I and another officer went out on a call on the outskirts of Salem. A woman had called in reporting a crying baby on the highway but being unable to find the source of the sound.
It was late, about 10:00 pm. I and Officer Holland drove out and found a middle-aged woman waiting on the side of the road, her car’s headlights illuminating the highway.
We exited my jeep and started asking the woman questions. The area surrounding the highway was quiet.
“The cries were coming from the north. I stopped because I thought I busted a tire and when I emerged I heard a baby crying. I tried to locate the source but it went silent,” she explains.
I was beginning to expect a mother abandoning her unwanted newborn in the dead of the night so as not to be caught. The baby most likely succumbed to the elements or wildlife which would explain the silence.
We got the woman’s information and sent her on her way since it was late. We searched the area but heard nothing and saw nothing. Maybe the woman had mistaken an animal’s cry for a child.
I and Holland left around 11:45 pm, we went back to the police station and write up a report before going home for the night.
When I got home, I was oddly greeted by Kate.
“What are you doing up?” I asked.
It was almost 12:45 am.
“I missed you,” she answers taking my coat and hanging it the front closet.
“You have to work tomorrow,” I reminded her.
Kate had gotten a job once Danon went into school to occupy her.
“It’s a night shift. I have plenty of time to get sleep,” she answers.
“Well, I’m going to bed, it’s late. How is Danon?” I reply.
“He’s enjoying school. Did you find that baby?” she answers.
I texted her to tell her I would be coming home late and that a baby was reported to be heard crying on the outskirts of the city.
“No, hopefully, the woman was mistaken. A search team is going out early tomorrow morning to look in the daylight,” I reply.
Kate follows me upstairs to bed. I pull my tie off as I enter our room. I open our closet and hang my tie, suit, and button up on a hanger. I change into pajamas.
“Some young boys were here earlier looking for Damin. Rave and Avery were their names. They said they needed to talk to Damin or you. I told them to come back tomorrow. Where did you say Damin went again?” she starts.
“He was helping a hunter named Josh in Marksville, he said he’d be back tomorrow. Rave’s a hunter. He never mentioned Avery. They probably need his help,” I answer.
I locked my pistol, taser, and badge in my bedside drawer and crawled into bed. Kate got into bed, too.
“Goodnight, Ray,” she whispers.
“Goodnight, Kate,” I reply.
Soon we both drift off to sleep.
I wake up the next morning to the sound of my phone ringing. It was from Holland.
“Yeah?” I answer.
“Sorry to wake you Lieutenant, but the woman who reported a baby crying on the highway last night, her husband’s been murdered. They think she snapped on the way home from her trip, started hearing things and then murdered her husband when she arrived home,” Holland explains.
“Do they have a time of death?” I question sitting up.
“Between the hours of 10:30 and 11:30 pm,” he answers.
“Where does the woman live?” I question.
“Near Salem Harbour, Lieutenant,” Holland answers.
On the opposite side of the city from the highway she’d made the report on.
“Do we know where she was driving from?” I question.
“Connecticut,” Holland replies.
The woman had called us at 9:45 pm, we had arrived at 10:00 pm took her information and sent her on her way at 10:15 pm. The drive from Wakefield, (the town back just a few miles from Highway 95 where the woman had called from), to Salem Harbour was about twenty-six minutes. The woman would have arrived home at 10:45 pm. It was possible she was the murderer, but she didn’t really have a motive. Unless she lost her sanity like the other officers were saying in which case who knows what she could have been thinking.
“Do you know what time the woman reported her husband murdered?” I ask.
“11:45,” Holland informs me.
The woman hadn’t gotten home till 11:40 pm or she’d sat with a rotting corpse for over an hour before calling 9-1-1. It didn’t make much sense. Did this have anything to do with the crying baby she’d heard out on Highway 95? Did the woman intentionally call us about a baby she had left on the side of the road unwanted and when her husband found out she killed him?
“Does she have any children?” I continue.
“Two. They weren’t home luckily when she called in. They were at sleepovers,” he answers.
Why would she abandon this baby then?
She seemed completely sane last night, just concerned for the baby she heard crying.
I heard banging downstairs. Damin. I look at the clock, it’s almost 9:00 am. The search would have been going on for three hours now.
“No sign of a baby on the highway?” I questioned next.
I heard the bedroom door creak open. I turn, Damin is standing in the doorway, he seems interested in the call.
“No,” Holland replies.
“I’ll be there in a couple of hours, okay?” I reply.
“Right, Lieutenant, see you,” Holland answers hanging up.
“What’s this about a baby on a highway?” Damin asks.
I look over at Kate’s still sleeping figure.
I lead Damin out to the hall so we won’t disturb her.
“A woman reported a baby crying on a highway last night and she arrived home and either found her husband murdered or killed him,” I answer.
“Did the baby ask anything of her?” Damin asked.
“What?” I questioned confused.
“There are these things called Mylingar, spirits of babies who were killed before they could be given a name. They often try to get people’s attention so they will give them a name and move them to hallow ground to be buried if you don’t do what the spirit asks you will arrive home to find a family member, dead,” Damin answers.
“So, the child was probably originally abandoned out there and died but it could have been a number of years ago, the body could be scattered, how are we supposed to find it? The woman is also being accused of her husband’s murder, how do prove she’s innocent?” I inquire.
“The Mylingar will often lead you to where they are buried. Find her an alibi, somebody must have seen her, aren’t there street cams or something?” he replies.
“Which Highway was it on?” Damin asks.
“I’m coming with you,” I reply.
Damin shrugs probably too tired to argue from his drive back from Marksville.
I dressed and left Kate a note. Danon would probably be up soon.
“Remember you have to watch Danon till I get home tomorrow,” I remind him.
“Great, less sleep,” Damin grumbles.
Damin goes into the garage and gets a shovel out of the Volvo which has practically become his car despite him barely being legal to drive by himself.
We both get in the jeep and pull out and make the twenty-minute drive to Highway 95.