The Girl and the Cursed Lake (Emma Griffin FBI Mystery Book 12)

by A J Rivers

  There are blips of sound as it catches something and moves on, but they are rare. Reception out here is so low that it’s mostly silent. Then, I nearly drop it when a voice comes through.

  “Mama,” the voice says.

  “Aaron?” Laura gasps, her breath hitching. “Aaron? How is that Aaron’s voice?” She turns her eyes back to Dean and then to the device in my hand. Then slowly, they come up to meet mine. “What is going on?”

  I try to keep my nerves calm, but I can see the metal blade of a hunting knife in Rodney’s hand. He’s staring at the device with wide, empty eyes. Unbelieving eyes. Terrified eyes. I have one shot at this.

  “It’s your son, Aaron. That’s his voice. Don’t you recognize it?”

  Slowly, she nods. Then she looks back down to Dean, her face crinkling a bit like she is just noticing features of his face that don’t match. She turns back to me.

  “Why is Aaron talking through that box? Who is this?” she asks.

  “That’s Dean. He is my cousin. He knew Aaron a long time ago. Laura, I need you to listen to me. This is very important.”

  “No,” Rodney whispers. “No, it can’t be.”

  “Laura, Aaron is dead. You know that. He drowned,” I say.

  Slowly, she nods again. “Of course. But he came back to me. He…”

  Her voice trails off again as she looks at Dean.

  “That’s not him,” I say. “That’s Dean. Not your son.”

  “Shut up!” Rodney screams, his hands rising to cover his ears as he crumples into the wall, standing. “Shut up!”

  “Dean?” Laura says. “Not Aaron. Dean. Where is Aaron?”

  “He’s… he’s dead. But this box, it communicates with the spirit world. They can speak to us but only through a different frequency. This box picks it up,” I say. “Listen, we might hear him again.”

  Hoping that whatever magic Xavier imbibed this thing with will work again, I hold it out to her. There is a sudden static sound and then a voice.

  “Mama,” it says. “Mama, let me go.”

  Laura’s face drains of what color she has left. Tears well in the corner of her eyes.

  “My baby,” she whispers.

  “Let me go,” the voice repeats. “I … rest now. Please.”

  “Did you hear him?” I ask. “He wants you to let him go. To let him rest. He asked you please.”

  “My baby,” she continues, almost as if she didn’t hear me. “I don’t want to let you go. I don’t, Emma. Please don’t make me.”

  “I’m not,” I say as compassionately as I can. “No one is. But Aaron is asking you to.”

  “Why?” she says, her voice on the edge of a sob. “Why?”

  “He needs to rest in peace,” I say.

  “No,” cuts in Rodney. “It’s a lie. This is him, Mama. This is Aaron.”

  “I heard his voice, Rodney!” she snaps, looking over at him. “I heard his voice.”

  Rodney’s eyes flicker between us. I can see the madness just below the surface. He is dangerous. The knife flashes in the moonlight streaming through the window. Suddenly, he turns toward Dean. His jaw opens in a bellow, and his hands rise above his head. Laura drops him and rolls out of the way, screaming.

  I am moving before I even can process what is happening. I tackle him with my bad shoulder. Pain shoots through me as we smash into the wall of the cabin. Hot, sharp pain fills my back, and I try to roll out of the way. A slash catches my forearm as I try to scramble back to the gun. I fall on my back, my fingers searching in the near darkness. I can feel him hover over me and see the glint of the metal as he raises the blade above his head.

  My fingers clench around the gun, and I pull it into position, spraying bullets as I do. Rodney’s voice bellows out with mine as I empty the clip into the air above me. Suddenly, his body falls on top of me with a thud, and I feel my rib crack.

  There is a moment of silence as I wait, taking stock of my breathing. Of the pain. I’ve been stabbed, I think, at least once in the back, and my arm has been slashed. My breathing is labored because when he fell, he landed directly on top of me. I try to wiggle him off, and a death rattle comes from deep in his chest. It’s the sound of a person with holes in his lungs trying to breathe.

  It isn’t the first time I’ve heard it.

  I get enough of my body out from under him to slide out, and I scoot to the wall beside Dean. His hunting knife is by my foot, and he’s still breathing, but it's slow and shallow. I take stock of my injuries, but it looks as if I’ll be okay. My shoulder is on fire, and my back hurts from the knife wound, but it must have grazed me, just missing stabbing into me. My body is covered in blood, but I know most of it isn’t mine. It’s the blood that is slowly pooling around Rodney’s body, lying face-down on the floor.

  “Baby?” Laura’s voice says from the other end of the room.

  I peer through the darkness and see her clutching the Spirit Box. I dropped it when I charged after Rodney. She doesn’t seem to even notice Rodney, just feet from her.

  “Let me go,” the box says again.

  “It’s okay, baby,” Laura says. “It’s all over now.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Seconds later, I hear the scream of sirens and see the splash of blue and red lights through the broken door of the cabin. My head drops back against the wall, and I let out a breath of relief.

  “Emma!” Sam calls from outside.

  “I'm here!” I call.

  He and Xavier push through the door and stop when they see Rodney on the ground with Laura in front of him, curled up around the Spirit Box, seeming not to notice her son's blood seeping into the wood.

  "Are you okay?" Sam asks.

  "I'll be fine. He cracked me on the head. Sprained shoulder and a cut on my back. Nothing. Dean needs help right now. He's going to need to be evacuated."

  Sam takes my hand and pulls me up off the floor as other officers stream inside.

  "Come on. Let's get you out of here."

  "Elsie," I say. "Did you…"

  "She's alive," he says.

  "Thank God," I say. "How did you find her?"

  "I didn't. Xavier did," he says.

  "What?"

  "Apparently when you tracked Dean, he was able to see your location."

  "I still don't understand how I had the reception to do that. I wasn't close enough to the ranger's cabin. It shouldn't have worked," I say.

  "Maybe it was…"

  "It wasn't ghosts, Sam."

  "A miracle."

  I smile at him, tears building in my eyes as the paramedics rush for the cabin. I nod.

  "I'll take that."

  The helicopter arrives for Dean within minutes. I watch from the bumper of the ambulance, the emergency responders patching up my back, as the Life Flight carries him away. The officers have Xavier taking them through the woods back to the mine, where Elsie sat for days among the bones of those who hadn't yet been brought to the lake or the woods.

  Maybe they were there for another reason. And maybe someday Laura will tell us. But for now, what matters is Elsie is alive, and Laura is in custody. The answers will come.

  "Be gentle with her," I say to Sam as he goes to handle the formal arrest.

  "I will," he says.

  She's a broken woman. My heart aches for her. I can't imagine the pain she's suffered as she spiraled into madness after her son's death. What she has ahead of her won't be easy. But I'll do everything I can to make sure she gets the care she needs, so someday she may be whole again.

  The sun has come up by the time Xavier comes back out of the woods. I'm sitting on one of the weathered old picnic tables in the campground, watching the excavation of the lake ahead of me. Divers come up out of the water bringing with them the chains of bones. Another brings up a chain holding a toy dump truck, a baseball bat, and a deflated soccer ball.

  They will have to go over every inch of that lake. We don't know how many people are in there. I can hope it's just the ones w
e already know are missing, but I'm not optimistic. Rodney was too invested in collecting the people for his mother. And Laura was too lost in her delusion. The combination is disastrous.

  Xavier sits down beside me, and for a few seconds, we just watch the excavation in silence. Finally, I look over at him.

  “Are you okay?”

  “No,” he says.

  I nod, accepting the answer without the need for elaboration or justification. Without needing to reassure or comfort him. He's not okay right now. I don't think I am, either. And that's okay.

  “Thank you,” I say a few seconds later. “Manipulating that Spirit Box was brilliant.”

  He nods. “I hoped it would work.”

  As soon as the Spirit Box started talking, I knew what was happening. Xavier had been manipulating and revamping his ghost hunting equipment since getting it.

  “How did you know I was going to need it?” I ask.

  “I didn't,” he says.

  “Then why did you give it to me?”

  “I didn't do that, either,” he says.

  “Then how did I have it?” I ask.

  “I don't know,” he shrugs. “I didn't notice it was gone until we were getting ready to leave the cabin to find you. I was collecting my equipment and saw that it was gone. I figured you had it.”

  “Just a coincidence?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “Hasn’t Sam said it enough times? No such thing as coincidences.”

  I manage a hint of a smile and a short laugh, but I don't feel any humor. I look down at my hands, then back at him.

  “I've done a lot of things in the course of investigations,” I say. “A lot of things I probably shouldn't have done. And things I'm not necessarily proud of when I look back at them. But they're things that I had to do. Sometimes you don't get to choose what's absolutely right. Sometimes you have to make a choice, and I will always choose to do what I can to protect people and stop criminals.”

  “I know,” Xavier nods.

  “I feel horrible about what I did in there,” I say.

  “Why?” he asks.

  “I invoked the spirit of a dead child. I pretended the ghost of a dead nine-year-old boy was talking to his mother,” I say. “It just feels so manipulative and cruel. I'm the one who said these paranormal investigations feel disrespectful. And then I do something like that,” I say.

  “Maybe it wasn't all fake,” Xavier says.

  I shake my head.

  “You were manipulating it,” I say. “I know you were.”

  “I was,” he says. “But that doesn't mean what happened in that cabin was all manipulation. The Spirit Box is a piece of technology. It's not the most important tool you use. You are. And maybe this time the choice you made was to let Aaron speak through you in a way.”

  Xavier and I look into each other's eyes for a few seconds before he opens his arms, and I rest my head on his shoulder. He’s never stopped surprising me. I hope he never will.

  Sam walks up to us and leans down to kiss me on the top of the head.

  “You ready to go?” he asks. “You really should get checked out at the hospital.”

  “I will,” I say. “But there's something I need you to do for me.”

  “What is it?” he asks, stroking his thumb across my cheek.

  “Call Detective Fitzgerald and tell him I need a favor,” I say.

  Sam looks at me strangely.

  “Okay, he says. What's going on?”

  “Violet isn't a part of this. Rodney killed who would be good friends for Aaron. They chose people who would have been around the same age as him each year. Violet was a four-year-old girl. It wasn't them. And both of them deny it.”

  “So, you think it was an accident?” Sam asks.

  “She didn't end up in that cavern by herself,” I say. “Just have the detective set aside a time to talk to me, okay?”

  “Okay,” he says.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  “Is this really necessary?” Carrie Montgomery asks me a few days later as we make our way through the woods.

  “It is,” I say. “I'm sorry. I know it's a lot. Just bear with me.”

  “I thought this was done,” she says. “Laura Mitchell is in custody. Rodney is dead. Why are we doing this?”

  “Well, that's true. Rodney Mitchell was unfortunately killed, and his mother was brought into custody under suspicion of various murders at the campground. But that doesn't resolve Violet’s case.”

  “What do you mean?” she frowns, a slight note of unease in her voice. “Violet was taken on the exact date as those other people. I even heard there was another girl who got taken that day who people didn't even notice.”

  “That's true,” I nod. “We're still working on identifying her. We wouldn't even know about her if it wasn't for a very important witness. But here's the thing. Violet's death did become the time that was marked as the anniversary. It seemed to line up with all the other deaths and disappearances. But she wasn't connected to the others.”

  “So, you're saying her death was a coincidence? How many killers do you think are wandering around the park at any given time?” Carrie asks.

  “I hope there aren't any now,” I say. “But I didn't say that Violet's death was a coincidence. I just said she isn't linked to the other victims. People like to talk about the curse of Arrow Lake. I can understand what that means now. Rodney and Laura Mitchell created darkness here. But both were horrified by the circumstances around Violet's death.”

  “Of course, they would say that,” she scoffs. “What are they going to do? Admit to everything? Say they enjoyed the killing?”

  “Yes,” I say. “I know it's something you don't want to hear. It's something that most people who consider themselves normal don't want to hear. But it's the truth. They didn't shy away from admitting what they had done. But the details of their killings don't line up with Violet’s. And the witness who was used in Violet's case was actually witnessing the abduction of another girl. That shoe you said didn't belong to Violet was actually the other girl’s.”

  “I'm sorry, but I'm really not understanding why I'm up here with you. We already talked about this. You know everything I do," she sighs.

  "You're right. We did talk before. But there were some things I didn't know then. Don't you want to know what happened to your daughter?"

  "Of course, I do," she says.

  "Then just talk to me a little bit more. I'm just trying to piece a couple of things together," I tell her.

  She thinks about it for a second, then lets out a breath and nods.

  "Fine. Go ahead."

  "Thanks," I say. "That morning you had breakfast with your daughter and husband, right?"

  "Yes," she says. "Oatmeal."

  "After all this time, you still remember that."

  "My child was abducted and murdered that day," Carrie says. "I remember everything."

  "Except where she was when you were rinsing the bathing suits," I say.

  Her eyes darken.

  "She was supposed to be with Travis," she says. "I've never changed that story."

  I nod, holding up my hands to relent to her.

  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to suggest anything. I just want to make sure I have all the details right,” I protest.

  “It's fine,” she says. “Yes, we had oatmeal.”

  “Anything on it?”

  “I had strawberries,” she says. “Violet had brown sugar and cream.”

  “Violet didn't have any strawberries?” I ask.

  Her jaw sets, and she continues to stare in front of her as we walk through the trees. She's a few steps ahead of me, and I watch as she maneuvers through the undergrowth.

  “No,” she says.

  “That's right,” I say. “She's allergic. That was in your interview.”

  “Yes,” she says. “She was allergic to strawberries. I found out when she was just a baby.”

  “But Travis didn't know,” I point out.


  She shakes her head, her lips pressed together.

  “No,” she says. “He didn't. Travis wasn't around when Violet was a baby. That summer we were still kind of trying to get used to being a family. We were happy. Don't get me wrong. But there was definitely a shift. And both of us felt it.”

  “What do you mean, a shift?” I ask.

  “I was alone throughout my pregnancy, and when Violet was a baby. I didn't have anybody to scoop me up and help me. I didn't really feel ready to completely let go of that relationship with her. I had built up our life together, and we were already in a rhythm by the time Travis came back into our lives. That was a challenge. And she adored him. They spent all their time together. Maybe too much time.”

  “Were you ever jealous of her?” I ask.

  She laughed. “Of course, I was. But he was envious of me, too. We were trying so hard to figure things out. I thought we had a really amazing future together. But it was really hard to watch her bond with him so much. And in ways that I felt she didn't bond with me. I could try to get her to do something for hours and she wouldn't do it. But he would suggest it once, and she was willing to try. Or I would tell her not to do something, but she would listen to him instead. But we got through it. And I was really looking forward to what was ahead.”

  We come to a stop, and I look around us.

  “Carrie, how did we end up here?” I ask.

  She looks around and the color drains out of her face when she realizes where we’re standing.

  “You told me where we were going,” she attempts.

  I shake my head.

  “No, I didn't. That was on purpose.”

  “Then you were leading me,” she continues.

  “No,” I say. “I stayed behind you the entire time. I just walked us out onto the right path. You took it from there.”

  “Is it all that unusual?” Carrie asks, sounding more exasperated by the moment. “This is where my daughter died. I think I would know where it is.”

  I look up at the cavern over our heads, then back at her.

  “But you've done at least four interviews in which you said you didn't even realize the cavern existed, and that you had never been and had no intention to go to it. You said you never wanted to see the place where she sat alone. So, how did we end up here?”