“OK.” He took a huge bite of the lasagna then gave her a thumbs up.
“I’ve been remembering things about my abduction—for a while. Actually as soon as I moved here, I started to remember bits and pieces Things that happened to me while…while I was kidnapped.”
“That’s what you wanted. Why would you hide it?”
Truth time. “I’m not completely sure. It just…the memories…made me feel dirty. Ashamed.”
He set down his fork. “Whatever happened to you, Raven, it wasn’t your fault. You have nothing to be ashamed of. If you don’t want to share the details, you don’t have to. That’s certainly your right.”
“The very first night here, I had this dream about being chained up in a barn. I wasn’t sure if it was a dream or a memory. I decided it was a dream.”
“And now?”
“And now, I’m sure it wasn’t a dream. It was a memory. That’s really why I went to West Virginia a few weeks ago. It wasn’t just a road trip for fun. It was to see if I could remember more.”
“And did you?”
“Not then, but yes, I’ve remembered more. Actually, a lot more.”
“Do you remember who kidnapped you?”
“Sort of.”
“That’s great, Raven. We can find this monster and have him prosecuted for what he did to you.”
She shook her head. “Probably not. I remember him but can’t remember his face. Besides my memories are so jumbled and confusing they wouldn’t hold up in court.”
“That’s too bad, but still I think you need to share what you do remember with the sheriff investigating the case. It could help. That’s the thing about an investigation. It’s impossible to know what tiny piece of the puzzle will complete the picture.”
“That makes sense, but the problem is I don’t trust my memories. Things still get all mixed up in my mind. Sometimes I’m not sure what’s real and not real.”
“What do you mean?”
“This is going to sound bizarre, but I was watching the presidential debates on TV, and I became convinced that one of the candidates was the man who abducted me. Suddenly the monster had a face—a famous face.”
“That is strange.”
“Then when I went down to West Virginia, I was with the sheriff, Matthew Borden. Then I became convinced he was the man. I could see him perfectly as the monster.” She looked at him. “See what I mean about not being able to trust my memories.”
“I could see how that could be a problem.”
“One of the reasons I went to Berkeley Springs is that I found out that the presidential candidate I’d fixated on was actually from the area where I was found. I couldn’t ignore that. I had to check it out. It makes no sense but still it haunted me.”
“I can understand how that could be the case. Who’s the man?”
“Charles Whitman, III.”
His eyes widened. “Oh…you mean the next President of the United States. That Charles Whitman.” He took another bite of the lasagna. “Do you really think he’s the one who kidnapped you?”
“Not at all. I know how bizarre all this is. I only told you to demonstrate how I can’t trust my memories. And why it’s so confusing. Gracie and I talked about it. She explained how your mind can fill in unknown information with something that is known.”
“One of the reasons why eyewitnesses to a crime are so unreliable.”
His plate was empty. “Want some more lasagna?”
“Not after that giant piece, but I’ll take some home if you don’t mind. It’s very good.”
“Thank you, and you can take some home.”
“And I would love a piece of Lydia’s cake.”
After she cut a piece of cake for each of them, she continued, “Anyway, something started bothering me a few days ago. One of the things I can remember is that the monster kept telling me my news stories were lies. And that I was a horrible person because I was reporting lies. He talked about how bad I was because I was a reporter.”
“That’s pretty specific, Raven.”
“That’s what I thought, too. That’s when I began to wonder if my kidnapping was connected to a story I was working on.”
“Makes sense.” He swallowed a bite of cake. “Lydia knows how to bake.”
“Yes, she does. Anyway, I didn’t have my old laptop, but I remembered I backed up all my stuff to the cloud. Even my emails.”
“Did you find something?”
“That’s why I went to Marietta yesterday, and then ended up in Charleston. I found an email from this woman named Sydney Bartrum who said she had an important story I needed to tell. When I tried to contact her, I found out she died.” She paused. “The day before I was kidnapped.”
“Wow. That can’t be a coincidence.” He took another big bite of the cake.
“That’s what I thought. I ended up talking to her sister. I found out not long before she died, she quit her job out of the blue and moved to Columbus to go to school.”
“How’d she die?”
“They ruled it as accidental. She fell from the roof of her apartment.”
“You’re kidding me.” He set down his fork.
“I’m not. Also, the sister was shocked to discover the amount of money she had in her bank account. Almost one hundred thousand dollars. The sister had no idea how she could have that much money. She worked as a server before she quit to go to school.”
“Someone paid her off?”
“That’s what I was thinking so I drove to Charleston where she worked at The Capital Dining Room, a very fancy restaurant that caters to the political crowd. I talked to her best friend who told me that Sydney was raped but was afraid to come forward. Shortly after that she quit her job. Of course, Sydney refused to tell the name of her rapist.”
“It’s never that easy, but that’s a lot of information. You must have been a very good reporter. So what will you do now?”
“What can I do? First of all, it’s all hearsay and second of all, I don’t even have a clue who the man is. And no actual proof.”
“But do you believe it was the same man who abducted you?”
“Don’t you?”
“I’d say there’s a pretty strong reason to believe that.” Hunter said as he took a sip of his soda.
“Yeah, me too.”
“Do you have any ideas about figuring out who it is?”
“A few, but I’m not finished baring my soul yet.”
“More secrets?”
“One is a secret, and one just happened. This morning. Which is why I’m exhausted. Which would you like to hear first?”
“I love secrets but first I sort of have a secret of my own.” He handed her the package he’d carried in.
It was a shape that looked like it could be a book. She an inkling what might be in it. “I think I might be busted.”
He shrugged. “Maybe. Go ahead and open it.”
She did.
“Unsinkable by Jane Doe. It’s about you, right?”
She nodded. “I’m Jane Doe. How did you know?”
“I saw one of the interviews, and the story was so similar to yours I bought a copy. The more I read the more convinced I was that it was you. Even though you did a great job disguising yourself during the interview.”
“Why didn’t you ask me?”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I have no idea. As I said, the more I remember the more shame I feel. I believe God wanted me to write the story to help other people, so I did. But the thought of sharing such personal things with people I know, it sort of freaked me out.”
“There’s no reason to feel that way at all. The book is wonderful.”
“Thank you.” Tears filled her eyes. “It made sense at the time. Now it just seems silly. Especially considering it’s always been my dream to be a writer. And here I have a bestseller, and I’m keeping it a secret.”
“A bestseller, huh? That’s great.”
“Are you mad at me?�
��
“For what?”
“For keeping it a secret. For not telling you.”
“I admit that I wished you’d told me about it. But I’m sure you thought you were doing the right thing when you decided to keep it a secret.” He tapped the name Jane Doe on the cover. “I guess the plan was for you to stay anonymous.”
“When I first talked to my agent, I said it was because the story wasn’t about me, but about God. And that’s still true. But I’ve come to realize I’m still afraid. Not just afraid of the monster who kidnapped me, but afraid people will look at me differently if they know the truth of what happened to me.”
“That’s totally understandable, but I think you’re wrong about that.”
She shook her head. “I’ve been so afraid. All the time. Every time I see a stranger, I think he could be the monster. If someone slows down as they walk past my house, I’m afraid. I have to force myself to leave the house. Then I’m afraid when I come back.”
“You’ve been through a lot so it’s totally understandable.”
“No. It’s not understandable. It goes against everything I say in the book. About trusting God. I felt like a fraud. But all that changed two nights ago. I had a breakthrough. With God. I’m trusting Him, now.”
“I think you’re one of the most courageous people I know—if not the most. Courage isn’t about not being afraid. It’s about acting in spite of the fear. And that’s what I see you do every day. You fought your way back to walking. You’re fighting your way back to recovery. You fight every day to rebuild your life into what you want it to be.”
“It doesn’t feel that way.”
He held up the book. “I mean. Really. You wrote a book, found an agent, and got it published. And now it’s a bestseller. That’s not being a fraud. That’s allowing God to work through you.”
“I wish I saw myself the way you do.”
“So why are you so tired?”
“Last night I checked into a hotel in Marietta. Someone pulled the fire alarm in the middle of the night, so I didn’t get a whole lot of sleep. Then when I was driving back, I had a flat tire.”
His eyes widened. “Are you OK?”
“I am now, but I sort of freaked out when I saw a motorcycle. I had a memory of the monster driving into the barn on one. I could hear you telling me to leave a situation I didn’t feel comfortable in. I didn’t feel comfortable, so I ran to some nearby houses.”
“Good for you. I wasn’t sure were listening to me or not. You were so gung-ho on being able to fight back.”
“Believe me as I was running, I was so thankful you kept pushing me to get stronger and to build up my endurance. I’m sure I was just being paranoid but better safe than sorry.”
Hunter looked at her and said, “The smoke alarm goes off at your hotel and you have a flat tire on the same day you go to Marietta and Charleston to talk about this Sydney Bartrum.”
“I’m sure that was just a coincidence.”
His gaze met hers. “There’s no such thing as a coincidence when it comes to a murder investigation.”
41
Hunter pushed away his empty plate. “I don’t want to scare you, but I don’t think it’s safe for you to stay here in your house, Raven.”
“Please don’t say that. I’m trying to get over my paranoia. You aren’t helping.”
“It’s not paranoia when someone’s really out to get you. Apparently you ruffled some feathers when you started checking into Sydney Bartum. Most likely, the same person who killed Sydney and kidnapped you.”
She bit her lip, trying not to break down. “And you think the man on the motorcycle could be him.?”
He nodded. “I’m sorry. I know that’s not what you want to hear, but we have to be realistic about this. The day before you were kidnapped, Sydney Bartrum falls from the roof of her apartment. She has a large amount of unexplained money in her bank account. And then you have a flat and a motorcycle stops. As I said, there’s no such thing as a coincidence in a murder investigation.”
“This is exactly what I didn’t want to happen. I don’t want all this drama. I want to live a quiet life. It’s why I used Jane Doe for the book instead of my own name.”
“I know, but I think you forgot something.”
“What? Because between my agent and myself, we tried to think of every possibility to protect my anonymity.”
“Just because you don’t know his name doesn’t mean he doesn’t know yours.”
Raven stared at Hunter, speechless. Finally, she found her voice. “I…I can’t believe I didn’t think about that. Of course, you’re completely right. How could I have not considered that? If I’m right that he kidnapped me because Sydney contacted me, then he certainly knew who I was. And even if it’s not connected to Sydney, he would still know my name. I had my ID on me.”
“True. I think it’s safe to assume that your kidnapping was connected to Sydney Bartrum. PTSD can warp your perception of reality.”
“I’ll never be safe.” Tears slid down her cheeks. She thought of her dream. The monster and her, both holding that green, glowing stick. They were tied together. And always would be. “I’ll never be free of him.”
“Don’t think that way, Raven.”
“How am I supposed to think? He didn’t just steal four months from me. He stole my life.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is true. It is.” She tried to stop the tears but failed.
He sat down on the picnic bench and put his arms around her.
That only made her cry more. She’d thought Hunter might be the one but now she knew the truth. She could never have a relationship or a life. She’d always be connected to the monster holding the same glowing green stick. Raven leaned against Hunter as she cried. When they subsided, his arms were still around her. It felt good—felt right, but it couldn’t happen. She forced herself to move away from him. “Sorry.”
He brushed her hair out of her face. “Nothing to be sorry about.” He leaned close and their lips met for a sweet, precious moment.
Raven smiled as she moved away, but it was a sad smile. It wouldn’t be right to allow herself to love Hunter or to let Hunter fall in love with her. They couldn’t have a future together “So now what am I supposed to do? Go into hiding?”
“For now. Until we find your monster.” Hunter was confident.
“We?”
“That’s what I said. You’re an investigative reporter, and I’m a cop. We’ll make a great team. We’ll find your monster together and put an end to this.”
“And then what?’
“And then I’ll finish that kiss.” He grinned. “But only if you want.”
She couldn’t help but smile.
“If you were doing a story about Sydney, what would you do next?” Hunter asked.
“Well, it would be nice if we knew who transferred the money into her account. But that information is off-limits to me, so it won’t help.”
“And chances are she wasn’t paid that way anyway. It would be too easy to trace back to him. I have a feeling the man is very smart. He probably gave her cash that couldn’t be traced back to him. And he must have some good connections. That had to be how he found you in that motel. He must be monitoring your credit cards. Whoever he is.”
“You can just call him the monster. That’s what I call him.”
“Any other ideas how to narrow the field of suspects?”
“Sydney’s friend said she helped cater some big event at the Capital Building. And we know politicians love publicity, so maybe it was reported on by the paper. Let me get my laptop.” She set it up on her kitchen table and typed into the search engine.
Charleston, West Virginia political events.
“Do you know the date?”
“Good idea. She thought it was the Tuesday before Halloween, but I’ll just put in October and see what happens.” She typed it in and hit the enter button.
Hunter scooted his chair beside h
er as she scrolled through the choices, scanning the headlines.
“There.” Hunter touched the screen. “What’s that one about?”
Raven’s heart raced as she read the details. “That’s just a coincidence. It can’t be the one we’re looking for.”
“I think we’ve already established I don’t believe in coincidences. What’s the date?”
“The Tuesday before Halloween.”
“I know it sounds impossible, but the timeline works. You said her sister stated she quit her job after Thanksgiving, right?”
“Right. Senator Charles Whitman hosted a fundraiser at the West Virginia State Capital last…” She stopped reading and stood up. “I can’t believe this. It has to be a mistake. There’s no way the probable next President of the United States is a rapist, a kidnapper, and a murderer.”
“It sounds ridiculous, but on the other hand. His face was the first face you saw, right?”
“I didn’t tell you this but when I was in West Virginia the first time I went to his house. He has a beautiful house and an amazing barn. But it wasn’t the barn I was held in. Even if my memory’s not completely clear I know that much.”
“But you did say that he was the first man you thought was the monster. You heard his voice that night of the Presidential debates and connected it—even though you never saw his face.”
She put her face in her hands and rubbed, wanting all of it to go away. “I suppose that’s possible. But there’s no way to prove it. And I’m absolutely sure I wasn’t in his barn.”
“True, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have other barns.”
“This is horrible. There isn’t a paper in the country that would print my allegations. I don’t have a shred of proof. I don’t even know if I believe it myself.”
“Then that’s the first step.”
“What is?”
“For you to decide if Charles Whitman is your monster.”
“That makes sense.”
Hunter met her gaze. “And if he is, then we have to find a way to prove it. We can’t let him be elected as president. Can you imagine a man that evil being president?”
“That would be horrible. A disaster.”
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