The Jacqueline in this chapter is the Jacqueline from the Attitude Era.
Chapter 11: As goes Ohio, so goes the Nation...
The butterflies in Tyler Breeze's stomach might've better been identified, based purely on their size and significance, as Boeing passenger airliners. His entire body felt as though it were lined with lead, and with every fiber of his being he now wished he'd have told the girl from the lake campground that she needed to tell him what she knew right there on the spot, rather than agreeing to meet her at a bar, out of uniform, with no law enforcement backup.
His day had slowly melted into a nonstop parade of horseshit and disappearing leads. The lead they'd gotten on the boat had ended up being real, but there was no sign of the pair of kids anywhere. Upon the forensic team's arrival, it was discovered that one of the large windows below deck had been smashed in a different way than the rest, which had buckled under the intense heat. This one looked as though a heavy object had been thrown through it.
"They aren't here," the attractive woman who'd been introduced to Tyler as "Torrie Wilson" proclaimed, if a bit obviously.
"You don't think they died in the fire or something?" John asked, cautiously optimistic about the fates of Zack Ryder and Dana Brooke.
Wilson shook her well-groomed head, causing her immaculately shaped coif to dance slightly from side to side. "Nope. No blood. No signs of struggle. And, honestly," she continued, trying to lower her voice for this next part, "if they'd died in here before or while the boat burned we'd have been smelling charred flesh for miles."
John nodded, considering this latest possibility. If Zack and Dana weren't at their homes or jobs, and they weren't still on the boat, in whatever stage of life, that meant the possibility that both students were still breathing.
The rest of the day proved fruitless, in that Dana and Zack remained missing, but there was also a stunning lack of evidence as to where they'd gone. Cena had dismissed his impromptu search team with the look of dread in his eye that let Tyler know he was growing more pessimistic that they would ever find the pair. Tyler himself felt a bit more confident, wondering if one of them were injured or otherwise incapacitated and couldn't make their way to rescue.
None of that mattered now. Breeze was "off the clock," nursing a cold domestic beer at the end of the counter in one of Blue River's most populous watering holes.
"The fuck am I doing?" Breeze inquired inwardly for the thousandth time in the last ten minutes. The list of reasons why he was there scrolled through his head momentarily, before his deep quandary was interrupted by the meek voice of the woman he'd met that morning at the lake.
"Hi," she mustered, clearly not used to being in public away from her caravan.
"I didn't catch your name earlier," Breeze continued, his law enforcement training kicking in.
Working potential informants for tips without the subject realizing they were being worked is key in quality detective work, and since Tyler Breeze desperately wished to be a detective, he figured this was as good a chance as any to develop some of those skills.
"I'm Serena. Serena Deeb," she offered, though Breeze struggled to hear her breathy tone over the loud country music.
"Tyler. Tyler Breeze," the blonde young man returned.
"I know. You said it out at the lake," the tanned woman replied, though Breeze was almost certain he saw the beginnings of a smile form at the corner of her lips. That morning, she'd appeared tired and mousy. Now, after clearly having showered and changed her clothes, she was really quite stunning. Under normal circumstances, Tyler would've been excited about the prospect of having a drink with a young woman who appeared attractive and mysterious. This was no normal circumstance.
"You told me you saw something?" He prodded gently, hoping to uncover the information. Serena nodded softly, before telling the bartender she was there to pick up a to go order for "Roberts Family" and that she'd have a whiskey and sour while she was waiting, and Tyler made a motion that her drink would go on his bill.
"Yeah, last night," Serena refocused, taking a generous sip of her cocktail before continuing her story, "really late, after everyone had gone to sleep and the generator was shut off, Jake went down to the shoreline and met two guys. Like, young looking guys," she blurted, taking another long pull of her highball glass before signalling for another.
"Both male?" Tyler asked, trying to narrow down the list of potential suspects in his head. Deeb nodded, before motioning to the young female bartender that she would also have whatever draft beer Breeze was having.
The young Deputy chuckled. "You gonna be okay to drive home?"
Deeb shook her head in the negative. "One of the other carnival workers dropped me off while they go pick up some things from the grocery store. I have-" the woman glanced at her wrist, noting the time. "Twenty-six minutes before they come back to get me."
Breeze nodded, satisfied with this answer. "So, two guys," he reminded his companion as to the original nature of their conversation.
Deeb nodded, sipping her beer and snickering. "Yeah. I remember thinking it was weird that they waited until after dark. Jake constantly has guests going in and out, but it's always during the daytime. He's paranoid as hell and always assumes there's a reason people want to meet in the dark."
Breeze considered this a moment. "He strikes me as a bit of an odd guy."
Deeb chuckled wryly at this. "That's one way of putting it."
Tyler furrowed his brow. "How would you put it?"
"That's he's batshit crazy," Deeb fired back.
"Really?" Breeze pressed back, subtly trying to get Serena to talk more.
Deeb sighed. "Yep. If I'd known that when he offered me this job, I never would've taken it, but I was down on my luck at the time. I got hooked on oxy kinda bad, you know? Blew all my college money on drugs. My folks helped for a while, but they could see I wasn't serious about getting clean. Back then, anyway. Now I'm six months off the hard stuff," she remarked proudly. "Alcohol is next, but trying to deal with this life completely vice free is a pipe dream."
Breeze chuckled, more to set his companion at ease than because he found any humor in her situation. "So he's weird, but is he 'murder six people weird?"
Deeb shrugged and shook her head slowly. "I wouldn't have thought so, but every week we find out something weird about the guy. It's a running joke among all the carnies now. For example, he was a cult leader in Indiana fifteen years or so back."
This statement, for whatever reason, put Breeze on 'high alert.' "Cult leader? Really?"
Deeb nodded again. "Yeah. I heard one of the old-timers talking about it a few weeks ago. I think we were still in Tennessee running a fair there. 'The Snake' said something like 'you make more money as a leader, but you have more fun as a follower.'"
Breeze snickered. What Serena was telling him could potentially change everything they'd been doing in regards to how they approached these killings, but he still thought that was a really funny sentiment.
"You think he's serious? Like, not just full of shit like some people are?"
Deeb shook her head in the negative. "No. He has this weird like, hypnotic power over some of the people on staff. Like, the longer tenured folks. They sometimes disappear at night for a couple hours. Like, we'll pull into a town and make camp and then Jake will take the same few people out into the woods and they won't come back until it's getting dark. Then after it's dark he doesn't like anyone leaving the campground or going out. It's weird."
Breeze exhaled deeply. This seemed to be a lot of nonsense, but Serena Deeb was telling her story with such conviction that it at least gave the young officer pause.
"So what'd you see the other night?" Breeze rerouted the conversation, still hoping for a productive outcome.
Deeb raised her eyebrows, quickly glancing to either side of her body in what Breeze could only assume was an attempt to make sure she wasn't being watched.
"We pulled in like we always do when we change locations, and most of us got about our normal tasks. You know, getting the food distributed and sewage and power hooked up to the RV's. Ordinarily Jake doesn't like any of us leaving after dark. Like ever. But right after dark last night he sent two of his most trusted guys out. No one knew where they were going, or really even heard anything about their… mission, I guess, for lack of a better term-" Serena snickered here, grasping the surreal nature of her current conversation.
"That doesn't seem all that strange," Breeze countered, beginning to grow annoyed at Deeb's dancing around the truth.
Serena shrugged, before nodding slightly, conceding that Breeze had a point. "Yeah. I guess. But when the two guys came back later that night, it looked like their clothes had been badly singed. Like they'd started a big fire."
Breeze's heart jumped with that revelation. As she finished her story, the beleaguered bartender returned to her post, plopping a large white cardboard box full of smaller food bags, each labelled and neatly folded closed. Suddenly panicking, Serena jumped off the stool and hurriedly gathered her belongings.
"I shouldn't have talked to you. 'The Snake' wouldn't like it."
Tyler Breeze sprang to his own feet, doing his best to calm the suddenly spooked carnival worker.
"Don't leave, Serena, we aren't done."
Deeb was having none of Breeze's objections. "This was a mistake. I have to go." Without another word, the waifish brunette half-ran to the front door, nearly colliding with a very tipsy middle-aged blonde woman on the way out.
Breeze stood a moment, genuinely stunned at the turn his night had taken. There was a lot of nonsense talk in what Deeb had told him, but there was enough intrigue that the young Deputy thought that it would be worth bringing his superior in on the latest development. Pulling his Nokia from his back pocket, noting briefly that the digital clock display was alerting him that it was only about another fifteen minutes before Shelly Martinez would arrive, Tyler thumbed through his "contacts" list until he found the number he was looking for.
"Hey, it's me," Tyler barked, not waiting for the recipient to speak, "you're not gonna believe what one of those carnies told me…"
…..
John Cena wasn't having nearly as informative an evening as his latest protege was. In fact, outside of the reassurance that Alexa was as safe as she'd ever been, there was very little "good" happening for the shift Sergeant.
He and his shiftmates had handed their search over to evening relief some hours previous. Both Lake Lanier itself and the dense forest surrounding most of the water took up thousands of acres of land, and constant surveillance would be required to find the missing pair.
John had taken the time to stop by the Brooke house on his way home to try to reassure Dana's father that there was no reason to believe that his only child had met with any foul play, though at this point Cena wasn't at all sure that was true. He'd gotten home to find a dozen or so of Alexa's friends still loitering about his property, lazily throwing a worn football, standing around on the small front porch, or slouched in one of Mickie's prized leather sofas. His wife, always thrilled to be visited by anyone, had spent the afternoon chaperoning and making snacks for the kids who'd given up their Saturday to make Alexa feel as relaxed as possible.
Most of those kids had gone home by Nine O'Clock or so. Now approaching Ten PM, the only stragglers left were Dean Ambrose and Bayley Martinez, who were choosing to remain at the Cena house rather than return to their own palatial residence, Seth Rollins and Sasha Banks, who'd drawn more than a few puzzled expressions with their budding pairing, and Enzo Amore and Colin Cassady, who wanted to be somewhere where they'd be assured of getting an update on Dana and Zack's whereabouts as quickly as possible.
None of that mattered to John Cena. Now, with his wife and child getting ready for bed and the comforting monotone of the Atlanta Braves television broadcast coming from the living room, the hulking sergeant sat at the kitchen table, the remains of a large portion of meatloaf and mashed potatoes discarded to his left and an almost forbidding stack of glossy photographs directly in front of him.
There was an element to this rash of murders that was evading law enforcement somehow. That much was clear. What John couldn't conclude, or even understand really, was the link between the fire that killed Alexa Bliss' entire family in Ohio and the string of deadly attacks here in Georgia.
"Mickie?" He called, his voice ringing out throughout the house. After a moment, Cena's gorgeous wife strode into the kitchen from the landing, a drowsy Brynlee holding her hand and rubbing her eyes.
"What's up, babe?" Mickie returned, gliding to her husband's side and running her fingers over his head.
"What happened to that manila envelope with all the casefiles and stuff from the fire?"
Mickie considered this a moment, before the memory flooded over her. "I put it in the top drawer of your file cabinet with all Alexa's vital records. Is there something in there you need?"
Cena stared down at the pictures again, his mind racing with any possible scenario that they hadn't yet considered. Sighing deeply, the exasperation swelling within him. Cena spoke with a resignation in his voice that Mickie hadn't heard in quite some time.
"Yeah. Will you bring me the whole thing? I wanna look at the police report and the stuff that went with it. And would you ask Alexa to come in here, please?"
Mickie nodded, a proud smile creasing her lips, before setting Brynlee on one of John's massive knees, allowing the pair a moment together before the young girl's bedtime. For his many faults, John Cena was an attentive and loving father, and he treasured the sometimes limited quality time he got to spend with his kids.
After far too short an interlude, Mickie returned, stuffed manila envelope and niece Alexa in tow.
"What's up, Uncle John?" The tiny blonde lilted, leading her boyfriend by the hand and following her fatigued aunt into the kitchen.
"So," John began, exhaling deeply again and feeling the anxiety immediately build back up within him. "I'm looking at these photos, and there's no way these all came from your old house. Someone who was there that night is here now, and I can't shake the feeling that they're the ones behind these attacks."
An all-consuming chill ran down Alexa's spine. The idea that her family's murder may not have been a random act of violence made her current predicament even more sinister in nature. Afraid even to speak, she watched with a hitch in her breath as her uncle John carefully opened the flap of the bright yellow envelope and pulled a few pristine white sheets of paper from its insides.
The first thing Alexa noticed was the official looking "Kettering Sheriff's Office" header along the top of every leaf of printed paper, prompting a tinge of homesickness in the stomach of the waifish cheerleader. The second thing she noticed, as she felt Dean's hand land gently on her shoulder for support, was how short and superficial the police report on the fire that killed her loved ones was. The concerned, borderline annoyed look on John Cena's face seemed to confirm Alexa's suspicions.
"This is… this is amateur hour stuff," Cena muttered to no one in particular. "It's like the sheriff just decided that what happened was a home invasion gone wrong and ignored any contrary evidence. They wanted this case cleared, not the truth about what happened to your folks, Lex." Cena shook his head again, rolling his eyes at the ineptitude displayed by the law enforcement of jurisdiction in Alexa's hometown.
"What does that mean?" She asked, genuinely curious as to how her uncle was going to proceed.
"It means there's some lazy-ass cops in Southern Ohio," John fired back, wry smirk spreading across his face. As he spoke, he continued to thumb through printed sheets, inwardly marvelling at how thoroughly mediocre the paperwork for this "investigation" actually was. There was one sheet, however, that interested the suddenly intrigued Cena.
"This is good," Cena continued.
"What's that?" Mickie asked, shuffling daintily back into the kitchen after tucking Brynlee in.
"Lots of contact info here," John informed the room, squinting slightly down at the typeset. "Who is Jim Cornette?"
Alexa giggled, just a bit, and rolled her eyes, though it was clearly in at least congenial affection for the man behind the name.
"He was our family attorney. Dad did a lot of business deals, and Mr. Jim helped him with all the legal stuff so daddy wouldn't go to jail for tax evasion. He yelled and cursed a lot, but in a funny way."
At the memory of her father, his frustration at paying taxes, and the jokes he made about faking his own death so as to keep more of his money, a single tear welled up in Alexa Bliss's eye. Wiping it away as discreetly as possible, the young girl asked her uncle the prevailing question on everyone's mind.
"Why do you need contact info for people in Ohio?"
John let out another loud, purposeful exhale of breath, conveying to all the room's occupants the weight of what was on his burdened mind. "I think I'm gonna go up to Kettering. Just for a day or two. Clearly local law enforcement didn't take this investigation seriously, and I'm gonna go see if I can get any additional information about the men they think started the fire that killed your family."
It was growing harder by the second for Alexa to maintain her composure. It hadn't been easy to deal with the loss of her family for a single day since the events occurred, but the bedeviled cheerleader hadn't outwardly spoken of her loss for more than a sentence or two since the fateful night she strolled with Dean in the woods and told him her tragic tale.
"I think I'd like that, Uncle John," Alexa murmured, fidgeting with her hands in her lap.
"Yeah?" Mickie asked, a tight lipped smile on her face.
Alexa nodded, though it was barely perceptible, and both John and Mickie let out a sigh of relief. They'd been warned by Alexa's psychiatrist that too much unwanted conversation about such a traumatic topic could set her back in her recovery, and so they'd been treading lightly the past few months.
"Yeah," the golden-haired beauty agreed. "I'm sick of being scared. Maybe you'll find something that lets us figure this out."
"Dean?" John blurted over to his niece's boyfriend, who looked in that moment as though he'd been dropped into oncoming traffic.
"Uh, yeah?" The sudden inclusion into this conversation was not something Dean was expecting, and the shocked expression on his face would've made Mickie laugh if this weren't such a serious conversation.
"Do you mind staying over tomorrow night? It might help Alexa sleep if you're in the house."
Mickie backhanded John lightly on the shoulder. "You're just gonna let them sleep together?"
John snickered, shaking his head resolutely. "No. Dean sleeps on the couch. Alexa sleeps in Brynlee's room. Everyone clear on that?"
Mickie patted her husband on the same shoulder she'd smacked earlier, touched at his concern for his niece.
Levelling his gaze back on Dean Ambrose, John continued his stream of consciousness conversation.
"Your parents gonna be okay with you staying here?"
Dean shrugged and chortled caustically. "My dad won't be home until tomorrow. He took Maricel and their kids to the mountains for the weekend. Says he doesn't want to cut his vacation short if the house is in one piece."
Now it was John Cena's turn to shake his head incredulously. "He doesn't give a shit about the six-figure boat we had to tow out of deep water?"
Dean shook his head, his eyes glazing over in an attempt to hide his hurt feelings. "Not if it means bringing his new family home early."
"And your mom?" John continued, though he wondered if it would've been best to let the matter be.
"You tell me where she is," Dean fired back, the tone in his voice suggesting that he didn't wish to discuss the matter further.
"Right," John allowed. "Well, I appreciate you staying over here so Alexa feels safe. Do Bayley or her sisters need a place to stay?"
Dean gestured in the negative again. "Nah. Mercedes took her kids to the resort hotel they just opened over on the tourist end of the lake. I know Bayley is gonna be there helping with the little ones. I have no idea what Shelly's doing, but that's no different than any other day."
John chuckled. "Good. They're welcome here if they need a place to stay." Turning toward his wife, the muscled sergeant's tone turned from authoritarian to much more complementary. "I'm sorry I'm talking about taking off last minute. I need to call this guy-" Cena glanced down at the paper again. "Les Thatcher, set up a meet and greet. See if he'll take me out to your sister's old house. I haven't been there in a really long time."
As John continued his explanation, a feeling of intense pressure began to seep into Dean Ambrose's being. The request to help keep the Cena family safe was one Dean took extremely seriously, and with every day that passed, the young man's feelings for Alexa Bliss grew stronger. Letting John down wasn't an option. That much was certain. What Dean was less sure of was whether or not there was reason to worry about anyone's life being in danger…
…..
"It's cold." That was the phrase a vaguely male form that Alexa believed was her dad kept repeating. "It's cold."
The young woman, despite the fog around her, was fairly certain she'd been wherever she currently was before. To either side of her, large figures were holding her hands, firmly but gently pulling Alexa through some sort of forest, though there was no sign of where the thick wooded area began or ended.
"Just keep running, honey," the figure she assumed was her mother reassured her. What bothered Alexa most was how every time she tried to look up to see who the figures leading her through the tangling brush were, her eyes were blinded by the brightest light the girl had ever seen.
From behind the trio of spectres running headlong into an infinite forest, Alexa could hear what sounded like an entire multitude of pursuers. No matter how swiftly and silently Alexa's family ran through the underbrush, their would-be attackers drew closer and closer.
"Don't stop, honey," the female voice exhorted the little girl. "No matter what happens, you keep running. Okay?"
Alexa drew breath, intending to respond that she clearly understood what the female voice was telling her. It unnerved the girl to no end that speaking, in whatever realm she found herself currently, was every bit as impossible as identifying who the pair of adults accompanying her were.
The triad kept running, faster and faster, as the forms she assumed were her parents kept extolling her with words of encouragement to keep moving, keep running, and not looking back.
Instantly the spectres of both figures disappeared, apparently consumed by whatever unseen, malformed force had been chasing them through this eternal deciduous forest. From behind Alexa's back, a shrieking sound began emanating from the massive void that had apparently completely enveloped the two beings she'd assumed were her parents.
Now there was nothing to do but run. As impossible as it seemed for the tiny, athletic blonde to catch her breath or gain sure footing, Alexa was able to maintain her weak foothold on the ground beneath her.
Now a new voice rang through her consciousness, though Alexa hadn't the foggiest idea who the booming baritone belonged to or where the sound was originating from. This particular voice carried a specific air of menace with it, like it was being piped in from perdition somewhere like a Black Sabbath song.
"Become!" The voice rang out, beckoning the young woman. "Become!"
The vocalization grew louder and more forceful, becoming more forceful by the minute. Just as it seemed she would be vacuumed into the gaping maw of whatever was behind her, everything around the tiny blonde turned to pitch black; a cold, dark vacuum of nothingness.
"What the hell?"
Alexa blinked her eyes several times, glancing from one end of her cousin Brynlee's room to the next, her bones still somewhat weary and her retinas still adjusting to the lack of light in the room. From outside the white door that compartmentalized the bedroom from the rest of the house, Alexa could hear Dean's voice singing, though she couldn't tell who to or for what purpose.
Rising to her feet from the crude yet surprisingly comfortable bedding Mickie had arranged for her while Dean was staying over, Alexa took a moment to make sure all of her clothes were covering what they needed to before heading down the stairs with her prized canine companion, opening the front door to the house to allow Macy to relieve herself.
After Macy's return indoors, the pair strode clumsily into the kitchen, where Alexa's heart was immediately warmed by what she saw; her boyfriend, Dean, cooking scrambled eggs on the Cena family's well-used stove, singing along to the radio and making Brynlee giggle with his antics.
"Good morning, Lexi," Bryn cooed toward her cousin.
"Morning, sweet girl," Alexa replied, mussing the ten year old's hair, which prompted a giggle from the child.
"Dean's making me cheese eggs," Brynlee informed her cousin, the smile on her face betraying how cool she thought it was that an older kid she wasn't related to was taking an interest.
"Oh really?" Alexa shot back, her voice taking a much more playful tone. "You think he'll make me some, too?"
Brynlee shrugged, a big, exaggerated motion meant to be as playful as Alexa's tone of voice. "I dunno, but you can't have mine," the fifth grader retorted.
Alexa grinned, grateful for this moment of normalcy and family togetherness in the midst of the Category 5 shitstorm her life was becoming. "What if I want to take yours?" She asked Bryn, mussing her hair a second time as the grade schooler rolled her eyes in mock exasperation with her older cousin.
"Ladies, ladies," Dean chided jovially from in front of the stove. "I don't mind cooking for the both of you."
"Awww," Alexa cooed, before grinning like an idiot.
"How about all three of us?" Mickie inquired, bounding purposefully into the kitchen with a twin on each hip. "Alexa, would you take Ansleigh for me?"
Nodding resolutely, Alexa hurried toward her aunt, her arms extended out to ease Mickie's burden. Mickie watched with a hint of pride as her petite niece expertly cared for the toddler, making a silly face to incite a giggle before securing the littlest of the female residents into her high chair.
"Everyone okay with scrambled?" Ambrose gravelled from his post.
"Fine by me," Mickie returned. Turning to Alexa, she smiled, pausing only momentarily to give Brendon his sippy cup.
"A handsome young man cooking us breakfast? I could get used to this."
Alexa shook her head, rolling her eyes with more than a mild degree of embarrassment. "Enough, Aunt Mickie. Did Uncle John get to the airport okay?"
Mickie shrugged, wiping drool and errant formula from the corner of Ansleigh's mouth. "He's not there yet. He went in to the station early this morning. Said he needed some things from his desk before he left." The mother of three furrowed her brow, concerned for her sister's daughter. "Are you sure you're okay with John going up to Ohio and prying back through everything that happened?"
Alexa pondered this a moment. "I guess. I mean, I wish he didn't have to, but something's happening that shouldn't be, and if John can get to the bottom of it, and maybe stop these killings and attacks, then he definitely should do it."
Sighing deeply, Mickie nodded, before glancing back at her good-looking houseguest.
"Where are we on those eggs, sweetie?" She asked, trying to lighten the suddenly somber mood.
"All done," Ambrose called amiably, sliding the large pan to a cool burner. "Just gotta get the bacon and toast."
Hearing this, Mickie gave Alexa an impressed look, indicating again how happy she was that her niece appeared to have someone quality who wanted to spend time with her.
The next few minutes were spent in relative silence, with the entire household seeming comfortable just eating in each other's presence. Mickie and Alexa each did their best to eat their breakfast while also feeding Ansleigh and Brendon, while Dean entertained Brynlee with a dazzlingly charming array of corny jokes.
Brynlee made it out the door just in time for the school bus, and Ansleigh and Brendon soon found themselves in a dead sleep after breakfast, which was common on weekends, particularly when the Cenas opted out of morning church.
"Dean," Mickie began, not wanting to upset her niece's boyfriend. "Are your parents okay with you staying over here?"
Ambrose, who'd been helping Alexa wash and put away the dishes he'd used to prepare breakfast, shook his head slowly and sighed before offering an annoyed sigh.
"Well, like I said before, my dad's still in the mountains with Maricel and the little ones. I think they took Mercedes' kids too. He seemed… mildly concerned about my well being and extremely irritated that his boat got burned up."
"What about your mom?" She continued, hoping the tone of the situation would improve. From the look Alexa gave her, along with the mask of mild irritation on Dean's face morphing into a twisted avatar of rage, Mickie deduced that the conversation wouldn't be taking a happy turn.
"I've heard from her twice in the last two weeks. Once to tell me she was going to Windham's after work, and once to let me know she was leaving town with some dude for the next few weeks and to ask me to water her plants and check on the cat."
Now it was Mickie's turn to have her face turn to a look of irritation. "Are you serious?"
Ambrose nodded. "Yeah. She hasn't been the same since Dad left her. She'd been off the drugs a while but I'm afraid she's going heavy again. Last time I was at the house it looked like her jewelry box had been gone through. She always pawns stuff when she's using."
Mickie glanced over at Alexa, who'd taken a moment to towel dry her hands and was now rubbing Dean's back softly, doing her best to comfort him.
"I'm sorry to hear that," Mickie sighed. Dean was a good kid, despite some rough edges he'd acquired due to the nasty nature of his parent's split, and it galled Mickie that such a young man would feel neglected by either of his parents. "You know you're always welcome to stay here, right? You can even bring the cat."
Ambrose chuckled wryly. "I might take you up on that. At least until the dust settles at dad's. He's gonna be pretty unbearable after his boat got burned up."
"That's fine, sweetie," Mickie affirmed, before turning to her phone screen. "Oh, John said he just got to the airport. He'll be back tomorrow night. He said 'thank you' for staying over for keeping us safe and that there will be a unit from the Sheriff's Office parked outside every second we're here."
"Good," Dean nodded, relieved that this family's welfare wasn't squarely on him. "If it's not too much trouble, I'm gonna go take a little nap before I head over to my mom's and grab a few things."
"We still really need to practice for Harvest Festival, too, even if Zack isn't…" Alexa's voice trailed off, her mind unwilling to process that two of her friends might have lost their lives while she was sleeping off a mean hangover the previous morning.
"I know. Tell you what, I'll get my acoustic (guitar) while I'm home. I'll get Bayley to come over and we'll bang some songs out so we can get a set list to RoRo and Seth. Maybe we can find a new drummer, too."
Alexa nodded, giving her boyfriend a tight-lipped smile. From across the room, Mickie James watched this final exchange, hoping that her niece would be able to move past this latest series of incidents, no matter how much she'd been through in the past year...
….
"Holy shit!"
Ordinarily, Ron Simmons didn't swear, particularly on Sundays. But this was different. He and his wife Jacqueline were driving back from Sunday services, rolling merrily along their preferred weekend route along the scenic North banks of Lake Lanier, taking their time on their way to lunch.
"RON! You know I don't like swea-!"
Jacqueline's objection was cut off by the cacophony of gravel pummeling the sides of the Simmons' well-worn pickup as Ron slammed on the brakes.
"Over there!" The large man bellowed, pointing ahead and slightly to the left, his massive hand trembling in shock. Squinting momentarily, Jacqueline's jaw went slack, her mouth open in stunned surprise as the mud-covered, slumping form of Dana Brooke staggered out into the roadway, feebly trying to wave down the vehicle.
Throwing the car into "park," Ron threw open the driver's side door, his feet hitting the ground the same second the old Ford pickup came to a stop.
"Oh, honey," Jacqueline cried out in sympathy as she began to understand who it was she was looking at. Racing to the younger girl's side, she began gently running her hands up and down the girls sides, checking for wounds or other ailments before throwing a comforting arm around Dana's shoulder. At the notion that she'd found the road she'd been desperately searching for since early Saturday morning, the shapely Junior burst into tears, her emotions surging uncontrollably at the realization that she was going to be okay.
"This is the girl they were looking for, aint it?" Ron called over to his wife.
"Dana," the blonde survivor rasped. "I'm Dana."
Ron collected his thoughts a moment, before an idea came over him. "Where's the other kid? The boy?"
Dana exhaled, deeply but very shakily. The gravelly, whispery tone her voice had taken couldn't be helped, but it made communication more difficult than necessary. "He's about fifty yards back into the woods. I couldn't drag him any further. He's breathing but I'm worried."
Simmons pondered this briefly, before pulling his cellphone from his shirt pocket and handing it to his wife. "Call 911. They'll be able to position us pretty close but tell them where we are as best you can." Resolutely, with all the determination he could muster, Ron headed in the direction Dana was pointing, though her path out of the forest was fairly obvious, due to all the broken tree branches and toiled ground.
Sighing deeply, Jacqueline plastered a brave countenance over her face, hoping that Dana would pick up on it and understand that she was out of danger now. Quickly barking her situation and location into the mobile phone, Jacqueline hit "end" and reached for the terrified girl.
"C'mon, sweetie, let's get to the truck. We can wait with the heat on for the EMT's to get here. Can you walk?"
Without speaking, Dana nodded, but leaned on the matronly Mrs. Simmons to help her inside the vehicle.
In any other situation, Dana would've felt really bad for avoiding conversation with the benevolent woman who'd spotted her on the side of the road. But the blonde Junior was exhausted, having been physically tested like never before by her near-death experience. Walking gingerly, steadying herself against the stranger who'd just likely saved her life, and accepted assistance climbing into the extended cab.
"There you go, baby," Jacqueline reassured her. You just get warm. Ron'll find your friend, and the ambulance is on the way. Can you tell me what happened?"
Dana shook her head, but swallowed hard, clearly going to try to say something.
"Inhaled smoke. Think my lungs are scorched or something." She swallowed again, her eyes welling with the pain. "Couldn't yell for help. Had to drag Zack through the woods. He dislocated his ankle. We popped it in but it swelled up. He couldn't walk." She stopped again, wiping the tears from her eyes and clearing her throat as best she could. Looking around the cab, Jacqueline's eyes lit up slightly when she spotted an unopened water bottle in the center console.
"Here you go, sweetie, just sip it slowly," she instructed, opening the cap for Dana and handing her the clear bottle.
"Thank you," Dana responded after taking several sips, spitting the first two or three mouthfuls out after swishing them around, doing her best to soothe the burning sensation in her throat.
"What happened, baby?" Jacqueline prodded gently, trying to figure out what had happened to the young woman.
"Long story," Dana managed to spit out. Before she could say anything else, Ron Simmons returned to the edge of the gravel road, Zack Ryder slung over his shoulder, his body almost completely limp.
"We need to get him to the hospital now!" The huge man bellowed, striding with purpose toward his Ford and the two women finding refuge within.
"The ambulance is coming, babe," Jacqueline retorted, though there was no disdain in her voice.
"No time. Seems like this kid is dehydrated bad and he's having some trouble breathing," Simmons continued. Glancing over at Dana, Jacqueline noted the truly terrified look on the shapely blonde's face.
"Okay, lay him down here then." Jacqueline hastily spread out two hooded sweatshirts the Simmons' grandchildren had left in the truck some time before, before patting the back seat to indicate to Ron where she meant. Dana scooted behind the driver's seat, letting Zack's head come to rest on her lap. Without a word, the traumatized young woman pressed her forehead to Zack's, all the while whispering every comforting sentiment she could muster and helping her love interest take small but crucial drinks from the water bottle she'd been handed.
"Gwinnett Medical is closest. The lakeside campus is just a few miles from here. I know where it is."
"You can get me there?" Ron implored of his wife. The Simmons had never met either of the imperiled youths, but his heart broke for them. The horrified look on Dana Brooke's face was emblazoned in his consciousness, while the feeling of dread he'd experienced when he found Zack Ryder was on he'd never forget.
"Yep," Jacqueline fired back. Glancing behind Ron, she made eye contact with Dana, again trying to reassure the younger woman. "Hold on. We'll get you there."
Dana nodded, giving Jacqueline a tight-lipped smile. Without another word, Ron threw his truck into "drive," spilling gravel everywhere as he floored the accelerator and sped away.
….
"Something is wrong here." That was John Cena's first thought when perusing through the dozens of pages of casework done so far on these murders. Furrowing his brow, the huge man did his best to shift into a comfortable position in his "not coach but still slightly too small" airline seat, then sipped from his whiskey and cola cocktail and squinted down at the white pages.
For starters, Sasha Banks had told Deputy McCool during her interview that she'd broken up with Adam Page shortly before departing his house that Monday. "That would've been around 3 PM," Cena heard the magenta-haired girl's voice in his mind's eye. According to Banks, she'd needed to return home before her parents got home from work.
What bothered Cena about this testimony was information on a second written report. This one was gathered by Deputy Storm, who'd managed to procure Adam Page's cell phone records even though his death wasn't in their jurisdiction. The last phone call made on Page's phone wasn't until Seven PM, which wouldn't have been that big a deal, since his parents didn't return home until a little after Eight. What raised Cena's suspicions was who that call was made to; one Patricia "Trish" Stratus, who he'd asked about buying tickets to Blue River's Homecoming Dance.
"Why would Adam Page need tickets to Homecoming at a school he didn't go to if he wasn't with Sasha anymore?"
The question stuck with him throughout the ninety minute flight from Atlanta to Dayton, Ohio. What Cena couldn't have known, at that point, was how much clearer a picture he'd have of Alexa's situation when he left the Buckeye state.
