Jarod's next stop turned out to be a local historical society, not library. He wanted to do some preliminary investigation into the family and the missing Timothy before showing up at the Wallace's door. The Berks County Historical Society was run by a short, portly, enthusiastic woman who -- Jarod guessed -- didn't get many visitors.

"Hello, nice to meet you. I'm Dr. Jarod Ratchet. I'm a psychiatrist doing a study on the long-term effects of missing children on their communities and families. I was hoping you could help me find some information." He'd just used this alias wrapping up another pretend; may as well reuse it while he had the ID and suit.

The woman shook his hand vigorously. "Oh, yes, this is about the Wallace children? Such a shame. One of our oldest families, good people."

Jarod frowned. "Children? I'm only familiar with the boy's case, Timothy Wallace. Have there been other children in the area who have disappeared?"

"Well, they had that girl go missing a few years ago at college. Runaway supposedly, although the family always said otherwise. Just before Thanksgiving I think? Let's see." She pulled bound copies of the county newspaper off a shelf and flipped through a few years' worth of November editions. "Here we go." She slid the volume across the table to him. There was a graduation-type photo of a smiling teenager.

LOCAL GIRL MISSING FROM CMU CAMPUS

NOVEMBER 20, 1984 --

Eighteen-year-old Annalise Wallace, from outside Fleetwood, hasn't been seen on the Carnegie Mellon campus since Nov. 15. Pittsburgh police believe she likely ran away due to a breakup with her boyfriend and conflict with her family, based on personal diary entries left in her dorm room. The Wallace family and her boyfriend, however, claim foul play was involved.

"I know Annalise better than I know myself, and she didn't run away," said Jason Biggs, 21. "There was no breakup. She wasn't depressed or upset. I was supposed to go to Thanksgiving with her family next week. It doesn't make any sense."

Wallace's father, George Wallace, concurs. "She didn't show any signs of being unhappy with her studies, Jason, or anything else. Why would she run away when everything in life was going fine? We urge the police to look into the possibility that diary is fake and that she has been kidnapped."

Detective John Willis has investigated the case and concluded nothing untoward has happened. "We found clothing and personal items missing from her dorm room, and statements in her diary indicating she was unhappy with her personal relationships and thinking of moving to the West Coast. Unfortunately for the family, she is legally an adult and we cannot chase her across the country."

Annalise Wallace is one of the youngest students to receive a perfect 1600 on her SATs in Pennsylvania history, and the only known homeschooled student in the state to receive the National Merit scholarship. She is known in Berks County for her outspoken defense of legal rights for homeschoolers during her high school years.

Her family would appreciate hearing from anyone with information on her whereabouts, 555-690-5546.

Everything about the article set off Jarod's foul play alert. If he had read that in a current day newspaper it would have been out in a red notebook before getting to the third paragraph, even without the potential Angelo connection. The timeline and age of the girl didn't make sense for the Pretender project, though. If she was taken by the Centre, it was for some other project of which he was unaware, which was never a good sign. "They never found her?"

"Not that I'm aware of. Not the little boy either, her cousin Timmy. They never found his body, though. We've probably got some articles on that around here somewhere."

Jarod thanked her and took copies of the articles. "The Wallace family, what are they like? How have they held up?"

The woman paused a moment before responding. "Have you gotten permission to talk to them yet? They're not big on people prying into their personal business. Like their privacy, keep to themselves. Simple life in the country, a little like the Amish."

Jarod gave her his brightest reassuring smile. "I'll take responsibility, don't worry. They are Amish?"

"No, no, an old Quaker family I think, one of the last around here. They just tend to be traditional small farmers is all. You should just go out there and talk to them and ask them yourself. Just be honest with them. It's well known in these parts to never lie to a Wallace. They can always tell."

"I'll keep that in mind."

******

Jarod headed out in his rental to Joan and Roger Wallace's farm. It was a stunningly lovely June day, and idyllic country too. Small farms dotted the countryside with an occasional gentle hill and frequent patches of dark deciduous woods in full leaf. He left the AC off and rolled down the window, just to feel lush life-rich early summer air waft over him. He couldn't imagine a better environment to grow up in. Or perhaps it was a worst place to be stolen from.

He pulled into the long gravel driveway up to a traditional colonial-style farmhouse. He considered the words of the historical society lady and briefly wished he'd picked a less authoritarian persona. A reporter would have been better, but it was too late to change it now; in small towns word got around, and the woman seemed like the gregarious type. Half the borough might know of the "psychiatrist" interviewing the Wallaces by now.

He got out and knocked on the door. A homily dark haired woman in her early forties answered the door. "Can I help you?" she said with a slight smile.

"Do Joan and Roger Wallace still live here?"

"Joan's my mother, and she does live here. My father died some years ago. Can I ask what this is about?"

Jarod took a breath and started his spiel. "I'm Dr. Jarod Ratchet. I'm a psychiatrist studying the psychological effects of missing children on families. I know it is probably a delicate subject, but would it be possible to interview your mother about your brother Tim?"

The woman just looked at him for a moment, the smile not really wavering. "Jarod. I see. Can you wait here a minute, Jarod?" And she closed the door on his face.

He stood there a moment, praying he hadn't scared them off. Maybe honesty would have been a better policy, but keeping himself a secret from people was just reflexive at this point. Then the door opened, and the still-kindly woman invited him in. She ushered him through the entryway to small living room, where a wizened older woman with bright blue eyes and a scowl on her face was sitting in an well-worn armchair, glaring at him.

The younger woman turned around and looked at him. "Hi, I'm Cathy Wallace. This is my mother Joan." She held out her hand to shake.

As he shook her hand, Jarod had a very odd sensation faintly in his mind, as if someone were very, very lightly brushing the back of his brain. He was suddenly aware that they had been shaking hands for a much longer period of time than was socially acceptable.

Cathy looked him straight in the eye and said, "Are you the Jarod from the Centre?" He was so shocked by the question he dropping her hand and couldn't stammer a reply.

The old woman rolled her eyes and spit out, "Don't bother giving us your lies, boy. Didn't anyone ever tell you not to lie to a Wallace? Are you from the Centre or not?" Cathy walked over and touched her mother's hand, resting on the arm of the chair.

To hell with it, thought Jarod. If they're going to be direct, I will be too. "Yes. I was raised by the Centre. In a manner of speaking."

"You were one of the kidnapped children?" Cathy asked.

"Yes. How do you ...?"

"Do you work for them now?"

"No!" He was getting frustrated now. "I escaped from the Centre two years ago. I've been looking for my family, and came across information on Ange ... Timmy's family. Can I ask some questions now?"

The two woman merely looked at each other. Cathy spoke again. "In 1970, a couple of years after Timmy went missing, a woman named Catherine came to see us. She said that Tim had been kidnapped by an organization that was performing psychological experiments on children. She and at least one of the other parents were planning on rescuing them. We were told to be at a certain place in Delaware at a certain time for pickup. No one showed up."

Jarod nodded. "Catherine Parker was killed the day after she failed to rescue the children ... us."

Joan looked slightly less angry. "Is it true that my son was brain damaged during an experiment? That they changed his name?"

"Yes." Jarod wondered how they knew that. Whatever Raines had done to Angelo, it had happened just before Catherine Parker's murder.

"Is it true that they altered his abilities, so now he can get empathic readings off of objects?"

Jarod noted the strange wording of the question, but chose not too push it. "Yes."

"Is he in any imminent danger right now?"

"I don't believe so. They occasionally ask him to do things with his abilities" -- like hunt me down -- "but mostly they just leave him alone. His speech and emotional affect are ... severely impacted." He didn't mention Angelo's recently failed serotonin treatment. It would only cause more heartbreak.

Joan and Cathy glanced at each other again. Cathy spoke this time. "Jarod, we need to discuss something with some family members before we can go any further. Can you come back tonight around 7 pm?" She ushered him towards the door.

"Come ... back?"

"Don't worry hon, we're not going to call up those horrible people and rat on you. Go grab a bite to eat. There's a diner down the road a couple of miles, near the school. You look like you've seen a ghost." And she closed the door in his face. Again.

He stumbled down to the car and began driving aimlessly around, trying to get a grip on what the hell just happened.

******

At precisely 7 o'clock he slowly drove up to the house. He doubted they would sell him out, but their strange behavior made him cautious anyway. There appeared to be no sign of sweepers, however. Joan met him at the door.

"Go to Portland, Oregon, the day after tomorrow. She'll meet you at Pioneer Courthouse Square, at the top of the stairs, at noon."

"She? Who's she?"

Joan gave him a withering look, like he was a dim child who didn't yet comprehend what everyone else already understood. Not a look he got very often.

"Why Annalise, of course. She has some information about your family."