by David Bell
“I know. I was going home to get cleaned up.”
“You said you weren’t hurt, you jerk. What is this?”
Bill made a sound in his throat, something between a choke and a laugh. “There’s so much to tell you.”
“Do you want to go home now?” She reached over and ran her hand over the back of Bill’s. “I can drive.”
But Bill wasn’t looking at his sister. He was staring up at a sign he’d noticed when he first came down from outside Haley’s room. He’d seen the sign almost every time he’d come to the hospital, and in the darkest times of sitting vigil by what he thought was Summer’s bedside, he’d found himself drawn to that place. But he always resisted.
Until right then, with Paige at his side.
“Would you go somewhere with me?” he asked.
The chapel was hushed and silent. It could seat about fifty people in two rows of pews separated by a center aisle, and multicolored stained glass windows decorated the back, behind the small altar. The place was empty.
Bill whispered anyway. “Let’s sit down.”
They sat near the aisle about halfway up. Bill recognized the look Paige was giving him. It said, What the hell are you up to? Except he suspected she didn’t want to say anything out loud for fear of breaking the spell and driving Bill out of the chapel forever.
“Can we just sit for a minute?” Bill said. “It’s kind of nice being somewhere quiet.”
Paige nodded. As usual, she wore her hair piled on top of her head, and her Ohio State sweatshirt looked like she’d pulled it out of the dirty laundry. He checked his watch. Given the distance she’d had to drive, Bill knew she must have hit the road well before the sun came up, leaving everything behind to be with him. He couldn’t have put his gratitude into words.
Bill stared forward, studying the multicolored window panels, the intricacy of the designs, and considered the patience and care that went into making them.
“I almost killed someone last night,” he said.
Paige didn’t ask any follow-up questions or press him. She sat still, her hands folded in her lap. Her quiet, settled posture encouraged him to go on. Bill had told her only the most cursory details of the night, focusing on the most important one as far as he was concerned—the boys had apparently killed Emily and had beaten Haley nearly to death.
“My God. I want to say I can’t believe two high school boys would do that.”
“But?”
“But I think they’re capable of anything. You were right to call attention to Clinton breaking that kid’s jaw. He sounds like a maniac.”
“Yeah. And they’re not our biggest concern.”
Adam had possibly done something—something unknown—with Summer. “That man who I thought did it. Doug Hammond. I wanted to hurt him, Paige. I wanted to hurt him so bad. I wanted to beat him.” He swallowed. “Can I make an absurd comparison?”
She nodded silently.
“It was like the time I hit you with the stick—it really was. I was so unreasonably angry over something being taken away from me that I didn’t know any other way to solve the problem. I just wanted to lash out. I just wanted to hurt him. Like I wanted to hurt you that day.”
“I’d say your daughter is more important than a bike. I’d say hitting that man was justified. He did kill someone.”
“He may have killed the man who hurt Summer. He’s the same as me. In fact, I’m worse. He was acting in self-defense.”
“If he’s telling the truth about Adam. We don’t know for sure, do we?”
“Paige, if I’d killed that man tonight, if I’d killed Doug Hammond out there in the woods, then we’d have never known what happened to Summer. She’d be missing, and we’d all assume Hammond did it. I could have ruined any chance of ever really knowing the truth about Adam, whatever it might be. No, we’re not sure about him, but how else do you explain all of these things? He seems to be in the middle of a lot.”
“Oh, Bill.” Paige scooted closer and took his hand in hers. “You’re a father. You did what you thought was right. Don’t beat yourself up over it now. It ended up working out, and that’s what matters.”
“What kind of father was I?” he asked. “I didn’t pick up on what might have been going on with Adam. I didn’t see it because he was my friend. I trusted one wrong man and wanted to hurt another one.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and placing his head in his hands. “My judgment was so wrong. So very, very wrong.”
“You were taken in by him,” she said. “You were taken in by his friendliness and his macho, hale-fellow-well-met bullshit.” She shivered. “I was taken in by it, just seeing him out in the yard, lifting bags of mulch or digging with his shovel. Men and women are attracted to phony he-men like that.”
“Yeah. I trusted him with my house. My wife. I would have trusted him to do right by Summer. Hell, we talked about going into business together. I fell for it all, and he could have hurt Summer. Even that possibility makes me crazy.”
Paige let him sit like that for a long time. Staring ahead, focusing on nothing but his own guilt and misery. After a while, she placed her hand on his back, rubbing it gently. The gesture felt odd. All the physical contact between them felt awkward. They weren’t an affectionate family. As a rule, they weren’t huggers.
“Do you want to pray?” Paige asked.
“No.”
“Do you mind if I pray? If you do, we can just leave. But I figure since we’re here . . .”
Bill nodded. “Sure. Whatever you want.”
Paige bowed her head and closed her eyes. Bill couldn’t bring himself to do either, so he sat and waited. When Paige was finished, she crossed herself.
“Did you pray that we find Summer?” he asked.
“I did.” She patted his knee. “And I prayed for you. That you find peace.”
“You know who would think this scene was funny?” Bill asked.
“Who?”
“Mom and Dad. Here we are, the girl who hated church praying for her older brother.”
“Who was always the favorite.”
“So you say.”
“I know.” Paige stood up. “Come on, let’s go home and get you cleaned off.”
CHAPTER EIGHTY-SEVEN
When they arrived, they saw the police at Adam’s house. Uniformed officers and technicians were out in the yard, prodding the grass and poking in the compost pile. Bill’s stomach rolled when he understood what they were looking for.
A body.
All that digging Adam did in his yard. All the churning of compost, the spreading of mulch and dirt. Bill stood in the driveway for a moment, staring at Adam’s property, but then he turned and headed inside. He didn’t really want to know, didn’t really want to see them pull something out of there.
Could it have all been going on right there?
Could Adam have been that ballsy? Could his daughter be buried so close?
Bill showered, gingerly washing the cut on the back of his head. It felt good to be clean, to wash the blood away. He dressed in fresh clothes and came out of the bedroom to find Paige making food. She’d pulled one of the casseroles out of the oven, something delivered to the house when the world thought Summer was dead. The sight of the steaming plate reminded Bill how hungry he was.
“Thanks,” he said as they sat at the table.
But before they dug in, Paige stood up. She closed the blinds on the kitchen windows and the back door, anything that afforded a view of Adam’s house. Then she sat down again.
“How long do you think that will go on?” Bill asked.
“They’re leaving now. Haven’t they already searched the place?”
“Yeah. But they weren’t looking for . . . God, I can’t even say it, Paige. I can’t even think about what they’re looking for back there.”
“I’m sure there’s nothing to be found back there. If he came to get that bear, like you said.” She pointed at his plate. “Eat, Bill. You’ll feel better.”
So he ate. After a few minutes of silent chewing, Paige asked, “Did you see any signs that Adam was up to something? Maybe it seemed like his life was falling apart.”
“We’re dudes, Paige. We didn’t bare our souls to each other.”
She made a grunt of frustration. “Maybe it would have been better if you had.”
“His life looked good to me, okay? Normal. A good-looking guy with a nice job. How did I know what might have been underneath it?”
Paige shuddered. “That’s frightening.” She laid her fork down and took a long drink of water. “I wanted to ask you about something you said at the hospital.”
“Yeah? What about? My willingness to be in the chapel?”
“Not that.” She shook her head. “You said something about going into business with Adam. What’s that all about? You never mentioned it to me. Not that we talk all the time or are best friends or anything.”
Bill pushed his plate away. “He had a friend who wanted to take over this self-storage place. It had gone bankrupt, a big mess, but they were trying to revive it and needed investors. . . .” Bill felt a tingling at the back of his neck. A chill ran up both arms, his skin contracting as it broke out in gooseflesh. “I guess some people still had stuff there. And some just . . .”
Paige leaned forward. “What’s wrong? Your face just went gray. What is it?”
“They’re searching Adam’s house. They’re searching in the woods where the girls were found. But they haven’t said anything about the storage units. No one ever bought the place. It’s just chained up and vacant.”
“Bill?”
He was up off the couch. “I’m going.”
“Bill? Call the police.”
“I’ll call on the way.” He grabbed his keys and tugged on the back door, fumbling with the lock and yanking on the door until it pulled free. “You call.”
“Wait.” Paige grabbed her shoes and pulled them on, hopping as she moved across the room. “I’m coming.”
Bill jumped into the car and started it as Paige climbed in the other side. He pulled away with the passenger door hanging wide open.
“Bill? Jesus.”
“Call Hawkins.”
“I don’t have my phone.”
He tossed her his. It landed in her lap.
“Call him. Tell him where we’re going. Sure-Lock Self-Storage on Old High Springs Road. He’ll know it.”
Paige dialed as Bill drove.
He felt like every cell in his body was activated and his brain was burning. The car bounded out of the driveway, bottoming out as it turned onto the road, the momentum swinging Bill to the right and Paige against the passenger-side door.
“Ow,” she said.
“Call him.”
“I will if you don’t kill us.”
Bill accelerated up the street, ignoring the speed limit signs that said twenty-five miles per hour. He made two turns, emerging from the subdivision onto State Road Nine. He could go forty-five there and then fifty-five, so he sped up, faster and faster.
“It’s voice mail,” Paige said.
“Forget it. Call nine-one-one. They’ll find him. Those cops are nearby”
Paige dialed. Bill watched the road. His body bounced in the seat. He tried to will the car to go faster, to use his mental and physical energy to make it move. He passed one car, crossing the double yellow line to do so.
“Come on, come on,” he said.
And he tried not to think of what they might find there. He’d seen the cops in Adam’s yard, looking for a body. It was a recovery effort as much as a search effort. And Bill understood the difference. Did he want to be the one to find his daughter’s body?
But what if they found nothing? What if it was another dead end?
“It can’t be,” he said.
“What?”
“Did you call?”
“It’s ringing.”
It can’t be, Bill thought. If it’s another dead end, I might break right there like glass shattered on rocks. It can’t be another dead end.
“This is about the Summer Price case. You need to send help to the Sure-Lock Self-Storage business on Old High Springs Road. It’s an emergency.” Pause. “Yes, someone might be hurt.”
“They are hurt,” Bill said.
“They are hurt. A girl is in danger. Summer Price. Tell Detective Hawkins. He’s running the case or whatever. Just send cops to that place. Summer Price might be there.” Pause. “I’m her aunt. I’m with her father. Could you just do it? Please?”
Bill made the turn onto Old High Springs Road. The light was green. He cut the wheel, hard, tilting both of them to the left, making it feel like the car was going to go up on two wheels. A movie stunt.
“It’s right up there,” he said.
“Yes, please hurry,” Paige said into the phone. “Send anyone you can find. Anyone.”
Bill slowed a little when he saw the sign out front. He turned the car hard again, cutting across the oncoming traffic and drawing an angry honk from another driver.
“Jesus, Bill.”
They pulled up the drive and found themselves face-to-face with an eight-foot-high chain-link fence. The fence was topped with razor wire, and the little box next to the entrance, the one a customer would use to enter the pass code, was hanging by some wires. It looked like a kid had taken a few good whacks at it with a baseball bat.
“No. No.” Bill pounded the wheel. “No.”
“The cops will be able to get in. They’ll have bolt cutters or something. Or we could get out and look for a hole in the fence—”
“No.” Bill threw the car into reverse. He backed up as far as the entrance from the road. “Hang on.”
“Bill . . .”
“Just hang on.”
Bill slammed his foot against the floor. The rear tires spun, and then the car shot forward.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-EIGHT
The car smashed through the gate.
The collision was louder than Bill imagined it would be. It sounded like he’d hit another car, the concussion filling the cabin and the impact rocking them in their seat belts. The gates flew back, ricocheting off the front and sides of the car. Paige let out a low gasp, and Bill shouted a triumphant yell. The moment the car hit the gates, something opened inside of him. He felt a release, a freedom he hadn’t expected.
He felt like he was almost there.
When they were through, Bill hit the brakes, skidding to a stop. The storage units looked like garages with large doors that slid up on tracks. There appeared to be about one hundred of the units in total, five rows of twenty running back from the entrance Bill had just smashed through. Enough space existed between the rows of units to drive a car, but Bill decided driving wasn’t the best way to search. They needed to be on foot. To be fast and loose. And able to hear.
“I’m getting out. You too. Start at the back and walk up and down the rows. Call her name and listen.”
“But she might not be able to answer,” Paige said.
“I’m well aware of that. Open the doors if you can. Look inside.”
“But, Bill, what if . . .”
“I don’t care, Paige. How could finally seeing her dead be worse than anything else we’ve already been through?”
Bill stepped out. The asphalt drive was cracked, weeds and long grass pushing through. The wind had blown litter against the fence and the doors of the units. Loose paper and plastic bags and soda bottles and cigarette packs. All the shit assholes threw out the window and never thought about again, what they let go out into the world so that someone else could worry about it or clean it up later.
Bill pointed to the fir
st row. “These are back-to-back. I’ll take this side, and you take the other. We’ll keep doing that, okay?”
“Sure.” Paige pulled her hood up, blocking the wind. “If you hear me scream, come running.”
“I will.”
Bill hustled down the row. Many of the units were still locked, but some had been thrown open. He pounded on the locked doors and called Summer’s name, listening through the wind and the traffic noises for any sign of his daughter. He quickly came to a closed door without a lock. Bill bent down, grabbing the handle, but before he threw the door up, he closed his eyes for just a moment, bracing himself for what he might see.
But when the door was up and the fading light from the outside leaked in, he saw a mostly empty room. Only a stack of old newspapers and a TV with a smashed screen sat in the corner. He found three more doors he could open, and his trepidation lessened each time. But none of them contained anything noteworthy. Just junk and more junk, stuff people didn’t even take the time to move out when the business went belly up.
He went around the end of the row and turned the corner into the next aisle. Paige was three-quarters of the way down. He watched her flip a door open and step back, peering into the darkened space. Bill walked toward her.
“Have you seen anything?” he asked.
“A lot of crap.”
“Heard anything?”
“I heard you opening doors. I heard the wind.” She reached up and wiped her nose. She threw open the door of another unit. “Nothing here.”
“Someone was here,” Bill said. “It smells like piss.”
“Homeless people, maybe.”
“Maybe,” Bill said. “Do you want me to do this side while you go around?”
“Sure. I wish I’d brought my rape whistle. Or a gun.”
“You saw that gate,” Bill said. “Before we smashed it, no one could get in.”
“Let’s hope not.” She went around the end of the row to the next aisle.
Bill went to work opening more doors, calling Summer’s name.
Then he heard something. The tiniest little voice. The wind had picked up, so he had to tilt his head to hear, craning it in the direction he thought he’d heard the voice coming from.