The officer said, “Fine. They can’t go inside the house or inside any buildings on the property, though, you understand? Same for you, Miss. This is a crime scene now. We need all of you to leave as soon as we take your dad to the station. We’ll be taping off the area.”
As he turned and left, a couple of the other officers took Max by the arms and walked him to one of the police cars. Blue and red light washed over the houses and ground with a sweeping rhythm. The crowd murmured. A couple of people pointed.
Maggie put her face in her hands and wept. The sound she made was horrible, like the howling of a wounded animal.
I didn’t know what to say. Andy remained silent, observing her, waiting.
Finally, Maggie wiped the tears from her face and the snot from under her nose. She looked incredibly lost and tormented. Her eyes looked haunted. She said, “I don’t understand. I don’t understand.”
I asked, “What happened, Maggie?”
She said, “The police found my mother.”
I said, “Oh, my God, Maggie. Is she OK?” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I knew I shouldn’t have said them.
Maggie started crying again. Eventually getting herself under enough control to speak, she said, “No, she’s not OK! The police found her in a room under the barn. My dad had arranged to have the space dug out, cement poured to make walls and a floor, and a trapdoor placed on top. The police are accusing him of killing my mom. My dad says she died in her sleep and he couldn’t part with her. He’d drained her blood and set her up down there. The room was filled with roses, most of them dead. He said he brought her flowers every day. Let me go talk to my brothers…” With that, she turned and walked away.
Out of the blue, like lightning in a storm, a sharp pain ripped through my abdomen like I’d been shot. I sank into a crouching position, clutching my stomach and moaning. As soon as I could, I stood back up. Andy walked beside me to the car and opened the door. When we got inside, he said, “You really need to get that checked. It could be appendicitis. Don’t worry about taking time off. We have a pretty generous sick day policy and fifteen extra mental health days if needed. I’m going to take a few days off next week myself. That was a rather gruesome turn of events, wouldn’t you say?”
I shook my head yes. I stared out the window as we drove back to the office. People were walking along the side of the road. The show was over; they were going back home, probably to gossip about whatever they thought had happened at Max’s place.
Chapter 9
When I got home from work, I sat down at my computer and signed into the search angel forum. I had a message from Hannah!
I got up and paced around my room for a while. Today had been so emotional, I didn’t know if I could handle anything more.
Finally, I sat back down and opened the message.
There it was: the information I had asked for. The message conveyed Hannah’s excitement: I have great news for you, Jade. Your biological mother, Cora Frost, is a college professor. She has a doctorate degree in Clinical Psychology and works as a college professor. She’s currently doing field research with a professor from the Anthropology Department at her school. They’re studying a cult in Roswell, New Mexico.
She listed the name of the college, the college address and phone number, the name and location of the cult and Cora’s cell phone number.
I typed back: My goodness, how did you ever get so much information so quickly?
Hannah replied: I have my ways. She added a smiley emoji.
I thanked her and asked if I owed her any kind of payment.
She said: No. I don’t charge for my services. It makes me feel good to help people who are in the same kind of situation I was in a while back. You can donate money to an organization that helps orphans, if you’d like. I have a number of great ones on my website. Also, you can pay this experience forward by helping someone else out who’s in need of support.
I didn’t know what to say. I typed: Thank you so much! You’re very kind. I added a couple of heart emojis and a flower bouquet one.
Hannah sent back an animated heart sticker that beat. Then she typed: Let me add one more thing. If you decide not to go through with contacting your biological mother, that’s fine. This is a big step, one that will change your life forever. Don’t feel obligated to contact her if you don’t want to. I find information for people on their biological parents, but it’s totally up to each person to make the decision about what to do with it. I wish you well, no matter what you decide. If you want to talk anything over with me, just private message me here or use the email on my website.
I felt comforted by that. The decision was mine and I had someone to talk to. I thanked her again. Then I copied-and-pasted all the information she’d given me into a Word document.
I sat staring at the page for a while. Cora Frost, Ph.D. That sounded pretty good. It should be safe enough to contact a college professor. Before I lost my courage, I typed a text message to her with my cell phone: Hello. My name is Jade Whitaker. Could we meet sometime? I’ve just found out that you’re my biological mother. I’m having some health issues and would like to know something about my family genetics. I deleted I’m having some health issues. That might scare her off if she thought I wanted actual help with that.
Then I pressed Send.
That night, I slept fitfully and miserably. I had dreams that Cora Frost turned out to be a witch with the power of freezing spells. She agreed to meet with me. Suddenly extending her arms and hands toward me, she shot snow, frost and ice from her fingertips. She froze me solid. Then she took me to Siberia and buried me beneath the permafrost. I tried to scream, but no sound came out. I woke up, gasping for air and trembling. It took me a while to calm down.
I hopped onto my computer and played Dragon Age: Origins to take my mind off reality.
Falling back asleep later that night, I woke up with the worst pain in my stomach I’d ever experienced in my entire life in the same spot that kept flaring up. I decided right then and there that I’d take the week off like Andy had suggested.
In the morning, I made an appointment with our family doctor. When they heard how much pain I was in, they scheduled me for that day, late in the afternoon.
The waiting room drove me crazy. The pain flickered on and off. It was low level and intermittent, but it had me on edge. A baby kept crying. An old man kept coughing. The phone kept ringing. I wanted to scream.
Finally, the nurse came to the door and called my name. I grabbed the backpack I used as a purse and followed her into the examination room. She gave me one of those crispy, crackling pieces of paper they call a gown to put on. Ugh.
After I’d taken everything off but my socks and put on the crunchy tablecloth with arm holes, I climbed up onto the examination table and waited. And waited.
Finally, Dr. Rutherford knocked on the door and entered the room.
I explained my symptoms. She asked me to lie down. I had been told to put the gown on so that it opened in front. Folding the right side of it back, she pressed on my abdomen. I didn’t mean to, but I let out a horrible scream. The pain had been unleashed. I kept moaning. I rolled over and pulled my legs up to my chin.
Dr. Rutherford said, “Let me get an ultrasound of the area.” She sounded serious.
A technician rolled in the ultrasound machine and waited until I could straighten my body. I begged him not to press too hard.