by Rita Herron
“That girl is going to battle guilt all her life,” Beth said as they drove away.
“Then we fight harder to make sure this bastard doesn’t escape.” He turned onto the main highway. “What’s hard to believe is that in all this time, no one saw anything.”
Beth worried her bottom lip with her teeth. “Let’s look at the profile, Ian. Everything we know so far suggests that the unsub blends into a crowd. He’s nondescript, someone people trust. He’s probably insecure but seems humble, so he doesn’t stand out as a troublemaker. He’s methodical enough to hold down a job, but it won’t be high profile. He’s educated enough to know exactly where to cut the girls’ wrists. He chooses low-risk victims. Ones no one will miss or report immediately. Runaways, kids in trouble, ones who won’t draw suspicion.”
“What if he has access to those subsets because of his job? Maybe he’s a social worker or a police officer or . . . a preacher.”
“That could fit with the religious aspect,” Beth said.
“A man named Reverend Jim Benton runs the Holy Waters Church. I’ve always thought he was strange, that he’s brainwashing people.”
“Benton?” Beth’s brows furrowed. “The Otters used to take us to revivals led by a preacher named Wally Benton,” Beth said. “He was scary, but he’d be in his fifties now.”
“This preacher is around our age. They could be related.”
Beth shrugged. “I guess it’s possible. But if he’s murdering girls, it seems someone would have picked up on it and reported him.” Beth massaged her temple. “I’m still stumped over the reason the killer takes the blood. The unsub could be some kind of doctor or research scientist conducting his own experiments. There have been instances of mad scientists using the homeless and prisoners for experimentation.”
“Bloodletting was popular once. Some people thought it cured diseases by draining infections.”
“Perhaps someone the unsub loved died of a rare blood disorder and he’s researching a cure.” Beth drummed her fingers on her arm. “His signature involves religious elements—the candles, the cross, the christening gowns. If he sees himself as their savior, maybe he thinks he’s draining the evil from them. He was raised with a strict religious background.”
“That puts us back to looking at the churches and Benton. If he travels for revivals, he could have been in all of the cities where our victims lived. It could be a connection,” Ian said.
Beth nodded. “We’ll review it with the task force.”
Ian raised his brow again. “I thought Vance wanted you off the case.”
“That’s not going to happen. We have to find Prissy Carson before she ends up like the others.”
Ian contemplated different theories as he drove to the local high school with Beth. Outside the school, the blood bank trailer was parked, a sign on the school marquee announcing that they were collecting blood from the teachers and community for the Red Cross. A man in a white lab coat waved to them.
“Do you know him?” Beth asked.
“I saw him at the diner. Cocoa said his name is Abram.”
“Don’t you want to donate?” Abram asked.
Beth shook her head and walked on, her face paling slightly. She must have an aversion to having her blood drawn.
They rushed inside to meet the principal, a fortyish woman with a chin-length bob who seemed terrified about the prospect of a killer targeting her students.
She should be nervous.
“I’ve called an assembly. Follow me.” No nonsense, she brushed down her pencil skirt and led them to the auditorium.
The principal strode to the podium and called the assembly to order.
Miss Anderson, the twentysomething school counselor, relayed the news that one of their students, Prissy Carson, was missing. Hushed whispers and chatter rumbled through the room. Fear shadowed faces and eyes.
The counselor soothed the group, then introduced Beth and Ian. “I hope you’ll cooperate with the sheriff and this agent. We all want to find Prissy and bring her home.”
Ian stepped onto the stage. “We’re aware Prissy Carson was upset and she ditched school. At this point we believe she may have been picked up by a stranger and that she could be in danger.”
Several students shifted and whispered. A blond boy on the edge of the third row tugged his hat down on his head to cover his eyes.
Blaine Emerson—the boy who’d humiliated Prissy.
“We aren’t here to blame anyone.” Ian offered the kids a smile to calm them. “If anyone has information regarding her disappearance or has had contact with her, please let us know.”
Beth stepped forward. “I want to caution all the young ladies.” She paused, giving the group time to absorb the information. Fear permeated the room. “Please be careful and alert. Stay together in pairs if you’re walking home. Watch out for suspicious people online. And don’t meet or accept a ride from anyone that you don’t know well.”
Miss Anderson clasped her hands together. “There are a few of you I’ve already asked to meet me in my office as soon as we’re dismissed. I expect you to show up.”
Ian liked her directness.
The principal spoke for a minute, then dismissed the assembly.
Ian and Beth followed Miss Anderson to her office, where a handful of kids were waiting. All seemed anxious except the Emerson boy, who stood slouched with his hands in his pockets.
The counselor ordered everyone to sit, then introduced the students.
“I thought no one was in trouble,” the Emerson boy said.
“It was just a stupid joke,” one of the girls said.
“If she ran off and got hurt, it’s not our fault,” a brunette said.
Miss Anderson leveled the group with stern looks. “Listen, you guys, you’re not in trouble at the moment, although we will address your behavior later. Our priority is to find Prissy Carson before it’s too late.”
“The sheriff and I would like to speak to each of you in private.” Beth gestured for one of the girls to go with Ian. Then she asked Blaine to step into the adjoining room with her.
Ian tried to put the young brunette at ease as they moved to the corridor.
The girl started crying as soon as they were alone. “You think it’s our fault that Prissy’s missing.”
“I’m not here to pass judgment. Just tell me—do you have any idea where she’d go?”
The girl shook her head and wiped at her eyes. “She doesn’t have many friends. Just that girl, Vanessa.”
Vanessa was the one who’d alerted them to the fact that her friend might be missing. If Prissy hadn’t contacted Vanessa, then she was in trouble.
Unless she was hurt.
Or dead.
Beth willed herself not to yell at the little jerk for his cruelty to Prissy.
“Blaine, you know what you did to Prissy Carson was hurtful,” she said, her voice calm compared to the fury inside her.
“It was just a prank.” Blaine folded his arms on the table, his posture defensive.
“Humiliating someone in front of others is not funny,” Beth said.
“Listen, lady,” Blaine said, “I don’t need a lecture from you. I got my own parents.”
Beth raised a brow. She wanted to shake the kid, but she had to remain cool. Experience had taught her that reacting to a teen only fueled more animosity. “You think they’d be proud of you for what you did?”
The bravado in his expression faded slightly, and he shrugged nonchalantly. “My dad would understand.”
She didn’t know about that. Then again, some kids mimicked their parents’ behavior. His father could be a sexist creep, too.
But she decided to ignore his comment. “Did you see or talk to Prissy after she ran away from school?”
Blaine set his jaw. “No.”
She waited a beat, letting him stew. “She didn’t call you?”
He picked at a thread on his shirt. “Hell no.”
She extended her hand.
“Let me see your phone.”
He muttered something nasty but pulled it from his back pocket and slapped it into her hand. Beth searched his texts and calls but found nothing to or from Prissy. There were texts from classmates laughing at what had happened.
Teens could be so cruel to one another. But a lecture would be lost on Blaine. Hopefully, one day, someone would put him in his place.
“Can I go now, lady?” Blaine asked sarcastically.
Beth barely restrained herself from shaking him. “Yes. But don’t leave town, Blaine.”
A tick pulled at his left eye as he left—the jab had hit home.
Ian’s phone buzzed just as he finished questioning the last girl. Talking to them was a dead end.
He connected, hoping for good news on something. Maybe a serious lead.
“This is Regina Blythe at the high school in Sweetwater. I was told you requested Coach Gleason’s files.”
“That’s correct. I have a warrant—”
“A warrant won’t do any good,” she said. “Those files were stolen a few months ago.”
Ian gritted his teeth. He’d counted on those files. He needed them, dammit. “Do you have any idea who took them?”
“No, and I don’t understood who’d want them. They’re fifteen years old.”
Ian knew exactly the reason someone would steal them.
They contained information that incriminated the killer.
He mixed the blood with the paint to perfect the right hues for the canvas. Less for the yellow-green, more for the dark red that symbolized her life force and the blood of Jesus.
It was important to use it before it coagulated. He also had the sealant, a varnish, ready to preserve the piece.
He wanted the painting to last forever.
To honor the body of the girl when her soul went to heaven. Hers would rise soon. He could hear the voices of the others singing praises from above. Thanking him.
He would save her just as he had the others.
The families of the ones who’d passed were grieving, though. They didn’t understand.
He felt their pain as if it were his own.
Having something of their daughters would assuage their grief. He wished he could tell them that it was their child’s blood that filled the canvas when he sent it to them.
But the beautiful painting of the peaceful valley where their daughter found eternal rest would have to do.
He lifted the brush and began to swipe it across the blank canvas. Spring brought the lush green of the grass in its rebirth. The flowers were beginning to bud.
He dipped the end of the brush in the bloodred paint and used it to paint a rose garden where the dragonflies would dance.
He wished he had the time to find a real place like this to bury Prissy. He could plant roses at Hemlock Holler.
Only the cops and federal agents were staking out the area.
He’d have to leave the girl in the cave.
One day soon he’d bring JJ back here, too.
He’d wanted to keep her for himself back then. Tell her the truth about everything. About the reason he’d been watching her.
About the reason he’d taken her.
But that would have to wait.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The counselor had Blaine and those mean girls in her office. Vanessa ran down the school hallway, tears running down her face. She hated all of them.
They’d humiliated Prissy in front of the school, and they weren’t sorry. And that jerk Blaine acted all cocky.
She wished she could do something. Make them pay.
She darted into the bathroom, shut herself in a stall, and cried till she couldn’t breathe. Why didn’t the teachers stop it? All the bullying and cliques and the pretty girls making fun of the ones who weren’t.
“You just haven’t reached your time,” her grandma Cocoa always said. “You’ll shine one day. Just you wait.”
She didn’t believe that for a second. She was a dork, and she always would be.
She blew her nose and wiped her eyes, but when she came out of the stall, her hair was all frizzed out, her eyes were nearly swollen shut, and her dark skin was splotched.
Grandma Cocoa was wrong. She was one of the misfits. She belonged with girls like Prissy and Carlene, who was a whiz kid on the violin but clammed up when anyone talked to her, and Martha, whose parents had thrown her into a trash can when she was a baby and lived in the group home outside Graveyard Falls.
Boys didn’t look at girls like them. Just like they hadn’t looked at poor Prissy.
Prissy had been her best friend. And now Prissy was gone . . .
Footsteps and voices echoed outside the bathroom, and she yanked her hoodie over her bushy hair and ducked her head. She didn’t want to talk to anyone right now.
Keeping her head cast down so the girls coming in couldn’t see her puffy face, she tiptoed past them, trying to be invisible. Hell, she was practically invisible anyway.
Except for the kids who talked racist. They noticed her skin color and asked about her daddy and mama. She wanted to defend her parents and tell those losers that her mama and daddy made her out of love, and her skin was the perfect color, that she was the best of both of them.
But that was a lie, and they would know it.
Heck, everyone in this stupid town knew that her grandma had raised her since she was a baby.
She had no idea who her daddy was, and her mama had cut out a long time ago. If it wasn’t for Grandma Cocoa and Granddaddy Deon, she’d have ended up in some foster home or worse—in the trash.
She couldn’t stand the thought of going to class now and the other kids laughing at her for breaking down like a baby, so she snuck out the side door.
“Hey, Vanessa.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Vanessa spotted Milo Cain leaning against a tree by the breezeway. Milo was about the geekiest boy in school. She’d heard he was a genius, too. That his IQ soared off the charts.
Big clunky glasses, two different-colored eyes, ratty hair. He wore that odd long white coat, too, that made him look like some kind of scientist.
He was into sci-fi and supernatural creatures, and someone said he collected pictures of graveyards.
Hoping he’d give up and go the other way, she kept walking.
Instead, he hurried up beside her, his hands jammed in the pockets of his jacket.
“What was going on in the counselor’s office?” Milo asked. “Do the police know who took Prissy?”
Vanessa halted long enough to look at him. He bounced on his boots as if anxious for her answer. “I don’t know, I didn’t go in. But I’m afraid that bad man has her. You know the one who killed those girls and left them at the holler.”
“That’d be awful.” Milo’s different-colored eyes seemed to drift in opposite directions. Then he focused again.
Shame filled her for being rude to him. It wasn’t like she had that many friends.
He gave her a shy smile. “If you’re nervous, I’ll walk you home after school.”
Vanessa sucked in a big breath. Did Milo have a crush on her?
“Thanks, Milo, but I’m fine.” But she wasn’t fine. She was scared to death.
Milo looked disappointed, but she didn’t feel like talking to anyone right now.
She just wanted the police to find Prissy.
Beth rubbed her temple as she walked outside to meet Ian. If she could remember where that damn cave was, they might be able to save Prissy.
“What do you think about that group?” Ian asked.
“Typical teenagers,” Beth said. “Scared. Insecure.”
“Insecure my ass,” Ian muttered sarcastically. “They’re spoiled bullies.”
Beth veered down the sidewalk. “Yeah, they are. But they’re adolescents. They’re trying to cover their own awkwardness by putting others down.”
She saw Vanessa in the breezeway talking to a boy wearing a white lab coat. Vanessa looked as if she’d been
crying.
The boy with Vanessa squeezed her arm. Beth was grateful she had a friend to comfort her. She remembered too well how terrified she’d been for Sunny. And how alone she’d felt.
“Insecure or not, it doesn’t make their behavior right,” Ian growled.
“I know.” Her own childhood memories stung. “You can tell yourself they’re wrong, but hateful words and teasing hurts. It damages part of you.”
Ian touched her arm. “You aren’t damaged, Beth. You have guts.”
Doubt brought a dull ache to her chest. She was trying so hard to be strong, but walking back into that school resurrected memories of being teased and not fitting in.
Technology had advanced, but in fifteen years, teenagers hadn’t changed one bit.
They passed the blood bank, and Beth’s stomach began to churn. An image of Sunny’s blood flowing from her arms flashed behind her eyes.
She sprinted down the sidewalk past the trailer.
Ian’s chest tightened as Beth rushed down the steps and away from the trailer. But Abram approached him, a concerned expression in his eyes.
“What’s going on, Sheriff?”
Ian explained about the missing girl. “Last place she was seen was here. Some students played a cruel joke on her and she ran off.”
“Teenagers,” the man said with a huff. “I’ve got one of my own. We go rounds, but I keep him in church. He’s a good kid.”
Ian nodded in acknowledgement, but his phone buzzed and he connected it as he jogged after Beth. “Sheriff Kimball.”
“It’s Deputy Markum. I’ve been reviewing that list of churchgoers and talked to several at the Methodist and Baptist churches. So far nothing, though.” He hesitated. “I tried to talk to that reverend at the Holy Waters, but he didn’t want to talk. Said he’d pray we find the girl, though, then brushed me off. Said the prayer vigil went so well, he’s going to host a revival.”
“Maybe I’ll drop by.” He might get to talk to his mother while there.
He ended the call and found Beth by the car, leaning against it and looking shaken.
“What happened?” he asked as he approached.
She chewed her bottom lip. “I don’t know. I’m not usually squeamish about blood. But I’ve been having flashbacks of the unsub taking Sunny’s blood, and I felt dizzy.”