by L T Ryan
“By gaining access where you can't."
"Like this morning at that ceremony?"
"Exactly. And yesterday, when I met with and interviewed The Shepherd."
"Were you able to get a name on him?"
"No. I forwarded a photo, hoping that facial recognition will turn something up."
"Why don't we compare notes and see where we're at?"
"Well, I know she went missing two days ago. The community is tight-lipped and controlled by The Shepherd."
"We saw that firsthand. He refused to let us speak to Kyla's mother."
"I tried to speak with her this morning at the ceremony."
"Did you get anything from her?"
"No, except that she was scared and worried. It was in her eyes."
"The Shepherd is a bit of an enigma, hard to read him."
"How does this case connect to Hawk’s Landing, is my question?"
"That’s why I called you."
She heard the dejection in Savage's voice. "Yeah. I'm sorry about that. I meant to get back to you, but—"
Savage waved a hand, dismissing Hatch's excuse before she gave it. "Had me rattled, is all. I've seen plenty of death, but this one really threw me. A teenager, barely a man, walked into the grocery and emptied a gun into the back of a seventy-two-year-old man."
"Why?"
"The boy is Billy Graver. He was abducted, along with his sister, several years back. About a week later, Billy was found walking out of a cave in the woods, covered in his sister's blood. Being autistic and unable to communicate, he spent the rest of his time in and out of mental health intensive care. Add in the trauma of whatever he witnessed…He escaped from the facility and killed Glenn Miller in front of several people. After a bit of digging and some legwork, the spotlight of my investigation turned from Graver to Miller himself. We found a grave near Miller’s home. Buried in it, the bones of Graver's sister Amanda were found."
"I still don't see the connection to here, Jericho Falls, and the missing Kyla Green."
"I’m getting there. In the grave, forensics found human bones and was able to match it to the DNA of a missing girl from ten years ago, from here in Wilson County. Detective Thorpe has been working it for almost the entirety of those ten years and found a pattern of disappearances."
"Are we talking about a serial case?"
"The worst kind, involving children. All the missing are around the age of twelve, all female, all disappearing before or during a major storm event."
"But if Miller's dead, then..."
"That's the thing that's bugging us. I've got a little information."
"What's the connection?"
"Glenn Miller was the founder of the Eternal Light."
Hatch thought of the interview she had with The Shepherd and how he had spoken of his mentor, of his Shepherd.
"Maybe Miller passed on more than his teachings."
Twenty-Two
Kyla rolled to her side. The bales of hay covered by only a sheet crunched and crackled under her light frame, small bits of the rough straw poked at her skin. As uncomfortable as it was, it was still better than the dirt floor. The room was dark, except for the dim candlelight. The flame cast shadows around the mud walls. Kyla had nightmares about the things cast by the light, none more terrifying than her captor.
The walls of the small room were made of packed mud. Thick support beams were set at each of the corners and held in place the wooden boards above that stretched across the ceiling. The half-eaten loaf of bread and empty cup of water serving as her only forms of nourishment, sat on the nearby nightstand.
A heavy wooden door sealed her inside. The heavy door brace set against the outside had made it impossible for Kyla to open it. Long past the ability to form tears, the passage of time no longer seemed comprehendible. Kyla tried to measure how long she'd been in captivity, but without a window, she had lost all reference for day and night. Being resourceful was something her mother prided in her. And keeping her in mind, Kyla calculated her incarceration by the meals left for her. The bread and water beside her bed had been her sixth meal since she’d been shoved in here.
On the far wall, a large Newton’s Cradle sat on a slender wooden desk. The balls clacked loudly. She was given specific instructions never to let it stop. Afraid of what consequences would befall her, Kyla complied. No matter how hard she pressed her palms to her ears, the clacking penetrated incessantly.
As she tucked her knees tight against her chest, curling herself into a fetal position and turning away from the cradle, Kyla stared at the brown wall nearest her and tried desperately to call up a memory of her father. She tried to picture his face again. It had been seven long years since she'd seen him.
When they'd gone into the Eternal Light, all possessions had been left at the gate, including photographs. As time passed, she found it harder to draw up a memory of her father's face. In the darkness, she forced herself to call forward the last good day she could remember with him.
She was five when he had taken the training wheels off her bike. He had coached her through what to do. Remembering being terrified, she held the handlebars with a death grip. She remembered her dad's hands gently holding her at the shoulders.
She remembered what he said, whispering in her ear just before he pushed her forward. "Ride like the wind."
She remembered the calming sounds of his footsteps as he jogged alongside her. Could hear his voice cheering her as she picked up speed, and the wind blew through her hair.
That night in Augusta was the last one they were a family. The last night everything in her life was whole. In celebrating her victory over the training wheels, her father had snuck Kyla up to the rooftop of their apartment where they lived. He set up a small grill where they roasted marshmallows.
When they'd had their fill of sweets, she and her father lay snuggled on a sleeping bag he'd set out for them. They lay beneath the clear Georgia night sky and stared up at the stars.
They spent what felt like an eternity in each other's embrace while her father pointed out the different constellations. Her favorite had been the hunter Orion, primarily because it was easiest to pick out. The three stars that formed the fabled hunter's belt were much like the belt she wore now, though she felt less like a hunter and more like prey.
That one memory, cherished above all others, was the reason Kyla took the name Moon Dancer when her mom had brought her to the Eternal Light. And it was that memory that sent her wandering each night, hoping along the way she would find her father among those stars.
Kyla remembered that day and night like it was yesterday, but for the life of her couldn't call her father's face to mind. Closing her eyes, she tried to picture his face, but the years had blurred it.
She wondered if she'd recognize her dad should she ever see him again. Looking around her, she felt less hopeful with every meal served. She longed to hear his footsteps running alongside her one more time.
A door banged closed outside her cell. Fear crept in, amplified by the rhythmic clacking of the cradle. Kyla forced her mind back to the rooftop, back to the stars, and she silently called out to the great hunter, praying he would come to her rescue and wanting nothing more than to feel her father's gentle hands guiding her, protecting her, once again. But she felt nothing but the weight of her life bearing down on her small shoulders.
Kyla held her breath and tucked deeper under her thin covers as footsteps that moved in sync with the clack of the balls came to a stop outside her door.
Twenty-Three
After finishing their meal, and after Savage had told Hatch, Thorpe's story of the Twister Man, they had spent the afternoon helping Clem and some of the neighboring businesses in boarding up windows and doors in preparation of the coming storm. Clem compensated their kindness by giving Hatch the fresh batch of cornbread that sat boxed and wrapped on the rear seat of the Jeep as Hatch and Savage rode back to the motel.
Savage had called Thorpe and relayed the information Hatch had provide
d. Hatch parked in front of her room. The dark sky was now littered with thick, ominous clouds swirling menacingly. A light rain had begun to fall, and the winds had picked up. A heavy gust blew the door wide as Hatch opened it. The two stood in front of Hatch's room.
"Thorpe's working on a search warrant, and he should have it by morning. If Kyla Green is somewhere in that commune, we'll find her."
"Morning is a long time away." Hatch looked at the raging storm clouds.
"I can't just go kicking the gate door in. You know how it works."
"Yes, I do."
"I see that look in your eye, Hatch. Let Thorpe do his job. If there's merit to this, then the search warrant will prove it. And then, any evidence won't be tainted by the fruit of the poisonous tree."
Hatch knew the rules. They were the same for a military police officer as they were for their civilian counterparts. Evidence of a crime obtained outside the proper channels was often dismissed.
The fourth amendment search and seizure laws were in place to protect an individual's right to privacy, one held firm by the highest courts in the land. Hatch knew better than to press.
"I'm going to head to my room. I've got to update my side. I'll let you know if I've got anything worth adding to your warrant."
Savage stepped close, the boxed cornbread the only divider between their personal space. The wind wafted the sweet scent of the box's contents in the air around them. The tension between them was as thick as the cornmeal used to bind the treat.
"It tore my heart in two when you left Hawk’s Landing."
"I never meant to."
Savage shook his head. "No, don't. Seeing you now makes the ache worse. Look, Hatch, I don't know where we stand at the end of this."
"Let's see where things are when the dust settles."
Looking at his lips, she thought of the kiss on the mountaintop interrupted by the snake's bite. Here they were, face to face, separated by air and opportunity. Both barriers seemed impassable.
She could feel Savage’s longing. Not wanting to further complicate an already complicated situation, she offered him an awkward smile that did little to ease the strain in his eyes as she said goodnight.
Savage held out the box in his hand.
"You keep it,” she said. “I think I've had my fill of cornbread for the day."
"See you in the morning. Hopefully with a search warrant. Goodnight."
Savage turned and headed to his room. Hatch entered hers, casting a quick glance at Savage's back as he walked away before closing the door to the howling wind. Picking up her cell, she called Jordan Tracy.
"Good timing. I was just about to call you," Tracy said.
She relayed the information from her conversation with Savage, and the status of the pending search warrant.
"Well, you can put a name on that search warrant."
"You identified The Shepherd?"
"I did. Your Shepherd is a man by the name of Samuel Cantrell."
"What did you find?"
"He comes from money. His family made a killing in the California wine market."
This supported what The Shepherd had told her about having funds at his disposal to buy the land outright.
"Apparently, he had everything going for him. He was a three sport All-American athlete, and besides the wealth of his family, he was looking at several full ride scholarships for football. During his senior year, he was in a car crash that damaged his right leg and ended any chance of him playing at the college level."
"That explains the walking staff."
"There's more. I found an article on the crash. He had a passenger with him at the time, his sister."
"Was she hurt?"
"She was killed."
"How old?"
"Twelve. After the crash, he got into drugs. He'd spent multiple years in and out of rehab, and it looks as though he just up and disappeared about fifteen years ago, completely off the grid."
And like that, everything made sense to Hatch. The dots now connected.
"I know what you're thinking, but this isn't our fight, Hatch. Let the authorities handle it from here. If The Shepherd is our guy, let law enforcement take him down the right way."
"Morning might be too late."
Just then, the deafening wail of a siren filled the air.
"What was that?" Tracy said.
"Tornado warning. The storm is here. Time is up."
"What are you going to do?"
"What I do best." Hatch ended the call.
Throwing on a windbreaker, she left the room. Savage's door was still closed. She hustled to her Jeep. As she opened the door, a voice came in over the wind.
"Wherever you're going, count me in." She turned to see Ben Tracy standing outside of his door and moving towards Hatch. "It's not safe. And it's my daughter.”
Hatch couldn't find an argument worth having, and time was wasting.
"Get in."
He took up the passenger seat as Hatch hopped into the driver’s seat. Harlin exploded out of the main office, a frenzied look on his face, calling to Hatch.
"You two best not be heading out in this storm. These things come in fast and hard, and from nowhere. You'll never see it coming. My main office has a shelter underneath. Come with me."
"I can't."
Hatch offered no further explanation. She backed out and headed away from the motel, back to the main road. Just as she cleared the gravel of the lot, the door to Savage's room swung open. Backlit by the light inside stood the Hawk’s Landing sheriff.
She looked at his face in the rearview mirror, hoping to see it again when the storm was over. She could see he was calling out to her, but she heard nothing above the roar of the car engine, the howl of the wind, and the siren playing in the backdrop.
Hatch sped through town, seeing only one truck parked in front of Clem's restaurant. She glimpsed Clem himself between one of the boarded windows, still inside, apparently choosing to weather the storm in the place where he spent most of his life. Leaving town behind, she made her way to the commune. As she came to Clem Johnson's red mailbox, she turned into his driveway.
"Where are you going?" Ben said with a look of concern.
"There's a break in the fence along the stream that runs between the properties."
"How do you know?"
"It's where Clem last saw your daughter."
Hatch pulled to a stop behind Clem's ranch, parking in wet grass. Hopping out, she jogged toward the wood line. Ben wheezed as he attempted to keep up.
They came to the stream a few minutes later and found the gap in the fence only a few feet between the end of the fence and the stream bed. The fence line picked up on the other side.
As the rain intensified, the clouds above began spinning. The town's siren could barely be heard above the wind as it sounded its warning cry once again. Hatch moved through the uneven terrain, passing through the trees and making her way towards the row of houses serving as the main living space for the Eternal Light followers.
As she came up along the backside of the row of wooden houses, it looked like a ghost town. Nobody was outside. Pausing for a moment, tucking behind a tree, she allowed her eyes to adjust to the darkness as she scanned the area.
A flash of white behind one home. Even at the distance and in the dark, she recognized the figure by the staff he carried in his right hand. The Shepherd disappeared into the dark thick woods, moving towards the stream that Hatch and Ben had just skirted.
"I'll lead, you follow. You do not move unless I say, and you always stay behind me. Is that clear?" Hatch directed.
Ben nodded his understanding.
The wind and rain masked the movement of her footsteps, enabling Hatch to move quickly through the woods. She found The Shepherd standing by the stream, scanning the distant horizon. Hatch was within ten feet of him.
The white of his tunic flapped in the wind, his staff planted firmly in the ground beside his right leg. Hatch made the final approach, turn
ed to Ben, and held up a hand. He nodded and remained in place as Hatch moved forward, closing the gap between the leader of the Eternal Light and herself.
Without warning, she snatched the staff from his hand and kicked hard at the back of his legs, pulling him at the shoulder and dropping The Shepherd to the ground. She stood above him with the etched staff in her hand, and then pinned him to the ground with the staff against his chest. He looked up at Hatch in both shock and fear.
"Where is Kyla Green?"
Hatch pressed the staff hard into his sternum. The Shepherd winced.
"I don't know."
"Where were you going? Where is she right now?"
"I don't know."
"Then what were you doing out here in the storm?"
"Looking for her, calling to her, like I do every night. Moon Dancer was a child of the night. I thought that if I came here, I could call her home."
Hatch looked for deception in his words, in his body, in his eyes, and saw none. She continued to hold the staff against him but eased back on the pressure.
"I swear to you, I don't know what happened to her. I don't know where she is."
Hatch looked back at Ben. The missing girl's father's eyes brimmed with rage.
"She's here. I know she is." Hatch said.
"Where? We've looked high and low." The Shepherd said.
Suddenly, over the sound of the wind, Hatch heard a wail, but not the warning siren. This was a child's scream. Hatch pivoted and looked in the direction of the scream, uphill, and saw a blur of white heading away from the commune's main space.
The tall Mathias was moving fast. Over his shoulder, it looked like he was carrying a white sack, which, by the blonde pigtails, Hatch immediately recognized as Marigold.
"Where's he going?"
"Mathias lives just beyond the rise of that hill."
Hatch felt the weight of the staff in her hand. "Get everyone to safety."
"What are you going to do?" The Shepherd asked.
"I'm going to end this." She hefted the weight of the staff. "And I'm going to borrow this."
The Shepherd, still on his back, still shellshocked, gave a nod of his head. Hatch took off in a dead sprint through the woods. She heard Ben rasp in desperation as he tried to keep up with Hatch's relentless pace.