by Mary Stone
“Tell me, Ellie, do you feel guilty for what happened to you? You do realize that nothing you did made that person kidnap you, right?”
To her horror, emotion burned into her face, and she swallowed hard to force it back down. “I do understand that, but I still feel responsible for it.” Guilt dug away at her stomach even as she said the words. “If I hadn’t lied, I would’ve been safe at home. My parents never would have had to worry.”
“Teenagers sneak out and they lie, Ellie. Those are natural, normal things for a girl of fifteen.”
“Logically, I realize that, but convincing myself that it wasn’t all my fault is not that easy. And then there’s my dad’s—” She stopped short, refusing to go there. “Anyway, I feel bad.”
“You don’t have to tell me what you almost said, but I can tell you’d like to get it off your chest. This is a safe space, Ellie.” He leaned forward, setting the notepad on the table and pressing his hands together. “You can be honest with me here. And with yourself.”
She caught her quivering lip between her teeth and forced away the tears that threatened. “My dad had a stroke when he found out what had happened to me. It caused significant damage to his heart, and he’s been on heavy medication since, just to keep him healthy. He’s not the man he was before I was kidnapped, and that eats away at me.”
“I can imagine it does.”
“A couple weeks ago, he had to have a heart transplant. It was awful, waiting for someone else to lose a loved one so my dad could live.”
Someone’s going to die, Ellie, you choose when.
Ellie pushed the creepy voice out of her head and focused on Dr. Powell. “You’re right, though. I’m not careful with myself because taking chances makes me feel good.” She stood and wiped her hands on her pants. Her shoulder tugged, but it was less painful than it had been the week before. “I hate to chat and run, but I have to leave soon. I haven’t seen Jillian, and I’m supposed to be on light duty, so only half-days this week.”
“Self-care is important care. You do what you need to do to get healthy.” Her hand was already on the door when he said, “And Ellie?”
She stopped, ordering herself not to give away any more of herself. She’d already spouted off like a soda bottle shaken and opened too fast. “Yes?”
“Thanks for stopping by.”
31
Ellie fussed with the bandage on her arm, trying to roll her sleeve down over it. She scowled at her reflection in the mirror.
“It looks fine.” Jacob stepped forward, fixing the sleeve. “Everyone in Charleston knows you got shot.”
She scowled at her shoulder. “I want to look like a responsible officer.”
“Detective,” Jacob corrected. “And you could wear a nun’s habit and they would still know who you are.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” She half-grimaced, half-smiled as Jacob helped her into her jacket.
“You’re going to do great. I promise. No one is here to judge you. It’s an annual fundraiser, not a big to-do.”
“The Chief of Police is going to be there. Jacob, aren’t you nervous?” She pressed one hand to her stomach, trying to quell the nerves.
“He’s there every year. Now breathe. Do I need to call Nick and have him take the night off so he can hold your hand?”
Ellie glared at him as his brilliant smile grew wider. “No, you don’t. He had his own fundraiser already scheduled. I appreciate you being my plus one.”
“I wasn’t going to let Smythe have the honor. Plus, this was my only way to get in.”
“I thought it was just a silly fundraiser?” she mocked.
“It is, but it’s nice to be invited, even if it is only because my ex-partner solved two cold cases in one day.”
She checked her hair that was pulled back in a sleek bun. “It wasn’t a day, but thanks.”
“You ready to go?”
“Would it be weird if I hid in the evidence locker all night?”
“It would, but you do you.” Jacob held open the door, one eyebrow up in question.
“I always do.” She grinned and tipped a pretend hat at him as she went out into the hall, leading the way to the police department’s foyer.
Outside, simple white lights wrapped around the handrails leading up the stairs to the front entrance. The potted palms and entryways were lit up as well, giving Charleston PD a festive look.
“There are a lot of cars here,” Ellie said, eyeing the parking lot. “I hope they’re not all packed into the breakroom.”
“You’ll see. They open the accordion wall between the breakroom and the group rooms for things like this. It makes a large space for gathering.”
She took the arm he offered, hiding her sling against his jacket so it wasn’t so obvious. They worked the room, indulging everyone they met with the same short recap of Ellie’s injury and the cases she’d solved.
Chief Marcus Johnson spotted them from across the room as he sipped from a delicate flute of champagne. He flashed Ellie a wide grin and held it up for a toast to her.
Something tugged at her memory, but she pushed it aside. Ever since Dr. Powell had convinced her to open up about her past, odd images had been bubbling to the surface at the worst times. Now wasn’t the time for a memory to crop up out of nowhere.
As he reached her, Johnson’s large hands covered hers, his skin a rich, deep sepia. “Detective Kline,” he said warmly. “It’s nice to see you. You too, Jacob.” He shook Jacob’s hand vigorously. “I’m glad you both could make it. Tell me, Ellie, how is your father? Is he home yet?”
The question caught her off guard. Everyone else had asked about her gunshot wound, but Chief Johnson seemed more concerned with her family life. She instantly liked him. “He’s doing great. They released him a week early with a home health team. He’s out of quarantine sometime this week. All he needs is an all-clear from the doctor. I think he’ll be happy to be free to roam the house. He’s been confined to one wing of the house and is more than a little stir-crazy.”
“I bet he’s itching to get outside.”
“He is.”
Someone called out to the chief, and he gave a soft groan. “I’d love to stay and chat, but duty calls. Tell your parents I send my regards and thank them again for always supporting our officers in blue.”
“I will.”
“That was interesting,” Jacob said.
“I’ll say. It was like he knew me.”
“In all fairness, you have been on television twice in the past six weeks. That’s a lot for one officer.”
“All right, fine. You’re right.” She jumped at the sudden vibration in her jacket, then laughed. “My cell phone buzzed. I hope that’s not Nick telling me the auction was a bust. He loves this car that’s being sold.” She took out her phone and frowned at the screen. Answering, she shoved one finger into her ear so she could hear. “Jillian, what’s up? I’m at the fundraiser.”
“I know,” Jillian said. “I’m in evidence.”
“Jillian, it’s eight o’clock.”
“I know. I got wrapped up in something and lost track of time. I can’t explain over the phone. You need to come down here.”
Ellie glanced around at the glittering lights, feeling a moment of disappointment. She shrugged. She got enough of glitter and glam at the fundraisers her mother pried her to. “I’ll be there in a minute.” She hung up and turned to Jacob. “Want to go downstairs with me?”
Jacob snorted and took a swig of his drink. “Why does that sound so dirty when you say it like that?”
“Hurry, Jillian is waiting.”
He choked, coughing and pounding his chest with his fist. “I’m not sure I’m up for this.”
“Stop being such a man,” she teased as she hurried him to the service hallway.
“I’m not sure what else you expect me to be.”
“Be more like Duke.”
“Sure.” Jacob huffed, trying to look insulted. “I’ll remind you, Duk
e is not a bloodhound. What’s going on?”
“Jillian must have found something.”
He frowned down at his drink. “We’re off the clock.”
“I’m salaried. I’m never off the clock.”
Jacob rolled his eyes, sighing as he threw back the remaining contents of his glass. “Whatever. The chicken they serve is usually dry anyway.”
Jillian met them at the evidence office and ushered them to the back room where the cold cases were stored.
“What are these?” Ellie asked, looking down at the white boxes lined up on two tables.
“A hunch. You said you couldn’t get ahold of all the women on the Ghana trip, right?”
“Right.”
“Well, first, I looked at the women you couldn’t reach. There were two of them. Then I got to thinking about other trips like the one Mabel and Tabitha were supposed to go on. I started running some of our Jane Does against missing persons who went missing while doing charity work overseas. I found three, total.”
“Three that match our Jane Does?” Ellie asked.
“No. Three pairs of missing women. I grouped each pair together.” Jillian placed her hands on two boxes. “The first two are from a trip that was headed to Peru then Costa Rica for six months. Then another pair of missing women from the Ghana trip. That’s all I have so far, but that makes six victims.”
“There are seven boxes,” Jacob pointed out.
“That’s mine.” The words were out of Ellie’s mouth before she could stop them. In the silence that followed, she could almost hear the puzzle pieces click into place.
Seven boxes.
One was missing.
She knew that now with a certainty she would never question.
Jacob’s jaw dropped. “As in, your case from when you were abducted?”
Ellie swallowed hard before inclining her head just a fraction. “I just found out recently that it was never solved.”
“But how can that be true? You were rescued. How did they not find the guy?”
“There were a lot of mishaps between when I was rescued and when my abduction came to light. I was hit by a police cruiser and unconscious for days after I escaped. Then I had no memory, and my parents told me the kidnapper had been killed, so…”
Jillian leaned forward, over the table. “There’s more.”
“How can there be more?” Jacob lamented, glancing from Ellie’s evidence box to the others and running his fingers through his hair.
“In every single one of these cases, one body is mutilated and one is a quick, clean kill.”
Tell me the words or I take off another finger!
Ellie shook herself away from the voice, her heartbeat jumping sky-high. “Anything else?”
“I haven’t had a chance to go through everything, but I’m thinking if your case had been solved, maybe no one else would’ve died.” Jillian clapped her hands over her mouth. “I’m sorry, that came out wrong. I’m not saying I wish you would’ve died.”
“No, I understand,” Ellie said quietly. She slipped the lid off her box, and one by one, took everything out, still sealed in the plastic bags. “I keep remembering things. If I could have forced myself to remember, would these women be dead?”
“You can’t think like that, Ellie.” Jacob shook his head emphatically. “You’re not responsible for these six deaths.”
“Seven.”
“Why do you say that?” Jacob frowned down at the boxes.
“They all come in pairs, right? So somewhere, there’s a dead woman who still hasn’t been found.”
He glanced up at her sharply. “How can you be sure?”
Say the words.
Ellie shuddered, her jaw clenched against the voice that wouldn’t shut up. “There was blood on me that wasn’t mine. Arterial spray. It was a fine mist, but it was there.” Her eyes swept over the boxes again. “This means that Eddie Bower was only a small cog in a much larger machine.”
“That only happens one way,” Jillian said, her eyes huge.
“I know.” Ellie drew in deep breaths in an effort to quell the panic that was growing in her chest. “So, she had to be the first to go. Why did he spare me?”
“You didn’t give him a choice,” Jacob said vehemently, eyeing the boxes then piercing her with his determined stare. “Ellie, you can’t beat yourself up for being strong.”
“Sure I can.” She picked up a bag out of her white box, and froze, placing the notes on the table and reading them slowly at first, then again until she’d read them ten times. “Whoever the woman with me was, she was the one who was tortured. All because of me.”
Say it, Ellie. Put her out of her misery.
“It’s not your fault,” Jacob insisted as he leaned over so he could read the notes she held tightly against the table. “What’s this?”
“The officer who hit me stayed with me until my parents were found. I was talking, even under sedation. Screaming, really. He wrote down everything I said.”
Jacob’s brown eyes bored into hers. “Ellie, you can’t blame your—”
“It’s right there.” She stabbed her fingers at the words. “It says right here that ‘I told her to die. I told him to kill her. I couldn’t stand to hear her screams anymore.’” She looked up, staring into Jillian’s eyes before turning to stare into Jacob’s, the horror of what she had suppressed for so long slowly coming to light. “I said it with my own mouth, even though I have no memory of any of that.”
“You were being held against your will. You had to survive.”
“Not at someone else’s expense, Jacob. Not like that.” Tears rolled down Ellie’s face as she started to move her hand to reveal the words she’d covered up.
But something else caught Jacob’s attention first. “Do you see who the notes were taken by?” he asked, wide-eyed.
“Officer Marcus Johnson.” She was frozen to the spot. “That’s why he looks so familiar. I thought it was because he’s on TV all the time, but it was him.”
A memory of lying on the cold, wet asphalt and the policeman kneeling over her, frightened, burst in front of her vision.
“Chief Johnson. Chief Johnson is the officer I ran out in front of.”
“What is under your hand?” Jacob tried to push Ellie’s hand away from the paper, but she wouldn’t budge.
She trembled, and the voice was like thunder inside her.
Say the words, Ellie. Say the words I need to hear.
“I can’t do it,” she whispered, eyes squeezed shut so tightly the tears couldn’t escape. But when she opened her eyes, Jillian and Jacob were watching her, waiting.
“What does it say?” Jacob pressed gently.
“The one thing he needed to hear to put the poor woman out of her misery.” Ellie’s throat was thick with unshed tears, forgotten terror lurking just beneath the surface of her mind. “It was all I had to say to make him stop the torture, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I finally said it.”
Jacob swallowed, glanced at Jillian.
Jillian took a step toward Ellie. “You can tell us. We won’t judge you. And we can find this person, make sure justice is served for good.”
“Justice,” Ellie whispered, closing her eyes.
She balled her fists up and took a shuddering breath, then opened her eyes and licked her suddenly dry lips. She fought back the memory as the basement room tried to turn into that cold, dark room full of so much pain.
“All I had to say was, ‘Die, Bitch, Die.’”
The End
To be continued…
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Acknowledgments
How does one properly thank everyone involved in taking a dream and making it a reality? Here goes.
In addition to our families, whose unending support provided the foundation for us to find the time and energy to put these thoughts on paper, we want to thank the editors who polished our words and made them shine.