“Yeah?” the man asked with a puzzled look on his face.
“Are you Arthur Glen?” Aren asked.
“Uh...yeah. Are you Aren Anzalone?”
Aren smiled with self-satisfaction. “Actually yes.”
Allison scowled at Aren and his smile faded.
“But we’re actually hoping you can help us out,” Aren continued. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, opened his web browser, and turned the device toward Arthur. “Did you design this website?”
Arthur adjusted his glasses and leaned forward. “Yeah, that was mine,” he said.
Allison took a step forward. “Can you tell us who you designed it for? We’re trying to get in touch with the owner. We have...uh...some questions.”
“If you can help us out,” Aren added, “I’ll hook you up with free tickets to my show.”
Arthur looked over at Aren, unimpressed. “I’m good. Honestly, I don’t know the name of the person. She replied to my Craigslist ad and said she needed some design work. I met her at a Burger King and she just gave me a list of her requirements, handwritten, and paid me in cash. Like two grand in cash, all stuffed in a backpack. It was the weirdest thing.”
“Do you remember what she looked like?” Aren asked as he placed his phone back in his pocket.
Arthur shrugged. “Twenties, I guess. Brownish hair, long. She wore glasses, I’m pretty sure. She was really cute, I remember that. She seemed way too young and, I dunno, dainty, to be carrying around that much cash like some kind of mafia boss.”
“And you didn’t think it was weird that she wanted you to design a business website that could never be found in search engines?” Allison asked.
“She said it was for an indie horror movie she was working on. Like, the homepage and the main house listing would be shown on a computer screen during the movie, so everything needed to look legit.
“She also had me design one other web page, but for the movie’s marketing campaign. I think she was going for a viral marketing thing. It was like a blog page talking about some devil’s lullaby, a creepy song that people hear in the middle of the night and then they die. It sounded pretty cool and spooky. The girl didn’t say anything else, though, so I’m not sure what ever happened with the movie, if it ever came out or whatever.”
“Wait, do you remember the address for that other website?” Aren asked.
“Um...not off the top of my head. But I can probably go dig it up.”
“How long ago was all this?” Allison asked.
Arthur thought for a moment. “God, probably like three years ago now.”
“And she never told you her name? The name of the film company? Anything?” Aren asked.
Arthur shook his head. “She said they were filming in town without permits, so she had to keep everything hush-hush. Made good enough sense to me.”
“Did she tell you anything else?” Allison asked. “Anything at all? Did she mention anyone she was working with or say anything that seemed weird to you?”
Arthur considered her questions. “Not really, no. She just gave me some instructions for how to design the website, told me she was making a film, and she was hella charming. She laughed at my dumb jokes and even complimented me on my Slayer shirt.”
“Did she seem like she was legitimately into Slayer or just being polite?” Aren asked, his eyes widening.
“At first, I thought she was just being polite, but then she went on about how much she loves Show No Mercy. I don’t meet a lot of girls who can have a full-on conversation about Slayer. I was kind of turned on.”
Allison felt a chill. She and Aren had been losing their minds in pursuit of a Christian metal band that might somehow be linked to Dominic Maffiore. If Dominic’s partner were female, that would narrow down their options dramatically.
Aren retrieved his phone from his pocket, opened his web browser, and began tapping furiously. Allison watched over his shoulder as he entered “female fronted christian metal band riverside” into the Google search bar. Clearly, he was having the same epiphany that she was. He tapped the first search result, which read, “Sakrifyce | Symphonic Metal With Heart and Soul.”
When the page loaded, they were greeted by a high-resolution photo of a five-piece band staring pensively away from the camera. The band members wore matching outfits consisting of form-fitting leather pants, black T-shirts, and gray denim jackets. There were five band members in all: four men and a single woman in the center. She was distinguished from her bandmates by her flowing long hair, low-cut T-shirt, and feminine curves. To Allison, she looked both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.
Aren stood stunned for a moment, and then he extended the phone to Arthur. “Is this her?” he asked.
Arthur adjusted his glasses and leaned forward, studying the image on the phone. “Yeah, I think it actually is. Who is she?”
Aren turned to Allison. “We need to get going,” he said.
Allison nodded and followed him as he turned and power-walked toward his car.
“Thanks for everything,” Aren shouted. “Just contact my website, and we’ll hook you up with the free tickets.”
“Thanks,” Arthur shouted back, “but I think I’m good.”
Aren and Allison scurried into the Tesla, and Aren bolted down Desert Inn Road without a moment’s hesitation.
“Who was the girl in the picture?” Allison asked him.
“The missing piece of the puzzle,” Aren said, weaving through traffic.
“Why?” Allison asked. “Who was she? I swear I’ve seen her before.”
“Yeah, you’ve seen her before. Just think about it for a minute.”
She thought long and hard, but nothing specific jumped to mind other than a faint sense of deja vu.
About fifteen minutes later, they pulled up to Allison’s apartment building. She used her code to open the gate, and Aren parked in the guest lot. Without saying a word, they raced into the lobby and took the elevator to the seventh floor. They then raced across the hall and burst into Allison’s apartment. Her empty apartment.
“Kristen!” Allison shouted, shifting her gaze in every direction. She rushed into every room of the apartment, calling Kristen’s name and growing increasingly frantic. Kristen was nowhere to be found.
She slammed doors and cried out in vain. What the fuck have I done? What the fuck have I done? She hated herself for leaving Kristen alone, but she knew she had to regain her composure and come up with a plan. She took a deep breath, considered her options, and then returned to the living room.
Aren was leaning against the kitchen counter, tapping a message on his phone. “We’re going to find her. The first thing we need to do is pay a visit to Dominic’s church.”
Allison ignored him and scanned the room. Her phone was nowhere to be found, and that was perhaps the best news of the night. If Kristen had taken her phone, perhaps to deliver it to her, Allison could possibly use that missing phone as a beacon to trace her niece. She raced to her bedroom, retrieved her iPad from the top of her dresser, and tapped the “Find My iPhone” app.
A digital map appeared on her screen. It was an aerial diagram of Henderson, not far east of McCarran Airport. It was the very location they had just been exploring, and there was a small black phone icon situated directly on top of 14621 Oasis Crossing.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Allison muttered under her breath. She turned toward the hallway, where Aren was waiting for her.
“We have to go back to that house,” Allison said, still gripping her iPad. “Now!”
“Which house?”
“Dominic’s house!” Allison shouted. “My phone is there. I think Kristen may have gone there looking for us.”
“Okay, let’s go,” Aren said, and they scurried out of the apartment and into the seventh-floor hallway. “I did a bit of Googling, and I can’t believe what a fucking idiot I’ve been. It’s been right in front of us the whole fucking time.”
“What do you mean?” Allis
on asked.
“I’ll explain in the car.
27
Aren’s Tesla slid into the driveway at 14621 Oasis Crossing, and Allison burst from the passenger seat. With Aren trailing just behind, she rushed into the house, flicked on the hall light, and screamed Kristen’s name. The house was empty and silent, just as it always was.
“Kristen!” Allison shrieked again, racing into the living room. Still no response.
She marched into the kitchen and scanned the table and countertop, wondering if perhaps the phone had been there all along. Perhaps she had just missed it. Perhaps Kristen had just left the apartment to buy a hamburger next store, and Allison was now panicking over nothing.
But the phone was nowhere to be found. She opened drawers, dipped her head beneath the table, and checked on top of the fridge.
She returned to the living room and called out to Aren, who was now digging through rooms upstairs. He met her at the top of the staircase.
“Call my phone,” she said.
He retrieved his phone from his jeans and tapped the screen a few times. Then they stood silent and waited, neither of them moving a muscle. They waited one second. Five seconds. Ten seconds. Not a sound. Allison tiptoed into the kitchen, into the bathroom, and back into the living room. She made no sound, only listened. But nothing.
Tears welled up in her eyes. “What the fuck is going on here?” she screamed. “Kristen, where the fuck are you?”
She marched out of the house and back to the Tesla. She opened the passenger-side door, retrieved her iPad from between the seats, and reopened her “Find My iPhone” app.
No connection.
Cursing, she rushed back into the house, iPad in hand, and got the Wi-Fi password from the note on the refrigerator: blessed1.
Now connected to the internet, she reopened the lost iPhone app and tapped the image of her phone on the menu. For a moment she saw the overhead map of the street she was currently on, exactly as before. Within a few seconds, though, the screen changed. Now she was being shown a map of Dominic’s church on South Las Vegas Boulevard.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit. She turned to Aren. “We have to get to Dominic’s church.”
Aren sped across Warm Springs Rd., weaving through the traffic and narrowly missing nearly a dozen red lights. Thanks to his automotive acrobatics, they reached Dominic’s chapel in under ten minutes. It was now nearly nine o’clock and the lights were still on inside the chapel.
Aren slid his vehicle between two parking spaces in the barely paved parking lot, and the two of them leaped from the car and rushed into the chapel. The inside was lit, but empty. Allison rushed across the center aisle, overwhelmed by the harsh smell of incense. She shouted Kristen’s name and once again was met with silence.
She stopped in the center of the church and turned around, meeting Aren’s gaze with a tearful, terrified stare. At that moment, she recalled the promise she had made to Kristen. I am not going to let anything happen to you. I swear this on my life, Kristen. Do you understand?
She opened her mouth to speak, but she couldn’t find the words. Fortunately, she didn’t have to say anything. Aren beat her to the punch. He reached into one of the pews in the back row, retrieved a small phone in a silver case, and held it up.
“Is this your phone?” he asked.
Allison rushed back up the center aisle toward him, as fast as her legs would carry her. It certainly looked like her case. She grabbed it and activated the home screen. The wallpaper was an image of her and Kristen preparing to ride the zip line downtown on Fremont Street.
“This is it!” she said, gripping it tightly and trembling. “But where the fuck—”
A door burst open near the front of the chapel, and out walked Dominic Maffiore, dressed in an all-black suit. “What is going on here?” he shouted with a furrowed brow as he marched toward the pews. He stopped immediately upon seeing Aren and Allison. “You…”
Allison lowered her phone, still gripping it in both hands.
“Where’s Kristen, you fucking psycho?” she screamed through the tears.
“The game’s over, Dominic,” Aren added, placing a hand on Allison’s shoulder. “Just tell us where she is and maybe I won’t break every bone in your body.”
Dominic took two more steps forward. “I assure you, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I invited Kristen to be here tonight, and she never showed.”
“Then what the fuck is my phone doing here?” Allison shouted, raising it in the air and barreling across the aisle toward him.
Apparently fearing violent reprisal, Dominic took several steps back. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve been here all night. Ask any of the twelve people who attended my session. You people really need to end this infernal witch hunt. A man has a right to go about his business peacefully without constant harassment.”
Allison stopped at the front row of pews. “So you’re telling me my phone just magically fucking appeared under your roof?”
Dominic opened his mouth, his expression genuinely fearful and perplexed. “I don’t…”
“Where is Autumn?” Aren asked, his words slow and carefully enunciated.
Allison and Dominic both faced him.
“I beg your pardon?” Dominic asked.
Aren shook his head and slowly marched forward. “Autumn Noble, you disingenuous fuck. Your so-called assistant. The woman who paid for all of this.”
Allison took a moment to process everything. She did remember Autumn from Dominic’s church. She was the young woman with the hipster glasses and Alice Cooper T-shirt. That was why the girl in the Sakrifyce photo had looked so familiar. It was Autumn. She had been almost unrecognizable in the band photo with her curve-hugging attire, Hollywood-caliber makeup, and professionally dyed ombre. Simply losing the glasses made her look like a completely different woman. Was she the partner that Pastor Doug had spoken of? The one who had financed Dominic’s church? Allison’s head was whirling.
“Autumn’s not here,” Dominic barked. “She took the night off. What do you want with her, anyway?”
“Because Kristen is either with you, or she’s with her,” Aren said.
“That’s absurd. What would Autumn want with her?”
Aren stopped directly in front of Dominic. Standing nearly the same height, they glared at one another.
“Why did you tell Kristen to meet you at your house tonight?” Aren said. “And you better give me a straight answer.”
Dominic took a step back, and his gaze softened. “Where did you hear that?” He paused for a moment. “I called Kristen earlier tonight, and she said something about meeting at a house. But I never said anything about meeting at a house. I’d seriously like to know what the hell is going on.”
“Does Autumn manage your email?” Allison asked from beneath the podium.
Dominic turned to her. “Sometimes. She’s the operations manager here. Why?”
Allison approached him. “Listen to me really good. You need to tell us where she lives, where she’s headed, where to find her. My niece is in life-threatening danger, and if anything happens to her, I’ll make sure the same thing happens to you.”
“I’m calling the police,” Dominic said, and then he turned toward his office door.
“Good,” Allison shouted. “When they get here, you can explain why my phone was on that bench, why my fifteen-year-old niece is missing, and why you sent her an email asking her to meet you at your house. Yes, please, let’s have a nice chat with the cops.”
Dominic slowly turned toward her. “I never sent any sort of email asking her to meet me at my house.”
“Check your inbox,” Aren said calmly, arms crossed.
Dominic took a deep, irritated breath and pulled his phone from the pocket of his black slacks. He fiddled with a few icons on the screen, and within a few seconds, all the color drained from his face. "I didn’t send this," he said in a near-whisper.
“Well, somebody did,” Ar
en said. “And if you’ve got Autumn running your accounts, that means she has Allison’s niece. Tell us where we can find her. Right now. Or we’ll just let the cops deal with both of you.”
Dominic slowly lowered his phone to his waist and stared at the floor, stunned. “Her apartment is at the Sammy Davis Tower, 1706.”
Allison and Aren rushed toward the exit. “This isn’t over,” she shouted back at him as they slid into the parking lot.
28
June 1997. Autumn’s first day of kindergarten was pretty much what one would expect. The doe-eyed and ever-precocious young student entered Miss Kimbrel’s class with all the enthusiasm and excitement of a child perfectly unsullied by the darker realities of the world. Dressed in her cutest overalls with a purple Rugrats T-shirt and a secondhand Minnie Mouse backpack, she eagerly marched into the colorful classroom determined to make friends, create memories, and take part in the kinds of schoolyard hijinks she had seen on cartoons like Hey Arnold! This was going to be her year.
Her first two weeks at John. D Riverton Elementary School were every bit as magical as she had hoped they would be. She laughed, played, napped, and dirtied herself in mountains of sparkling glitter with her new friends.
About three weeks into her kindergarten experience, everything changed. She invited her new best friend, Dakota Waterston, to come over and play at her house. Dakota eagerly agreed, and they planned their whole day together. They would dress up their Barbie dolls, watch cartoons while eating ice cream, and color to their hearts’ content. Autumn had never been so excited about anything.
When the Saturday finally arrived, Autumn sat out on her porch and waited for her best friend. To pass the time, she got a head start on her favorite new Lion King coloring book. Dakota’s mom would drop her off at 11 a.m., and the rest of the day would be pure magic. When 11 a.m. arrived, though, Autumn found herself seated alone on the porch, eagerly scanning every car that drove by. At 11:05, she finished coloring Rafiki at the edge of Pride Rock as the multicolored mandrill presented the new cub Simba for all the animals to see.
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