by Rita Herron
She just hoped they were alive when they did.
73.
Together, Ellie and Derrick walked in silence to her father’s room in the ICU.
Her mother hovered by the bed, stroking Randall’s cheek while he lay as ghostly white as the sheets covering him, tethered to a half-dozen machines that beeped and hummed, keeping him alive for now.
When Vera saw Ellie and Derrick, she shot them venomous looks. Ellie motioned for her mother to step from the room, and Vera reluctantly moved to the doorway, her fingers curled around the edge in a white-knuckled grip.
“Leave him alone, El,” her mother hissed.
“I can’t, and you know it.” She softened her tone. “Talk to me, Mom. Please. Do you know where the missing girls are?”
“Of course not,” her mother said, her voice filled with bitterness, as if somehow Ellie had betrayed the family.
Ellie’s heart banged in her chest as Derrick handcuffed her father’s wrist to the bed.
Vera choked out a pain-filled sound. “You’re wrong about Randall. He’s a good man. He doesn’t deserve what you’re doing to him.”
“I’m trying to save two little girls,” Ellie said, disgusted at her mother’s attitude. “If Dad is innocent, why won’t you tell me what you’re hiding? And why pull a gun and threaten a federal agent? You’re lucky Agent Fox doesn’t drag you from this room in handcuffs.”
“He can’t do that,” her mother protested. “Your father needs me.”
Exasperation made Ellie clench her teeth. “And Penny and Chrissy need you to tell the truth.”
Derrick crossed back to them and stopped beside Vera. “Where are the girls?”
“I told you I don’t know, and that’s the truth.”
Derrick stared at her for a long minute, his angry breath hissing in time with the machine pumping air into her father’s lungs. Finally, he spoke, a warning on his face. “Don’t leave town, Mrs. Reeves. This isn’t over.”
Her mother’s eyes flashed with disdain. “Get out, both of you.”
Heart thumping, Ellie brushed past her. When she reached her father’s bed, she gripped the rail. “Dad, please, if you know where those little girls are, tell me.”
His eyes flickered open, and he groaned. Suddenly his body convulsed, and machine alarms began to trill and beep wildly.
Vera shrieked, and a flurry of nurses and doctors raced into the room.
“You all have to leave.” One of the nurses guided Vera away while a team hurried inside with a crash cart.
Ellie’s pulse clamored as she stood outside and watched the team try to save her father.
74.
Precious seconds ticked by. Seconds that turned into pain-filled minutes as Ellie waited to see if her father lived or died. Finally, his breathing steadied, and Ellie sent a silent prayer of thanks above that he’d survived.
She still wanted answers, but the doctor insisted everyone leave, everyone except her mother.
“If you or Dad know where Penny and Chrissy are, Mom, please speak up,” Ellie pleaded.
“How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t? Now leave us alone. I can’t lose Randall.”
Shoulders knotted with anxiety, Ellie followed Derrick from the ICU. When they reached the waiting room, she had the sudden urge to flee.
Running wouldn’t help her find the missing children though.
Still, she needed fresh air. But Bryce cut her off at the exit.
“Talk to me, Ellie.” Bryce caught her arm. “Let me help.”
“The only way you can help is to tell me where Penny and Chrissy are.”
His brows furrowed. “I don’t know. But you have to be wrong about Randall. He’s the most decent man I’ve ever met.”
Ellie had once believed that with all her heart. Now, she didn’t know what to believe. Except he was hiding something. “What do you know about this?” Ellie asked. “Did he have something to do with these missing girls?”
Bryce shook his head in denial. “I don’t believe that. And I don’t think you do either.”
“What did my mother tell you?”
Bryce clamped his lips tight. “Nothing, just that you have it wrong.”
“If I do, then why won’t she explain?”
His blank stare indicated he didn’t know the answer.
“You got nothing, huh? I thought you had all the answers, Bryce.”
Anger flickered in his eyes, then a seed of some emotion she didn’t recognize. Did he really care? Or had her father asked him to handle her?
Or maybe he was remembering her retaliation for the rumors he’d spread about her in school. A smile curved her mouth at the thought. After fending off one of the football players who’d gotten pushy with her because of Bryce’s rumors, she’d decided to teach Bryce a lesson and had lured him behind the gym. It hadn’t been difficult to make him believe that she wanted to be with him. All the girls did. But once she’d had him naked, she’d tied his wrists to the goalpost and left him there alone.
He’d literally become the butt of the football team’s jokes, because a girl had gotten the best of him.
Bryce hadn’t thought it was funny and had vowed to get back at her one day.
She jerked away from him. “Leave me the hell alone.”
Jogging outside, she ran into Angelica Gomez and her cameraman. Just what she needed right now. “Detective Reeves,” Angelica said. “We heard Sheriff Reeves was shot during the investigation into the Ghost killer. Can you verify his condition?”
Ellie’s instincts screamed that Bryce had called Angelica. Son of a bitch.
“How is the sheriff?” Angelica asked.
Ellie did her best to present a calm front. “The only information I can confirm is that Sheriff Reeves is in critical condition and is fighting for his life.”
“Do you have a person of interest? Any leads on finding the missing children?”
“I have no comment.” Ellie glared at the reporter. “And you’d better be extremely careful with what you report, and not impede our efforts to bring those children back safely.”
Angelica’s lips thinned into a straight line. Ellie pushed past her and jogged to her SUV, fired up the engine, tires squealing as she peeled from the parking lot. Melting snow and sludge spewed from her tires as she sped toward home, wipers clacking as they scraped at the ice and snow on her windshield.
Her phone buzzed. The captain.
She didn’t respond. Couldn’t talk right now. But knowing he could have news about the case, she listened to his message on her voicemail.
“What the hell is going on, Ellie? The mayor wants answers and he wants them now. And what is this about Randall being shot? You’d better fucking call me.”
She balked at the idea of confiding her suspicions. She couldn’t talk to her boss right now. The mayor, the town, even Derrick blamed her. Had she been such a fool that she hadn’t seen what her father was doing all this time?
Her tires squealed, rubber gripping at roads that were slick with black ice. Storm clouds began dumping more snow, the wind swirling it into a fog of white that blurred her vision. Despite the heater in the car, she shivered as the frigid cold seeped all the way through her winter clothing.
The storm had definitely caused problems on the highway. Several vehicles had been abandoned, some half-buried in snow. Signs were hardly visible from the accumulation, and tree limbs had broken off and fallen into the road. Slowing as she maneuvered through the icy patches, she passed a fender bender off the side of the road. A quick glance indicated everyone looked okay. Firefighters were already on the scene. No apparent serious injuries.
She kept moving, adrenaline making her hands clammy and her stomach roil. Battling the hazardous road conditions, it took her several extra minutes to reach her house. She parked and hurried inside, fighting the force of the wind to stay on her feet as she climbed the porch steps. Looking down at the floor, she bit back a scream. Another box.
Hands s
haking, she picked it up with gloved hands and carried it inside, shoving the door behind her. Kicking off snow from her boots and coat, she set the box on the kitchen counter. The furnace rumbled. A tree limb scraped the window. Falling twigs and sticks pelted the roof.
Senses alert, she pulled her gun and hurriedly searched her house. Nothing looked amiss in the living room. Except… the photograph of her and her parents that sat on the mantle lay face down.
Maybe the storm had rattled the house and knocked it over?
Moving on, she searched the bathroom and her bedroom, but everything appeared as she’d left it.
Satisfied the killer had come and gone, she returned to the kitchen and opened the box. Another doll. One lonely little wooden creature nestled in the midst of a red velvet bed.
A scream of frustration erupted from her, and the tears came, flooding her throat and dripping down her face. Droplets splattered the tiny wooden doll.
“Who made you?” she cried. “Who is he?”
Only silence answered her.
Chest heaving with sobs, she stepped into her bedroom, stripped and threw her clothes in the laundry. Dammit, she smelled of sweat and… Derrick’s masculine, musky scent.
Self-recriminations screamed in her head. Last night while she’d fucked him, another child was taken. She’d never forgive herself for that.
And now her father lay in the hospital fighting for his life. Raw pain splintered her. A few hours ago, she’d held onto a desperate, naive belief in his goodness.
The realization that he wasn’t what she believed was crushing.
Hot water sluiced over her, and she scrubbed her body until her skin hurt. It wasn’t enough to cleanse her of the sting of his betrayal.
How could she have been so blind to the fact that he was keeping secrets all these years? That he could be the very monster who’d abducted Penny?
When the water finally grew cold, she stepped out, dried herself then pulled on a pair of sweats. Her stomach rumbled, a reminder she hadn’t eaten in hours, so she forced herself to heat a bowl of soup and poured herself a whiskey. Desperate to put images of her father’s bloody body and the sound of the gunshot out of her mind, she carried her drink to the window and looked out at the snowy mountains. Shadows hovered and moved, slipping through the forest like the monsters from her childhood nightmares, when she’d played hide and seek with Mae.
Desperate for the burn of alcohol on her throat, she downed the whiskey in one shot. Right now, she didn’t want to feel anything.
But she felt it anyway, as images bombarded her. The wilderness she’d always loved was beautiful, yet tainted with the images of the little girls’ graves. So many of them.
And the tiny wooden dolls that were scattered among the dead leaves and brittle foliage looked macabre. Clutched in the skeletal hands of the lost little girls who’d died holding them, seeking comfort. Yet the cold wooden dolls gave nothing back.
Frustration at the situation bubbled inside her and she crossed the room to her wall of maps. So many places she and her father had visited. Others of hiking adventures they’d planned for the future.
In a fit of rage, she ripped them from the wall and tore them into pieces. She could never look at them the same way again. Her father had taught her how to navigate the treacherous mountains and survive so she wouldn’t get lost.
Had he been preying on children the whole time?
Denial rose again, strong and as steady as her heartbeat, and as ugly and bitter as the taste of rotting food. Grieving what she thought she’d had with her father, she tossed the shredded maps into the trash. She tried to process what she knew and all the unanswered questions rambling through her head.
Her mother insisted she’d misunderstood. What if she had? What if there was another explanation and her father was innocent?
She wanted to believe that. But detective instincts warned she couldn’t discount the facts or the evidence staring her in the face.
Hand shaking, she punched the number for the lab. No answer. Shit, of course not. They’d have gone home for the night. But she left a message saying she wanted the forensics report from all the items she’d sent to the lab, along with anything they’d found at the Dugan farm.
When she hung up, she poured herself another shot. She downed it, letting the warmth of the alcohol seep into her system, savoring the burn. She tasted the rich hint of caramel as it blended with the saltiness of her own tears. A plan formed in her mind.
She slammed the glass on the table, changed into her weatherproof insulated pants and sweater, then strapped on her gun and holster.
She picked up her phone, called Angelica and asked to meet her at the hospital.
On her way out the door, she grabbed the wooden doll box.
75.
Somewhere on the AT
He handed the new little girl one of the dolls he’d just finished carving, and she clutched it to her chest as if it had the power to save her. Just like the first little girl he’d taken had.
But it hadn’t saved her. Just like it hadn’t saved Penny.
The woods would soon be crawling with the search teams and cops again. They were calling him the Ghost. That pretty reporter had almost smiled when she’d given him the name, as if she and the other cop were so smart for thinking of it.
He wasn’t a ghost though. He was real.
Only he had been treated like he was invisible all his life.
Now things were different. People would recognize him. Know his legacy. Make him famous like they had Jeffrey Dahmer and Ted Bundy and the Boston Strangler.
Déjà vu struck him. The new girl looked so much like the first girl he’d taken that he closed his eyes and pretended he was back in time.
She’d been so excited to see the dolls when he’d first shown them to her. He’d thought she’d just want to play with them, but she’d wanted to watch him carve them out of the wood. He’d demonstrated how to shape the head into an oval, then the round body and thin legs and arms. Then the eyes, empty hollow holes like the hearts of the mamas who’d rejected him for the perfect, pretty little girls.
Only the dolls hadn’t been enough to make her want to stay. She’d cried and begged to go home.
Don’t be a crybaby, he’d told her.
Instead of hushing, she’d thrown dirt at him and called him ugly mean names. He’d grabbed her by the hair and shook her so hard her teeth rattled. Her eyes bulged. Her lips quivered. Snot ran from her nose.
She wasn’t so pretty then.
Disgusted, he’d stomped outside and left her alone for a while. She’d learn that being alone was no fun. That it was nice to have someone to play with.
A sibling. That’s all he’d wanted. Well, that and a mama who loved him. And maybe a daddy, too.
But he’d had none of those things.
Because they’d chosen the pretty little girls instead.
Disgust tied his belly into a knot, tearing him away from the past. Finally, the mamas were taking notice of him. For once, they were suffering.
He gathered the wood chunks he’d stored for doll making and carried them back inside. Whistling the song that played over and over in his head, “Hush little baby, don’t say a word,” he pulled his knife and dropped the wood at the new little girl’s feet.
Her eyes widened when she spotted the knife, and she began to scream.
76.
Stony Gap
Before Ellie met Angelica, she called Heath for an update. According to him, none of Mrs. Larkins’ friends or neighbors had seen anything suspicious. They claimed she was loving and doted on her daughter Chrissy. No stalkers in the neighborhood or anything suspicious on the family’s social media accounts. No enemies.
No leads at all.
The clock ticked away as she drove to her parents’ house. If her father had killed the girls, or carved the dolls, there had to be some evidence there to prove it.
Or to prove his innocence.
Before she went
live on TV with Angelica, she wanted to be armed with all the information she could get.
The storm was picking up again, the sky as dark and gray as her mood. She trudged through the snow to the front door and used her key to let herself inside.
The sound of the gunshot that had hit her father reverberated through the walls, nearly immobilizing her. Then her mother’s scream. And all that blood.
Blinking the image away, she breathed in and out, then forced her feet to move and went straight to her father’s office. First, she checked the top of his desk, then his file drawers. There were several filled with old cases, then a folder of newspaper clippings about the disappearances of each of the girls.
Nausea cramped her stomach. Had he kept these as souvenirs, or because he’d recognized the connection and was investigating them himself?
There was no file for Penny though.
Grinding her molars, she checked all the drawers, but found nothing.
Each of the parents had named an item the girls had with them that hadn’t been found, but there was no sign of any of the objects inside his desk. Pulse jumping, she searched his bookshelves, opening books for hidden compartments or notes, then found his personal safe.
It was a combination lock, but she didn’t know the code. Trying his birthday failed, and so did her mother’s. Hers did the trick. Inside, she discovered some bonds he’d bought from the bank, along with his will, but nothing about the missing girls.
She closed the safe, then decided to check the garage, where he did his woodworking. Holding her breath and praying Derrick was wrong about her father, she pushed open the door to his workroom. The space was dark and smelled of pine, oak and cedar. As a child, when she’d wandered out here and found her father building a birdhouse or carving one of his decoy ducks, she’d found the smell comforting. Today, her stomach recoiled.
With the light illuminating the space, she surveyed the room. Scraps of wood stacked and sorted by kind. Pine, oak, cypress, cherry. A shelf lined with crude ducks waiting to be sanded and painted. Another one held the birdfeeders that she’d hung in the trees out back.