“Rachel Davis?”
Not Sean.
Panic morphed into utter dread. “Yes, who is this?”
“Sheriff Jake Tyler. Dixon County, Michigan.”
Mouth dry, mind racing, she reached into the nightstand drawer and grabbed a pencil. “Why are you calling, Sheriff?”
Please let Sean be okay.
“It’s about your brother.”
She closed her eyes. Not caring that she’d just finished her hair and make-up, or that she was dressed for work in a freshly laundered suit, she slumped onto the bed and curled into the fetal position. Sean was her only family. Whatever news the sheriff was about to give her, she’d take it lying down. Fainting onto the hardwood floor would hurt like a bitch.
“Ma’am?”
“Is Sean…?” She couldn’t say the words. Hurt. Missing. Dead.
“Your brother is at Dixon Medical Center. He’s been beaten, but the doc working on him says he’ll recover without issue.”
Anger suddenly surged through her veins. She shot off the bed. “Beaten? When did this happen? Where? At the university?”
Although she’d tried to encourage Sean to remain in Chicago and attend Northwestern, he’d chosen Wexman University, in northwest Michigan, instead. He’d liked the idea of going to a small school, loved the campus, the engineering program and the fat scholarship the school had awarded him for his academics. While she’d respected his wishes, and the scholarship had definitely been a Godsend considering she was paying for his education, she’d still wished he would have stayed closer to home. She loved his company and missed seeing his face on a daily basis.
Now he was lying in a hospital bed.
“Actually, we’re not sure where the beating took place. The doc thinks, based on the way Sean’s wounds have healed, that your brother was hurt sometime Saturday.”
“Saturday?” Pinching the pencil between her fingers, she paced the bedroom. “In case you’re not aware, Sheriff, it’s Monday.”
“I’m fully aware of the day, ma’am,” he replied, his tone holding a hint of irritation. “But your brother wasn’t found until last night around midnight. He had no ID and was considered a John Doe until a couple of hours ago.”
Rachel stopped pacing and snatched the picture frame off the dresser. Staring at the photograph of her and Sean at a Chicago Cubs game last summer, memories of the cheering crowd, the mouthwatering aroma of hot dogs and popcorn, filled her mind and made her want to cry. They’d had a great time at the game, then later pigged out on pizza and wings. He wasn’t just her brother, he was her best friend. And she could have lost him.
Tears filled her eyes as she set the photograph back on the dresser. Swiping a stray tear from her cheek, she drew in a deep breath.
She needed to maintain control. Think. Obtain the facts. Analyze the situation. Leave emotion out of the picture—for now—and use every resource she had available to find out who had hurt Sean. She worked for CORE (Criminal Observance Resolution Evidence), damn it, and had helped the agency investigate and solve hundreds of cases. She’d solve this one, too. And when Sean was well enough to travel, she’d haul his ass home. Maybe even force him to be the next bubble boy. Anything to ensure he remained safe.
“Miss Davis? You still there?” the sheriff asked.
She tucked the pencil behind her ear, then rubbed her temple where a deep throb began to build. “Sorry, Sheriff, I’m still here and didn’t mean to snap at you. My brother…” He was the only family she had left. After their mother had run off with a musician six years ago, she’d become Sean’s legal guardian. Had she been old enough, the courts should have given her that right when he was born. Even at twelve she’d been a better parent than their mom. The woman had spent more time trying to land her next husband than paying attention to her children. Rachel loved Sean. Without him in her life…
Clearing her throat, she said, “I work for a private criminal investigation agency and we specialize in—”
“I’m aware you work for CORE. One of your agents recently helped the Detroit PD with a case. A few months back, another of your people helped bring down a serial killer in Wisconsin.”
“That’s right,” she said, and headed into the kitchen to where she’d left her laptop running. “So, I understand that you might not be able to give me all the details while you’re still running this investigation.” She paused. “You are considering what happened to my brother as something worth investigating, correct?”
“Of course. Actually, I was hoping CORE might lend us a hand.”
While she’d planned to use COREs resources to find out who had hurt Sean, the sheriff’s hopes bordered on extreme. CORE didn’t usually handle cases like this unless they were high profile or the client had deep pockets. Frowning, she said, “What about the Michigan State Police?”
“They…have no interest in what goes on around these parts.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” she said, and closed the case file she’d been working on before her shower and the sheriff’s call. CORE had worked with the FBI, law enforcement in different cities around the country, as well as numerous state agencies. During the four years she’d been with CORE, she had the opportunity to work with the Michigan State Police a few times. In her experience, their personnel had been both capable and professional.
“It will once I explain. Now, the county can’t afford to pay your agency—”
“We do plenty of cases pro bono.” More concerned over her brother than the sheriff’s issues with the State Police, she shifted focus. “Forget about that and give me details. It’s the end of January. Last night the temperature dipped to fifteen degrees in Chicago, and I’m betting it was even colder where you’re located. Did my brother suffer from exposure? Who found him and where? What are his exact injuries? Do you have any suspects or—?”
“Hang on, and slow down,” the sheriff said on a deep sigh. “Let me start at the beginning. Your brother was found by a local guy. He was heading home from work and spotted his body on the side of the road. Sean couldn’t have been outside for too long because his body temperature was normal. The guy who found him even said he was surprised your brother’s skin was warm when he touched his neck to find a pulse.”
Somewhat relieved that Sean hadn’t been lying in the freezing cold for over twenty-four hours, Rachel began to type notes onto her laptop. “Who was the man who found my brother?” She’d like to thank the Good Samaritan. If he hadn’t found Sean, he could have frozen to death.
“Hal Baker. After he brought Sean to the hospital, Hal took me to where he found your brother. Based on the way Hal described the state of Sean’s body, the doc and I both think that he was thrown out of a vehicle. Something high off the ground—maybe an SUV or a truck—and that’s how he suffered the concussion and broken arm. The broken ribs, and bruising to his face and body…I think that happened somewhere else.”
She paused her fingers over the keyboard and fought back the worry, anger and grief. Whoever had done this to her brother would pay dearly. “Did you find tire tracks on the road, or any fibers or DNA evidence on Sean’s clothes?”
“While there’s snow on the ground, there’s none on the road. There weren’t any fresh tire tracks, and I didn’t find any shoe imprints in the snow near where Sean was found. As for DNA evidence, we’re small time here, Miss Davis. I did bag Sean’s clothes and could probably send it to the Michigan State Police, but like I said, they really—”
“Don’t have any interest in what’s going on in those parts,” she repeated what the sheriff had said earlier, and shook her head. “I’m still having a hard time wrapping my brain around that nonsense, Sheriff.”
“Right. We…ah…had some past events that made the Michigan State Police look bad and my department look like a joke.”
“Unless these past events are in any relation to what happened to my brother, I see no reason—”
“Miss Davis,” the sheriff interrupted. “I’m afraid
they do. Over the past twenty years we’ve had well over a dozen missing person reports in our county. Nineteen to be exact. Out of all of the cases, only five of those missing persons have been found. The couple of times the State Police came in to help investigate, the reports ended up being nothing but a hoax.”
Shrugging, she said, “I don’t see why that would keep the State from helping with future investigations.”
“Look, I’ve got a meeting with our town council and honestly don’t have time to go into the details right now.”
“Fine, then you can explain when I get there,” she said. “It’s about a six hour drive from Chicago, and I’ll need to stop by CORE on my way out of town.” She glanced at the clock and did the math. “Will you be able to meet with me around three? I want to see my brother first.”
“Sure. I’ll meet you at my office in Bola. If you’ve been to the university, you would have had to pass through the town.”
If Wexman University wasn’t located near the town, and she hadn’t had the best breakfast of her life there, she probably wouldn’t have remembered the forgettable Bola, Michigan. Located near the Menominee River, the small town thrived on tourism during the summer, and the students and faculty from the university throughout the remainder of the year. Except for the small manufacturing company at the edge of town, and the place she’d eaten breakfast, she couldn’t recall anything else about Bola, other than it being boring.
“I’m familiar with Bola,” she said.
“Good, then I’ll see you at three.”
While the sheriff gave her his contact information, the missing persons he’d mentioned nagged at her. Bola’s population—she remembered from the town’s billboard—was around twelve hundred. Last fall, the university’s enrollment had been almost equal to the number of residents living in Bola. Granted, those missing person cases had occurred over the course of twenty years, but with approximately twenty five hundred people living in the area nine months out of the year, the number of missing persons seemed…staggering.
“Before you go,” Rachel said, and headed for the bedroom to pack a bag. “You mentioned that what happened to my brother relates to the missing persons you’ve had over the years. How so?”
“I planned on telling you when we met. It’s also the reason why I was hoping CORE could help us.” He paused, exhaled deeply, then said, “With almost every one of those missing persons, a note was left behind. Same writing, same message. Only this time, the note wasn’t left behind. It was left on your brother, stuffed in the pocket of his jeans.”
She stopped packing, and sat on the edge of the bed. “What did the note say?”
“Welcome to Hell Week. You have seven days to find him.”
A chill swept over her and prickled the hair on her scalp. During fall semester, Sean had participated in the university’s rush week, and had decided to pledge the Eta Tau Zeta fraternity. Over winter break, he’d told her he was excited to join the Zetas, that they were a great group of guys, but had worried about the expense. She hadn’t worried about the money. The cost to join the fraternity and live at the frat house wasn’t much different than that of the dorms.
What had worried her, though, were the hazing rituals that occur during Hell Week. Sean had assured her that the university didn’t allow any form of hazing, that the school’s policy was strict and if any member of a fraternity was caught or even suspected of hazing, they would be expelled. Although the universities no-tolerance rules had eased her mind, and she’d met most of the boys from the fraternity, she’d still worried about her baby brother. She’d practically raised him and couldn’t help being overprotective.
Now he was six hours away, lying in some rinky-dink hospital.
“That note might make sense if you found it in Sean’s dorm room,” she said, more as a way to alleviate her unease. The missing persons, the note, Sean’s beating, the way he’d been left along the road…something wasn’t right in Bola.
“I don’t think the message was meant for Sean. Have you met your brother’s roommate?”
In an instant, the image of a handsome, athletic, blonde-haired, blue-eyed kid jumped into her mind. Although Josh Conway was the polar opposite to her redheaded, brown-eyed, lanky, bookworm of a brother, the two boys had become close friends, and both were pledging the Eta Tau Zeta fraternity. “Yeah, I know Josh. What about him?”
“According to the dormitory residential assistant, both Sean and Josh were last seen leaving their dorm room Saturday evening. They were supposed to meet a few others at the library for a study session. Neither showed.”
“Is Josh…?”
“We have no idea of his whereabouts.”
And her brother had been beaten and left for dead.
Welcome to Hell Week.
Dread settled in the pit of her stomach as a grisly thought came to mind. “Sheriff, these missing persons your town has seen over the years…were any of them students at Wexman University?”
“Not all, but most of them. Nine to be exact. With Josh Conway’s disappearance…we’re now up to ten.”
Ten? “The students, were any of them pledging a fraternity or sorority?”
“Fraternities. They were all male.”
Rachel tightened her grip on the cell phone. “When? Was there a specific time of year when these boys went missing?”
“January.”
“And their bodies?”
“They’ve never been found.”
While she wasn’t a criminalist like some members of CORE’s team, her years spent with Army Intelligence, along with her hacking skills, had prepared her for the job and had made her valuable to Ian Scott, the owner of the agency. During her tenure, she’d been involved in some seriously twisted cases. Her mind worked quick and zeroed in on one thing.
“You have a serial killer in Bola.”
“That’s right, Miss Davis. Welcome to Hell Week. We have only seven days to find Josh Conway.”
*
With a yawn and a stretch, he climbed out of bed and toed on his slippers. After shrugging into his robe, like a kid on Christmas, he raced down the staircase and into the kitchen. Eagerness and excitement hummed through his veins. Better than Christmas or a birthday or any other holiday, today marked a special day, a special beginning. The time of year he anticipated the most.
Hell Week.
As the coffee brewed, the strong, rich aroma of hazelnut and cinnamon wafted throughout the kitchen. While he waited for that first delicious cup, he did a mental checklist of today’s schedule. Mondays were always a full workday, filled with meetings and preparations for the upcoming week. Pity. He’d love to play hooky today. He’d love to play with the pledge in his basement.
The pledge would have to wait until this evening. Work came first. Deviating from his daily routine was not an option. Besides, he knew in his heart, now, this moment wasn’t the right time. In the past, he’d made mistakes with his pledges. In his overzealousness, he’d rushed things, which had made for some…deadly results. He couldn’t rush anything with the new pledge. Twenty years ago, what had begun as therapy had now become legend. He had become legendary. No. There would be no rushing, no overzealousness. No more mistakes.
After what Junior had done on Saturday, there had better not be any more mistakes. He poured coffee into the mug, then blew on the liquid before taking a sip. Although still angry over Junior’s screw up, he couldn’t stay mad at his only child. Hell Week would become Junior’s legacy. The gifts of dominance, control, power…definitely the kind of inheritance that keeps on giving.And he wanted his child to feel, to truly understand, what it is to have power over another human being. Over their pledge.
Although Junior had been born a disappointment, he never wanted his own flesh and blood to experience what he had twenty-five years ago. The powerlessness, the helplessness, the utter degradation at the hands of monsters. While it had taken him years to battle the nightmares that still haunted him, he’d made his mark on the world
. Well, at least in Bola, Michigan.
Chuckling, he shrugged and looked out the kitchen window. He glanced at the trees in his backyard, now naked save for the clumps of icy snow resting on their branches, then to the path that led to the Menominee River. When he’d been a child, that path had terrified him. His parents had warned him never to walk through the forest alone, to never go near the river, or bad things will happen. Too true, he chuckled again, then took another sip of his coffee.
He no longer knew what it was like to be afraid. The Townies knew. They knew and they feared him.
Just like his parents had done, the town folk of Bola had spun terrifying stories to their children in order to keep them from venturing too far into the dense forests surrounding Bola. The university students, most of them spoiled, coddled, little shitheads, didn’t buy into the Townies fears and beliefs. They’d considered him a myth, akin to the celebrated Bigfoot many of the ignorant Townies had claimed to have seen roaming the area.
Fools.
He was no myth. But he should be feared. Every male student at the university should agonize and wonder.
Will he come for me this year?
While he’d bet there were a few young men who worried, they wouldn’t have to concern themselves any longer. He’d taken his pledge. By noon today, word of the boy’s disappearance would reach every corner of the campus and county. And so it would begin.
Seven days of torture.
Seven days of hell.
The front door opened, sending in a loud gust of wind, then quickly shut.
“Junior?” he called as he left the kitchen and moved down the hallway into the foyer. He stopped, leaned against the stair rails and eyed his favorite mistake. “What have you learned?”
“They found Sean Davis late last night. He’s recovering at Dixon Medical Center. Depending on the severity of the concussion, he’ll likely be released in a few days.”
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