The Missing

by Kiersten Modglin

  “Nah,” he said, pointing in the opposite direction than I’d come from. “Check with the hotel.”

  I nodded, slinking away from him and turning around when someone caught my arm. I spun around, my body on fire as I prepared to fight.

  The older woman released me, her smile kind, and she held out her phone. “Do you need to call someone? I’m sorry, I overheard…”

  “Really?” I asked, shocked by the generosity. “Thank you.” I took the phone from her, dialing Ned’s phone number, thankful it was one of the only ones I had memorized.

  “I was once where you are,” she said, slipping me a twenty-dollar bill and a card that said Jesus loves you! “You’ve gotta get off the drugs, honey. That’s no life for a pretty girl like you.”

  I smiled politely, thankful that she only took me for an addict and not a murderer, and placed the phone to my ear. “Thank you,” I repeated as the phone began to ring.

  I heard the line click, heard his heavy breath, heard him say, “Hello?”

  My heart skipped a beat, tears filling my eyes as I sank to a squatting position, the weight of everything I’d been through crashing into me. “Ned? It’s…it’s me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The woman booked me a hotel room, making me swear I wouldn’t use it to get high, and left me to my devices. I was numb as I took my shower, letting the water wash over me. I scrubbed the blood from my fingernails and tossed out the dry-rotting bikini, only then remembering that our phones, my Kindle, and Harry’s book were somewhere on the island. I supposed the employees would clean that up, too.

  Without any clothes to wear, I wrapped up in the sheet from the bed, sitting on the edge of the mattress and staring at the clock. Ned’s flight would’ve already landed, and he’d be on his way to me.

  I dreaded seeing him, as bad as that sounded. Only because I still hadn’t made sense of my feelings or how I would explain it all to him. I looked at the backpack on the floor. I hadn’t been able to open it yet. The money didn’t matter to me. We were okay, we didn’t need it, and it in no way accounted for the cost of their lives.

  The very idea of them buying my silence was sickening.

  But if she’d meant what she’d said, about their powerful friends, I had to be careful about my path forward. A knock sounded at the door and I stood, my body tense.

  I walked across the room in a trance and swung it open. Ned stood before me, tears already in his eyes. He gasped and looked down at his phone.

  “When you texted me the room number from that phone number… I was worried it was a prank. I was worried this was all a prank. I…didn’t think you’d actually be here.”

  We fell into each other’s arms, shutting the door as he came into the room. I gripped him as tight as I could, sobs ricocheting through my chest with ferocity. His strong arms held me, his chest shaking against mine as he wept.

  When we broke apart, he put his hands on either side of my head, brushing my hair out of my face. “My god, where were you? What happened? I never thought I’d see you again, Katy… My Katy Kat…”

  “I was taken…” I said, starting at the beginning and relaying the whole story. I left nothing out, though I glazed over my feelings for Noah and our night together as I saw the pain in Ned’s eyes. I just needed to get it out. All of it. I couldn’t hold the weight of it alone anymore.

  When I’d told him everything, we sat in silence, him processing all that I’d told him as I did the same. “How long was I gone?” I asked finally.

  “A little over two months,” he said, his voice powerless. “When you left, I called the police, but they weren’t helpful. They kept saying that there were no leads. Nothing. No one had seen a thing. I called you and called you and called you, and… I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. I’m so sorry I didn’t protect you.” He kissed my forehead, his touch tender as he pulled me in for another hug.

  “You never gave up on me?” I squeaked, desperately needing to know the answer to that question.

  “I hired a private investigator a month in when I’d heard nothing. I thought, well he thought, and he half convinced me that you’d run off with someone else. We’d been fighting, and I wasn’t doing enough… I thought you’d left me.”

  I rested my head on his shoulder, breathing in the scent of him. “I never thought I’d see you again.”

  “I thought I’d lost you.” He kissed my forehead again, then my lips, and his kiss felt wrong. I pulled away, but he didn’t seem to mind. Instead, he wrapped me in his arms and lay down across the bed, the two of us bundled under the sheets as I felt my breathing slow, my heart calm.

  “I don’t know how I’m going to handle this,” I told him. “I’m falling apart.”

  “You don’t have to deal with it alone. I’m here for you.”

  “I’m sorry about Noah,” I said, though I wasn’t sure what I was apologizing for. Sleeping with him or falling for him. Maybe both.

  “Shh.” He rubbed my arm gently. “We don’t have to worry about that right now. Let’s just be here. Rest. We’ll deal with everything else once we’re home. Just rest.”

  At his command, I closed my eyes, great relief washing over me as I realized how tired I felt, how close to sleep I was. The bed felt wrong—too soft, too comfortable—as I drifted to sleep. Somehow, even there, I could hear the crashing ocean waves ringing in my ears.

  Chapter Thirty

  ONE YEAR LATER

  I carried my daughter across the living room as my phone buzzed, picking it up and staring at the phone number on the screen. My pulse quickened, breathing slowed.

  Over the last year, I’d never given up on finding the people who’d done this to me. The woman and the two men from the cliff house who had ruined my life. I’d used part of the money they’d given me to hire a professional sketch artist and had them craft a drawing of the woman, every bit of her features down to the freckle next to her eyebrow. I’d memorized them for a reason.

  Ned had begged me to give it up. The private investigator had found nothing. The police had all but called me crazy, stating that there were no missing persons reports for anyone matching the descriptions I’d given them for Noah, Harry, James, and Ava. The woman had been right. When all else failed, I’d posted the woman’s sketch online, hoping someone somewhere might have a lead.

  That was three months ago, just after giving birth to our daughter. Ned had never mentioned the fact that her hair color didn’t match either of ours, or that her features didn’t match our own. He loved her just the same, but still, I’d vowed to get revenge on the people who ended her father’s life. I owed him that much.

  Still, in three months, we’d received no real leads. Until that morning when a detective from Georgia had reached out and asked me to call him back. I’d missed him when I did, but the number on the screen was him again.

  I set Cara down, sliding my thumb across the screen and placing the phone to my ear.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, is this Mrs. Katy Corbeil?”

  I nodded slowly, then realized he couldn’t see my nod and replied. “Yes.”

  “This is Detective Armbruster with the Chatham County Police Department. I’m calling about a photo you posted online. Is now a good time to chat?”

  “Yes,” I squeaked out again.

  “I’ve been leading an investigation into a woman I believe is conning people out of large sums of money around this area. One of the men who was duped by this woman, she got him for a deposit on a wedding, pretending to be a famous event planner… He saw your picture on social media and forwarded it to me. He believes this is the woman who did it. I wondered if I might be able to come to wherever you are so I could ask you some questions about her.”

  “Sure,” I said, hardly managing to breathe, let alone speak. He asked where I’d be able to meet, and I told him the name of a restaurant in downtown Nashville, somewhere busy and crowded, where there’d be witnesses if something were to happen.

  I�
�d become more cautious thanks to the island. I now knew of the dangers all around me, even in places where I should’ve felt safe.

  We hung up the phone, and I picked my daughter back up, kissing her soft, black hair and making my way into the kitchen with a racing mind.

  “We’re one step closer, sweetheart,” I promised her.

  She stared up at me, her eyes wide and innocent, so unaware of the darkness that existed just outside our doors.

  That evening, when Ned came home, he kissed my head and patted Cara’s tiny hand before answering a phone call and darting up to the office, one finger in the air. I sighed, placing his plate in the microwave to keep it warm as I began to feed Cara her dinner.

  Once we’d both finished eating, Ned’s voice still droning on from the office upstairs, I laid Cara down in her play yard and carried his plate up the stairs.

  “No, we’re going to have to come in at least under ten percent, or we’re toast,” he told whoever was on the phone. “No way. Evans would have our asses.” He chuckled. “You got that right.”

  I pushed open the door, knocking cautiously as I did it and held up his plate. Thank you, he mouthed, making room on his desk for food by scooting some manila folders over and laying a stack of papers on top of them.

  I stood waiting, knowing he was expecting me to leave. He glanced up at me, his brows up as if to say what? and I smiled, waiting patiently for him to hang up. He sighed, spinning around in his chair and putting his other hand to the phone. “Listen, Travis, let me call you back in just a sec.” He paused. “Yep. You too, buddy.” He laid his phone on his desk. “Sorry, sweetheart. Busy day.” I watched as he rubbed his palms together, looking over his plate. “This looks delicious.”

  “Thank you. Listen, we need to talk.” I eased myself into the chair in the corner of his office.

  His face grew ashen, obviously caught off guard. He shot up. “Is something wrong? Is it Cara?”

  I raised my hands chest-level, trying to fend off his worry. “It’s not Cara. Everything’s fine. It’s just…I heard from a detective today.”

  He let out a heavy breath. “Okay…and?”

  “They think they may have found her. The woman from the island.”

  He was up again. “They did? Do they have her in custody? Where is she?”

  “They don’t have her in custody. They just want me to meet with a detective and answer some questions. I’m meeting him tomorrow for lunch. I was hoping you could come.”

  “Yeah, of course,” he said without a moment’s hesitation. “But I don’t understand. Is it one of the detectives we’ve already spoken to? Do they have more questions?”

  “No, it’s about a different case. Someone recognized my photo online. They think she may be a con woman.”

  He furrowed his brow. “Are you sure it isn’t just someone pranking you again? I mean, how many messages have you gotten saying something similar from someone with a username like hairymashedpotates42?”

  I groaned. “This was a phone call with an actual detective. And when I returned his call, it was to an actual police station.”

  “Yeah, but how easy would that be to fake, you know?” He sat down on the edge of his desk, watching me carefully. “Honey, you know I want you to find out the truth about what happened. I know you want justice for your friends and for what you went through, but it’s time to take a break. It’s time to heal and move on. We’ve been doing this for more than a year.”

  “But this time is different! This time—”

  “Yeah, and last time was too!” His tone was exasperated. I’d exhausted him, and I didn’t know how to stop. “What’s so different this time than any of the other times?”

  “None of them were real!” I shouted. “But this one might be. Don’t you get that? Don’t you get why I can’t let this go?”

  He hesitated. “No,” came the final answer. “Truth be told, no I don’t. When you were gone, it destroyed me. I thought I’d never see you again. I prayed for you to come home. Come back to me. And here you are. You came back. That’s all I wanted. I don’t understand why you can’t just accept how lucky you are and move on—”

  “Because they’re dead—”

  “And justice won’t bring them back!” he bellowed, then instantly lowered his voice. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t want to yell at you, but this crusade you’re on is going to get you killed. If these people are as powerful as you say they are, you can’t keep doing this. I went along with it in the beginning because I thought it was what you needed, but I have to draw the line somewhere.” His heavy breaths warned of his frustration. “I know that this is important to you, but I can’t believe these people would stick their necks out for you, Katy. They’re practically strangers to you. And I know you loved the one, and god knows I’ve tried to be understanding about it, but how much longer are you going to make me compete with a dead man?”

  Tears stung my eyes at his harsh words, the even harsher reality. I sniffled, standing up and turning to walk out of his office.

  “Katy, wait!” He realized he’d gone a step too far and reached out for me, but I shrugged him off.

  “I just need a minute.” I pulled open the door and shut it, letting myself back out into the dark hallway. I pressed my back against the wall, trying to catch my breath as his words replayed in my head.

  He didn’t understand. He’d never understand. No one would.

  No one except the people who’d lived through it with me, and they were gone. I half expected him to chase after me, but after a painful minute of silence, I heard his voice again.

  “Travis, hey, sorry, I had to take care of something. Do you still have that report pulled up?”

  Exhaustion, frustration, and heartbreak reeled through me, and I closed my eyes, thinking the thought that had haunted me for over a year now every time Ned let me down. Noah would’ve never done that.

  I knew he was right. That he was competing with a man who had no place in the competition, but I was powerless to control the way I felt. Cara cried out from the living room, and I dried my tears quickly, walking back to her and pretending everything was okay.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The next day, I met with the detective. Ned sat by my side, still and stony, listening as I recounted my time on the island for what felt like the hundredth time. As always, I blamed James’s death on an accident, where he’d fallen onto the spear during a fight. But other than that, everything stayed totally truthful. Ned held Cara, bouncing her when she got particularly fussy and holding my hand whenever I began to cry.

  The detective asked me questions about the woman’s name—Ms. Sheridan was all I knew—her role in what had happened—I didn’t know exactly, but it felt like she was their leader—and what kind of boat they’d picked me up with and brought me home in. I knew nothing about boats, so he had me describe both boats to him the best that I could, and I did. He told me that, if my person and the woman he was looking for were the same, he would keep me posted on any updates.

  We were done within a half hour, him prying information out of me and giving me basically none. We walked to my Toyota Camry and Ned buckled Cara into her car seat before kissing my lips stiffly and heading for his own.

  “I’ll see you at dinner,” he called with a wave over his head, already on his phone before I could answer.

  I started the car, the emotions fresh and raw all over again as I sat there trying to compose myself. Had Ned not noticed the tears in my eyes when he walked away? Or did he just not care anymore? Had my grief reached the limit he’d set for me? Some days, as he ignored more and more of my pain, that was how it felt.

  Two weeks went by without a word, and I assumed that would be the end of it. But then the phone rang, and I recognized the number.

  “Hello?” I said before I’d even gotten the phone to my ear.

  “We’ve found the island, Katy,” he said, and I could hear the grin in his voice from there.

  Adrenaline
coursed through me, cold chills lining my arms. I reached for the arm of the sofa, sitting down before I collapsed.

  “We found the island,” he repeated. “We’ve found them all.”

  “Are…are you sure?” It felt too good to be true. How was it possible?

  “I think so. I need you to fly out with me to confirm it’s the place, but I’m almost positive. I’m still waiting on a warrant, but once we get it, we’ll have clearance to go. How does that sound? I know it’ll be tough for you to revisit a place with such terrible memories…”

  “How…how did you find it?” I asked through my tears.

  “Well, it wasn’t easy. I contacted every bar, hotel, or restaurant nearby where you’d said you were dropped off. All of the ones in that specific area either didn’t have surveillance footage at all or didn’t have any going back that far, but we finally found one a few miles up the coast that did. On the tapes, we saw a boat that matched the description you gave sailing in around the time you were dropped off. It was a long shot, but we took a chance and looked up who it belonged to—a Mr. Roman Bloom. We began looking into him and found out he has—get this—an island deeded to him off the coast of Florida. I did a bit more digging and discovered that Mr. Bloom is not the sole owner, but that he’s co-owner with four other people, one of them being a Mr. Barrett Laguna. Barrett Laguna’s first wife disappeared almost five years to the day from the time you disappeared. She was never found. His second wife, however, a Mrs. Jessica Laguna, is completely absent from social media, but I did manage to pull up a picture of their wedding from Barrett’s Facebook. She matches the sketch you had made almost perfectly.”