The Woman in Darkness
Page 26
For Christ’s sake, Rory thought, what a field day the nuts on the Internet would have with all that.
It was no wonder the people who loved her most took such extraordinary measures to bury the secrets of the past. Rory planned to do all she could to keep them underground. She knew it would take effort. People would continue to dig. There was a buzzing conversation, mostly relegated to chat rooms and Reddit threads, about one victim whose body had not been found buried at Thomas Mitchell’s cabin. That of his wife, Angela—the woman who had started her own investigation in 1979 and had become the nucleus of The Thief’s downfall.
One phase of the public’s conversation fed into the deep sympathy that since Angela’s remains had not been unearthed, and now that Thomas Mitchell was gone, the whereabouts of her body would forever stay a mystery. The other dialogue was conspiratorial, with theorists suggesting that there was a simple explanation for why her body was not found at the Starved Rock cabin: Angela Mitchell was still alive. Conspiracy theories always trumped sympathy, and over the past month this discourse became louder and louder until it dominated the conversation. True-crime buffs jumped on the bandwagon to claim that Angela Mitchell was out there somewhere. They promised to keep searching for her.
As Rory drove the lonely country road, though, she knew the truth. She finally understood it all. Not only had she reconstructed Angela’s death, but she had pieced together her own childhood. The missing fragments came together in a way that both shocked and settled Rory’s soul. It was a reconstruction that had taken a lifetime to assemble. Careful deliberation and months of searching told her she was the only one left who knew the truth, and she had no intention of sharing her knowledge with the world.
She had briefly considered confiding in Ron Davidson, telling him everything. She should have, probably. But the repercussions were too unpredictable. If she confessed to Ron, she feared smart people would start asking questions, and if put onto a scent, investigators would start sniffing. If one of them began to dig the way Rory had dug, she worried they’d find the same lineage she unearthed. It was a secret Rory planned to carry to her grave.
The only people who knew the truth were gone, and she was satisfied that wherever they were now, somewhere off in the by-and-by, they were watching her as she made this final journey. They were proud of her. A deep sense of peace came to her as she drove. It was a reconciliation never before experienced that allowed her to feel free and alive, liberated somehow. She had made her choice, and she was comfortable with it.
The long road came to a T, where Rory turned left. A moment later, the farmhouse appeared before her. She hadn’t been here in some time. Aunt Greta had moved to the nursing home several years before, and until today, Rory never had reason to return. As soon as she saw the old farmhouse, though, with its blue painted cedar and wraparound porch, she realized how much she missed it. Her memories transported her to the summers she spent there as a child.
With her mind flooded by flashbacks, Rory turned up the gravel driveway. She parked at the front, where the gravel ended and the never-ending expanse of grass began. A moment passed as she waited for anyone to appear from inside. She wasn’t sure how she would proceed if the new owners were home. But what she needed to do could not wait. The pull in her chest was too strong to ignore. After a few minutes, the farmhouse stayed still and quiet in the fading light of dusk, silhouetted by the lavender horizon. Rory looked at herself in the rearview mirror. Even during the long ride out to the country, she kept her thick plastic glasses on her face, and the beanie cap slung low on her forehead. She reached up and pulled them off. Today, of all times, she couldn’t hide. Didn’t want to hide. Didn’t need to.
She dropped her hat and glasses on the passenger seat, and picked up the other item that had made the trip with her. She opened the door and climbed out into the evening. She walked to the side of the farmhouse and into the backyard. The rear porch was to her left, and she remembered in vivid detail the night when she was ten years old, when the buzzing in her chest had pulled her out of bed and into this field during the middle of the night. She remembered the smoky glow of the moon and the far-off thunderstorm that ignited the horizon with intermittent pulses of lightning. Tonight the fading sun burned lilac on the horizon, the sky above a dark cobalt.
Rory found the low, two-tiered stable fence that ran the length of the property. She followed it again now, the same way she had the night the amazing calm had come over her. Nearly thirty years later and Rory finally understood the meaning of that night. The lure in her chest, the magnetism that had pulled her, and the sense of peace that had washed over her when she had lifted that rose and had inhaled the sweetness of its scent.
Rory followed the fence to the back edge of the property, where it turned at a ninety-degree angle and ran off to her left. Once she arrived at the corner of the prairie, Rory looked down at the ground. The only other time in her life when she stood in this spot, she had found the flowers she always watched Aunt Greta pick from the garden. The ones she helped bundle.
The conspiracy theorists could have their chat rooms and threads. They could keep their wild and uneducated ideas about Angela Mitchell and where she was today. None would ever know the truth. None would ever find her. Angela hadn’t wanted to be found forty years ago, and she didn’t want to be found today. Rory lifted the item she had carried with her from the car—a bouquet of roses tied in a tight bundle. She placed them to her nose, closed her eyes, and took in their sweet scent. Then she crouched down and laid them on the ground.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A big thank you to the following people:
The entire clan at Kensington Publishing, who continue to support my novels in ways that stun me. Especially John Scognamiglio, who has fought for me more times than he lets me know.
Marlene Stringer, agent and friend, who is always two steps ahead of me.
Amy Donlea, who is the glue that holds our family together. Without you my life would be in so many scattered pieces that not even Rory Moore could put it back together.
Abby and Nolan, for being my biggest supporters, for constantly asking to read my books (you’re still not old enough), and for all the wild ideas for future novels. Keep ’em coming!
Mary Murphy, for trying so hard to have coherent conversations with me about completely incoherent ideas for a manuscript that was only half written when I started bothering you for help.
Chris Murphy, for suggestions on the final draft, and for setting me straight on Dark Lord stout. We should probably share one soon.
Rich Hills, for the idea. Although I’m sure I distorted and perverted your original suggestion.
Mike Chmelar and Jill Barnum for sharing your lawyering knowledge in order to help me spring a serial killer from jail.
Thomas Hargrove, founder and chairman of the real Murder Accountability Project, for taking my calls and explaining what you do.
And to all the readers who keep buying my books. I’m forever grateful.
Books by Charlie Donlea
SUMMIT LAKE
THE GIRL WHO WAS TAKEN
DON’T BELIEVE IT
THE WOMAN IN DARKNESS
THE GIRL WHO WAS TAKEN
Charlie Donlea
Her truth is only half the story …
Megan McDonald is a high school senior when she disappears from the small town of Emerson Bay. Miraculously, after two weeks held captive, she escapes from a bunker hidden deep in the woods.
Now, one year on, Megan is a national celebrity thanks to her bestselling book, Missing. It’s an inspiring story – except for one inconvenient detail.
There was a second girl who was taken. Her classmate Nicole Cutty.
Livia Cutty is a forensic pathologist. Every time a Jane Doe arrives at the morgue she wonders if it’s her missing sister. However, it’s the body of a young man, an apparent suicide, that finally offers the first clue to Nicole’s fate. So Livia reaches out to Megan for help.
But
Megan knows more than she’s revealed. Flashes of memory are coming together – and they are pointing to something darker and more monstrous than anything her chilling memoir describes.
‘Chilling and suspenseful. I was gripped from the first page’ Candice Fox, bestselling author of Crimson Lake
AVAILABLE NOW
DON’T BELIEVE IT
Charlie Donlea
An innocent girl denied her freedom? Or a calculating killer with nothing to lose?
The Girl of Sugar Beach is about to become the most watched documentary in television history. The ten-part true-crime serial centers on the burning question: did Grace Sebold really murder her boyfriend, or is she the victim of a shocking miscarriage of justice?
For Grace has spent the last ten years in prison, and now she’s reaching out to filmmaker Sidney Ryan in a final, desperate attempt to prove her innocence.
As the first episodes go to air, exposing startling new evidence and additional suspects, the series quickly becomes a ratings smash – and Sidney a celebrity in her own right.
Yet by delving deeper into Grace’s past, Sidney is uncovering layer after layer of deception. And as she edges closer to the real heart of the story, she must decide if finding the truth is worth risking her newfound fame, her career … even her life.
‘A perfectly executed and entirely satisfying read, Don’t Believe It is a gripping thriller that will blow readers away, from the first page right up to the very last words. Charlie Donlea’s best book yet!’ Mary Kubica, author of Pretty Baby and The Good Girl
AVAILABLE NOW
BANTAM
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First published in the United States by Kensington Publishing Corp. in 2019
First published in Australia by Bantam, an imprint of Penguin Random House Australia Pty Ltd, in 2019
Copyright © Charlie Donlea 2019
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, published, performed in public or communicated to the public in any form or by any means without prior written permission from Penguin Random House Australia Pty Ltd or its authorised licensees.
Cover design by James Rendall © Penguin Random House Australia Pty Ltd
Cover photograph © Getty Images/Dmitry Ageev
ISBN 9780143795162
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