Page 18 of Lesson In Faith

There was a faint twitch in her forearm as she secured her stuffie closer, then her eyelids closed fully. Tense muscles around her eyes and mouth relaxed, leaving her looking exhausted and so damn young.

Knowing food had to wait a while longer, Merrick picked up a remote from the table and hit the On button, summoning the screen hidden within the recesses of the footboard. It rose with a soft hum of mechanics working, then flicked on to a sports channel.

Before the noise from the speakers woke her, he lowered the volume and scrolled through until he found a sitcom. He had a few calls to make, calls he didn’t want her to overhear if her nap was absurdly short, so hopefully the TV would be a brief distraction.

Something was terribly amiss with the whole situation.

Aside from the mutism and her injuries, Tamsyn was severely undernourished. Her physical condition wasn’t just from getting lost in the forest for a few days—Linnie had confirmed prolonged starvation, and advised him to feed the girl little and often until her system balanced itself out again.

There were scars far older than her freshest wounds. Nowhere near as bad as some of the other Serenity subs, but there was enough of them to arouse his suspicions. Adding her skittishness and aversions, he was inclined to believe there was foul play lurking in the wings.

The water in the bath had been a murky shade of brown by the time he finished bathing her. It had taken three cycles of shampooing and rinsing to get those lanky, dark locks transformed from dull and greasy to shiny and silky. Her fingernails were ragged, her dental care suspect, and her skin had been as filthy as the clothes they’d cut off her.

More and more questions were rising.

Merrick checked her again before crossing over to the fireplace and tossing a couple logs onto the glowing embers. Sparks danced their way up the chimney.

Time for him to do some dancing of his own.

Leaving the bedroom door open, he carried the med tray out and headed for the kitchen. Dumping it on the counter, he left it there and opened the cupboard above the sink for a glass. He’d take the equipment back to Linnie for appropriate disposal when he got a moment, but right now… he checked his watch, saw it was almost four, and thought to hell with it.

Reaching on top of the refrigerator, he chose the bottle of Macallan 18 and poured a single finger. Not enough to get a buzz, but it would give him something to do with his hands while he dealt with business.

Making his way into the living room, keeping an ear on Tamsyn in the bedroom, he took his cell phone from his pocket before settling into his armchair and kicking out the reclining section. Pressing 2 on the speed dial, he swirled the whisky in the glass as he pressed the phone to his ear.

“Surprised you’re not sawing wood after the night you had,” Grit said without a hello.

“Got a couple hours under my belt this morning before hell broke loose again.”

“Yeah, heard she made a run for it. Put my best guys on the perimeter as soon as Linnie called it in. I’m glad she didn’t head for the great outdoors, it’s fucking bitter out there today.” A slightly amused pause before he asked, “What fucking possessed us to move to Denver in time for winter?”

“Don’t ask me. You know why I’m calling, Grit.”

“I do. My answer is, you need to give me more than thirteen hours.”

Merrick harrumphed and took a sip of whisky, letting the flavor sit on his tongue. Damn, that was the good stuff, all right. “What have you found so far?”

“Aside from the fact there are currently just under thirteen hundred missing persons cases ongoing in Colorado? Sixty-five thousand missing women over the age of twenty-one, countrywide. Makes me sick.” There was a touch of despair in his friend’s voice. “Honestly, we don’t have enough information on the girl to whittle those numbers down. Hair and eye color knocked a few off the radar, but unless we can get more, it’s going to be hard to find her. Hell, she might not even be from this area.”

Merrick grunted. “Search for Tamsyn.”

“For who?”

“Tamsyn. First name.” Merrick spelled it out, remembering the way she wrote it out so painstakingly on his palm.

“Wait, did you find some ID on her? Or is she talking?”

“Neither. She, ah… we’ve found an alternative method of communication.”

Grit hummed. “She wrote it down?”

“In a fashion. Don’t think she’s educated to a high level. She’s not stupid, so either it’s homeschooling gone wrong or wherever she comes from isn’t big on teaching.” He took another sip of whisky. “Her boots were wrecked. In pieces. They weren’t close to being new. The severity of the blisters on her feet indicate she walked a fair distance.”

“You think she’s local to Denver.”

He was thinking a great many things, trying to piece things together with what little data he had. Scenarios and theories were running through his head, merging and splitting, building a background that may or may not be true.

“I think,” he said slowly, “that if someone comes looking for her, we need to be mindful of a few things. My gut’s telling me that not everything is as it seems.”

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