The Girl and the Secret Society (Emma Griffin FBI Mystery Book 9)

by A J Rivers

  "There's the edge of the maze," Dean says a few minutes later, pointing.

  "Don't go into it," I tell him. "It's not abandoned. That maze is operational, which means no one is going to do anything that will catch the attention of all the people who will come to it in a couple of months."

  Dean pauses. "Emma."

  My shoulders drop, and my stomach twists into knots.

  "I was wrong. She didn't just walk away. She didn't do this herself. When Lakyn left that message, she knew she wasn't walking out of this cornfield. That's why she didn't call the police. They wouldn't have gotten to her in time, anyway. She left that message for Xavier because she wanted to be found, and for the people who did it to be caught. And Xavier is the only one who knows enough to make sure that happens."

  "Until now," Dean says.

  I want to respond, but the words stay lodged in my throat. Instead, I turn and continue through the field, hoping for anything that will lead me to Lakyn.

  We've been walking for almost ten minutes when I notice a shift in the way the corn is planted. What will become the maze is to the side of us, and its shape continues to push us toward the further diagonal of the field. As we get past it, the stalks turn into thickly planted rows that look almost like a wall. The dense stalks grab at our clothes and scrape our skin as we force our way through the rows.

  Once past them, we find a sparser area of the field. It's as if we're in a different world, separated from everything we just walked through.

  "This is creepy," Dean whispers. "I've never liked the whole cornfield maze thing."

  He starts to say something else, but I hear a rustle and reach over to touch his arm and stop him.

  "Listen." I hear it again. "Someone's here."

  The white flash in the corner of my vision breaks through the stalks several yards away. It disappears into them again, but I can hear it moving and see the way the plants sway. Dean and I run after it, delving into the stalks, trying to find whoever is running from us. Suddenly, it goes quiet.

  Dean and I stop.

  "Where is he?" he asks. "Where did he go?"

  "I don't know," I say, trying to catch my breath as I look around for the person we've been chasing.

  "This isn't funny," he says. "We're out here in the middle of nowhere, it's dark as hell, and it's too hot to be running around in the damn corn."

  I step over a planting mount and push aside stalks that look greener and stronger than the ones around them. My heart plummets, and revulsion rolls down my spine.

  "Dean," I say.

  "What?"

  He's still grumbling behind me, but steps through the corn to where my feet are inches away from a metal cage sinking into damp ground.

  "We found her."

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Detective White shakes his head, pressing a handkerchief over his mouth and nose as he walks away from the gruesome contents of the cage.

  “What the hell is this?” he demands, storming up to me. “Why would somebody do something like this?”

  “I don't know,” I tell him. “But that's definitely Lakyn Monroe.”

  “How can you possibly tell? It's just bones and rotting flesh.”

  "There isn't much of her left," I admit, "but what's there is recognizable." I walk up to the edge of the cage and look down at what remains of the corpse. "Her hair is still intact. Lakyn was known for her hair. Some of the flesh has mummified in the sun, and you can see her earrings. Pull up pictures of her, and you'll see those three earrings in that ear are here. That bracelet is one her mother gave her when she was thirteen. These aren't summer clothes. Flannel and denim. Right there looks like the remnants of the plush lining of a pair of winter boots. This is something a person would be wearing in February. She'll need to be conclusively identified, of course, but I think you know as well as I do it's her."

  I start to walk away from him, toward where Dean is giving his statement to other officers.

  “Emma,” Noah says from behind me. I turn to look at him. “I'm sorry you were wrong about this one.”

  I shake my head. “I don't care about being wrong. It happens. I'm not superhuman. What matters is finding out who put Lakyn out here and why.”

  “How did you even find her?” he asks. “This field is huge.”

  “A ghost led her,” Dean says, walking up to me.

  “A ghost?” Noah frowns.

  I shake my head. “No. It wasn't a ghost.”

  “But there was someone out here?” he asks.

  I look over his shoulder to the tree line in the distance. It wasn't until after Dean and I found Lakyn's body that we noticed the faint outline of an old shed or barn far out in the field. The trees curve around it, creating a small clearing for the building.

  At the edge, just past the corner of the building, a flash of white appears beside one of the large trees. The face of a woman stares back at me, blonde hair falling over her shoulders. Dark pants hang on her thin frame. She watches me silently, then sinks behind the tree.

  "Something was moving in the corn," I tell the detective. "We didn't see what it was. It might have just been a deer." He nods. "Do you have everything you need from me?"

  "Are you going somewhere?" he asks.

  "I need to go to the jail."

  "Do you want me to call?" he asks.

  "They'll know I'm there," I say.

  “So, you're telling me that people who are responsible for the private messages of the inmates get to decide which ones of them are valuable and not? They get to apply worth to someone else's message?” I ask.

  “The staff is able to show discretion,” Warden Light says. “It's part of the job.”

  “Part of the job is assigning value, determining the worthiness of what another person wants to say to a friend or family member?”

  “The purpose of the messaging system is to allow people on the outside to communicate more freely with the inmates here. But, as was already discussed, it's not feasible to allow people from the outside to directly call an inmate. The message system is the only possible way my staff can ensure the security and integrity of the facility. They must listen to every single one of the messages and determine if it is appropriate to pass along to the inmate.”

  “That's bull,” I say. “Whoever was listening to this message didn't even bother to listen to the entire thing. She just made a note that it was an unintentional call and went on to the next thing. If that staff person had bothered to sit there and listen to what was going on, maybe she would have caught on to what Lakyn was trying to say. Even if it wasn’t clear, she should have given it to Xavier. It wasn't anyone’s job to decide that he didn't need to hear the message.”

  “It sounded like an accidental call,” the warden protests.

  “That wasn't for her to decide. An accidental call doesn't go on for almost an hour. Lakyn Monroe has been lying in that field for five months because nobody bothered to let Xavier listen to that message.”

  “You think he would have miraculously been able to know what was going on?” he scoffs. “You put way too much stock in that lunatic.”

  “And you put way too much in your interpretation of other people. This is a failure in your facility, warden. Now let me see Xavier," I demand.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Somebody needs to tell him the person he considered his only friend in the world is dead. And he deserves to hear it from someone who isn't going to mock him,” I say.

  He looks at me as if he wants to refuse me, but both of us know I hold leverage in this conversation. Finally, he gives a single dip of his head, an almost undetectable nod.

  “You're right. He does need to know. But it's the middle of the night. Come back in the morning, and you can talk to him.”

  I go back to the hotel and stand under a hot shower for a long time. I stand there while it washes away the dirt and sweat, then longer until I don't know what it's washing away anymore. Finally, I know I have to get out. As much as I would
rather just stand there, I need to try to sleep before tomorrow.

  Rubbing my hair with a towel, I walk out into the rest of the hotel room.

  Someone’s sitting on my bed.

  I stumble backward with a sudden gasp, my mind instantly taking inventory of what I can use as a weapon in the bathroom. But I clap my hand over my mouth before I let out a scream.

  “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you,” Sam says sheepishly.

  I drop the towel and run to him, jumping into his arms as he stands up. He holds me close, burying his face in the curve of my neck. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't need to. I know he'll just hold me until I'm ready to not be held anymore.

  When that time comes, I step back, and he ducks his head to kiss me.

  “Dean gave me his key to your room. I hope it's okay.”

  “Of course, that's okay. What are you doing here?”

  “I'm here to be with you,” he smiles. “I packed a bag as soon as I got off the phone with you after you called the police from the cornfield, and I got on the road.”

  “Thank you,” I tell him. “You didn't have to do that.”

  “I know,” he says.

  “But I'm really glad you did.”

  “I know, that, too,” he says. “Tell me what's going on.”

  Dropping down onto one of the beds, I pour everything out to him. He listens quietly until I'm done, then reaches to pull me into his arms again. At some point, I fall asleep.

  When I wake up the next morning, Sam has pulled a blanket over me and somehow wedged a pillow under my head. He's standing at the in-room coffee maker, trying to figure out the little flat pods.

  I don't know what woke me up until I notice the screen on my phone is glowing beside me, and the little icon says I've missed a call.

  "It was ringing, but I didn't want to wake you up," Sam says, noticing I’m awake.

  Pulling myself up to a sitting position, I pick up my phone and click on the icon, groaning when I see who called me.

  “Who was it?” Sam asks.

  “Creagan,” I say. I rub my eyes and run my hand back through my hair. “Of course, now would be the time he has an assignment for me. Right when I'm in the middle of this.” I let out a sigh. “I'm going to go ahead and call him back.”

  “Alright. With any luck, there will be coffee when you’re finished,” he says.

  I manage half a laugh and grab my lightweight bathrobe to throw over my pajamas. My intention is to walk down to the small lounge at the end of the hallway that serves coffee and donuts in the morning, which Sam evidently doesn't know about. If I have to deal with this situation with Creagan, I might as well have breakfast at the end of it. If I get back to the hotel room and Sam's battle with the coffee maker has been successful, we'll have extra coffee. If not, I'll console him with raspberry-filled powdered donuts.

  Things have fallen on the side of his needing consolation when I get back to the room several minutes later. He's sitting on the bed, holding a glass of water and looking crestfallen. Several soggy coffee pods sit on the counter beside the coffee maker.

  He looks up at me when I come into the room and eagerly takes the donuts and one of the cups of coffee out of my hands.

  “What's the assignment?” he asks. “When do you have to leave?”

  “Turns out, I don't have to leave,” I tell him, still somewhat shocked by the conversation I just had with Creagan.

  “What do you mean? Why did he call?”

  “Detective White reached out to him. They found evidence of another body in the cornfield, and he formally requested my assistance on the case. The Bureau is now involved, and I am officially on assignment.”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  I'm at the jail as early as they will let me in the next morning. I want to get this over with. As I’d told Warden Light, Xavier deserves to hear this news from me, but I dread giving it to him. When I first spoke with him, he didn't even want to approach the idea of what he thought happened to Lakyn. He was resistant to it, never actually saying what he was worried about.

  But the last time we talked about it, he seemed to tip over a ledge. Suddenly the reality sank in for him, and he realized how much time had passed. I still feel as if he’s holding onto some sort of hope. There's a part of him that doesn't want to have to face the truth that Lakyn isn't out there somewhere anymore.

  That gives me all the more reason to tell him now. The sooner he hears it, the faster we can work together to figure out what happened to her. After handing over my phone and gun, I'm led to the same room where I met him for the first time. I sit on the couch, listening to the hum of the vending machine and feeling the cameras on me. I wonder if the warden is watching. Maybe he has some sort of morbid interest in finding out how Xavier will react to the news and the emotions it brings up.

  Or maybe he's waiting for secrets to spill out.

  After a few minutes, the door opens, and the guard escorts Xavier in. He's only inside for a matter of seconds before a nurse steps inside.

  “You weren't supposed to bring him until he had his vitamins for the morning,” she scolds the guard. “It's important to keep him on his schedule.”

  “He's not an infant,” I snap, immediately surprised the words actually came out of my mouth.

  Those are the types of things I usually think to myself, but this whole situation has brought me to a point where my self-control is already worn thin.

  “Of course he isn't. Schedules are important for keeping facilities like this running smoothly. It's easy to get off track when you don't stay organized.”

  She holds out a small paper cup toward Xavier, and he takes it from her. Another paper cup must contain his vitamins and magnesium supplement because he tosses it back into his mouth then follows it with a gulp from the first cup. Handing them both back to the nurse, he turns his back on her and comes to me.

  “Good morning, Emma,” he says.

  “Good morning, Xavier. How are you doing this morning?”

  “I don't like it when people ask that,” he says.

  “Why not?” I ask.

  “It means something is about to change.”

  I nod and walk over to the couch, then decide to go to the table.

  “May I draw with you?” I ask.

  “Sure,” he says.

  We sit down, and I take one of the pieces of paper sitting in the middle of the table and place it in front of me. Choosing a blue pencil, I start filling in the top part of the page.

  “What's your favorite thing to draw?” I ask.

  “It probably wasn't day,” he says.

  I lift my head and look at him. “What?”

  “It probably wasn't daytime. She didn't see a blue sky like that,” he says.

  “I don't understand.”

  “When she died,” he says flatly.

  My heart clenches in my chest, and I feel as if I'm gagging on words I was going to say.

  “You already know?” I ask. “Did the warden tell you?”

  “Nobody told me,” he says. “But I knew. She promised she would call me. No matter what. It didn't matter where she was or what she was doing, she would call me.”

  “When?”

  “On Andrew's birthday. No one tells me the date around here. Days mix and blend. Skip them and go back and lift them again. I close my eyes, and I'm older when I open them. Sometimes I wish I could be younger. Even if I had to sleep through it. They never tell me. I only know it's morning when the vitamins come.”

  “Are you alright taking those?” I ask. “Does it bother you?”

  “It doesn't matter. They find a way to make me take it anyway,” he says.

  “Take what?” I ask.

  “I don't know where the time goes,” he says, his voice getting a little bit louder. “Am I breathing every minute? Have they suspended me, so I'm only there when they want me to be? I didn't know. I didn't know how long it’s been.”

  “But there was a message,” I say. “I
t said not to forget Andrew’s birthday.”

  “Have you ever been told not to forget something, days before you needed to do it? How about months? How about years? Has anyone ever told you not to forget them? Do they mean to only remember them when they are standing there, and forget when they walk away? I didn't know. And you would have been a while. But she was out there. She was always out there. She had to be, even if I didn't know.”

  “What do you mean?" I ask.

  “You aren't real when you walk away. Neither was she. Not to me. You are real when I see you, abstract when I don't. She came and went. Sometimes once, sometimes a dozen times. She was, and then she wasn't. Now she’ll never be again. I knew when I realized his birthday was over.”

  "You never get to see a calendar or anything?" I ask. "How do you know when your hearings are?"

  "I'm told. It's easier that way. I don't think about it so much. Now, I will. Now I always will. How did it happen? How did she die?"

  He's getting agitated, the anxiety rising up inside him again. His chest heaves as he seems to struggle to get each breath in, but his hand stays tightly wrapped around the colored pencil and the continuous series of circles he's making on the paper.

  "I don't know," I tell him. "To be honest, we might never know. She wasn't in good condition."

  It hurts to say the words to him, but he needs to hear them. He deserves honesty. Too many people treat him like a child because they don't understand him. They don't realize his thoughts are far above theirs in so many ways.

  “It wasn't daytime,” he says. “It wouldn't be under the sunlight. Everyone would see her. Everyone looked for her in the daytime. Not at night. Only they look for her at night. She looked for them in between. I found them. They didn't find her. She found them. They took her. So no one would know they exist. Everybody can see them, but no one knows what they're looking at.”

  He gets up from the chair and starts to pace. His hands shake at his sides, and his breath gets faster. I'm watching him spiral, and I feel helpless. The guard just stands there, watching. It's not that he doesn't care. He might not, but he's standing there because it's all he's allowed to do. Unless Xavier is hurt or hurts me, he sees no reason to intervene.