Among the Shrouded (2 page)

“Nothing really.
  There was just this guy in a lineup…”

“A guy?”
Chelsea asked, raising an eyebrow in her direction.

“Yes.  A guy,” she
replied, rolling her eyes at her friend.  “It was nothing.  He was just… unusual.”

“Unusual
like ‘I’m in a trailer for a horror flick’ way or unusual ‘I’m totally interesting and you should get to know me’ kind of way?”

“Neither. 
What are you doing tonight?” she asked in an attempt to change the subject.

“Nothing.
  I’m beat.  Tyler is working late, so he won’t be over.  I picked up a movie if you want to watch it with me.”

“Yeah.
  Let’s do that.  Let me change and I’ll help with dinner.”

She
spent the rest of the evening trying desperately to forget about Thomas Pritchett and his missing aura, but her mind kept wandering back to him.  She wasn’t sure if it was the missing aura or the sadness she saw in the lines of his face, but she was convinced there was more to him than met the eye.

C
HAPTER

2

T
HOMAS

Thomas took the ten dollar bill he made from the lineup and put it in his pocket, adding it to the $186 he had already cashed from his paycheck at the restaurant.  He hopped a bus to the Inner Harbor where he hoped to add a little more money to his wallet, giving him enough for the mortgage that was due by the following afternoon.  If he didn’t, it was going to be a ramen noodle kind of week.

It was getting late and he was happy to be leaving the more dangerous area of the city where the police station was located.  He
always felt anxious around high crime areas but not just because it gave him a general feeling of malaise.  Although he knew there was always the risk of being mugged or shot or attacked in some way, there was more to it for him.  For a reason unknown to him and for as long as he could remember, he could sense when there was the potential for danger and, for this reason, he was relieved to be heading into the relative tranquility of the hotel lobby right in the heart of the city.

When he arrived,
he made his way into the spacious entrance of the hotel, giving a nod to Bill at the concierge desk.  Bill, a friend of a friend, had been kind enough to get him an interview at the hotel when money had gotten tight, and for that, he had always been grateful.  The baby grand piano was located directly beside the check-in counter, which he was glad to see was teeming with guests.  Friday nights were typically great for tips, especially if he arrived in time to catch the dinner crowd.

As
he sat down on the bench, he placed his tip jar from his backpack on top of the piano.  Beautiful music poured from his fingertips and the two story lobby was filled with a spirited rendition of
Rachmaninov’s Piano Concerto No. 3 in D minor.

Within moments, a hotel guest strolled over to place a five dollar bill into his jar.

“Where did you study?” he asked.

“Here and there,” Thomas replied, a small smile on his lips.

“I’d guess Peabody or perhaps Julliard,” the man continued.

Thomas only smiled and thanked him for his kindness. 
The reality of his playing was he had never paid for a single piano lesson.  He had, however, spent almost every afternoon of his childhood with his elementary school music teacher.  Sadly, he hadn’t chosen to stay at school long after the dismissal bell because of an intrinsic pull toward musical appreciation.  He had done so to avoid the alternative to staying at school, which was going home to his foster father.  Even at a young age, he had sensed the danger around him and sought to avoid it at all costs.

To her credit,
his biological mother could have done worse.  Drunk and high, she could have left the baby, who dropped from her loins at the rest stop bathroom.  She could have placed him in the trashcan as her boyfriend had suggested.  But she hadn’t.  Even in her frenzied state and despite the fact she had been unaware of the pregnancy, she had felt compassion toward her son.  She convinced his father to drive her to the closest fast food restaurant where she left him just outside the entrance, wrapped in a Mega Metal concert t-shirt, in the middle of the night.

After that,
he had become a ward of the state, moving from orphanage to orphanage and eventually foster home to foster home.  Each placement had been worse than the last and he had found ways to avoid his foster families.  In elementary school, instead of going home after the final bell rang, he would hang out with his music teacher, Mrs. Lawson.  She had been drawn to his sweet spirit and happily took him under her wing.  It was Mrs. Lawson who had inspired his love of music and taught him to play the piano.  But it was also Mrs. Lawson who reported the bruising on his arms and torso to the Department of Social Services.  After he was removed from the first abusive home, he never saw his music teacher again.

He had
lived with a total of four different foster families during his childhood.  Sadly, the second and third had been no better than the first.  In alcohol induced furies, the foster fathers would often attempt to use him as a punching bag, but somehow, he was always aware of when the men were ready to strike and would manage to avoid any serious or permanent injuries.  By the time he was thirteen, he was fortunate enough to be taken in by Howard and Mildred Pritchett, an older couple who had been unable to have children of their own.  Encouraged by a flyer in their church bulletin about the benefits of adopting older children, the Pritchetts were quickly enchanted by him and saw to his care for the remainder of his teenage years.

After high school, no longer wanting to be a burden on the
Pritchetts, he had moved out, convinced he could provide for himself.  But when Howard Pritchett died of a sudden heart attack only three months later, Thomas had moved back in to help support the only real mother he had ever known.  It was Mildred to whom he would deliver his tip money at the end of the evening.  It was Mildred to whom he dedicated each of the evening’s songs.

C
HAPTER

3

MIA

Mia woke to the sound of rain dripping off the gutter just outside her bedroom window.  She hated the rain and a sense of foreboding followed her around as she readied herself for the day.  She tiptoed out of t
he apartment, leaving Chelsea sleeping peacefully in the adjacent room.

Her drive to the station was uneventful, but the moment she arrived,
she was forced to hit the ground running.  She found Jack, already in their office pouring over cases assigned to them overnight as she walked through the door.

“How bad is it
?” she asked, picking up the mug of coffee he had placed on her desk.

“We’ve been assigned t
hree shootings, two rape cases, and a murder in a pear tree,” he replied, attempting to infuse his own brand of humor into the situation.  “The sergeant wants me to take the shootings and you to take the rapes.  We’re to work the murder together.”

“
That’s fine.  Are the girls here at the station or are they still at the hospital?” she asked, picking up the files.

“They’re already d
ownstairs with Sanchez.”

“
So they’ve been processed?”

“Yeah.  Rape kits were done at the hospital and they were brought back here about half an hour ago to finish with their statements.”

“Okay.  I’m on it.”

He grabbed her arm as she passed by on her way out the door.  “There’s one more thing.  I heard the one girl is young.  Really young.”

She
took the stairs down to the basement of the building where the rape victims were waiting in separate rooms.  For some reason, she didn’t seem to mind the special victim’s cases.  Although many of her colleagues avoided them at all cost, she felt strangely compelled toward the women who were brought to her, stripped of their dignity by the men who objectified them.  As she made her way down the hall, she mentally prepared herself for what she was about to see.  It was never the same and it was never easy.

The first room housed a nineteen year old college student who had been slipped Rohypnol while she
had been at a bar the night before.  Unlike the many women who never reported being drugged and raped, this woman was brought in by a concerned roommate.  She spent just over an hour taking the victim’s statement, as well as the description of the man she believed assaulted her.  The auras around both the victim and her roommate were bright and it disturbed her to know the woman’s assailant would probably never be found.  After suggesting to the woman that she seek counseling as a way to come to terms with what had been done to her, she said her goodbyes and returned to the hallway.

In the second room,
she found a child.  Eleven year old Janelle had been found by a police officer who was patrolling the streets of her west Baltimore neighborhood at three in the morning.  She was discovered sitting on a street corner, bleeding and incoherent.  At her initial hospital interview, she had been unwilling or unable to provide the doctor with any information about what had happened to her.

She
opened the door cautiously and was horrified by the sight of the child who was curled into the fetal position on the far side of the room.  She was filthy and clearly malnourished.  The aura surrounding her was very, very dim.  She knew immediately the girl was in danger of leaving the light in favor of the darkness that was obviously a large part of her everyday existence.

She sat in a chair beside the girl and introduced herself.

“Hi, Janelle.  My name is Mia and I’m a police officer.  I want you to know I’m not going to hurt you.  And I promise not to get you into any trouble.  Do you understand what I’m saying?”

The gir
l raised her head from between her knees to make eye contact and looked skeptically at her.  She did not speak.

“I’m sure
you know who did this to you.  I bet they may have done it before.  And I bet that you might even consider him a friend.”

“He ain’t
no friend,” Janelle interrupted.

“Oh!  Good!  I’m glad.  You know a real friend would never do something like this, so I’m glad it wasn’t someone who told you they were your friend.” 
She paused, considering the girl again.  “Is your mom around?”

“Yeah,” Janelle replied.

“Was she around last night?”

“Yeah.”

“Did she know this happened?”

Janelle sat with her ch
in thrust forward stoically, her expression unwavering.  She did not answer.

Mia
leaned toward her, purposely invading her personal space and spoke to her in a low, quiet tone.  “Janelle, I know you love your momma.  And I know you feel like you’re responsible for making sure she’s okay.  But that’s her job, not yours.  I know she had something to do with what’s happened to you.  Maybe she’s trading you for drugs.  Maybe just cash.  I don’t know.  But what I do know is I’ve met other girls just like you before.  And sometimes the best place for special young women, the ones who’ve been in your shoes, is not with their mommas.”

She
paused, gauging the girl’s expression to see if she had succeeded in penetrating her armor.  Janelle’s shoulders sagged and she cast her eyes toward the linoleum floor.

“There’s this
place I know,” Mia continued.  “It’s just for girls.  Some are younger than you.  Some are older.  The girls live there, together.  They learn.  They eat and sleep and play.  And it’s safe.  There are no drugs.  There are no guns.  There are no men.  If you want, I could take you there, just to see.  You wouldn’t have to decide right away, but if you wanted to give it a try, I could make that happen.”

Neither one said anything for several minutes.  Janelle ran her fingers up and down a deep scar on her right arm.  Mia waited patiently.

“Momma got clean once.  For a little while.  She was nice to me and she didn’t keep any men around.  But then this new guy come around.  And he got Momma back on meth.  Since then…” Janelle paused, furrowing her brow.  “I try to stay away. Stay at a friend’s or somethin’, ya know?  But I have to check on her to make sure she still livin’.  Went back last night and she turned me right over to him.  She took the meth first though.”

“So, do you want to go see the place I’m talking about?  I promise I’ll check in on your Momma.  I’l
l make sure she knows you’re safe.  And happy.”

Janelle closed her eyes, considering her options. 
“Yeah.  I’ll go.”

She wanted to wrap the girl in her arms and feel her warmth, but
she knew better than to attempt any physical contact with someone in Janelle’s fragile condition.

“It’ll take me a couple days to fill out the paperwork and get the process going.  Until then, I’m going to call a friend of mine who has
a place where you can stay.  You can go there tonight.  Okay?”

“Okay.”

“And I’ll check in on you before I leave for the day.  Are you okay here?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.  Then I’ll see you later.”  She stood up to leave. 

Janelle reached across the space between them
and grabbed her hand.  “Thanks,” she said.

“You’re welcome,”
she replied, squeezing her fingers tightly.

Back in her office,
she struggled to breathe as she splashed water out of the plastic bottle on Jack’s desk onto her face.  It took several minutes to regain her composure before she was able to make the phone call to the director of the Girl’s Rescue Alliance of Baltimore.  By the time she put down the receiver, she was emotionally drained.  She was relieved the wheels were set in motion to secure Janelle’s future along a safe and happy path, as long as Janelle chose to continue to walk along it.  However, she had found over the years she could only offer to help those in need.  Help was not something that could be forced upon people who were unwilling to accept it.

She rocked on the two back legs of her chair and forced herself to think about something
other than the rape victims she had just encountered.  As her mind wandered, she immediately thought of Thomas Pritchett.  Since Jack was still preoccupied with the shooting cases, she allowed herself a few minutes to scan the police database for information about the mysterious aura-less man.

The first thing she discovered was that she and Thomas were born on the same
day in the same year.  Disquieted at first, she quickly brushed it aside as a bizarre coincidence.  There was no record of him in any of the criminal files and she was surprised to find she was relieved.  Another quick search revealed he lived with a woman named Mildred Pritchett in Overlea, just a short drive from her own apartment.  Her heart sank unexpectedly at the thought that he was married.  A property search showed the house was purchased by a Howard Pritchett, who was deceased. 

A picture of
his life began to unfold and suddenly, any intrigue she’d been feeling disappeared.  She surmised Mildred was his mother and therefore, Thomas was a grown twenty-four-year-old man who still lived at home with his mom.  Even worse, he was in such dire straights that he was willing to participate in police lineups with the hope of earning a mere ten dollars apiece.

“Who’s Thomas
Pritchett?” Jack asked as he leaned over her shoulder.

She jumped out of her chair, startle
d by Jack’s presence. “How many times have I told you not to sneak up on me!” she scolded him.

“A million,” Jack laughed.  “So, who is he?  Did you meet him on some online dating site?”

“No,” she replied, “he was the guy.  The one from the lineup yesterday.  The one with no aura.”

“So, what’d you find?”

“Nothing.  He’s just another guy.  I thought I might find something that would explain why I didn’t see anything, but there’s nothing there.  I need to forget about it.”

“I’m sure it was nothing.  He’s probably just some thug looking for drug money.  I wouldn’t give him another thought.”

She shut down her computer and picked up her coat.  “I’m going to head downstairs to check in on Janelle, the little girl, and I’ll take the murder file to read at home tonight.  Were you able to deal with the shootings?”

“Yes. 
SSDD.  Are you still meeting Stella and me for brunch tomorrow?  She wanted me to make sure I reminded you,” Jack said, rolling his eyes.

“Yes. 
We can compare notes on the murder investigation then, if Stella lets us talk shop.”

“Fat chance.
  See you tomorrow.”

“Bye
, Jack.”

After confirming that Janelle was to be well taken care of for the night and foll
owing day, she left the station and drove home.  She stopped to pick up two orders of General Tso’s chicken at the Chinese restaurant down the street from her apartment.  She found Chelsea stretched out on the sofa dressed in yoga pants and a hoodie, surrounded by stacks of term papers.

“Dinner is served,”
she called as she entered the kitchen.

“Thank goodness!” exclai
med Chelsea.  “I’m starving!  I literally haven’t moved from this sofa all day.  If I have to grade one more paper tonight I may gouge out my own eyes!”

“I got General Tso’s and egg rolls, just for you,”
she said as she set the bags of food on the kitchen counter.

The girls recounted the events of their day over dinner. 
Although Chelsea was usually able to find the silver lining in the work Mia did each day, she was unable to come up with anything positive in response to hearing of Janelle’s rape.

“So senseless.
  So brutal.  I don’t know how you do it,” Chelsea commented as they cleared the dishes together.

“I’ll be honest, after only
a few years, it’s really starting to take its toll on me.  And I can’t stop thinking about that weird guy from the lineup yesterday.”

“What does he have to do with anything?” Chelsea asked.

“I couldn’t see his aura.”