by Debra Webb
I wonder what my mother and father are doing. They must be so worried. I wish I could spare them this nightmare. But I cannot. There’s nothing I can do but try to survive.
And then what? I can’t foolishly pretend I’ll be set free no matter how strong I am.
My family will likely never see me again. I wonder if the police will figure out what was done to us. I suppose that depends on whether they find our bodies. My poor parents will be devastated. My brother, Ray, will be hurt, too.
No-Name never mentions her family. Ellen and I talk about ours often. Maybe No-Name has no family.
I think of the stupid mistake I made that caused me to end up here. How could I have been so blind and foolish?
If I make it out of here I wonder if I will ever see those people again. I’m sure it was that red-haired woman and the man I thought was so sexy.
My body shudders at the idea that he raped me. I want to ask Ellen and No-Name if he raped them but it’s not exactly the kind of question you just pop up and say, “Oh, by the way did that handsome guy who helped land us here rape you while you were unconscious?”
What difference does it make?
God only knows if we are getting out of here. Don’t be stupid, Jo.
Most likely we are dead even if we survive.
I force myself to stand and walk around the dark room. I need to keep my strength up by whatever means possible. I hate it when I’m in here alone. When Ellen is with me I can focus on helping her. Even No-Name gives me something else to focus on besides what’s probably going to happen.
They’ve done terrible things to us already.
I can’t even imagine what is coming next.
41
Montgomery Street
1:00 p.m.
Chiefs Buckley and Phelps took seats at the table, along with Agents Richards and Johnson and Special Agent George Wagner from the Georgia Bureau of Investigation. Jo got the impression Tony had met everyone except the GBI guy.
She’d started to itch as soon as they entered the campus security building. She’d been here before—seventeen years, eleven months and eighteen or nineteen days ago. She honestly couldn’t remember the exact day. Right before she walked away from her life and never looked back.
How was it that nearly eighteen years later she was no better off? It felt as though nothing had changed. No one had been made to pay for what she and the others had lost, for the murders of those who didn’t make it out alive. Instead, other girls were missing, other lives were in danger. And no one knew where to look or what to do.
She refused to count Madelyn and Miles as the only villains in this. There was someone else, she felt certain.
The GBI man spoke first, “Mr. LeDoux has explained how you came to him for help, Ms. Guthrie.”
Her mouth felt so dry she didn’t dare speak. She nodded, then reached for the bottle of water next to her. When they’d first arrived another uniformed member of campus security had placed bottles of water at each of their places at the table. Images of all those days in captivity and hoping for just one bottle of water flickered through her brain. He’d known exactly how far to go with the withholding of food and water. Take them to the brink, and then bring them back.
“At this time our full attention must be on finding Miss Durand and Miss Parton.” Chief Buckley spoke next. He looked to Jo and said, “When we’ve brought them safely home, I hope you’ll sit down with us and help us to understand where we went wrong protecting you and what we could have done differently.”
Big breath. She found her voice. “I’m not sure there was or is anything you could do differently. The mistake was mine,” she confessed. “The others would tell you the same if they could. We didn’t protect ourselves and we paid a heavy price.”
The men around the table glanced at each other.
“You have no idea where you were kept,” Agent Richards asked.
She had known it would be like this. She’d lived through the questions and the sometimes sympathetic, sometimes suspicious looks several times the weeks and months after she and Ellen were found alive. She couldn’t give them what they wanted and for that she would always be guilty on some level in their eyes.
Just answer the question, Jo. “I believe it was somewhere on the old Central State Hospital property.”
Phelps and Buckley exchanged another look. “It’s true you and Ellen Carson were found near the area. But, according to your statements after you escaped, neither of you could be certain of where you were held. Is that correct?”
“You asked me where I believed we were held and I answered. But, you’re correct in that I can’t be certain.” She cleared her throat and struggled to keep her voice steady. “Wherever we were, it wasn’t just some thrown-together prison, not just a simple room. There were several rooms. All connected. The walls weren’t drywall or paneling or block. They were like television screens, massive monitors. They could be completely black or blindingly white and they could display images...videos. It could be freezing cold or burning up hot.”
“I believe,” Tony spoke up, “they were held in specialized lab environments made for a particular set of testing procedures. Someone at the state level must have an accounting of any and all activities taking place on the old Central State Hospital property. It still belongs to the state—there has to be a paper trail.” He looked from one man to the next. “Have there been, in the past or at present, researchers conducting activities that might require similar environments to what Ms. Guthrie experienced?”
“Based on Chief Phelps’s previous conversations with you and what he has relayed to me—” Agent Wagner spoke first “—I’ve been doing some digging. There are twenty-three contractors who utilize space at the facility. The research activities of each, as you can imagine, are highly classified. We’re going through one by one and requesting authorization to have a look around. Those who refuse will complicate matters, but we’ll do our best.”
“Which takes time,” Tony argued. To the room at large, he said, “I understand what you’re doing is necessary, but I would ask that you divide your assets into two teams. One working with the known contractors, and the other picking through the numerous supposedly vacant areas of the property. The unsub or unsubs we’re looking for may not be operating legitimately. This may be a completely dark operation by someone who knows the place better than any of us. There’s always the chance they are completely off the books.”
“You’re thinking this Professor Blume is somehow connected to the abductions,” Chief Phelps said.
“The sister of one of his former patients/prisoners at the forensic hospital filed a lawsuit for treatment trials conducted on him and Professor—Dr. Blume looked into it. Then suddenly he and his wife go out of the country for an extended vacation. The electricity to their home has been disconnected. Would you turn off the power while you were away? What about security? Homeowner’s insurance? We need to know if they left the country. What flights they took. We need to speak with Professor Orson Blume. The fact that there is a connection between Hailey Martin—Madelyn Houser—and him from two decades ago only solidifies my concern that there’s more to his part in this than we can see.”
“Houser was the professor’s assistant for a good number of years,” Buckley pointed out for anyone who didn’t know.
“Ms. Guthrie,” Tony went on, “has already told us of Houser’s connection to her abduction and we have video taken from Conway’s apartment proving a connection to the current abductions. Blume is a lead that needs to be followed quickly and thoroughly.”
The room was quiet for ten or so seconds. Jo’s pulse pounded with each one.
“We’ve been looking into Professor Blume,” Buckley said. “He has no family beyond his wife, but most of his friends are current or former faculty members so it was relatively simple to get some recent background on him. According to those who
know him best, the professor and his wife decided to take an extended vacation for their anniversary. Most got the impression they would be gone for several months. Agents Richards and Johnson have just this morning put into works an investigation into their whereabouts.”
“What about Sylvia Carson?” Jo spoke up. “Has she been located?” For God’s sake Ellen’s parents were going through the horrors of having a missing child all over again. It was bad enough to live through it once. No family should have to go through that nightmare twice.
“We’ve had several tips come in on our BOLO for Sylvia Carson,” Phelps said. “She used her debit card so we were able to confirm a stop at a gas station in Macon three days ago. The attendant confirmed she was driving a white Honda Civic.”
“No sightings since?” Tony asked.
“She’s taken to ground,” Phelps said, “the best we can tell.”
“Or she’s driving something else,” Tony argued.
“It’s possible,” Jo countered, “whoever gave Houser and Conway their orders has Sylvia.”
Nods and grunts of agreement went around the table.
“Since we haven’t discovered her car abandoned,” Phelps said, “we’re going with the scenario that she’s in hiding, but we’ll keep an eye on any vehicles reported missing, as well. She may very well have taken another vehicle.”
“What about the missing weapon in Houser’s home?” This from Tony.
“Since the weapon wasn’t registered, it’s hard to say.” Phelps shook his head. “We believe it was a .38 based on the case she kept it in. Whatever it was, Carson likely took it with her.”
“Where are the boots on the ground focused?” Tony wanted to know.
“We have people on Central State Hospital property,” Buckley advised. “We have a committee of students who are helping with the questioning of other students. Every student on campus is being asked if they knew Tiffany or Vickie. We’re hitting all the clubs, bars and restaurants suggested by those who knew the two best with flyers and pleas for help. Every detective and deputy in the county is shaking his or her sources. We have hundreds of volunteers working with us. The entire county is being turned upside down.”
“Tip lines are still ringing off the hook,” Phelps added.
More search options were suggested and discussed. Jo couldn’t slow the pounding in her chest as the men went back and forth about the best way to find the unfindable. This—this meeting felt like a waste of time. They all—everyone at this table—should be out there searching.
“What about Dr. Alexander?” she blurted. No one had mentioned her and Jo was certain she was involved on some level with this.
All eyes shifted to her.
“She’s still in guarded condition,” Phelps said. “Her doctor has assured me that my detectives should be able to question her by tomorrow. We didn’t find anything on her cell phone. She’d obviously deleted her call and text history. We’ve subpoenaed her phone records. We’ll have those in a couple of days. Her husband was out of the country but he’s back now. We’ve talked to him and he has no idea about her being involved with anything outside the clinic.”
Jo nodded. She appreciated their efforts but they were getting nowhere faster and faster.
Tony said, “Ms. Guthrie and I would like the authority to continue our own search on the Central State Hospital campus. I’m hoping she might see something that triggers a memory.”
An argument about the legalities of the proposition broke out among the members of law enforcement. Jo could hardly catch her breath as they went back and forth and back and forth. Didn’t they understand that they were wasting precious time?
Phelps held up his hands for the others to quiet. “LeDoux is a former highly trained federal agent. He is fully aware of evidentiary procedures. I’m certain—” Phelps stared straight at Tony “—that if he stumbles upon possible evidence that he will immediately call me or Chief Buckley.”
“Absolutely,” Tony confirmed. “The only thing worse than not finding your unsub is screwing up the evidence and losing him in the courtroom. Do not forget for a moment that this is my niece we’re talking about. No one wants to find her and to see that justice is served more than I do.”
Buckley nodded. “It’s in the best interest of these two missing students to do all within our power to find them. They’ve been missing far too long. If unorthodox measures are necessary, then so be it. I, for one, don’t want to be the person who looks back at this time with regret.”
Agent Wagner leaned back in his chair. “You’ll get no argument from me.”
Richards shook his head. “I’ll need to speak with my superiors before I agree to having a disenfranchised federal agent stumbling around a potential crime scene.”
Phelps crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, I tell you what, Agent Richards. You go ahead and speak to whomever you feel you need to, but since this is my jurisdiction, this is how we’re going to do it.” He turned to LeDoux. “As of right now, Mr. LeDoux, you’re working as a special consultant to me and this department. You do everything you know to do to find these young ladies, but don’t cross that line we talked about or your friends here will be the least of your worries.”
“Thank you, Chief.”
The meeting adjourned and Jo couldn’t get out of the building fast enough. She hurried down the steps and into the shaded yard. The security building was actually a historic home that had been renovated years ago. She scanned the neighborhood, the sorority houses, the buildings of the main campus where she’d started the rest of her life eighteen years ago.
One mistake had stolen that future from her and so many others, like poor Ellen.
Someone was going to pay for all the futures they’d stolen.
Whatever Tony had promised Phelps, she hadn’t made the same promise. The bastards who did this didn’t deserve their day in court.
Conway and Houser were already in hell where they belonged. If Jo had her way, the others would go straight there, too.
42
Day Ten
Eighteen years ago...
Ellen is back. She is seriously injured.
She keeps vomiting.
I demand to know what happened, but No-Name won’t talk. She’s hiding in the farthest, darkest corner of this place.
I hate No-Name. She isn’t like us. She doesn’t care if we all make it out alive. She only cares if she makes it.
Bitch!
I stroke Ellen’s tangled hair. I whisper softly to her, promising her that she’s okay now. I caress her skin. My fingers come away wet. I smell the sticky stuff and recognize the metallic odor of blood.
I search her body in the darkness for the origin of the blood and find a wound on her chest. A slash.
Dear God—had they been given knives?
Rage detonates inside me.
I shoot up and rush around the blackness until I find the fucking bitch who won’t even tell us her name.
I launch onto her, straddling her skinny body before she can scramble away. I grab handfuls of her stringy black hair. “What did you do to her?”
I’m screaming, I know. I don’t care who hears me.
She doesn’t answer. Only whimpers.
I bang her head against the floor. “What did you do?”
“They gave us spears. We had to fight.”
Her body starts to shudder and she sobs like a child.
My fingers loosen in her hair.
This isn’t her fault. She is like us. A victim. She’s only doing what they make her do. What she must do to survive.
I get off her and pull her across the darkness until we find Ellen, and then we all lie there in a sobbing huddle.
The world we were snatched from no longer exists. There is only this place, this moment and our fears.
We now know the trut
h.
We’re all going to die.
43
The Brick
2:30 p.m.
Before hellos or introductions, Tony hugged Bobbie Gentry. Nearly overwhelmed with emotion, it took him a moment to find his voice. She looked great and he was damned glad she was here.
“I’m grateful you were able to come.”
“Nothing could have stopped us.” She smiled. The darkness they had shared was an unspoken knowing between them. It was a bond that could never be broken.
He turned to Nick Shade and shook his hand. “Thank you for coming.”
“You would do the same.”
Yes, he would. Tony shared something intense with these two people and he was immensely grateful for their friendship.
Nick looked relaxed, at peace. Tony was glad. The sadistic serial killer who had posed as his father for most of his life was rotting in prison where he belonged. Dying would have been too good for him. He deserved to live his final years having to mull over and over what he’d done to Nick and all his other victims. The bastard was in solitary confinement. All the benefits he’d once enjoyed for cooperating with the Bureau had been taken from him. He was merely an old man serving multiple life sentences.
He was nothing—no one—dying a slow, meaningless death.
“Joanna Guthrie,” Tony said, “this is Sergeant Bobbie Gentry.” He grinned at Bobbie. She’d received the promotion she deserved. She and Lieutenant Lynette Holt, the newly promoted unit commander, had rebuilt their homicide team. The former commander of homicide, Eudora Owens, was now the Montgomery chief of police and had married Bobbie’s uncle. Life was good in Montgomery.
The two women exchanged a quick embrace.
“Nick Shade,” Tony said.
Nick extended a hand to Joanna. “Tony filled me in on your situation. I hope we can help.”
“Thank you.” Jo shook his hand. “We need all the help we can get.”
“Let’s sit.” Tony gestured to the booth he and Jo had claimed to wait for Bobbie’s and Nick’s arrival. “I’ve ordered pizza and a pitcher of beer.”