The woman hadn't tied her up again; maybe she could find a way to escape in the morning. There was no way she'd stay here, but she couldn't leave without Mary.

So where was here? It had been almost eleven thirty this morning when she'd last looked at the clock wondering where Rob was, and it had been dark when they'd arrived. Nightfall was around nine thirty at this time of year, so she was within a ten-hour radius of Lake Placid. Okay. She'd try to get her bearings in the morning. Mother said they'd be leaving in five days—she had to find a way out of here before that.

She yawned, suddenly dizzy, and sat down abruptly on the bed.
Damn! I've been drugged again. Surely that can't be good for the baby.

• • •

Rob awoke with a start when someone shook his shoulder.

“Agent Clark needs you in the briefing room. We've had a breakthrough.”

“Give me fifteen minutes.”

Rob went into the washroom, shaved and showered as quickly as he could, and then pulled on his jeans and a clean, navy t-shirt with
Lake Placid
emblazoned across it. He grabbed his shoulder holster and tweed jacket off the end of the bed. His hair was wet, but it would do. Someone would be in to clean the bed for the next guy. He hoped that wouldn't be him. His watch said it was almost ten. He'd crashed around five this morning. He'd been here twenty-four hours, and still no word on Faye. He needed to go home and get some proper sleep. He wasn't doing her any good like this. He needed to be able to think clearly.

They'd identified the Fotomat girl yesterday from the information supplied by the tattoo artist. A young man had brought Eloise Colchester, a member of the cult near Grants, into the tattoo parlor in Albuquerque about four years ago. The girl had a large scar on her face, some kind of burn, and he wanted a tattoo that would hide it. They'd looked through a number of designs, and she'd picked an eagle. She'd called it a warrior angel's design.

The tattoo artist had quickly sketched a picture of the young man—both Rob and Tom recognized Jimmy, the photographer who'd quit his job and disappeared. The tattoo artist had been returned safely to New Mexico. This was one witness who wouldn't die.

“What's up, Trevor?” Rob asked, coming into the room.

“Prints are back from the cabin, and we got a break. James Colchester, aka Jimmy Farley, is the man who took Faye. He's also the bastard who raped her and the others.”

“Son of a bitch. He's the Harvester?” Rob couldn't believe what he was hearing. That guy had been around Faye for months. Why do this now?

“We don't think he's the killer,” Trevor said, “but he's definitely the man who fathered the children. DNA from Jimmy's nest matches the DNA from the case files. James Colchester was born in Grants at the New Horizon commune. He's one of ten children—seven boys and three girls. He applied for a job as a forest ranger and a gun permit about four years ago. That's why his prints are on record. He came here with the Farley identification a little less than three years ago and started working at the paper. It took a while, but we've managed to piece together a surprising amount of information about the New Horizon cult. I've sent word to Pierce to abandon recon on Slocum. We need to get the satellites working elsewhere, looking for these people. Based on what we've got, you're talking almost three hundred people who could be part of this thing.”

Rob whistled. “Faye said cults tended to stay smaller than that. What the hell are they up to?”

“We don't know for sure,” Tom said, joining them, “but we think Faye was right. The Harvester is dynasty-building, and he's got to do it quickly. He's on the clock—a baby every three months, and no one woman can do that. If Jimmy is doing this, you can bet your sweet ass his six brothers are doing it, too. We've got the information on the Harvester out on the wire, and we're focusing on missing pregnant women, not just around here, but all over. We'll find him. Jimmy Farley can't hide from us anymore, and neither can the rest of these sick bastards. We've got them dead to rights.”

“Well, let's hope the mole doesn't tell him we're onto him.”

Faye awoke to the sound of a school bell clanging. The bolt on her cell door slid back, and a young girl, no more than twelve, came into the room with a tray on which sat a glass of orange juice and what appeared to be vitamins. If Mother Kate or Jimmy thought she'd voluntarily drink or eat anything after being drugged again, they had another thought coming.

Realizing the door was unlocked, Faye threw back the covers and hurried to the entrance and what she hoped was freedom, only to be stopped by Mother Kate standing just beyond it, a riding crop held firmly in her hand.

“So predictable,” she said and sighed. “Get back inside and wait until I come for you. You've earned a day of solitary confinement with your attempted escape.”

“What attempted escape? I was just having a look around. The door was open … Am I a prisoner here?”

“No intelligent breeder lets his mares roam freely. Think of yourself not as a prisoner but as someone to be protected at all costs. Drink your juice and take your vitamins, and then I'll take you to shower. Annie will watch to be sure you comply.”

“How do I know you aren't drugging me again?”

Mother Kate snorted. “You don't. You need to lose your belligerent attitude, young lady. Wife or not, such behavior is not permitted. As the Bible says, ‘Foolishness abounds in the heart of a mare; but the rod of correction shall drive it far from her.' You need to obey the rules and trust the hand that feeds you.” She raised the crop. “Now, will you go in quietly, or will I have to force you back?”

Faye scanned the area around her. She was in a hallway with doors on either side, all of them no doubt locked. Was Mary behind one of them? The door at the end of the hall had a window in it. How fast could she make it there?

The crop came down hard on her arm, its stinging blow shocking her.

“Ouch!” Faye backed into the stall, her hand covering the welt. She turned toward the bed, ready to throw herself on it and cry, but the sight of her young jailor kept her from shedding tears.

“The rod of correction is designed to teach you to behave. As you've seen, one lash is unpleasant. As other stubborn mares have learned, many are painful. I'll attend to the others and be back for you later. Think carefully before you break another rule.”

Faye lifted her chin in defiance. “They aren't my rules. I don't know them, so how can I follow them?”

The child handed her the glass of juice and the small cup of vitamins. Faye glared at Mother Kate. If she wanted to get out of this damn prison cell, she'd have to do as she was told. Survival training 101—
don't show fear, keep calm, cooperate, don't show weakness, don't make them angry, don't panic.

She took the pills, tossed them into her mouth, and swallowed them with the juice.

Mother Kate nodded her approval, motioned to Annie to leave the cell, and followed her out. The sound of the bolt sliding back into place was as loud as thunder.

Faye swallowed her humiliation. To be called a mare was bad enough, but to be treated like one was worse. Mary. Her friend might be happy-go-lucky, but she'd never tolerate being treated like this. No doubt she'd earned more than one lash.

After using the commode once more, Faye sat on her bunk, listening for sounds from the hallway or the other stalls. She heard bolts sliding, but the only voice was Mother Kate's ordering the mares into the showers. Communal showers, how quaint. She hadn't suffered through group showers since high school.

Faye listened to the sound of running water, hoping to catch Mary's voice, but no one spoke. Weren't they allowed to speak? The child who'd come to her room hadn't, but Faye had assumed it was because she was shy. Of course, stopping them from speaking to one another made sense if they were being indoctrinated. It was a form of isolation. Mary loved to sing in the shower and would talk to anyone who'd listen. Hell, she even had long, involved conversations with Muffin, so being forced to be silent like this would be torture.

Faye paced the cell and counted her steps as she did so. Twelve, twenty-four, thirty-six, forty-eight. The room seemed to be getting smaller and smaller as she moved back and forth. It reminded her of an elevator, and the only thing staving off panic was the fact that the ceiling had to be thirty feet high. Sun poured in through the open window, and with it came a scent that tickled her mind. She'd smelled that before, the day the man had knocked her down outside of Lucy Green's apartment. It was the smell of the herbal cigarettes Jimmy smoked. Their odor reminded her of a grass fire.