The Amateurs: Last Seen

by Sara Shepard

  Seneca shut her eyes. “I’m so, so sorry. We’re looking for a woman who kidnapped a child—just one child—from Upstate New York. We thought it might be you.”

  “I didn’t kidnap any of them,” the woman pleaded. All three kids watched them with big, scared eyes. “If Gerald’s telling you that, he’s lying.”

  “We don’t even know Gerald, we swear,” Maddox explained. “This was all a horrible case of mistaken identity. Gerald doesn’t know you’re here. We promise.”

  “And we won’t tell a soul you’re here,” Madison piped up.

  The woman studied them suspiciously, still clinging protectively to her kids. They were clearly all one another had. “For real?” she asked after a beat.

  “For real,” Seneca said. “Honest.”

  “We get it,” Maddox said gently. “You’re just protecting them. I’m guessing Gerald kept saying he was going to change, but he just kept doing the same things, over and over.”

  The woman’s eyes were bloodshot, full of fury and shame. She didn’t confirm what Maddox said, but she didn’t deny it, either.

  “Some people are just evil through and through.” Maddox’s voice quivered. “They will always be bad. They will always do bad things. Of course you had to leave.” He looked around. “This place is safe, as far as we know. No one is going to hurt you.”

  Seneca watched Maddox, proud at how wise he sounded. The woman’s throat bobbed as she swallowed. Saying nothing more, she grabbed her children’s hands and pushed them through the screen door. “Get out of here. If I see you here in two minutes, I’m calling the cops.”

  They jogged down the driveway. Once on the road, Seneca suddenly broke down, letting out the terrified tears she’d been holding in. Maddox grabbed her and hugged her tight, and then Madison piled on, too. Never had she felt so close to death as what she’d just been through—and considering their run-ins with Brett, that was saying a lot. No one said anything for a long while.

  Maybe this was getting too intense, just like Maddox said. And even worse, they’d followed a false lead. They’d found a scared, sad woman and her son who were obviously running from an abuser … not Sadie Sage.

  After a while, Maddox cleared his throat and checked his watch. “Unless we want to sleep on the beach, we need to get back. The last ferry leaves in a half hour.”

  The bell was ringing for the ferry when they reached the dock, and they had to rush to the gangplank before the boat pulled away. Once they were on board, Seneca fidgeted awkwardly, needing something to do with all of her excess energy. They’d wasted a whole afternoon on this island. They only had a few more days to figure this out, and they were no closer to reaching the answer. Every time they advanced, the target shifted, and suddenly they were far away again.

  She reached to check her phone for a response from Viola, until she remembered there was no cell service here. Who could live in such a place? Then she pulled out the old ticket book they’d found in Sadie Sage’s basement and glared at it. Was this even a clue? Maybe Sadie had just come here to do some sightseeing. Maybe she was into whale-watching tours or whatever.

  The boat rocked back and forth as it pulled away from the shore. Overhead, the clouds were getting even darker, threatening rain. The tickets made a riffling sound as Seneca flipped through them. “Where’d you find those?” a voice said above her. “A flea market?”

  The conductor stopped at their seats. It was the same man from the ticket booth, and he smiled with recognition. “Sorry?” she asked.

  He pointed at the ticket book. “We haven’t used old-school punch books since 2005. Everything’s digital now.” He stared at the ticket book fondly. “There wasn’t much of anything on the island back then. It’s only gotten touristy in the past seven or eight years.” And then he moved to the next customers, two tourists wearing fanny packs speaking another language.

  Seneca turned to Maddox. “I guess that means that if Sadie came here using that ticket book, it was prior to 2005.”

  “Yeah.” Maddox made a face. “A zillion years ago. And I don’t want to imagine what this place was like before it was touristy.”

  As the boat rocked and creaked, this new piece to the puzzle vibrated inside Seneca. Why was Sadie visiting an island before there were any tourist attractions? Did she know someone here? Or maybe she had lived here, long ago? But how would they find out if that was true? After all, she wouldn’t have gone by Sadie Sage. She would have been someone else.

  Something pinged in her mind. She looked at the group. “Sadie Sage used this ticket book almost fifteen years ago, back before she changed her identity. We haven’t really thought about why she changed her identity, though. Maybe we should.”

  Madison shaped her hair into a ponytail. “People change their identities for all sorts of reasons. I bet that woman we just met changed her name so she could get away from Gerald.”

  “Yeah, but come on.” Seneca held on to the rail to brace against a particularly bumpy wave. “An abused woman doesn’t turn into a kidnapper. Sadie’s like Brett. Isn’t is more likely that she changed her identity to escape something bad that she’d done?”

  Maddox nodded. “Yeah. I would think so, actually.”

  “So let’s assume in her past life, she was doing bad things. Maybe she was doing some of those things here.”

  “Okay …”

  Water droplets splashed the side of Seneca’s cheek. She pulled the sleeves of her hoodie over her hands and shivered. The words Maddox had spoken swirled in her mind: I’m guessing Gerald kept saying he was going to change, but he just kept doing the same things, over and over. It had struck her, reminded her of something she’d heard before. Suddenly, she knew why: In the hospital, Chelsea had said that when the news story broke about Gabriel Wilton being a person of interest, Brett was barely fazed. Maybe this wasn’t the first time he’d done this, Chelsea said.

  Old habits died hard. What if Sadie Sage was in a toxic rut, too?

  Goose bumps rose on Seneca’s arms. “Maybe Damien isn’t Sadie’s first victim.”

  Maddox blinked. “You think?”

  “It could fit. It could be why she changed her name a few years ago. It also could be why she was able to steal Damien without a trace—she’s good at it. She’s done it before.”

  “But how does that connect to Tallyho Island?” Madison asked. “Why did she come here? What was in it for her? Does it connect at all?”

  Maddox scrunched up his nose. “Could she have taken a kid from here? The girl in the ice cream shop said that more kids did live here once. …”

  Seneca nodded gravely. “Bingo.”

  But Maddox just shrugged. “That’s interesting, but it doesn’t help us find Sadie now.”

  “We don’t know that.” Seneca stared down at the dark, rippling water. “Another kidnapping could give us some information on Sadie’s patterns. It’s interesting that she saved the ticket book. Maybe she’s holding on to old mementos of past crimes. That picture of those other kids could be a memento, too.”

  Seneca had never been so thrilled to get a cell signal when the boat pulled into shore. After quickly checking if Viola had written—nope, and nothing from RedBird, either—she typed Kidnappings, Tallyho Island into Google. The search page loaded, and an article caught her eye.

  She let out a weak cry. “Here. A boy was kidnapped off the island in 2002.”

  Maddox leaned over the screen. “Jackson Jones, age nine, went missing from his home on Tallyho Island, New York, on June 5, 2002,” he read.

  Seneca stopped in her tracks. “Wait. Jackson?”

  Maddox looked confused. “What’s significant about Jackson?”

  The passengers behind her nudged Seneca to keep walking down the gangplank, but her legs felt wooden. Her heart was pounding, and her head felt scrambled. She took a breath. “Remember that shack in Jersey we thought Brett was hiding Chelsea in? The one Aerin and Thomas went to, though it ended up being a dead end?”

  �
��Yeah …” Maddox narrowed his eyes.

  “Aerin found a paper crane there. It had the name Jackson on the bottom.”

  “Meaning …?” Madison sounded spooked.

  “I don’t know,” Seneca said quietly. With shaking hands, she consulted Google again. Jackson Jones, she typed into the search box. Kidnapped boy, Tallyho Island, 2002.

  Slightly different hits popped up. Seneca clicked on the first one. Jackson Jones had been nine years old when it happened. He had lived all his life on Tallyho Island. It was suspected that a woman named Elizabeth Ivy kidnapped him. She’d been his piano teacher—Jackson had traveled to see her on the mainland for a lesson and had never come back.

  Piano, just like Damien. And he looked a lot like Damien: In a picture, he had similar brown hair, the same sort of nondescript features, round, Harry Potter glasses, and an impish but unremarkable smile. In fact, he looked like that boy in the photo they’d found in Sadie’s basement. The one that looked like Damien … but also didn’t.

  Hands shaking, Madison pointed to a line at the bottom of the story. “Look at Jackson’s middle name.”

  Seneca looked at her phone. But even a split second before her eyes took in the name, she knew what it was going to be. The photograph they’d found in Sadie’s basement sizzled in her brain. She pictured that young, scrappy-looking boy, the generic smile on his face. When she aged those features forward, when she took a few mental leaps, the answer was right there.

  Brett.

  She grabbed her phone and dialed the scrambled number at the top of her call list.

  “Your real name is Jackson Brett Jones,” Seneca whispered when Brett answered. “Sadie Sage kidnapped you, too.”

  FIFTEEN

  BRETT HAD BEEN expecting the call—once Seneca had zeroed in on Tallyho Island, the pieces were going to fall into place. She was a smart girl. And thanks to the internet, all the info was there for anyone to find.

  But it still was hard to hear her throw his past back in his face. Sure, he wanted this group to know who he really was—this was part of the plan, and he’d wanted them to get at the truth versus just vomiting it up from the start. But it was also unnerving. For as long as he could remember, he always controlled his identity, shifted his story. Never before had he had to tell what was real.

  “Yes,” he said after a pause. “I’m Jackson Brett Jones. You get an A-plus, Seneca. A gold star.”

  “You grew up on Tallyho Island. You knew Sadie Sage. She taught you piano. And then she took you. This is why you want us to solve Damien’s case. His kidnapper is your kidnapper.”

  “Except she didn’t go by Sadie back then,” Brett muttered. “She went by Elizabeth Ivy. Didn’t you read the story?”

  “Was that your paper crane we found in that shack in Jersey?” Maddox burst in. “The one that said Jackson on the bottom? Is that where she was holding you?”

  Brett laughed. “Oh, no. I planted the crane there. Just as a funny little inside joke with myself. I gave a crane to Helena, too.” He chuckled to himself. “Remember that one? It said Hi on it?” He could hear Seneca sucking in a breath. “I literally meant Hi, but all of you thought it stood for Harris Ingram. It was a smart deduction, though. I wasn’t going to burst your bubble—and besides, it led to Harris’s arrest.”

  “But you planted that Jackson crane deliberately,” Seneca said. “You wanted us to figure this out.”

  Brett leaned his head against the wall. “Sure. We’re friends, aren’t we? And friends tell other friends about their pasts.”

  There was a long pause. Brett could tell everyone was taking in what he’d said. It was kind of mind-blowing, if you thought about it. He felt proud that he’d been able to keep such a secret, and he also felt kind of proud of them for figuring it out.

  “Sadie was keeping a picture of you in her house, too,” Seneca added. “We found it with the Tallyho tickets.”

  “Huh,” Brett said blandly, though in truth it made his skin crawl to think she still had a picture of him in her possession. When had she even taken a picture? He didn’t remember any cameras. Then again, he’d suppressed so much from that time. …

  “How long did she keep you?” Maddox asked after a beat.

  “Six years.” It was so chilling to say it out loud. He’d never told a soul. “From when I was nine to when I was fifteen and could finally overpower her.”

  “God,” Maddox murmured. His voice cracked a little. “That … sucks.”

  “Yeah, well.” Brett paced up and down the hall. “We all can’t have picture-perfect lives.”

  “No one deserves that, though. How did it happen? Do you remember? Because if it were me, I would have blocked that out.”

  The memories buzzed around Brett like flies circling a rancid piece of meat. He hadn’t planned on telling them more than the basics, but Maddox was being so cool about it, like he actually cared. “We were buddies. She gave me piano lessons, sometimes on the island, sometimes at her studio on the mainland. My parents thought she was great—I was homeschooled, so I didn’t get a lot of interaction with people, and they were happy I’d made a connection. Then, one afternoon, she said she would take me to a Harry Potter convention in the city. I was obsessed with the books. But on the way, she turned on me. Said my parents didn’t want me anymore. Said they were putting me into foster care.” He swallowed. “I freaked out. And she goes, They say you’re a terrible, worthless drain. She said that unless I went with her, I was going to be turned over to the state and sent to live with people I didn’t know.”

  “There’s no way that would have happened,” Seneca pointed out.

  Brett breathed forcefully through his nose. “I was nine years old. How was I supposed to know that? So I got in her car. And that was the end of my life.”

  “Where did you go?” Maddox asked.

  Brett stared out the window at the squirrels in the tree in the front yard. They were flitting around one another strangely, almost like they were getting ready to have sex. “This house near the ocean. I was never allowed to go out. Never. Or, well, sometimes she put me in the shed behind the house. But I was locked in.” The words were coming out in a gush, like blood. “The first time she shut me in there was a few months into my time with her. I’d tried to escape. I’d slipped out the front door when she was taking out the trash, and two doors down I saw a car in the driveway. I banged on the door, and this woman opened it, holding a little girl. I told her what was happening. I was crying so hard and I couldn’t get my words out straight. I figured she’d call the police right then and there, but guess what she did instead?”

  “What?” Seneca said breathlessly.

  Brett cackled joylessly. “She walked me back home. Apparently Elizabeth had introduced herself to this woman already. Charmed her. Said she had a son who had behavioral issues—me. Elizabeth grabbed my arm tightly. She was so thankful to the woman for returning me. The two of them were just hugging and being sweet to one another, and meanwhile, I was like, You have got to be fucking kidding me. And then, of course, the moment that woman left, Elizabeth tossed me into the shed. For days. With only water. Do you know how demoralizing that is?”

  “God,” Maddox murmured.

  “Why didn’t you scream for help?” Seneca asked.

  “I didn’t think that would do any good. Elizabeth had already woven a tale that I was a troubled kid. People would probably just think I was having a meltdown.”

  “But how did this woman that walked you home not recognize you or Elizabeth from the news?” Seneca cried.

  Brett sniffed. “Elizabeth changed her hair color, lost some weight. As for me …” He trailed off. He’d asked himself that question so many times. “She shaved my head. I lost weight, too. I didn’t think I looked that different, but people only see what they want to see. This woman down the street wanted to trust that Elizabeth was a good mommy. She didn’t want to believe that anything could go wrong in a happy little beach town.”

  He was bre
athing hard now, his head swimming, his heart pounding. Just telling the story made him feel like he was back there in that beach shed, quivering with fear, begging that bitch to let him out. And just talking to the group in particular, unsettling as it was, felt right. There were so many parts of this story, so many separate, angry vendettas he waged, but they were all beginning to congeal, forming a neat, perfect little endgame. They had to know this for his game to continue.

  “How much longer was it until you escaped?” Maddox asked.

  Brett blinked, regained his composure, and let a few seconds of reverent, expectant silence pass. Once he got over the fact that he was regurgitating the shittiest moments in his life, this was really something. They didn’t even care about Aerin in this moment. They were solely focused on him. It felt like they cared about him again. How carefully they were listening! How captivated they were! They wanted to drink him up like a sugary soda, needing more and more and more, and that gave him renewed strength.

  He took a breath. “Years. I had to get strong enough to overtake her.”

  “Why didn’t you go to the cops after you escaped?” Seneca asked. “There aren’t any stories about the kidnapping having a happy ending. Just that you disappeared.”

  “When I did finally escape, I went back to my house on the island … only to find out my parents were both dead. I didn’t get to say good-bye to them. What were the cops going to do about that? How were they going to help me?”

  “What about your sister?” Seneca asked. “Where was she when all this happened?”

  “Who?”

  “Viola,” Seneca said. “We know you have a sister, Brett. So where was she?”

  Brett felt another shiver of the past and the present meshing together in ways he didn’t like. “Let’s leave Viola out of this.”

  Seneca made a noise under her breath like she didn’t appreciate that answer, but then she pressed on. “You could have told the police about Elizabeth, though. You could have given them information to catch her. Unless you didn’t want them to catch her. Is that it? You wanted to catch her yourself ?”