by Rita Herron
That first time, after her granny, she’d been terrified. She had run and told her neighbor Birdie, but Birdie said to hush up, not to go around saying such things or folks would show up in white coats and lock her in the loony bin. So she had. But, years later, when she heard the voices after the girl had disappeared, she’d been determined to help. She turned to the sheriff and told him what she’d heard. Thought maybe they could save the child. He was young back then and she thought he was a go-gettter.
But Sheriff Reeves said not to interfere, that no one in Bluff County would believe a woman who they suspected murdered her own sweet husband.
Sweet, her ass. No one knew Ernie, ’cept what he’d wanted them to see.
Still, Sheriff Reeves insisted folks would think she was touched in the head, and they’d take her to a mental ward, and she’d lose her house. Staying here on the mountain was the only way to make sure Ernie stayed put six feet under. And to keep her out of Bluff County Sanitarium.
A coldness washed over her. Once she’d thought the girls’ cries were a calling. So she told Preacher but he’d prayed over her and sprinkled her with the anointing water, begging God to save her soul from the illness robbing her mind.
Poppycock. If God had intervened, it had been to make the voices cry louder. The only thing that had saved her sanity was to stay at the top of the mountain where she could watch over the trail. Perched on the tip of one of the highest ridges, she was as close to the angels as she could get.
She closed her eyes and welcomed the whispers now. She had to.
Another little girl had been taken. She felt it in the crackle of the wind and the sharp sting of the bitter cold moving in. She heard it in the sound of the forest animals scampering away from the evil, and the river water as it crashed over the jagged rocks, as if God was spitting mad at how dumb and sinful humans could be.
The images of the tiny little faces with their wide, teary eyes floated like pale white shadows in front of her. Some flitted through the thick pines and hemlocks as if running for their lives. One stumbled and fell into the briars, then disappeared into the earth as if the ground opened up and sucked her into its dark abyss.
Another’s bony hand clawed through the frozen water, ice snapping and breaking like glass shattering, the cracks snaking along the top of the pond like spiderwebs. Then came the screams begging her to save them from the darkness.
It broke her heart that she could only hear the cries. She was powerless to bring them back from the dead. Or to see them before they were taken.
Why she couldn’t have been given that gift, so she could help them, she didn’t know.
The only gift she had was to listen and offer some comfort to the lost little angels. In one trembling hand she held rose petals. With the other, she plucked them from her palm and tossed them into the wind. The wind lifted the delicate petals into the sky, carrying them across the treetops, then they fluttered down onto the trail, dotting the ground like tiny ruby stones.
The ritual carried her love to the lost ones below.
At the sound of her low voice, the translucent silhouettes of the ghost girls gathered in a circle, small hands clasping one another as if waiting to welcome the latest missing child into their fold.
Clasping her hands in prayer, she began to hum ‘Amazing Grace’ under her breath as she watched them dance.
14.
A sledgehammer was pounding Ellie’s skull. Wind banged the loose boards and a tree limb scraped the fog-coated windowpanes.
Disoriented, Ellie roused from unconsciousness and blinked, but the darkness engulfed her, and a rancid odor filled her nostrils. Dear God, she was back in that tunnel. Searching for the light. Crying out for help.
But her cries died in the depth of the long empty space and no one was coming.
Swallowing back nausea, she blinked again, then lifted her hand to her head. Not the tunnel or the nightmare again.
Except this was real, too. She was in a dark space that smelled musty and dank.
Her fingers felt something wet and sticky. Blood.
On the back of her head. Then her temple.
The memory of being attacked resurfaced, and a dizzy spell assaulted her. She was at the old Dugan farm. Someone had been here, and they’d ambushed her from behind.
Were they still inside?
Her hand flew to her holster, and she breathed a sigh of relief that her gun was still there. Why hadn’t they taken it? Because they’d been in a hurry to flee?
She remained still for a moment, listening for signs someone was in the house, and allowing the worst of the dizziness to pass. The wind screeched through the eaves of the rotten boards, the bitter cold seeping in, a reminder Tempest was almost upon them. Sucking in a deep breath to stem the nausea, she rose to her knees, giving her eyes a few moments to adjust to the dark.
She checked her watch – she’d been out less than ten minutes. Glancing around the interior, she raked her hand over the floor for her flashlight, fingers brushing over rotting wood until she snagged it. Another dizzy spell swept over her as she wiped the blood from her hand onto her jeans, and she closed her eyes until it passed.
Then she scanned the kitchen and living area. No one visible. Still, what if Penny had been left inside? She could be hurt or… worse. If Ellie had walked in on the kidnapper, he might have left the little girl and escaped while she was unconscious.
Gritting her teeth against the throbbing in her skull, she pushed to her feet. Still dizzy, she blinked to focus again, then yanked on latex gloves, and checked the kitchen, the cabinets, the pantry, the laundry closet, anywhere a child—or body—might fit. From there, she searched the living room and dining area. The wood floors were dusty and scratched, the walls dingy, paint peeling and pocked with brown spots. The furniture had been cleaned out.
A threadbare blanket that smelled like mildew lay on the floor in one of the three bedrooms, along with an empty pack of cigarettes. The rancid stench grew stronger near the bathroom, making her stomach churn. The toilet looked as if it hadn’t been cleaned in a decade, and black mold climbed the wall from a water leak around the tub.
Relief and frustration built inside her chest at the same time. No Penny.
Pushing away the pain in her head, she searched the other rooms, but whoever had been here was gone. Judging from the discarded food containers and trash, they had probably been sheltering here for a couple of weeks.
If Penny had been with them today, it wasn’t evident. But a forensic team might find something she hadn’t.
Staggering back to the kitchen, she opened the back door and was struck by a blast of air so cold it robbed her of breath. Footprints marred the damp ground—boots. A man’s, most likely, given the size.
Even if the man hadn’t taken Penny, he’d attacked Ellie for a reason. They needed to track him down.
Judging from the mess in the kitchen, he wasn’t meticulous, or hadn’t been here, meaning they might find his fingerprints too.
Her phone buzzed and she glanced at it, realizing she’d missed several calls from her captain. She stabbed the button to connect. “Yeah.”
“Where are you?” Captain Hale barked.
She quickly explained.
“Christ, Ellie, do you need an ambulance?”
Her fingers brushed over the back of her head and temple again. The blood was drying, and the gash wasn’t deep enough for stitches. She didn’t have time to waste on a trip to the ER anyway.
Penny’s life depended on her.
“No. Just send an Evidence Recovery Team. We might find prints. If we do, we can run them against perpetrators with a history of crimes against children.” And maybe they’d get a lead.
“Copy that. I’ll dispatch the team right away.” Captain Hale sighed. “Listen, Detective, your father is pushing hard to have you removed from this case. What the hell is going on between the two of you?”
Ellie clenched the phone with clammy hands. “Nothing.”
&nb
sp; “That’s a lie, and we both know it,” he said. “Whatever you have to do, work it out. And don’t let it interfere with this investigation. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, sir.” Fury at her father mounted.
“Mayor Waters is breathing down my neck, too,” the captain continued. “If we don’t find Penny alive, it’s going to look bad for our office. The town will want someone to blame, and he’ll be looking at you.”
Wouldn’t Bryce just love that?
A scream of frustration lodged in her throat as the call ended. She’d worked her ass off for the job and sure as hell didn’t want to lose it. But right now, finding Penny was her priority.
Fighting off another dizzy spell, she searched the yard again, careful not to step in the muddy footprints by the back door. Tree branches swayed and bowed in the wind, twigs snapping and falling to the ground with a clatter. Leaves swirled across the lawn, while budding trees and wildflowers took a beating from the impending storm.
Shivering, Ellie stepped beneath the cover of the porch to shield herself from the frigid sting of the wind beating through the trees as she waited on the crime team.
15.
Cord McClain had seen a lot of storms in his days in the mountains, but his instincts said Tempest might be one of the worst in a decade.
Cursing as the clouds unleashed needle-like rain, he kicked off his mud-soaked boots and stepped inside the rustic log cabin he rented deep in the woods at the edge of the river. The scent of damp earth, the rescue dogs and his own sweat lingered on his skin. Susan’s cries echoed in his head.
He covered his ears with his hands to drown out the heinous sound, but it did no good. His head had been filled with screams and cries of shock, death and sorrow ever since he was a little boy living above the mortuary.
Rain began to pound the tin roof like rocks. Shit. In the next day or two the frigid temperatures and wet, frozen ground would create dangerous conditions and could be deadly for hikers. And for the searchers.
Still, the SAR teams would be out all night hunting for the little girl. Memories of the other lost children on the trail traipsed through his mind. The long days of combing the mountains and caves for their little bodies. The endless hours of plunging through weeds and bramble, of wading through icy creek water and crawling into the hollow caverns.
As the night wore on and they hadn’t found Penny, the darkness inside him had beckoned. Like a beast, he felt the urges surge through him. The anger and madness that he didn’t know if he could control.
The woods usually offered him solace, but Penny was there tonight, and so were the searchers. He had to escape their watchful, curious eyes.
So, he’d come home to lock himself away for the evening.
Shame filled him for who he’d been. What he was. What he could never be.
Ellie had been there, driving the hunt. Ellie with her beautiful golden hair and eyes the color of the sky on a sunny spring morning.
Ellie who he’d allowed himself to have one night with when he was young and more foolish.
Like a savage, he wanted her again. Had dreamed her of in his bed and in his arms. But then, that night, she’d wanted the light on, and he craved the darkness…
Rain pounded the roof, and the wind battered the windows in a deafening roar. He lit the kindling in the woodstove, the only heat in the house, then poured himself a fingerful of bourbon and carried it to his bedroom. Stripping off his dirty clothes, he stared at his mangled body in the mirror.
The jagged scar along his temple was half hidden by his shaggy hair, and his shirt hid the ones on his back. He closed his eyes and remembered the sting of the belt across his bare skin and a deep growl of pain vibrated inside him.
And then there was the branding. The tattoo that represented the evil within him. A reminder of the dark voice who’d put it there.
You have to be punished.
And he had been.
The beatings he could tolerate.
It was the dark hole that had driven him inside his own head. Lying in the small black emptiness with the dirt sifting through his fingers and the rain beating at his face had destroyed the boy inside and turned him into a man with grisly thoughts and visions of death.
The acrid odor of body waste, gas, formaldehyde and chemicals used to embalm the bodies burned his nostrils as if he’d smelled them today on the trail, the only place he could usually escape them. Images of the blood draining from the corpse lying on the cold steel table haunted him.
Needing to purge the rage eating at his insides, he yanked on a sweatshirt, opened his bedside table drawer and removed the key to his work room. A sliver of light seeped into the cold black room, just enough for him to see his collection of knives. Hunting knives, pocketknives, Swiss army knives, a Buck folding knife with woodgrain handle and brass bolsters, a Bush 110 for the outdoors, then an assortment of carving knives and tools.
Piles of scrap wood sat on the floor, ready for his hands to shape them.
He sat down on the stool he’d carved from a tree trunk, chose his favorite jackknife, then ran his fingers over the blade. Holding a rough piece of wood in one hand, he slanted the knife against the edge and began to whistle as he shaved away the imperfections.
16.
Day 2 Missing
March 2, 1:00 a.m.
Icy rain slashed Ellie’s cheeks, and the wind sifted through her clothes all the way to her bones as she ran from her car to her front door. Her head throbbed and fatigue made her muscles ache as she let herself into her bungalow and shook off her jacket. As predicted, the temperature was dropping quickly, the rain turning to pellets of sleet.
Fear for Penny seized her, and she glanced at the farmhouse clock on the wall. Hours had passed with no clues or leads. And with each one, Penny’s chances of survival diminished.
What else should she be doing?
Her stomach growled, but she couldn’t face food right now, so she bypassed the breakfast bar and veered toward her desk in the corner of the living room.
A mental checklist ran through her mind. She’d asked the tough questions, interrogated the family and neighbors, and checked two more empty houses. SAR teams were working around the clock, and Penny’s face was plastered all over the news and had been circulated to all law enforcement agencies in the state.
Forensics discovered a few loose, short brown hairs in the Dugan house, along with several fingerprints. It was possible they belonged to a hiker, or a homeless person or squatter who’d sought shelter during the cold winter months. Any of those, startled, could be her attacker. Maybe even one of the meth dealers trying to set up shop. But they’d found no pans, chemicals, or supplies to cook the drug.
Everything the ERT had found, including the pocketknife she’d discovered, was on its way to the lab. She’d check in with them tomorrow. She looked again at the clock. Well, today I guess.
The wall of maps she kept above her computer mocked her. Trails from Georgia to North Carolina and up into Virginia. All the places she and her father had hiked. All the memories… and the plans.
She flipped through the stack of maps piled on her desk that she’d collected for future excursions.
A fresh wave of hurt washed over her. Those were trips they’d never take. She’d worked so hard to prove she was her father’s equal, or as close as she could get, but he’d chosen that narcissistic show-off Bryce over her.
If she’d confided to her father what Bryce had done, would he still have chosen him?
Her cheeks flushed. No… she would never tell him. It didn’t matter now anyway. That was years ago.
She was a different woman now. No longer shy and easily intimidated. Now she was strong. Self-sufficient. Independent.
She had to find Penny. Nothing else mattered except that.
Running on adrenaline, she walked into the bathroom to examine her head. One look in the mirror and she realized she looked like pure hell. There was a two-inch gash on her temple at the hairline, blood mat
ted in the strands, and dirt smeared her cheeks. She wet a washcloth and wiped at the dried blood, then leaned forward to assess the injury. Definitely not deep enough for stitches, but it would bruise, turning all kinds of purple and blue. Opening the medicine cabinet, she snagged the aspirin bottle and downed two tablets.
The bottle of anti-depressants/anxiety medicine the therapist had prescribed stared back. She’d stopped taking them years ago. Hadn’t had a hallucination of Mae since.
Until today.
But she’d kept this bottle as a reminder of what she’d overcome. The temptation to drown out the fear nagging at her made her start to twist off the cap.
Her hand shook though, and the room blurred. Trembling, she fought the urge, dropped her hand and slammed the medicine cabinet shut. She wasn’t that weak, scared little girl or teenager anymore. She could handle this. Besides, she needed a clear head to do her job, and the pills fogged her brain.
Ignoring the stabbing pain in her head, she stripped off her clothes and climbed into the shower to wash away the stench of sweat, dirt and the mustiness of the Dugan house.
When the water cooled, she rinsed off, and stepped from the shower. After drying off, she yanked on a pair of pajama pants and a long-sleeved t-shirt and headed back into the kitchen.
As she passed her dresser, she remembered the sketches she’d drawn with the therapist when she was little. All those memories tucked away. The temptation to look at them washed over her. She picked up the box and ran her finger over the wood grain, and the initial E her father had carved on the lid. Breathing deeply as Mae’s voice whispered through her mind, she reached for the lock to open the box. Her fingers trembled again. Her vision grew cloudy. Dark spots danced behind her eyes.
Dizzy again, she blinked and staggered back toward her bed. The back of her knees hit the mattress, and she pressed her hand onto the bed to steady herself. Still, the room was swaying, and suddenly the mountains were swallowing her.