I Know Where She Is: a breathtaking thriller that will have you hooked from the first page

by S. B. Caves

  When she returned to the sofa with a bottle of ale, Will wondered if she’d done it on purpose. There were more than two dozen bottles of Budweiser in the fridge, and three bottles of ale left over from when her dopey brother had come around at Thanksgiving. Will had tried to get Peter to take the things home with him, but he’d refused, as though he were doing Will a favour.

  ‘I’d better check on Summer,’ he said, setting the bottle of ale on the table next to him.

  ‘She’s fine,’ Sheila said quickly, her face childishly anxious. ‘Look, the monitors are on. If she needs us, she’ll call.’

  Ugh, he couldn’t take much more. She’ll call us. That was Sheila’s saccharine phrasing for a gargle on the baby monitor, like Summer were trying to phone them and let them know something was up.

  ‘I know she’s fine, but I just want to check. I thought I heard a thud earlier. Just gonna make sure nothing has fallen over.’ Like that other idiotic oversized tree Sheila had wanted for outside the bathroom, so that every time he needed a piss in the night he pricked himself with pine needles.

  He started up the staircase. When he reached the nursery, he saw through the open door that the star projector was on. He was sure it had been off when he’d last been up here, but maybe Sheila had fiddled with it. Why she would do that when the child was already asleep, he didn’t know, but he’d long since given up trying to understand why she did anything these days. ‘Don’t be such a grouch! It’s my baby brain.’ Baby brain. Another wonderful term for her being a mindless idiot. How many times did he need to tell her that he didn’t like leaving the projector on through the night in case the thing overheated and blew a fuse?

  He walked into the bedroom, approached the crib and froze.

  The baby was gone.

  He opened his mouth to shout down to Sheila, to double check that she hadn’t moved Summer to one of the other rooms, when a sound stopped him.

  The nursery door closed. A young woman stood holding his child, cooing to her softly.

  ‘What?’ Will breathed as his eyes adjusted to the green hue of the room. This couldn’t be right, could it? No.

  ‘It’s not a hallucination,’ a voice from the nursery bathroom said. Will turned around and saw Francine holding the baby monitor. ‘It’s Autumn,’ she said, and pointed. The baby monitor didn’t light up when she spoke.

  ‘What are you doing in here?’ he asked, before spinning around to face this teenage apparition who looked so much like his elder daughter. ‘Don’t you hurt my baby,’ he whispered, fiercely.

  ‘I’m not going to hurt her, Dad. She’s my sister, right? You called her Summer?’ She looked past Will and smiled at Francine. ‘She was born in the fall. Maybe you should’ve called her Autumn two-point-zero. Would’ve made more sense. Then again, sticking with the seasonal theme is quite good going.’

  ‘I don’t … I don’t …’

  ‘You don’t have to say anything, Dad. Not yet. You just have to listen, very carefully.’

  He made a sound that was something like an exhalation and something like a hiccup, then started towards Autumn with his arms outspread.

  ‘No, I wouldn’t, Will,’ Francine warned.

  He dabbed at his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater. ‘I can’t believe this. Sweet Jesus, this is a miracle.’

  ‘No, not a miracle, Dad. Why don’t you sit down over there,’ Autumn said softly.

  ‘Let me go and grab Sheila, she’ll be dying to see—’

  ‘Sit down, Will. Sheila doesn’t need to hear this. This is between the three of us.’

  Will’s head whipped towards Francine, squinting with confusion. ‘What is this all about? I don’t … How …’

  ‘Sit down, Will. We don’t have long.’

  In a daze, Will made his way over to the small wicker armchair and plonked himself in it. He couldn’t seem to pull his attention away from Autumn, staring at her with his mouth agape and his eyes wide with wonder.

  ‘Ten years ago, a little girl gets taken from a mall,’ Autumn began, gently bouncing the baby in her arms. ‘Everybody thinks it’s a kidnapping, but the girl is never heard from again. Until now. You following so far?’

  His mouth twitched to speak, but she continued.

  ‘This girl is taken to a house in the woods where a bunch of other girls live. They’ve all been taken from their parents too. And at this house, they’re raped and taken to parties where other men rape them, and then they end up pregnant. You know what happens to the babies they give birth to? They’re shipped off to some other place, to grow up in another house, to be farmed out to parties for a bunch of sick celebrities and important people, and so on, and so on.’

  ‘Autumn … I … My God …’

  ‘I told you, didn’t I, Will?’ Francine said, gesturing towards Autumn. ‘All these years. And here she is. Our Autumn.’

  He covered his face with his hands and shook his head. ‘This isn’t … I don’t know what this is. I don’t know what any of it means.’ He began sobbing, stuttering on the tears, snot dribbling from his nose unchecked. ‘This has to be a dream.’

  ‘Remember what I told you about Glenn Schilling?’ Francine asked. ‘You didn’t take me seriously, did you, Will? Now look. Biggest scandal since OJ. I’m just angry that he shot himself before he could stand trial. I would’ve enjoyed watching that, believe me. Your good old pal Glenn Schilling, comedian, performer, paedophile, he does it all. What was it you called him, Will? An icon?’

  Will looked at her through his fingers. ‘I tried to call you, Francine. But your phone …’

  ‘Yeah, I got rid of it. I’ve come all this way, you think I’m taking any chances now? Not on your life. What, did you think it was a coincidence? I come to you on my knees asking for your help, and you shun me like a dog. I tell you Glenn Schilling is connected to our daughter, and you say I’m crazy. Well, the papers didn’t think I was crazy when they watched his home videos, did they?’

  ‘Francine, for the love of God, put yourself in my shoes,’ he whined. ‘Do you blame me? It did sound crazy at the time.’

  ‘Do you still think I’m crazy now, Will? Because that’s Autumn standing there.’

  ‘When I saw the news about Glenn, I didn’t know what to think, I didn’t know what to do. I had a feeling it was you, but … I’m … What can I say that will make this right, Francine?’

  ‘I don’t need words, Will.’

  From downstairs, Sheila called, ‘Will? Is she okay? What’s taking you so long? Your beer’s getting warm.’

  Very quietly, Autumn began to sing to Summer. ‘If you’re tired, little girl, close your eyes and go to sleep, close your eyes and go to sleep, close your eyes and go to sleep …’

  Will opened the door. ‘I’m on the phone,’ he called back quietly. ‘I gotta take this; give me ten minutes.’

  Sheila grumbled something about putting the beer back in the fridge.

  ‘What do we do now?’ Will asked Francine, closing the door again. ‘The police—’

  ‘Forget it,’ Autumn interjected. ‘They’ve known all along. They can’t be trusted. No doubt they’re going to try to cover this whole thing up.’

  Francine walked over to stand beside Autumn and stroked the baby’s cheek with her finger. She pulled a silly face and Summer smiled. Without looking at Will, she said, ‘Autumn and I are going on the road. We need to cover a lot of ground. It’s still dangerous for us. Autumn is known to them, and they’ll be holding a grudge.’

  ‘Them?’

  ‘It goes a lot deeper than Glenn Schilling,’ Francine said as Summer grabbed hold of her finger. ‘It’s a whole network. There’s a lot I need to figure out. But the main thing is that we will need to keep moving. For now at least.’

  ‘And then what?’ Will asked. Every time he glanced over at Autumn, he felt giddy. It made his heart bump painfully in his chest.

  ‘Then we hit them again,’ Autumn returned flatly, her face like dull steel. ‘We’re going to find al
l their nests and expose them.’

  ‘In time,’ Francine added. ‘We’ve got a lot of planning to do first. We’ve made a couple of friends in the media, but we need more. And that’s where you come in.’

  ‘Will? It’s Christmas Eve.’ Sheila’s voice drifted up the stairs. ‘Call them back!’

  Will strode to the door again. ‘Can you just shut up and watch your movie!’ he called in a fierce whisper. ‘I need to do this right now!’

  Silence from downstairs. Summer grumbled in Autumn’s arms, but Autumn swayed her back and forth and hushed the child.

  ‘Autumn, I …’ Will began to speak and then shook his head. ‘I love you. I never stopped loving you. I just can’t believe any of this is happening. I don’t know what to say. Maybe there is nothing I can say.’ Very suddenly, he began sobbing again. This time he didn’t try and hide his face in his hands.

  ‘I know.’ Autumn laid Summer down in her crib and pressed the button on her lullaby mobile. As it played ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’, she walked over to Will and placed her hand on his shoulder. Quietly, she said, ‘The time for tears has long since passed, Dad.’

  Will wiped his slick, puffy face and went to clasp her hand. ‘I’m sorry, Autumn. I’m more sorry than you could ever know. I want to …’ He stopped when he saw her belly protruding from beneath her padded puffer jacket.

  ‘You’re going to be a grandfather,’ Francine said, unsmiling. Will froze; only his eyes continued to move, darting back and forth as he struggled to make sense of it all. ‘Will. Will?’ Francine clicked her fingers to get his attention. ‘We’re going to need money. In a couple of weeks’ time, I’m going to call you. We can make all the arrangements then. In the meantime, keep your eyes peeled, do you hear me?’

  He was still too stunned to process it all. Francine clasped his wrist tightly. He looked up at her, confused.

  ‘You’re going to help me this time, Will. And God help you if you don’t.’

  He gave a small nod of his head. Autumn hugged him and whispered something in his ear that only he could hear.

  And then they were gone.

  First published in the United Kingdom in 2017 by Canelo

  Canelo Digital Publishing Limited

  57 Shepherds Lane

  Beaconsfield, Bucks HP9 2DU

  United Kingdom

  Copyright © S.B. Caves, 2017

  The moral right of S.B. Caves to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 9781911591795

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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