Gone After the Wind

Chapter 35: New Light

"DON'T YOU feel a bit... odd and out of place?" Eric asked, leaning into Cara's ear as he murmured the last bit of his sentence.

Cara chuckled ruefully, not bothering to raise her head to know the cause of his sudden complaint. His inability to sit up straight on the couch despite the wide space available, and the occasional glance he made around the room as though searching for something worthwhile to getting his hands busy, blatantly suggested how their situation had successfully beaten off his patience and enabled him to feel uncomfortable. She licked the tip of her thumb, and turned one page of the magazine she was devouring, sighing as she read on. "More than you know."

Eric puffed out a dramatic sigh. "I'm relieved we're on the same boat. I thought I'm the only one getting disturbed by the fact that we've been wasting an hour, doing exactly nothing and by the fact that there's a board of missing kids in front, gaping at us ominously."

Cara squirmed, and got immediately lost on a paragraph. She tried to read again but ended up staring blankly at the words. She never thought magazine as relevant as some viewed it. To her, it's just a book of collected gossips professionally refined to hook consumers and make it seem informative. The idea of spending even a minute, looking at the fake encouraging smiles of celebrities and quotes from wealthy people was always revolting to the mind. Today, she swallowed that pride, and though she couldn't digest well the words only a true fan would enjoy, she forced herself to stay interested, all because she dreaded looking at the same board that pushed Eric on edge.

Almost everyone in the law enforcement would know how painfully hard it is to handle and acknowledge missing children cases. It's the call that everyone is uncomfortable to pick up, and one that would immediately wipe out the peace of any state or town. Because not only the narrative involved in such case is often tragic, and traumatic, it puts everyone inside a ticking clock. Every second is important, and the longer they remained unfound, the more the chances of retrieving them are fading.

Though Cara hadn't yet been appointed to lead one, she had witnessed enough to know the exact feeling to be involved. It's inexplicably haunting, disheartening and appalling. Even a single glance to the missing posters have caused her discomfort and heartache.

"It's depressing, even only looking at them. God only knows how much long those have been there, waiting to be removed, and be ruled in as case solved." Eric gruntled. "And what's more compelling is that they acquired so many posters than the police. It makes me think that we're failing to do our job properly."

Realizing that she won't get distracted by the magazine any longer, Cara hastily shoved it under the coffee table, and spared the board with a sympathetic look. "Everyone is contributing, nonetheless. It's not a competition where the last one to offer help should be condemned and be labeled as worthless. They seemed fast because they have no otherwise priority other than the welfare of the children they house. I used to think exactly the same thing, but then again, it's the children's safety that we all should be putting first. I suddenly wonder... how the victims found out about the event, anyway?"

"From the flyer," Eric stated, eyebrows drawing closer. "Right?"

"The old man didn't indicate they were clueless when they went in. They specifically asked for the flyer, without having to hear a word about him. So they had been equipped with some information before their discussion."

"Possibly. Where it came from might give us more light into the matter." Just as Eric breathed the last word, hurried muffled footsteps echoed outside and the door creaked slowly, pushed by a woman in mid-late 40's. Her hair was stacked up in a sleek bun, and her casual yet neat clothes told everything Cara need to know about her position. Her expression was hard as her round eyes darted across the room. It softened when Cara and Eric rose up, and her eyes flickered to them.

"Hi, I'm sorry for making you wait that long," she said, the softness of her voice made what she sait a lot more acceptable, crossing the threshold. She extended her arm in which Cara and Eric took gladly. "I'm Miriam Dalton, by the way. I'm the one who's in charge to take care of our system here. I'm really sorry I couldn't welcome you earlier. I hope I didn't delay anything."

"It's fine. We're not in a hurry, anyway, and this won't take too much of your time." Cara smiled.

"What's this all about again, if I may ask? I know we already talked on the phone, but I was quite lost when you mentioned about a certain event that we allegedly hosted some months ago. Is everything okay? Did we violate something? Or is this about my staffs?"

"No, Ma'am, this is actually the opposite. We're going to be frank, Mrs. Dalton, but this is about a serial murder case. Your organization has been brought up because we discovered that each of the victims have been in touch with you for the past months," Eric said right off the bat. "Whatever you have, we want that information. And if you can do that without any inconvenience, we'd appreciate it so much. We're in a ticking time bomb, Mrs. Dalton, and every minute is worth a life."

Her slim face paled but it regained its color after a moment. "Oh, I'd certainly love to help. Where would you want to talk?"

"Can we go in your office?" Cara suggested.

"Please." She beckoned the door, and without further hesitation, they exited the room.

"Excuse the ruckus. We have an upcoming stage play for the kids," Miss Dalton said when they walked past through the cramped hallway, and they stumbled upon the group of workers, arranging their animated costumes in a haste. It was chaotic, to put it simply. Everywhere was a set of complicated movements, hanging around the air, filling up the neat space. It looked more like the backstage of a theater. "There has been an unexpected change in the schedule. It should be tomorrow, but the visitors insisted to move it early. We have no choice since the world has alreay spread, and the children are expecting it, too."

"Who sponsors you to do something like this?" Eric asked. "I'm suprised that you still have time, despite the workload you have to face everyday. Isn't that a bit too much?"

"We're a non-profit organization, Detective, every minute counts for us. Regardless of how hard it seem, we're still managing to do all of them at once. As for the sponsor, anyone is eligible to donate and initiate beneficial activities for the children. Philantropist or not, everyone is welcome to help us." Dalton smiled. "This play, for example, was suggested and backed up by one of our partner—the St. Maria Catholic School. They've been with us for years, and are responsible for the moldings of the children. Activities like this, helps them understand the basic moral teachings of God. They can use them as their guide when they grow up. It happens annually, and so far, it's bringing good effects on them."

"How do these institutions find you, anyway?" Cara asked.

Dalton led them across the lobby where another long passage of rooms was waiting for them.

"Either through a word of many, or through one of our websites, we're actually quite not sure. We don't waste time tracing it. What's important is they have heard of us. But I do think it sometimes depends on the cause of the institutions. What they want to spread, or what kind of help they wish to cater to the children."

Soon as they reached the farthest end of the hallway, Mrs. Dalton unlocked the only room nestling at its corner. She opened the door widely, and ushered them inside. "Please, make yourself comfortable."

For someone handling hundreds of neglected child cases, her office was extremely neat and cozy. It didn't smell of old, crunchy papers, like one you'd expect in an office of a social worker. It was immaculate and spacious. The big drawers pushed to the far end of the wall didn't come off as a sore to the eye. Everything was arranged in accordance to the pleasure of possible guests. The corners were filled with ornaments, and the walls were occupied with plaque of recognitions and paintings.

"Do you want some refreshments before we proceed?" Mrs. Dalton asked as Cara and Eric sat down on the two seater couch in align with her desk, facing the door. "I could ask someone to bring in some sandwiches and lemonade. Or order anything you want."

"Thanks but we had already eaten on the way here," Eric declined in a manner of certain politeness, taking out his pad of notes as he spoke. "If it isn't too much to ask, we'd like to start with the question right away. Would that be too much to ask?"

"I can see no problems with it." She shot an anxious look towards Cara, seemingly searching for some hesitation in her. Much to her misfortune, Cara showed no signs of objection. She nodded as a response, and Mrs. Dalton curled her lips inward.

"It has come to our discovery that you had housed a special event in which all of the victims that had fallen in our lap had participated. You must understand that this didn't come from a hearsay or a whisper from someone. Our presence here is the result of countless inquiries we made ever since the start of investigation. And we strongly believe it wasn't out of mere coincidence. There's a reason why the trail led us here. You're the only one who can enlighten us why."

"But what could that be? I haven't had any problems with my staffs, the parents or donors for some time. I can't think of any possible reason how our institution could have connected the lives of random women, Detective."

"Perhaps tell us more about this," Eric continued, pushing the flyer they found at the store. Dalton picked it up with precise curiousity, her eyes scanning every details imprinted on the small glossy paper. When she was finished, she eyed them with a questionable look, the color on her face going slightly pale. She tried to hide it, but Cara was quick enough to pick up the terror that sliced through her innocent eyes.

"May I know where did you find this?" she asked, her voice shook a bit.

"Is it that important to know?" Eric's eyebrow shot up.

Scratching her eyebrow, Dalton shrugged, anxious. "For the sake of tracing back what inspired this event, I figured you should tell me. Because this flyer was never meant to reach the public domain nor be owned by those who wasn't part of our cause. You see, this event was exclusively made for our top tier donors, private consultants and well-off institutions that never missed to back us up when it terms of meeting the needs of the children. It is mainly evoked to pay for their generosity, and remind them of how tremendous their help had been. Releasing it to the public would violate their privacy, and I don't want that for them."

"Tell us more about the event itself, then," Cara probed. "What it really was, who were the participants, and what was the arrangement of everything. Tell us about these. And please don't left anything in secret."

"It's just your typical puppet show, the beloved children played the role as experienced puppeteers, while the rest of my staffs acted as their confederates. Bringing in foods while the audience watch and laugh, and giving the children some assistance whenever they get tingly for doing their own show. Just the likes of that. It didn't have any distinguishable factors that will make it unique from a normal show." Dalton cleared her throat. "And like I pointed out earlier, the audience were our sponsors, and the event only happened once. It started on 7:00 am, and was only ended when one of our sponsors suggested that it was time to wrap up everything. If that hadn't happened, I would think it would have lasted more than a day. The kids were happy; the sponsors were pleased, and the staffs didn't looked as though the busyness of the day bothered them."

"Did something unusual happened that day?"

"Unusual? Like... what?" Dalton remarked, shooting Eric with a skeptical glance.

Eric shrugged. "I don't know, something in line with a break-out? Maybe someone showed up uninvited, and caused disturbance in your place. Anything that stood out that you still couldn't forget or still not figured out why it happened. Has anything come to mind?"

"It was peaceful, all day. I don't suppose there was ever any kind of incident worth—" She paused, her face brightening up as though the clouds had been swept away on the sky. "Wait, hold on. If I'm getting it right, there was an actual incident that put the show in a halt soon as it occurred. I can't seem to remember what had been the actual cause but one of the sponsors, whom we never had the chance to see in person other that day, forced one of my staff to take down all the puppets and marionettes we used so he could buy them. He offered a large sum of money in the hopes it would change the mind of my staff but what he did spread fear and skepticism more. When my staff didn't agree again, he threw a fit. It was more of tantrum. Like that of a child who heard 'no' for the first time. He demanded we gave them to him. We asked why he'd need it, and almost all of us were shocked by his answer. He said... he wanted to destroy them for arousing his memory with marionettes."

Cara and Eric glanced with each other. Both having the same train of thoughts, and same compulsive feelings. Eric broke the stare, leaning in as he spoke with urgency. "What did you do next?"

"Deescalate the situation, of course. He resisted. Fought back really hard. But the senselessness of his words and reasoning compelled us to finally kick him out. He left willingly, but I doubt he really accepted what we did. We checked his file after the incident, and that was where it got weirder. He's a loyal sponsor, you know. He's been doing charity works at our back, supporting us with every possible ways he can. We never met him before. That's why it had been a shock for him to act that way."

"Was he vile when the show started?"

"No. He was completely civil when I talked to him. The next thing we knew, he's throwing the chairs all around, and cursing at us. Saying we intentionally did it to mock him."

"Can we get his name?"

"Sure but... that would be a violation to our protocol—"

"Miss Dalton, would you really choose to go by the rules even if it means losing another life in the process?" Eric asked. Dalton paused, her mouth hanging open. Her eyes darted at Cara, fear striking her face.

"What is really going on?"

Eric didn't answer her in prose. In exchange to that, he pulled another folder under his jacket and dropped it on the table. He lifted the cover with a swift move, letting the files about the victims stick out like a sore thumb. Dalton only spared it with a quick look, but the horror on her face suggested how long it would stay on her mind. Years. Or might be forever. If she'll figure out something to get rid of the memories, that is.

But that is highly unlikely. It wasn't akin to the files she had to review everyday after all.

"We got three innocent women's lives taken by a single man. All had been slaughtered, tortured, and mocked for reasons that we'd never understood. The manner in which they were persecuted had something to do with dolls, marionettes, specifically. And from the data we gathered so far, the only dot that connected these low risk victims are this event that you orchestrated. We believe that whoever's behind this cruelty may have connections in your institution or may be working under your supercision. We're dancing along with those possibilities. But one thing is for sure, if we won't end this right away, there's a chance the victims will pile up. Do I still need to explain it more, Mrs. Dalton?"

"You think the client I mentioned is the suspect, then?" Dalton concluded.

"We'll know once we talked to him," Cara answered. "As of now, all we need is your cooperation."

Dalton slowly nodded. "I have no problem with that. But you must understand, there are duties that I need to perform, as well. Believe me, I really want to help. But risking my job, and my client's privacy will—"

"Supposing your client is our real man. Didn't he violated his duties as a sponsor, too? You don't have to protect him, as these will all be veiled with utmost confidentiality. Just give us his name. And information why all of these women became your sponsors in the first place," Cara suggested, pointing the names of the victims along with their beaming portraits. The accurate summary of how good their lives had been before a maniac decided to step in.

"I can give you the first but I'm not at proper liberty to reveal their intent and the cause behind their philanthropies. I'm sorry, it's not really possible." Dalton shook her head, the compliance wearing off soon as the last word of her sentence flew out of her mouth.

Cara stilled, the space between her eyebrows disappearing. "Why not?"

"You're gonna have to need a warrant for that."

Cara stared at her with disbelief. Eric scoffed, exasperated at the unforeseen dismissal, finding the idea more absurd than it already sounded. One moment she was willing to cooperate, and now she's full-on dodging the chance she got to help them? It would have been understandable if she was defiant right from the beginning. The sudden change on her stance made it more overtly suspicious, if not, peculiar.

What harm will it cause, if that information would be used and taken out of confidentiality? It wasn't as though it will be used against the dead. The police won't do no more damage. The culprit has done enough. If anything, it will ease the pending difficulties of the investigation, clearing what might be another hurdle in their journey. And if luck would invest in their favor, this will probably be the biggest break they'll ever received.

Why disregard such a distinct act for the sake of a small group of individuals who are well-off, alive, and can retain their own protection? Considering her job, which was meant to save the oppressed, shouldn't she be honored to roll on the dirt in paying tributes to the women who had served and supported their values 'till the very end of their lives?

Unless, her hands are tied by someone much powerful. Who can issue threats without flinching, and can put an end to anyone's career with a whip of his hands. Meredith is one accurate example. If his influence isn't what holds her back, it'd be hard to break her defense.

Letting her mind be lured on that notion, Cara took control of herself at once. She fixated a civil smile, the kind that doesn't tell much of what she feel but will suffice to lay out an impression that this isn't the last time they'll ever speak.

"Alright, then. We'll go your way," Cara agreed, earning a disturbed look from Eric. "In return of the trouble you clearly have no intention to relieve, give us the names of your employees so we can run a background check on them while we investigate this man you mentioned. Certainly, that won't be a problem, too?"

"No, no, not at all. G-Give me a second." She stood up, and in a flash, crossed the distance between the table and the door.

"You're letting her off the hook?" Eric asked the moment she was completely gone.

"For now, yes. But soon, she'll realize her mistake. Did you see how horrified she was when she saw the files? That will leave a mark, I assure you. If she really is a virtuous woman as we know, she'll be in touch with us sooner or later."

"If we'd wait for her conscience to take effect, how are we going to catch this guy?"

"Heed faith, Eric. Her decision wasn't her own, you know. Something or someone persuaded her to act nonchalant once we come consulting her. I have a feeling it's Meredith."

"Because one of the victims is his daughter? He wants to avoid any issue, is that it?"

"That surely counts. But I fear there are more—"

The sound of a cellphone ringtone cut their conversation off. Eric checked his pocket, and as he answered the call, Cara let her mind wander off, checking every possibilities, every scenario, and every motives that could explain why Meredith put a leash on someone who's clearly defenseless and powerless against him.

"Yeah. Still here. Did I hear it right?"

Cara blinked away the thoughts. Eric suddenly rose up, his face became devoid of color. Alarmed, she stood up, as well, watching him bob his head and lick his lips. "W-We'll be right there." He pocketed his cellphone, and looked up to Cara. His eyes were dimmed with panic and fear. "We got another one."

Shit.