Kidnapped At Christmas. Maggie Black K.
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sleepwalking for hours afterwards. Might take days before people are able to start talking about it.”
Of course, most never talked about the hard stuff. No matter how many times they all got reminded that therapists and chaplains were available for a reason.
“I should get my bag back sometime today,” she said, “and still manage to catch a train to Montreal tonight. I was supposed to leave this morning, but the good thing about the train is I’ve got options. As long as I make it to the station by noon tomorrow I’ll make it home for Christmas Eve dinner. How about you? When do you leave?”
“I’m due back on base December twenty-seventh,” he said. “I’m going to spend Christmas morning with Alex and Zoe—probably Daniel, Olivia and the baby too—and then head up to Barrie after lunch for a really late dinner with Dad. He’s a cop and tends to work Christmas, so that the officers with young kids can be home with their families. I’ll take up a big plate of turkey leftovers for him, and we’ll celebrate together after he gets off work.”
Dad would ask him right off the bat if he’d decided whether or not to reenlist when his term was up in June. And if he said no, Dad would be expecting a pretty good answer why.
She nodded. Like he’d just answered a more important question than the one that she’d asked. “So, you don’t come from a military family?”
“My grandfather served, but when he was widowed, he transferred home to Canada to raise my father. I have such a huge amount of respect for him, for both him and my dad, in fact. Gramps used to say God put us on this planet to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. He’s the reason I enlisted.”
Lake Ontario glittered ahead through a maze of skyscrapers.
“You can get off here.” Samantha pointed to the right.
He took the exit, and drove through the quirky mishmash of shops, expensive condos and older buildings that made up downtown Toronto, following her directions until they reached a thin, standalone town house between two warehouses. The lights were off. A sign in the window read Torchlight News. He pulled into a narrow alley and parked between the garbage cans and a fire escape. His eyes scanned the silent building. “It looks closed.”
“It is closed.” She unbuckled her seat belt. “But like I told you, my laptop died so I’m going to pop in and borrow a tablet so I can keep working over the holidays.”
“Are you sure that’s wise?”
“You mean because some unknown threat that calls itself Magpie tried to kill me today?” She swiveled on the seat. “I might have data on this Magpie thing lurking in my database somewhere that could help the police catch them. Magpie has probably done this before and will do this again, if nobody stops them. I can match my experience against other crimes and maybe find a pattern. Like you just said, we have a responsibility to protect others.”
She hopped out of the car and closed the door behind her.
Yes, but in this scenario, you’re the person who needs protecting. He followed her around to the front of the building. She punched a code on the front door and it swung open. The entrance space was tiny. A door marked Publishing lay to his right. A second labeled Editorial lay dead ahead. She opened it to reveal a narrow flight of stairs.
“I hear what you’re saying,” he said. “But you’re not the authorities. You’re not the police. It’s not your job to find or stop criminals. You’re the victim.”
Samantha paused, her hand on the door leading up to the editorial offices.
“Do you have any idea what the solve rate for violent crimes is in this city?” she asked. “Sure, it’s better than a lot of places, but it’s definitely not one hundred percent. Do you know how often Torchlight journalists have given the police key information they need to make those arrests? Or the role that journalists even play in investigating crimes the police don’t have the resources or remit to investigate? My job is facts. I find them, sort them, connect them, make sense of them and see patterns. I’m good at that. So, yeah, I’m going to spend my Christmas researching crimes like the one I just survived. Even if you think I’m too useless, or helpless, or whatever it is you seem to think I am, to do my job.”
It was the longest string of words he’d heard her say since they’d met, and it had all bubbled out of her with a passion that knocked him back a step. He opened his mouth but couldn’t think of what words to say to that, so closed it again.
“What if the police never figure out who Magpie is?” she went on. “It’s not like I’ve given them much of anything to go on, except ‘Strangers grabbed me somewhere, for no apparent reason. One smelled like he smoked a lot and the other had missing teeth.’ I told you back at the house, I don’t remember being abducted. I don’t remember anything useful. I remember leaving my apartment. I know I ended up tied up in a van at Olivia’s house. The last thing Olivia needs, with a new baby! Everything else is missing. Like my brain’s ability to remember anything more than that has been broken.” A fire flashed like gold in the dark of her eyes. “But that doesn’t mean I have to just sit around now and wait for someone else to save me. You don’t get to decide I’m nothing but a helpless victim. Nobody does. Not even Magpie.”
Then before he could even think of anything else to say to all that, she turned on her heels and started up the stairs. He watched her legs disappear up the stairs but didn’t follow. She’d told him back at the house that she couldn’t remember being abducted, and he’d presumed it was just the normal haze people had when their adrenaline was pumping. Most people don’t pay attention to detail at the best of times and so tend to forget a lot.
But Samantha isn’t most people.
He sat down on the steps, stretched his legs out and dropped his head into his hands.
Dissociative amnesia. Short-term memory loss. Those were two phrases he’d heard far too many times over the years to describe the way the brain protected itself from remembering things that happened in times of intense trauma. Over the years he’d heard person after person he’d served with, and officer friends of his father’s too, describe the symptoms. They talked about “memory gaps” and “brain fog,” and the sense that certain memories had been stolen from their minds. It hadn’t even registered that’s what she’d meant when she’d told him that her memory was patchy. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how frustrated and scared she’d felt, or how insensitive he must’ve sounded. He let out a long breath and prayed, “God, please just help me figure out how to best help her.”
Then he pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed Daniel.
“Hey, Josh!” Daniel whispered. “Olivia and the baby are asleep. How is everything going? Alex told me you were taking Samantha home?”
“We decided to stop at the newspaper on the way.” Joshua stood up. “Apparently she wants to pick up some kind of computer tablet thing so she can do some research on whoever this Magpie is.”
Daniel chuckled. “Yeah, Olivia predicted she would. I know we didn’t talk to Samantha long, but Olivia knows her well. Apparently, Samantha’s tenacious when it comes to collecting and understanding information.”
Joshua started up the stairs to the second floor. “I wish the police had offered her some decent ongoing protection instead of just letting her leave there with nothing but a phone number to call and a recommendation for counseling from Victim Services.”
“I’m sure the police do too,” Daniel said. “But they can’t assign an officer to every single person in trouble.” Which is where Ash Private Security came in.
“Do you have a phone number or contact details for Theresa Vaughan?” Joshua reached the landing to the second floor and found a hallway of closed doors. “Alex’s former fiancée? The therapist? Last I heard she was volunteering with Victim Services.”
“I’m pretty sure that Olivia does. Why? Do you think Samantha should talk to her?”
“Maybe.”