Rick Mofina - Full Tilt

The sounds of breezes fingering through trees carrying birdsong gave the site a funereal air. The scene was small, with a clean, hollowed-out hole in the earth. The excavated and sifted soil was piled neatly next to it. Other news crews worked quietly, respectfully around the scene, recording it from different angles.

Sanner took a number of shots as Kate made notes.

No one spoke. There was little to say, until Sanner took Kate aside.

“I’m going up in a charter with a Minneapolis TV station to get aerial shots. I can drop you at the motel, or leave you here to get a ride back.”

“Leave me, Lund. I’ll write my story here and catch up with you at the motel.”

Before Sanner left, he showed Kate a shot he had taken of her. It was a head and shoulders of her at the press conference, a beautiful crisp shot that captured the anguish written in her face as she studied the enlarged photo of Vanessa.

“You’re part of the story, Kate. New York was watching the live coverage and asked me to get that shot. Sorry.”

Kate understood.

After Sanner left she walked farther into the woods, found a private spot on lush grass in the shade of a tree and took out her laptop. Her fingers were shaking as she held them over the keypad. She bit back on her emotions and forced herself into her zone to write fast, clean copy.

After proofing, then filing her story to New York, she sat motionless, listening to the birds, trying hard not to think, for if she thought about it all, she knew she’d crack and break. She didn’t know how much time had passed before her phone rang.

“How are you doing, Kate?” asked Chuck.

“The best I can,” she responded.

“I can’t imagine how hard this must be. We’re all praying for your sister.”

“Thank you, Chuck.”

“Outstanding work. Every Newslead subscriber wants your story. Every competitor wants to interview you. You’re cleared by HQ to grant interviews, if you’re up to it.”

“Not yet, I’m still a bit shaky.”

“Whatever you want to do on that front is fine, especially if you think it will help find your sister. We’ve got the Tulsa bureau talking to the family of Brittany Ellen Sykes. I’ve told them to ask about links to your sister, but you know from your experience what the chances are.”

“Yes, thanks, Chuck.”

“Our thoughts are with you. I hope like hell they catch the bastard soon. Safe travels home.”

Kate got to her feet and walked back to the scene.

With each step she embraced the fact her sister was here. Across time, across the continent, against all hope, Vanessa had survived and was here! And she was alive!

The realization jolted her back to the icy mountain river, feeling Vanessa’s little hand as it slipped from hers. Now, by the grace of God, Kate felt it inching closer, inching back, giving her a second chance to seize Vanessa and never let go.

Hennepin County, Minnesota

The large property stood alone on the edge of a new subdivision.

A rusting metal fence protected several dozen wrecks in one corner. Next to it, there was an oversize garage and a big house. Trees and bramble lined the acreage. The nearest neighbor was a quarter mile away.

At one time, this was a rural auto salvage business. A few years after the owner died, it was rented to a numbered company, controlled, through a complex network of shell companies, by Sorin Zurrn.

Now dust rose in the wake of Zurrn’s pickup truck as it cut along the dirt road that twisted across the rutted fields. He savored the isolation as he parked the truck at the rear of the house and hoisted two bags of groceries from the cab.

Inside he pulled out a wrapped chicken sandwich, a bag of potato chips, an apple and a bottle of water. He whistled as he trotted down the creaky basement stairs. In the faint light he went to a dank, cinder-block room that was about eight square feet. It was sealed with a reinforced steel-mesh door that was secured with a lock.

As he approached, something inside moved.

“Give me your bucket,” Zurrn said.

He unlocked a smaller door within the main one and the woman inside passed Zurrn a metal waste bucket. Its contents made a liquid swishing sound. He emptied it in the floor drain, then uncoiled a hose, washed the contents down and rinsed the bucket before returning it to the cell.

He was still holding the hose.

“Look at you!” he said. “Get those clothes off, time to shower!”

The woman removed her soiled clothes. Zurrn unlocked and opened the steel mesh door. As he sprayed her naked body with the hose, water gurgled out the slat of the sloped floor and snaked to the drain. He passed her soap and shampoo. She immediately washed herself, as if this was a ritual. Zurrn rinsed her, then tossed her a towel and dry clothes. As she dressed he set her food inside, then shut the door, hard.

It rattled, shaking cinder blocks around the door frame.

He locked the door and tossed the hose aside, leaned against the cage-like front of the cell and watched her eat.

Still a glorious specimen.

“We’re only staying here for a little while before we move on,” he said. “You’ll love the new place. It’s breathtaking. Like you.” His fingers traced the steel mesh as he watched the woman for a long moment. “Well,” he said, “excuse me, I have work to do.”

Zurrn went outside to the large garage, unlocked the side entrance door and entered. The air was heavy with smells of rubber, oil and gas. A dozen vehicles-cars, official-looking service trucks and vans-were partially covered with tarpaulins. The van he’d bought in Utica, New York, was among them. The storage shelves lining one wall held an array of tools, equipment, new computer and IT components stacked in unopened boxes. Another area contained racks of clothing and uniforms of all types. It resembled the wardrobe department of a film production company.

Over the years, he’d established several properties like this across the country. His “depots,” he called them. Satisfied that he had enough resources to be anyone he needed to be or make any key adjustments he needed to continue his collection work, he returned to the house.

He had converted the dining room to his war room by placing a large table in the center. He leaned over it to study the pictures, maps and property records of the new Palace of Supreme Perfection that awaited him on a remote and vast expanse of land. Admiring the detail and effort he’d invested over the years, Zurrn closed his eyes and inhaled the dream that was within his grasp.

Then he sat in a musty sofa chair, kept perfectly still and contemplated his situation. He considered the news stories and that reporter. Kate Page, prattling on. “My sister, my sister.” Kate Page is a brainless moth blindly flicking about in my brilliance, an annoyance of no consequence. Like the police, she’d never know the truth. Nobody would, because it no longer existed. Haven’t I established my superiority? Soon, I’ll assume my rightful place among the immortals, like Jack the Ripper and the Zodiac.

They’ll revere me throughout the ages.

Zurrn shifted his thoughts.

Recently he’d made some difficult choices on which specimens to terminate and which to keep as he rebuilt his collection. With a heavy heart he went to one of his laptops and replayed a video-a video he’d shared with a very select group who appreciated his art.

Oh, those expressive eyes, the sheer terror, evocative of my butterflies fluttering themselves to death in the kill jar. My pretty things, you make me tingle all over.

But it was all for the best. He needed to collect fresh specimens.