Taylor laughed and set a hand on his arm. “You’re not crazy, Trevor. I’m going to see this through, then you won’t have to be afraid anymore. We’ll get you out of here.”
Now tears flowed down the young man’s face, making him seem even younger than sixteen. “Do you mean that?”
“I do,” she said honestly.
“How did you get away?” he asked while he wiped his cheeks.
“The deceased sheriff shot the old man, Conway Smith. And my dad took me, while his friend torched the entire orchard’s underground system where it lived. I think it went dormant. I think it didn’t die that night like my dad thought. I think it’s back.”
“It is. I’ve seen it.”
“Tell me everything,” Taylor said.
Twelve
The call came in an hour before they made it to Bellton. Paul had ignored the ringing phone, not wanting to spoil the surprise. If he’d answered Taylor’s call, he knew there’d be no way he could have hidden the fact that they were about to come visit. Stevie would have shouted a greeting from the backseat, or Terri would have spilled the beans somehow.
The day was overcast, but Paul didn’t mind. The drive had been stunning, the snow mostly gone. Birds were active and happy, and he could see green grass where a week ago there’d been none.
Wind blew at him through the open window as they approached the school grounds. It was one of the prettiest colleges he’d ever seen, and he’d toured a lot of them over the last decade, guest speaking about his books. The faculty buildings were spread out over the lush landscape. There were so many spires and brick facades, the clock tower jutted up in the distance, and Paul felt at home.
Paul hadn’t been able to afford such a fine college when he was young, and it warmed his heart that Taylor could get an experience like this. He only hoped the pressure wasn’t too much. He wondered how many other kids were spending their spring break at school working on projects. He didn’t want Taylor to burn out so soon.
“Dad, can I go here when I’m older?” Stevie asked from the backseat. The audio book was off, and his son was admiring the sights.
Terri answered for him. “Stevie, you can go here, but you have to work harder in your classes, like your sister did.”
“She’s a bit of a nerd, isn’t she?” Stevie asked, laughing to himself. “I’m more of a baseball kind of guy, right, Dad?”
“She’s not a nerd,” Paul answered, though she kind of was. Paul considered himself one as well, so it wasn’t a bad thing. “Baseball is fun, son, but there’s not much of a career in it. The best bet is to get a great education, make a lot of money, and buy box seats to your favorite team.”
“Like you, Dad?” Stevie asked.
“Sure. Like me.” Paul laughed.
“Then why do I need season seats? We already have them.”
Paul rolled his eyes at Terri, and she joined him. “Stevie, you’re missing the point Dad’s making. Work hard, get good grades, and you can do anything with your life. Like Taylor’s going to do.”
“Okay. I hear you. I can’t wait to see her. She’s going to flip when we get there.”
Paul hoped so, and not in a bad way. They hadn’t gone to the hotel yet, but the weekend hiatus was going to be nice for all of them. Paul had been working hard on his new book and had brought his laptop, but he was going to try to turn everything off when they met up with Taylor.
He drove the quiet campus roads. It was a ghost town. Taylor was a nervous person, and Paul didn’t think she’d like being so isolated with the rest of the students gone for the holiday.
“Do you remember where to park?” Terri asked.
“I think so,” he said, and tapped his blinker on, turning toward the residences. A minute later, they were parked in a mostly empty lot, and Paul got out.
“She’s in eleven, right?” he asked his wife, who nodded.
Stevie was already bursting ahead of them. The kid always had so much energy. Paul was looking forward to him as a teenager, when he could start running with Paul in the mornings. It could be their thing, and he liked that. The boy already wanted to go out with him, but he was more of a sprint and stop kind of runner at this point.
“Don’t go too far!” Terri shouted as he raced down the sidewalks.
“Isn’t this nice?” Paul asked, and Terri threaded her arm through his. He was wearing a dress shirt with a vest overtop. It was the perfect combination for the weather. Terri had a light spring jacket on, the kind with a hood in case of rain. They ambled up the path, arm in arm, and chatted about the school and the weekend. Paul was soaking it all in. His heart was full as they neared the dormitory.
Stevie was waiting for them at the front entrance, and he moved out of the way as a young student walked by, opening the heavy door with a smile at Paul and Terri. His son grabbed it, holding it open for the girl, and then waved his mother through. “After you,” he said with a smirk, imitating their doorman at home.
The girl had been the first person they’d seen on campus. It was deserted. Why had Taylor stayed behind? She could have done her work at home in the city just as well.
They moved through the building; having been here twice before, they knew which way to go, and soon Paul was standing at suite eleven, his hand raised to knock. “Here goes nothing,” he said, and rapped his knuckles on the door.
A few moments went by, and when he was about to knock again, the door creaked open. “Hello?” a girl said.
“Karen, right?” Paul asked, and saw the flicker of recognition in her eyes.
“Mr. Alenn, Mrs. Alenn,” she said, glancing past Paul. “What’s up?”
“What’s up? Not much. We came to see Taylor. Is she in?” Paul asked, and instantly felt his stomach drop. Her face gave it all away.
“Uhm, Taylor’s…”
“Karen, what is it? Is she okay?” Paul asked, his heart thrumming so hard, it pounded in his eardrums.
“She’s… I thought she was going home to see you guys,” Karen said, but Paul could tell she was lying. He stepped into the dorm room, and Karen moved aside.
“Where’s her suitcase?” Paul was going through the messy closet, and he checked under the bed.
“Karen.” Terri’s voice was low. “Where’s our daughter?”
“I don’t know,” Karen said, adjusting her glasses. “Taylor told me she wasn’t going home after all, and that if you called, to say she was just out for a bit. I’m sorry. She didn’t say where she was going. We’re not that close.”
Paul had to close his eyes for a minute to compose himself. A dark mist threatened to cloud his eyes as he breathed deeply. “Think, Karen. Where would she go?”
“She and Brent left yesterday morning,” Karen said.
“Who the hell is Brent?” Paul shouted, and Terri grabbed his arm.
“Paul, calm down.” Terri’s voice was even. Paul always admired how cool she could stay in a situation while he flew off the handle. “Who’s Brent?”
Karen paled. “I didn’t know he was a secret. I’m not sure why she wouldn’t tell you about him. He’s smart and good-looking. Rich too.”
Paul tried to soak it all in. Taylor was gone, with a boyfriend he didn’t even know she had. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as he’d initially thought. Taylor had a relationship with a student, and they wanted a week away from school to unwind, and she didn’t want to tell her family about him yet. He started to relax.
“Okay. Any idea where they went? You have to have some clue. You’re her roommate.” Paul watched Stevie as he flipped through some worn paperbacks from Taylor’s nightstand. He recognized one of his own books in the stack and smiled.
“She didn’t say, but she seemed freaked that you’d find out,” Karen said.
They were indeed close to finding out, Paul could feel it. “Why would she be freaked out?” Then it hit him. All these years later, she’d finally done it. Paul looked at Terri, and she matched his expression perfectly.
Terri asked th
e next series of questions, and Paul hardly heard them. She said the words Red Creek, cousin, Isabelle, Beth, uncle, but other than that, Paul drew a blank. He sat on the bed. His fears of his old hometown and losing his daughter all came flooding over in a tidal wave.
“That might be it. She’s been talking to her cousin a lot lately. And she said something about a girl going missing. You know, the one that’s been all over the news?” Karen asked, and Paul knew what they had to do.
“Come on, guys. We have to go,” Paul said, stopping in front of Karen. “Thanks for telling us the truth. You’re a good person. Have a nice week off.” He barely knew what he was saying, his brain on autopilot as he thought about driving to Red Creek.
_______________
Detective Bartlett answered the call on his car speakers. “Bartlett,” he responded.
It was Sheriff Tyler’s number. “There’s been another one.” He sounded calm, and it took a moment for Tom to even understand what he meant.
“Another one? Missing girl?” Tom asked. He was heading into town, almost at Main, where he’d planned on stopping at Chuck’s for a coffee.
“Boy. Fredrik Karlsson. Parents reported him missing this morning at seven,” the sheriff said.
Tom gripped his steering wheel hard, his knuckles turning white. “Son of a bitch. Who’s doing this? I thought for sure it was someone after girls.” Tom had seen too many cases like this back in Chicago, and he’d hoped for a quiet life out in Gilden: somewhere picturesque, where he could forget about the horrors on the streets of the big city, and simultaneously forget about his ex-wife.
“I don’t know, but we’re going to find out,” Tyler answered. “Go talk to his parents.”
“Where do they live? This on Wood Street too?” Tom had pulled over at the restaurant and had his notepad out, ready to scratch down an address.
“Nope. They live out of town. Two miles north.” The sheriff gave him the directions.
“Wait. That’s close to the orchard, isn’t it?” Tom asked, as if he was finally starting to see the bigger picture.
The sheriff paused before answering, “It is. About as close as anyone lives to it. I sent Rich first thing this morning, but I’d rather you follow up.”
Tom was getting angry. “Why didn’t you call me sooner?”
“Because you were following up on the witness account. Did you find anything valuable?” Tyler asked.
“Only if you think a woman might like to stroll around a farmer’s field in a big storm. Oh, she can also turn into a black blob.” Tom was getting really sick of this town.
“What did you just say?” the sheriff asked.
“The guy said he saw a nondescript woman, maybe older, fifty or sixty, walking over there. She was wearing a white jacket, and when the lightning flashed, he saw her turn into a black figure. Tyler, I’ve heard all the crap about this monster living in Red Creek, but I thought it was long done with after the Smiths were dealt with.”
“So did I. So did I.” Sheriff Tyler’s voice was quiet, and Tom turned up his speaker volume. “Shit.”
“What is it?” Tom asked.
“Nothing. Go ask the parents about Fredrik. Get anything you can. I need to speak with you later about something.” The man sounded resigned to the disappearances. Tom didn’t have much optimism they were going to catch this guy, not if the locals were so hopeless.
“If you have something to say, say it now,” Tom told Tyler, but the man just grunted.
“Come by the office when you’re done out there. I’ll fill you in.” The call ended.
Tom peeked at his reflection in the rearview mirror. “What have you gotten yourself into? Three years ago, you were one of the best damned homicide detectives in Chitown. You had a wife. You were going to start a family.” He hung his head, regret filling his thoughts. “Get it together, Bartlett. You have kids to save. If you don’t do it, no one will.” He often had to convince himself to do things by speaking out loud alone, and even though he didn’t feel any better about the situation, he was motivated to keep moving.
But not before a cup of coffee.
Twenty minutes later, Tom sat parked in front of the Karlssons’ farmhouse, sipping his hot coffee. The caffeine shot through him, refueling his tired brain. With his notepad in his suit jacket’s pocket, he got out of the car and trudged toward the house’s porch. He stopped short, looking for anything out of place.
It was a quiet morning; the clouds hung low, gray and unmoving as the breeze stopped completely. The house was on elevated land, and from the top of the hill, he could see an expansive field in the distance, and he could also see the condo building that sat alone like a beacon in the old orchard. Instead of heading for the door, Tom walked to the side of the house, toward the fence there. To his left was a pasture with cows lowing randomly.
To his right was a bare field, the one you could walk through to get to the condo building and the old orchards. He stared in that direction and tried to guess how far away it was. A mile? A mile and a half?
“Can we help you?” a voice asked, and Tom spun around, his hand going to his holster on instinct.
The man was tall and thin, thick blond-gray hair showcasing his Scandinavian heritage.
“Mr. Karlsson?” Tom asked, and the man nodded. His eyes were blue and watery.
“Are you here to find my son?” he asked, and Tom glanced over the man’s shoulder to see a woman approaching. She was breathtakingly beautiful, pale skin and bright green eyes accented by wavy blonde hair. Tom blinked and switched his gaze to her husband.
“I’m hoping so. What can you tell me?” Tom was holding the notepad, hoping they had something for him. He took a sparing glance across the field at the condo building before they spoke. It felt like he was being drawn to the orchard. He’d used his gut a lot on the force and had learned to trust it. It wasn’t always one hundred percent accurate, but he didn’t care. Something there was worth further investigation.
“I’m Sven, and this is Astrid.” They shook hands, hers warm and her husband’s ice cold. “Come inside. We’ll pour you a tea.”
Tom followed them, and Astrid was now crying, clearly not for the first time today. Sven wrapped an arm around her as they walked up the three steps to the porch leading inside.
Tom’s face was solemn as they entered the home, and he was greeted by a warm, perfect house. It smelled of flowers and cedar, beams ran across the living room ceiling, and wide-planked oak floors stretched over the entire house. He kept his opinions to himself. They didn’t want to hear about how nice their home was; they wanted their son back.
They sat on the couch, and Tom took a standalone chair, more for its appearance than for its function. It was firm and stoic. Maybe he could get used to it.
“I’m sorry to have to be here. I know the deputy already went over some things, but I wanted to come as soon as I heard. When did you notice Fredrik was missing?” Tom asked.
Mrs. Karlsson was sobbing loudly, and her husband began to answer for them, but she set a hand on his arm, stopping him. “This morning. He’s a good boy. I tucked him in last night at eleven. He’s allowed to stay up late on Friday nights, now that he’s thirteen. I still checked on him and kissed him goodnight.”
Tom smiled, happy to hear that kind of parenting still existed. “Then you checked on him this morning?”
“And he was gone,” Sven said.
“Can I see the room?” Tom asked, and they nodded.
“The deputy asked us to leave it as it is, so we did.” Sven led Tom down the hall, past the kitchen and toward the side of the house. It was a farmhouse, and though it wouldn’t have a basement and had no second floor, the floor plan was wide, giving the house a lot of square footage. They stopped at the end of the hall, and Sven motioned to the door on the right.
Tom pulled a pair of nylon gloves from his pocket and stretched them on before turning the crystal handle and pushing the solid wood door in. The parents stayed in the hall as he
entered the room. One of the floorboards creaked under his weight, and he flinched. This case had him on edge. Children disappearing into thin air. He hated everything about it.
The bed was unmade, and the boy’s pillow was on the floor. Tom got on his knees beside the bed and crouched low, peering under the twin frame. He saw a balled-up pair of socks and a baseball glove, but nothing more.
Next he went to the edge of the room. Superhero posters lined the walls, and the kid had bookshelves full of comic books and graphic novels. One of them was on the nightstand, and Tom picked it up, flipping through the pages before setting it down. It was a horror comic, and Tom thought that was a little too on the nose.
The windows were large on this side of the house, and he pulled the curtains wide to see the field beyond. The condo was visible from that vantage point too. The house was older, likely from the forties, and the windows were original. Tom tapped the single-pane glass and examined the window sash lock. The right one was unclasped.
“The window was open. Did you know that?” Tom asked, and they both shook their heads from the hallway. Astrid’s hand flew over her mouth as she began sobbing again.
Tom pressed the window, and it hinged out. He leaned over, looking for signs of a struggle, but didn’t find any. He moved now, waiting for the couple to step aside as he jogged down the hall and out the front door. He arrived at the window from outside, and squatted under it. The grass was thin and dry, and it looked like someone had been out here recently, stomping on it.
He walked a yard away from the trajectory someone would have to take from the house to the fence, and he went slowly, looking for anything out of place. He felt his shoe depress into the soft wet ground, and he stopped, crouching low. There it was. A footprint. Tom pulled his phone out, snapped a picture, and stretched his fingers out in the least scientific manner to find the shoe print’s length. He made a mark on his pinky with a pencil, stretched up – his vertebrae popping as he did so – and walked for the fence.
It was wooden and only waist-high. Three logs ran one above the other, one and a half feet between them. It was a simple fence, more to keep an animal from wandering away than for any real security. It was muddy here, and Tom thought he could see more prints further out. He had a feeling he’d be able to follow them from the house to the orchard.
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