by PJ Sharon
His voice had sunk to barely a whisper. A mix of sadness and gratitude filled Brinn’s heart. All the years that she thought no one wanted her—that everyone was gone, and that there was no one looking for her—and all that time, her parents had never given up.
He straightened, donning a stern face of professionalism to gloss over his pain. “I decided to run for the D.A. position, hoping to find vindication in putting away the kind of scum that preys on children. It was all I could do for her then. Now that she's back, things are different." He stared down at the man behind the desk. "Briana will identify him. You just bring the sick son-of-a-bitch in." John stopped at the door and turned, addressing the Police Commissioner one last time. "This one's personal, Bud. I want this man to pay for what he did to my little girl."
Bud Paulsen nodded. "I understand, John, but we have to handle the case by the book or we could lose him. Short of catching him in the act, Briana's testimony is all we have. You know how those defense lawyers are with victims, especially after such a long time. They’ll run her through the wringer trying to prove reasonable doubt." He paused and let out a slow breath. "Are you sure you want to put her through a trial?"
Her father glanced at her across the waiting room, meeting her solemn gaze with a small smile of appreciation and then shook his head wearily at the Police Commissioner. "I've been dealing with victims and the families of victims for a long time, Bud. If I thought she was better off burying it, I'd say no, but Brinn is no longer a victim; she's a survivor. The victims are the other little girls whose bodies went missing and never showed up again. The parents and families of those little girls are the victims. You know as well as I do that this monster will keep going until someone stops him." His voice rising again, he composed himself and added, "I want more than anything to protect my daughter, but if she is ever to be free of this nightmare, she has to confront him and put him away."
"We need evidence, John," the big man said. "I'll bet Brinn was not his first victim—or his last. If we can search his place, we’ll find the evidence we need for an arrest to stick. Combined with Briana's testimony, we can put this guy away for good or put a needle in his arm—either way works for me."
"I'll have a warrant on your desk in an hour, and I want you to coordinate directly with the police in Charleston. I don’t want any screwups, understand?"
The commissioner nodded. "Stockman supposedly has an old slaughterhouse out near Clemson, by the lake. It sounds like the place Briana described. The Columbia cops are already on it. The place is under surveillance as we speak. Word came down that he just returned to the house after being away for a few days. The locals say he’s been traveling a lot lately." He smiled, "What do you want to bet the traffic cams will show he crossed state lines to pay his little visit to your place? My men are working on a few angles from this end, but we need hard evidence.” Paulsen rose from behind the cluttered desk. “If you can get that warrant in the next thirty minutes, you can join me for the ride up. I'm going to handle this one personally."
Chapter 27
In Custody
When Brinn’s father had the warrant in hand to arrest Roy Stockman, she insisted on going with him. “I can identify him for you. I’ll be able to tell you if it’s the same house.”
“It’s not a good idea, Sweetheart. Besides, it’s against police procedure. We don’t want to jeopardize this case,” he argued.
“You don’t understand. I need to do this. I have to see him for myself. And maybe I can help.” Brinn argued persistently for another few minutes before her father let out a heavy breath.
“It’s against my better judgment, and I’ll have to clear it with the investigator in charge, but if you’re sure...”
An hour later, Brinn, her father, and Commissioner Paulsen were strapped into a helicopter and bound for the next state. Police Chief Celia McCafferty agreed with the unusual request, given the circumstances and the fact that they had a warrant in hand giving them authority to search the premises of Roy Stockman, suspected of kidnapping, sexual assault, and attempted murder.
Two hours after that, Brinn arrived just in time to watch the man be taken from his house in handcuffs and loaded into a cruiser bound for jail.
Brinn looked on from a hundred yards away and knew it was him. The way he walked and moved, the set of his shoulders, the hard angles of his face. If there was any doubt left in her mind, it disappeared when he turned and met her gaze. His eyes hardened, his mouth thinned, and then his lips curved into an ugly smile. Brinn’s blood froze in her veins. Her father wrapped a protective arm around her.
“Are you all right, Sweetheart?”
“I will be.” Brinn’s insides quivered and her hands shook, but she knew she would have no future until she faced her past. She met his gaze with a look of defiance that came from the depths of her soul and infused into it as much malice as she could contain. It was done. Over. He couldn’t hurt her anymore. A wave of relief so strong it almost buckled her knees swept over her as he was shoved into a cruiser. She watched as the car pulled away. Stockman’s eyes bored into her out the back window. When the car was out of sight, she fell into her father’s arms, tears streaming.
“You need to wait here with the police officers.” Her father held her tight for another second before Brinn pulled away.
“I need to go in there.” Her watery eyes focused on the house and a sudden surge of bile crept up her throat. She swiped at the tears and swallowed.
“Brinn, are you sure?” He asked with concern.
“Yes,” she said, not convinced at all. She needed to know if what had happened to her was real and not some horrible dream her mind had concocted. She needed to see where her nightmares began and ended before she could ever let them go.
The run-down farmhouse hadn’t changed much and the thought of going inside made her feel sick. She looked to the hills in the distance and had the urge to run as fast and as far as she could to escape the memories that clawed their way to the surface.
Her father took her hand. “Then let’s do this together.”
His hand was strong in hers but she smelled the fear and felt his trepidation. This would be no easier for him than it was for her. Hand in hand they walked up the dusty driveway, climbed the creaking porch, and entered the dilapidated house. The forensics team was already several minutes ahead of them, the house a hive of activity. The smell of smoke and unwashed flesh forced her back.
“You don’t have to do this, Brinn.” Her father squeezed her hand gently.
“I have to, Daddy. I need to take my life back. This is the only way.” Terrified, Brinn let go of his hand, covered her mouth and nose, and followed the police chief inside.
“Make sure you search the slaughterhouse. And check for a root cellar.” Brinn heard the police chief order as she led the way into the small kitchen. Chief Celia McCafferty, a sturdy, efficient woman with short blonde hair and steel gray eyes, turned to Brinn. “Is this where you were held captive?” Her tone was sympathetic and Brinn appreciated the strong female presence.
“Yes.” She looked down the hallway and pointed. “My room was the first one down there. The bathroom was directly across the hall, and his room was at the end. There is an upstairs, but I was never allowed up there.” Brinn looked around the kitchen and a new wave of horror found its way to her insides. “The place has been cleaned,” she said. There was a full trash bucket overflowing with rotting garbage and the smell of smoke was thick in the air, but Brinn noticed the clean dishes in the drainer and the neat stack of magazines on the end table. “He has a girl here.” Brinn darted a glance at the chief, whose eyes widened in realization.
“We’ve found something, Chief.” An investigator called from outside the house.
Brinn and her father followed behind Chief McCafferty and Commissioner Paulsen. As they rounded the corner of the house, Brinn saw an officer carrying the body of a small girl up out of a dark cellar hole. The hinged wooden doors lay open, a broken loc
k on the ground. The smell of human waste permeated the air. “She’s alive. Call for an ambulance!”
Brinn tried to go to the girl—to tell her she was safe, to help her understand, but a team of uniformed officers blocked her way and surrounded the barely conscious form wrapped in a tattered blanket. The girl was filthy, her dress torn, her dark hair matted. She cried weakly, disoriented by the bright sunlight and stunned by the attention of the police. She clung to the officer who carried her to safety. A bustle of efficiency took over the scene until the ambulance arrived.
"I'll follow them to the hospital and then head to the station to make sure there are no mistakes in booking. I’ll contact the parents as soon as we ID the girl. I’m sure someone is looking for her." Chief McCafferty smiled up at John Hathaway, her thin arched brow lifting. "I've never seen an arrest warrant fly across my desk so fast, Mr. Hathaway. I could use a man like you in our D.A.'s office. Could I persuade you to defect?"
"I'm afraid not, Chief. I'm planning on being very busy convicting that monster."
“Without the information your daughter reported, things would have turned out very differently for that child.” She looked after the ambulance as it pulled onto the main road and then smiled at Brinn. “You did a brave thing today, Miss Hathaway. Your courage just saved a life.”
Brinn smiled sadly, knowing that if she’d only been braver years ago, she might have saved several more lives. How many girls had he taken, tortured, and killed? How many lives were lost because she had hidden in the hills?
Chapter 28
A Promise is a Promise
Brinn hugged her father as tears streamed down her cheeks. It seemed she cried about everything lately. It was as if she had stored the tears up for so long that the dam had finally broken and there was no stopping the flood. “You did it, Daddy. He’s behind bars where he can’t hurt anyone else.”
Her voice sounded strained and hoarse from holding her emotions in check on the way back from the farmhouse. After walking like a ghost from room to room with memories flooding her mind as she stared at the stained mattress and barred windows in her old room, she would have liked to have seen the place burnt to the ground.
Although they were back at home, Brinn could still remember the anguish on her father’s face when he’d seen the chains. Her father held her for a long moment and then stepped back, holding her face in his hands. "We did it, Sweetheart. Without the help of you and your friends, the police might never have found him. Because of you, that little girl was saved.” His smile faded as he continued. “Stockman is still in South Carolina, but he'll be transferred to Atlanta as soon as all the paperwork is done. After finding Carrie Weston, and with what the police found upstairs at the house, they have a solid case against him.”
Brinn had overheard the police talking about finding evidence of several other victims in the second floor rooms of the old farmhouse. Photos, old clothes, hair ribbons, each small grouping of items placed in its own shoe box labeled with names and dates. Stockman had kept souvenirs, mementos of his conquests. Brinn shuddered and tried not to imagine the fate that had befallen those other girls. Her father’s voice interrupted the gruesome images that sprang to her mind.
“Even so, there’s a lot of pressure from my office for you to testify. Obviously, I can't handle the case myself, but I have my best prosecutor working on it, and she thinks we can get the maximum penalty if we can have you identify him and then give testimony at his trial."
Brinn was silent for a long time. She turned to face her mother and Justin, resisting the urge to pace. "What do you think, Mama?"
Her mother shook her head, "It has to be your decision. You know you’ll have to recount details of your story to a courtroom full of people, and the defense attorney will not be kind." Her mother eyed her father across the room, a distinctly chilly glare covering the distance.
Brinn looked to Justin, who responded with a shrug, "Your mom is right. It’s up to you. It won't be easy, Brinn, but I know you, and you won't feel right about your decision unless you do everything in your power to fight on your own terms. And you won't be alone. This is your chance to end this." Justin placed his hands on her shoulders, his sheer proximity infusing her with confidence. “Just know that whatever you decide, we will all support you.”
She hugged him and whispered in his ear. "You make me believe I can do anything.” He held her tightly for another moment. She turned back to her father. “I’ll do whatever I have to. I want this over and done with. Just let me know when you need me to come to the police station to identify him."
∞∞∞
Two days later, Brinn stood in a tiny square room behind a one-way mirror, flanked by the prosecuting attorney and a female, plainclothes detective named Walker. Sweat trickled down her temple and her spine felt like a rigid pole. Her limbs shook and her throat dried up instantly as six men were marched into the room, handcuffed and in single file. Brinn recognized the man almost immediately, but the force of her recognition hit her square in the stomach when he faced forward and stared with those cold, empty, dark eyes straight through the glass at her. All the other faces in the lineup disappeared. Brinn clutched the table for support.
"Do you recognize any of these men?" It was Karen Sutton, the Assistant D.A. from her father’s office, asking the question. The woman’s voice sounded distant.
"He can’t see me, can he?" Brinn glared through the glass. He was older but had the same wiry frame and narrow face that she remembered. A sick pain thundered through her flesh, reminding her of the nightmares she'd had for years. Stockman’s face suspended, immortal in the recesses of her mind, affirming that even sleep was no escape.
Her nights were tormented more than ever by dreams and memories. Now, her worst nightmare was standing no more than ten feet away. The bile that rose in her throat burned. He knew she was there behind the mirror. She could see it in his eyes—that confident, cruel look that sent a wave of terror through her chest.
"He absolutely cannot see you, Brinn." The detective reassured. The woman wrapped an arm around her shoulders, supporting her as her limbs wobbled and threatened to give way.
“He knows that I’m here. I can feel it.”
“Which one is he?”
Brinn raised her hand and pointed a shaky finger. "That's him, the third one in.” Her breath came in shallow gulps. “He’s the man who took me."
"You’re absolutely certain?" Karen asked.
"Yes."
"Okay, Brinn. We have your statement and you’ll have the opportunity to testify when he goes to trial. Someone will contact you when we have more details." Detective Walker led her out and down a hallway, followed closely by the tall blonde attorney who was already making conversation with someone on her cell phone.
In spite of the voices around her, Brinn was distracted by a stabbing shot of needles that pricked her spine. She looked over her shoulder. The men from the lineup were filing down the hall in the opposite direction and as he came out of the room, Roy Stockman looked down the narrow corridor, met her eyes, and let a wide, evil grin cross his face, a facade of charm showing even from a distance. He mouthed the words, but Brinn heard it as if he had whispered in her ear. "I will find you. I promise."
Chapter 29
Bad Dreams and Lullabies
Brinn woke screaming into the darkness, her body rigid with terror. The light flicked on and her mother was at her side before she could register where she was or what was happening. Every cell in her body seized with the dread that consumed her. Uncontrollable sobs broke the surface.
“Shhh. It’s all right, Brinn. I’m here, Angel.” Her mother held her, rocked back and forth, and whispered assurances.
“Will it ever stop?” Brinn sobbed, her limbs aching and her stomach clenched so tight she could barely breathe.
“Tell me what you were dreaming.” Brinn rocked in her mother’s arms, a slow and soothing rhythm. Warmth wrapped around her like a comforting blanket.
&nbs
p; “I-I-I can’t.” The words shuddered and shook as she sniffled.
“Letting it out is the only way to make it stop. You can’t keep it all bottled up.”
If only it were that simple. Just let it out in words and have all the pain and torment disappear from her mind. She wished her mother was right, but Brinn wondered if she would ever be free of the sense of loss she felt or the paralyzing fear that gripped her in the night. How could she make anyone understand?
“Sweetie, I know it’s hard, but you need to talk about it. Trust me, please. I think it will help.” Shimmering blue eyes looked down into her face, confident and strong.
Her mother was a doctor, a healer, someone she respected. Maybe she was right. Talking about it might bring the horrible memories to the surface enough that they could escape the confines of her dreams.
“I’ll try.” She sat up straighter, pulling away from her mother’s embrace but unable to make eye contact as she focused on the remnants of the nightmare she’d just escaped. “I was in a barn. It was cold and damp and smelled of...blood and...death.” A cold numbness seeped into her bones as she recalled the memory. “I tried to run away, but he caught me. He dragged me by the arm into the barn. He hurt my shoulder and his grip on my wrist felt like he was crushing the bones.”
She rubbed her shoulder and then her wrist. Her heart pounded and sweat beaded on her forehead, the sensations coming to life as she spoke the words. The room disappeared and she saw herself as a young girl, the event as clear as it had been in her dream.
