Chase suddenly pulled away from him and sat upright in her chair.
“You’re a liar,” she gasped. “You’re a goddamn liar… I was never taken captive. I ran, and they took Georgina. I got away.”
Stitts shook his head.
“The man took Georgina, that’s true. But he also took you, Chase.”
Chase started to stand and Stitts did his best to keep her seated. Eventually, however, she overpowered him and managed to get to her feet.
“It’s a lie… tell me you’re lying.”
There were tears in her eyes now, tears that quickly welled over and spilled down her cheeks.
“Your parents agreed to what my dad proposed, and they also agreed to move away after they’d given up hope of finding your sister. It was important to get you away from the people in the neighborhood who didn’t understand what had happened — how one day you were taken and held captive, and the next you’d run away. They thought it best to bring you up as far away from the incident as possible.”
Chase was trembling again, but not just her hands this time; her entire body was quaking. Stitts also felt a shiver shoot up and down his spine.
“No… this isn’t true. Why are you doing this, Stitts? Why are you telling me these lies?”
Her legs buckled and Stitts reached out to offer support. Fearing that he was losing her, that she’d lost touch with reality, Stitts did the only thing that he could think of at that moment. He let everything come out.
The entire truth was always better than half truths, he surmised. Even lies were better than half truths.
“Remember what you told me about Louisa? About what you saw being a memory and not a vision? Well, that’s because it was a memory. I don’t know Louisa, I don’t know if she was one of the girls that went missing, but she could have been there. She might have even been the one who gave you the plate to dig your way out of the cell. Based on what you told the police the first time around, we know that you dug your way out. We know that you used a silver plate to scoop dirt and—”
“You’re a liar!” Chase shouted this time.
“No, Chase. I lied to you before, but this… this is the truth. I think that… I think it’s best if we leave Nashville. We should go to see Dr. Matteo together and—”
A glint of light suddenly flashed in his periphery, which was the last thing that Stitts saw before the whiskey glass collided with the side of his head and he went down.
“You lied to me, Stitts. You lied to me then, and you lied to me now,” he heard Chase say before the velvety embrace of unconsciousness took him.
Chapter 40
“Chase? Are you okay?” somebody asked, but Chase didn’t acknowledge the voice, let alone see who was speaking.
She stumbled down the hallway of TBI headquarters, barely registering several other people who asked if she was alright.
Before she knew it, Chase was at the front doors, and a moment after that she found herself hurrying across the parking lot to her BMW. It took her seven or eight tries to unlock the doors using the key dongle, and then a half dozen tries to start the vehicle even though all she needed to do was push a single button.
She didn’t know what was real anymore. Chase didn’t know if what Stitts was telling her about his father and about how they had impressioned her memories back then were real, she didn’t know if what she’d seen when she touched Louisa’s arm was real. Hell, she didn’t even know if what was happening now was real.
For all Chase knew, she’d died back in the trap house with Tyler Tisdale, overdosed on heroin, and this was her purgatory. There was nothing worse, she concluded, than not being able to tell what was real, what actually happened back 30 years ago at the Williamson County fair — what happened to her, but more importantly, what happened to Georgina.
Backing out of the parking lot, Chase collided with a sedan and shattered her rear taillight. A car alarm sounded, but she barely noticed.
Chase peeled onto the road without looking back.
With no destination in mind, Chase floored it, taking her BMW up to 80 on residential streets, a dirt road, then eventually the highway, where she touched 100.
Chase recalled something that Mike Hartman had said then, something about how he could tell that she’d contemplated suicide. That she’d either intentionally popped too many sleeping pills or had driven on a dark road at night taking her hands off the wheel.
She tried something akin to the former, and now she was up for the latter.
Chase shut her eyes and pressed the pedal to the floor, relishing the feeling of the vibrating steering as the engine kicked into overdrive. Then she took her hands off the wheel.
The BMW had driver assist technology, but she didn’t like it and rarely drove with it on.
As the car picked up speed, Chase’s back pressed against her seat. As she pulled her hands away from the wheel, a single thought ran through her mind.
This isn’t real… none of this is real.
The car started to shake violently as the right tire ran over the rumble strips, but Chase did nothing. She would have let it drift all the way off the road and into a tree down an embankment if it hadn’t been for the horn.
The blast was so loud that it pierced her skull and echoed through the afternoon.
Chase’s eyes shot open. No matter how badly she wanted to kill herself, she was unwilling to take any innocent victims with her.
Her hands immediately went to the wheel and she swerved just before she smashed into a guard rail. The loose gravel shoulder caused the BMW’s front end to spin out, sending her into a 180. The car traveled all the way across to the other side of the road and smashed into the opposing guard rail. It struck the passenger door so hard that the car lifted several feet in the air before coming back down with a metallic crunch. Chase’s spine compacted, and all the air was forced from her lungs.
Gasping, trying to coax her diaphragm into relaxing, Chase struggled to open the door. Somehow, she managed, but she only fell halfway out of the car. She tried to unbuckle her seatbelt, but her hand was shaking too badly to work the buckle. Squinting into the bright light, Chase tried to glimpse the other car, hoping that they hadn’t swerved around her and gone over the other side.
But she was blinded by the bright sunlight and could only see a few feet in front of her.
That is until a shadow crossed in front of her.
“Help,” she managed to croak. “I’m FBI, help me.”
The shadow was being cast by a man and when he crouched down so that his face was level with hers, she realized that he was smiling.
And that he was sporting a pair of oversized aviator sunglasses.
“Well, fancy seeing you here. You know, it’s a hot one out and it doesn’t look like the AC in your car is in good working order. How would you feel about taking a ride in my van?”
Chase swallowed hard and then let her eyes slowly close.
This isn’t real… none of this is real.
PART III – My Fair Maiden
PRESENT DAY
Chapter 41
“This isn’t real,” Chase muttered, vomit drying on her chin.
The man at the end of the table, the man who had been sporting the aviator sunglasses all those years ago, the same one who’d pulled Chase from her BMW, chuckled.
He was older now and his hair was gray instead of brown, but it was him. Of this, Chase was certain.
Only it wasn’t. Because it wasn’t real.
“I can assure you that this very real,” the man said, gesturing at the other guests at the table.
As if in a dream, Chase slowly looked around. She was at one end of the table, with the grinning man at the other. On her right side were four chairs, each one of them occupied by young girls that she recognized: Stacy Peterson, Becky Thompson, Tracy Weinberg, and Stephanie McMahon.
They didn’t so much as cast a glance in her direction; they kept their heads bowed and only spoke when the man addressed them. If it
weren’t for these rare occasions, Chase might have thought them dolls. Even Stacy Peterson, who was only three days — or was it four now? — removed from her family was as still as a wax statue.
This isn’t real.
Then, in unison, the girls animated, picking up their napkins and unfolding them on their laps.
Chase turned her head to the other side of the table, at the four empty chairs across from the girls. They might be empty now, but there was a place setting in front of each, a clear indication that this wouldn’t be the case for long.
“Imagine my surprise to see you back here after all these years. I mean, you were only one of two who ever got away,” he said with a grin then split his wide face in two. “Serendipity — the circle of life.”
The man had small, almost sinister teeth, which reinforced Chase’s notion that she was indeed dreaming.
Without warning, he suddenly clapped his meaty hands together, a sound that jarred Chase and reignited her throbbing headache.
A few seconds later, four new ladies entered the room, only they were much older than those already seated. All of them wore long flowing white dresses that ran to the floor, and they shuffled their feet as they walked.
Like the girls, their heads were also hung low.
Chase’s brow furrowed, and she was drawn back to the CCTV footage from the grocery store. As if on cue, one of the women glanced up and Chase instantly recognized her.
Little Kim Bernard, she thought. That’s little Kim Bernard.
“Welcome, ladies, it’s a pleasure to have you join us. Please, meet our newest guest,” the man said. But before the women turned their attention to Chase, someone else came through the wooden door behind the man in charge.
With all that had happened in this dream world already, Chase was hardly surprised that she recognized this man, too; it was the man who had served her and Georgina their snow cones that day, all those years ago. The one who Chase thought suspicious as he trampled on Mr. Robin-Graff’s flannel shirt that he never went anywhere without.
Cradled in the man’s arms was a giant casserole dish, steam emanating from the top. Kraft Dinner, by the looks of it. Even though the smell wasn’t entirely unappealing, it curdled Chase’s stomach, nonetheless.
“I think you’ve already met my brother Tim, haven’t you?”
Chase nodded.
As the door started to swing closed, a tiny hand shoved it open for a third time.
The girl from the video entered next, skipping across the dirt floor.
Movement out of the corner of her eye drew Chase’s gaze. One of the ladies in the white dresses rose from the table and pointed a finger at the girl.
“Georgina! Stay in the kitchen!”
The girl pouted and kicked at the dirt, but reluctantly returned the way she’d come.
Then, for a fleeting moment, the woman who’d given the order glanced over at Chase.
Their eyes only met for a fraction of a second, but that was enough. That was more than enough.
Seeing her sister’s face after more than 30 years caused Chase’s mind to break.
Chapter 42
“I’ve managed to put together a preliminary profile of the man we’re looking for,” Stitts began. Every time his jaw moved, pain shot up to the wound on his temple, making it difficult for him to keep his train of thought. “First off, we are almost certainly dealing with a male assailant or assailants. In cases of missing or abducted children that weren’t taken by one of the parents, the unsub is nearly always a male. In the rare case that a female is involved, she typically works in concert with a male counterpart — a husband, brother, or father. Something like that. Considering that four girls were taken at roughly the same time, it is highly likely that we are dealing with not one, but two individuals. These two men will have opposite personalities: one will be the alpha, the other subservient. Moreover, given the ages of the girls, the men we are looking for are either physically imposing or hold a respected position of power — think policeman, doctor, that sort of thing. With two unsubs, it is likely that each fills one of these roles. At least one of the unsubs will be physically fit.”
His mind flashed back to Chase’s story about the man in the van and the fact that she’d run but had subsequently been caught.
I’m sorry Chase… I should have never lied to you.
Stitts shook his head and surveyed his audience. They were staring at him intently enough, but few seemed to actually be taking notes. Most likely, Detective Mayberry had already told everyone what had happened, that his partner had brained him with a whiskey glass, but Stitts didn’t care.
He only gave a shit about two things at that moment: finding the girls and finding Chase. It had been a good four hours since he’d heard from his partner, and on his many attempts to reach her, Chase’s phone had gone directly to voicemail.
One of the TBI Agents raised a hand and Stitts nodded at him.
“Are these guys pedophiles? Aren’t these guys always pedophiles?”
Stitts shook his head.
“We rarely see prolonged captivity with pedophiles; they are timid at first, and often murder the child before they perform any molestation for fear getting caught. If they don’t get caught after the first abduction, they’ll become more confident. It is not uncommon for them to hold their third or fourth or subsequent victims captive, but never for more than a few days. Another thing to note is that pedophiles typically leave their victim’s bodies in plain sight, almost as if they want to be caught. So far, none of our girls have turned up.”
The agent nodded and Stitts was about to continue his profile when the man spoke up again.
“What if… shit, I don’t wanna sound cruel, but is it possible that these girls are already dead? I mean, if these guys aren’t pedophiles, maybe they just hid the bodies and we haven’t found them yet?”
Stitts felt Terrence tense beside him, but he eased the man by waving a hand.
“It’s possible, particularly given the fact that there’s been no claim on the reward offered by the Peterson’s and no one has reached out with ransom demands. But in these cases, it’s rare for the unsubs to travel more than a hundred miles from the scene of their crimes. He or they usually either live in the area or have some link to it. It’s their comfort zone. So, while it’s possible that the bodies have been dumped, I doubt it. Given the sheer volume of law enforcement manpower that has been deployed, somebody would have come across one of the victims already if that were the case.”
Terrence stepped forward, a scowl on his face.
“We are going forward on the assumption that these girls are alive and that we are going to get them home safely to their families,” Terrence said, glaring at the Agent who’d asked the questions. “Which brings us to our next point. Darren has used an algorithm to determine the most likely location the unsubs reside, based on the different abduction sites.” Terrence nodded at his tech guy. “Darren, if you please.”
Darren stepped forward, dimmed the lights, and then clicked something on his computer.
“Please direct your attention to the Smartboard at the front of the room,” he instructed. “Here, as you probably recognize, is a map of the boroughs neighboring of Nashville. You can see Franklin, Paytonsville, Kingston Springs, all the way to Berry Hill. Now,” Darren clicked his mouse and several circular shadows appeared on the map, “these darker areas are the regions where the children were taken from. And now…”
A hushed silence fell over the room as a fifth element appeared on screen. It wasn’t a gray shadow this time, but a crimson dot smack dab in the middle of Kingsfield County.
“Based on the algorithm’s calculations,” Darren continued, “this is where our unsubs live.”
Chapter 43
“Georgina!” Chase screamed. Or at least that’s what she intended to do. Only she wasn’t certain that the word actually made it out of her mouth; her throat was suddenly so tight it felt as if there was a ligature wrapping aro
und it, encircling it.
Constricting her breathing.
Her sister was one of the maidens, one of the women in the flowing white dresses. She still had her orange hair, only the color was muted now, and her curls were cropped close to her head. The vibrancy of Georgina’s blue eyes was still evident, but the freckles that used to speckle the bridge of her upturned nose were nearly indistinguishable from her tanned skin.
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