Wandering Child

Chapter 7-Following the Evidence

Margaret Lawrence was frazzled. She had stayed up all the rest of the night thinking about how she was going to find her daughter. She had tried calling her husband to tell him, but his cell phone was out of range.

Margaret finally decided to search Rebecca's room for a clue as to where had gone. As she searched, she thought of what Rebecca had said a few days earlier.

"I don't want to be a regular kid anymore, Mom. What's wrong with me? Am I sick? It can't be that all of a sudden, I just don't want to be normal. Isn't it a teenager's dream to be normal?"

Margaret now regretted the words she had said in response to her daughter's cry for help.

"It will pass, don't worry about it. Everyone goes through this stage in life. I did, your father did. So stop worrying."

As Margaret searched through her daughter's messy heaps of clothes, a piece of paper fluttered to the ground. She bent over and picked it up. It seemed to be a scrap of paper that had been torn from a notebook. One side was blank. The other side had a note scrawled in a scratchy writing. It said: Inner city. Runner's st. Warehouse 3. 1'o clock AM. Don't be late.

What did it mean? Margaret had never been one for deciphering riddles or notes, but she knew that the only way to find out what the note meant was to follow the instructions. Hopefully, whoever had given Rebecca the note was still there and would hopefully tell Margaret where her daughter was.

Margaret got dressed and combed her hair. Just taking ten minutes to do the necessities of getting ready for the day was difficult. Every bone in her body was screaming to dash out the door and follow the clue to where her daughter was. But she had to at least make herself look presentable. She wasn't going to appear as though she worried. If Rebecca was in trouble, her captors would most likely have no pity, and would not hesitate to enjoy the fact that Margaret had worried about her daughter's well being.

Margaret was relieved when she finally looked presentable enough to fool at least the dim-witted lackeys that the kidnapper was most likely to have at his or her disposal. It didn't even occur to Margaret to call the police until she was halfway out the door. But she quickly dismissed the idea as too risky. If the kidnapper thought that the police where on his or her trail, they might just kill Rebecca and run off. That thought Margaret could not bear.

When Rebecca had first come into her house as a three year-old orphan, she had had a hard time convincing her that Margaret was really her mother. Eventually, though, Rebecca forgot her real mother and came to believe that Margaret was her mother and always had been. Margaret had grown to love Rebecca as though she were really her daughter.

Rebecca had come to Margaret and Jonathan's home when she was three years old. Her real mother had been Margaret's very own sister. Annaliese had been an impulsive girl, and at sixteen had made the mistake of getting pregnant. When she found out, Margaret and Annaliese's parents had kicked Annaliese out of their house.

Margaret was already an adult and had been married for three years when her sister told her about her pregnancy and begged Margaret to be able to stay with them. Annaliese had said that it would just be until she got a job and was able to provide for herself and her baby.

Margaret and Jonathan had agreed. But there was something that Annaliese had not told them. She was a drug addict, and an alcoholic. It had been a miracle that Rebecca had been born without a disability. The one thing that Margaret always was proud of her sister for was the fact that she didn't even consider abortion as an option.

Annaliese eventually was kicked out of the Lawrence's home. It broke Margaret's heart to do it, but she figured it was the only way for Annaliese to see that she needed to get her act together. Annaliese had ended up with a boyfriend who wasn't any better than Annaliese herself. Child and Family Services had come then and taken six-month-old Rebecca away from her mother.

Rebecca. It had been the name that Margaret had wanted to name her baby when she first got married. But then she found out that she couldn't have children. It had broke her heart. Annaliese had named her daughter Faith. Margaret had never really liked the name Faith. So when Annaliese over-dosed on drugs one night, Child and Family Services brought little three-year-old, baby-faced, Faith to stay. Margaret had renamed her Rebecca.

Now that she thought about it while driving down the highway, Rebecca deserved to know where she really came from. She deserved to know that her real mother was named Annaliese, and that her mother had loved her very much. Faith seemed like such a fitting name now.

Margaret reached Runner's street and cruised down it until she came to warehouse three. She parked her car and went in. it was broad daylight outside, but inside the warehouse was very dark. Only small pools of sunlight seeped through the small windows. The few windows that were in the warehouse were very small, and very high up. You'd need a ladder just to get some fresh air.

Although the light was dim, Margaret was able to see that the warehouse was empty. She ran to the opposite side of the warehouse where there was a door with a cardboard sign above it. Someone had painted on the cardboard in big block letters and red paint the word, EXIT.

Margaret sighed and turned around. Only to find that she was surrounded by people dressed all in black.

"Who are you?" Asked one.

"What are you doing here?" Asked another.

"Are you spying for The Others?" Demanded a third. "Come on, speak up!"

Margaret finally found her voice. "I'm here to find out what has happened to my daughter." She said. She surprised herself. Her voice sounded much more confident than she felt. She mentally counted the people off. Five. There were five people surrounding her. Not the best odds. Two more people pushed through the crowd. That made seven.

Margaret noticed that all of the black-clad people surrounding her were wearing masks on either the right side, or the left side of their faces. They all had black robes that went down to their ankles and black boots were on their feet. Their hands were clad in black gloves and their hoods were drawn up around their faces.

"Who are you?" Margaret asked more confidently than she felt.

"We," said one of the two who had stepped forward. "Are The Council of Music." She pulled back her hood and Margaret could see that she had short, black hair that was slicked back. "But the better question is," The woman continued, "Who are you?"

"My name is Margaret Lawrence. My daughter is missing. I found a note in the pocket of her pants that said she was supposed to meet someone here. Where is she?" In the last sentence, Margaret couldn't keep her voice from squeaking just a little.

"She is...detained." Said the second person that had stepped forward. He was obviously male due to his deep voice. "We're sorry to disappoint you, but she is no longer here. She was, at one point, but is no longer."

"What do you mean? Where is she?" Margaret was becoming frantic. "I want my daughter!" she screamed. She didn't care anymore if they found pleasure in the fact that she was worried.

"She is in Europe, on a mission." Said the woman. "She is perfectly safe. You have no need to worry."

"I'll believe it when I see it." Margaret said. "Where in Europe is she?"

"You'll never catch her." Piped one of the black-clad people. She sounded young. "All flights to Paris are booked." Margaret narrowed her eyes.

The woman with the black hair swung around and smacked the girl upside the head, knocking her down. "Shut up, AM6." She said. "You need to know when to keep you mouth shut. No reading for a week."

AM6 looked up at the woman in pleadingly. "Please, no!" she said. "I promise that I'll be good! Please? Not for a week!"

"Yes for a week! Now shut up!" AM6 hung her head in defeat and stood up meekly.

"Yes, ma'am." She said softly.

Then Margaret interrupted them. "It doesn't matter if all flights are booked. I'll stow away if I have to, but I'll have my daughter." With that, she didn't wait for an explanation or permission, but just pushed her way through and ran out the door. She jumped in her car and started to drive away.

But just as she did, she passed another vehicle coming towards her. Inside, sitting behind the wheel, was Mr. Johnson! She slammed on the breaks. Mr. Johnson seemed to notice her, and turned. The shock on his face was evident.

Margaret didn't wait for him to try to drive away. She turned off her car and jumped out.

"WHERE THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING, JOHNSON?" She screamed. He tried to unbuckle his seatbelt and get away, but she grabbed his collar and dragged him out of the vehicle.

"YOU THINK YOU CAN MESS WITH ME AND GET AWAY WITH IT?" Margaret bellowed in his ear.

He shook his head. "No, ma'am." He whimpered

"YOU'RE DAMN RIGHT YOU CAN'T!" Then Margaret's voice went dangerously low. "Have you ever seen what a mother bear will do when a hunter goes after her cubs?" She asked he shook his head. He was not one for the learning channel. "Then I'll show you." She said. But then a thought came to mind.

"I'll tell you what," Margaret hissed in his face. "You take me to my daughter, and I won't break your neck. Do we have a deal?" Mr. Johnson nodded and Margaret dragged him over to her car. She shoved him into the passenger seat and ordered him to buckle up. His hands shook as he obeyed. Then she climbed into the driver's seat and buckled her own seatbelt.

"I don't suppose you have a certain spot available on the next flight to Paris, do you?" She asked menacingly. His whole body shook. He reached into his jacket and pulled out two tickets. Margaret snatched them both.

"I don't need two, but there's no way I'm going to let you keep them only to send someone after me. If you're employer wants to try to kill me once I've disposed of you, he can at least pay for it himself." Mr. Johnson looked at her, horrified at her insinuation.

Margaret smiled at him. "I never did show you what a mother bear will do to protect her cubs, did I?"

A/N: Review, please! And thank you to all of you who read my fic. bows Thank you, thank you! But, seriously, thank you for reviewing. Your opinions mean a lot to me.