Amber Alert

by Patrick Logan

  But it was her sister. Chase knew this like she knew her own reflection.

  “Georgina…”

  This time Chase was fairly certain that the word had come out. It wasn’t the exalted exclamation she’d hoped for — it was more of a croak, really — but she had spoken the name.

  Only her sister didn’t turn to face her; instead, it was the little girl who’d entered from the kitchen who looked at her curiously. She was the girl from the video and she was Georgina; only she wasn’t Chase’s Georgina.

  Confusion washed over the faces of the four maidens, and they glanced at each other, eyebrows raised. One of them even mumbled something, but Chase couldn’t make out the words. The young girls to Chase’s right also exchanged looks, but they knew better than to speak out.

  The only person who didn’t look confused was the man at the head of the table.

  And he was still smiling.

  “I think you’ve made some sort of mistake — maybe you bumped your head in that little accident there,” he said in his booming voice. “That’s not Georgina, that’s Riley. That,” he hooked a thumb over his shoulder past the skinny man from the snow cone truck — Tim, he called him, Tim. Said he was his brother — to the girl who was heading back through the door, “is Georgina.”

  Chase closed her eyes, trying to stave off more nausea. When the feeling passed and a few seconds later she opened them again, the only thing from the scene before her that had changed was the giant bowl of pasta: it was now in the center of the table. Tim now stood behind the much larger man, his thin arms crossed over his chest. He was tall and lean, with a gaunt-like face that Chase would’ve typically associated with long-term intravenous drug use.

  “No,” Chase moaned. She tried to stand, but her legs were too weak to hold her weight. “That’s Georgina — that’s my sister.”

  All four of the women in the white dresses turned to face Chase now, but her attention was locked on just one.

  “Georgina, it’s me… it’s Chase.”

  The woman blinked her blue eyes and Chase waited for recognition to wash over her features.

  It’ll just take a moment, she thought, trying to calm herself. It’s been so long that it’ll just take a moment for her to remember.

  Any second now, Chase expected Georgina’s eyes to go wide, for her to shout, ‘Oh my god, Chase. I knew you’d come for me, I knew you’d never give up. Thank you, thank you, thank you…’

  But her sister never uttered these words. In fact, her sister didn’t do much of anything; she just stared blankly at Chase.

  Tears were streaming down Chase’s dirt-streaked cheeks now.

  “Georgina, I’m your sister. How can you not remember me?”

  The woman simply continued to stare.

  “It’s okay, Riley, you can answer,” the man at the head of the table instructed.

  With this encouragement, the woman finally opened her mouth.

  “I’m sorry, but the only sisters I have are these women beside me. And my name isn’t Georgina, it’s Riley. I don’t know who you think I am, but I’ve never seen you before my life.”

  Chapter 44

  Kingsfield, Tennessee had a recorded population of roughly 36,000, but when FBI Special Agent Jeremy Stitts arrived, he guessed that number to be a massively inflated. A mostly rural town, sandwiched between Highway 100 in the north and Highway 46 in the South, the majority of Kingsfield appeared to be comprised of trees and brush.

  It was the perfect place for someone to live or hide out if they were harboring four missing girls.

  Stitts was amazed at how flawlessly Terrence coordinated the TBI, Nashville PD, Tennessee State Troopers, and multiple local law enforcement units from the surrounding districts into one cohesive unit. In fact, he was more than amazed; Stitts was awestruck. In his experience, just combining two of these elements was a recipe for disaster. It was like trying to pick your nose using someone else’s hand — it was just uncoordinated and didn’t work.

  But Tennessee was a different animal from New York and even Virginia. But it appeared that Terrence was also unique from the other men that Stitts had worked with in the past. Within an hour of Darren the tech guy identifying Kingsfield as the most probable location of the usubs, the entire area of approximately 20 square miles was broken up into four quadrants: one for the TBI, one for the state troopers, one for local law enforcement, and one for Nashville PD.

  Terrence gave everyone strict instructions not to touch anything they found, but to keep their eyes open for items that the girls were wearing at the time of their disappearance. They were to approach any cabins or hunting lodges that they came across with extreme prejudice, and under no circumstances were they to approach or enter without contacting Terrence first.

  As he listened, Stitts reached down and slipped his phone from his pocket and checked the call log.

  He’d called Chase half a dozen times already, but she hadn’t answered or returned his messages.

  “Still no word?” Terrence asked, taking a break from debriefing the units.

  Stitts shook his head.

  “She just needs to blow off some steam,” he said. “She’ll be all right.”

  I hope.

  The truth was, given Chase’s track record, Stitts was more than worried. He was terrified of what she might do to herself.

  I should have told her… I should have told from the very beginning…

  Terrence turned back to the unit leaders who had taken up residence beneath the hastily erected command tent as Stitts pulled out a cigarette and lit up.

  “You are to assign your members into teams of two — each team will get one walkie-talkie. They will be required to check in with,” Terrence turned to a lady that Stitts recognize from the TBI headquarters who had taken up residence behind the desk. “Mrs. Ross every half hour. If anyone notices anything suspicious, they are to contact Mrs. Ross immediately and hold position. Does everyone understand?”

  There were several affirmative grumbles and nods.

  “Good. Then set your teams and let’s get out there.”

  When no one moved, Terrence clapped his hands loudly together.

  “Let’s get moving!” he hollered. “Let’s find those girls!”

  The men scrambled to grab their walkie-talkies and confirm their coordinates with Mrs. Ross. Within five minutes, all unit leaders had cleared out of the command tent.

  When they were alone, Terrence turned to Stitts.

  “I guess you’re the lucky one who’s paired up with me. Come here, let me show you something.”

  Stitts followed Terrence over to the map. The man looked at it for a moment before plopping his index finger on a specific area.

  “What’s this?” Stitts asked.

  “An abandoned farmhouse, more than 100 years old. That’s where you and I are going. Are you armed?”

  Stitts wiped the sweat from his brow and looked up at the sun. It was nearly evening, but it was still sweltering out. Then he teased back his sports coat to reveal the butt of his service revolver. Terrence looked at him nodded.

  “Good. Now butt out and take off the damn jacket. We’re going for a hike.”

  Chapter 45

  “No!” Chase screamed. “No!”

  Her shout was so loud that nearly everybody at the table jumped; everybody, except for the man at the end.

  “Tell her again,” he instructed.

  Chase’s eyes darted to the women at the table, all of whom save Georgina had their heads bowed and their hands neatly folded on their laps.

  Georgina was still staring at her and Chase held out a scintilla of hope that it would all come flooding back to her sister. That she would remember the Williamson County Fair when the man pulled up in the van and offered them a ride. The man who grabbed Georgina, while Chase had run—

  —and screamed for her mommy, her daddy, anyone who would listen. Only her parents weren’t around and nobody else was paying attention. Besides, everyone at t
he fair was screaming, their cotton candy-filled mouths wide with squeals of joy. She’d only made it about a block before she spotted the van again. Chase tried to turn around, to run the other away, but someone suddenly appeared behind her.

  It was the man from the snow cone truck, the one who had been stepping all over Mr. Robin-Graff’s flannel shirt. Only he wasn’t smiling anymore, and he wasn’t holding any sugary treats in his hands — they were free to grab Chase. She kicked and scratched, but he was too strong. He hoisted her over his shoulder and hurried to the awaiting van. Chase was unceremoniously thrown into the back where she landed painfully on her sister’s legs.

  And then the door slid closed.

  —and yelled until the police officer found her and asked what was wrong.

  “My name is Riley and I don’t know you,” Georgina repeated.

  Chase bucked so hard that her chair toppled, and she fell to the ground. A cloud of dirt puffed up and coated her mouth and, but she was still somehow able to speak.

  “Your name is Georgina Taylor Adams. You were born on September 4th, 1987. Your favorite color is purple, but sometimes you say orange because it matches her hair. You like—”

  “Tim, go get her up,” she heard the man at the end of the table say. “Get her up and calm her down. She’s upsetting the girls.”

  Even as hands wrapped around her bound wrists and hoisted her to her feet, Chase continued to speak.

  “—balloons and dolls. Our mom’s name is Kerry and our dad is Keith. We lived in Franklin County at 8 Beaconsfield Ave.”

  “Tim, I told you to shut her up.”

  Chase was getting tunnel vision now, but having since been returned to her chair, she found it helped her focus on Georgina’s blue eyes.

  Please, please tell me you remember me.

  “My name is Riley.”

  “We shared a bedroom, remember? We had bunk beds — you were on the bottom and I had the top. Even though I was older, I used to wet the bed, and you’d make fun of me. You used to scream that if I peed, it would leak down—”

  “Tim! Shut her up!”

  “I’m trying, Brian. What the hell do you want me to do?”

  “Please, Georgina. I’m your sister, Chase… you need to remember.”

  The other maidens in the white dresses started to animate, raising their heads and offering each other sidelong glances.

  The man at the end of the table — Brian, his brother called him Brian — finally stopped smiling.

  “Do something, Tim. Do something quickly.”

  “Do what?”

  Tim tried to put the gag back on, but Chase shook her head violently, making the task impossible. Then she looked at the girls on her right.

  “Your name is Stacy Peterson, and you’re Tracy Weinberg, Becky Thompson, and Stephanie McMahon,” she said quickly, her eyes flicking from one little girl to the next.

  Chase heard the sound of a chair toppling and then caught a flicker of movement in her periphery.

  “Your parents are all—”

  She never managed to finish the sentence. For the second time that day, something struck her in the head and Chase toppled.

  Chapter 46

  Stitts, service pistol in hand, pressed his back up against the derelict farmhouse and looked for Terrence. He spotted the man across the yard, standing post by an outcropping of trees. Terrence nodded at him and signaled the building.

  The abandoned farm looked like it hadn’t been visited years, maybe even decades. Half of the roof had long since collapsed inward and all of the windows had been smashed. The interior was dark and Stitts’s hopes of finding anyone, let alone the missing girls, within were bordering on non-existent.

  Still, he imagined a scenario in which they were bound and gagged cowering in the corner of the room beneath what was left of the roof, but otherwise unharmed.

  Stitts took a deep breath and then reached out with his free hand and pushed the door. It was unlocked, but the vegetation that had grown through the floorboards was thick and jammed the door.

  He pulled out his flashlight and held it on top of his pistol as he pointed it into the small opening between the door and the frame. He saw nothing but more vegetation and what was once a kitchen. With another deep breath, Stitts reared back and drove his shoulder into the rotting door.

  Instead of uprooting whatever crab grass held it in place, the bottom half of the door broke off completely, sending Stitts sprawling into the farm.

  He landed on one knee, but somehow still managed to keep the gun and flashlight aimed out in front of him.

  Whipping the light around, he mentally prepared himself for the frightened expressions he expected to see on the missing girls' faces.

  Only they weren’t there; the interior of the farm was empty save the overgrown vegetation.

  What remained of the interior walls were covered with cracked and peeling wallpaper — a floral design, Stitts thought, but it could have just as easily been mold or mildew stains — and the floor was completely rotted through in most places.

  Status swept the flashlight across the farm, starting with the closest corner. At one point, there must’ve been a second floor to the place, but most of this had collapsed, leaving only a few gnarly looking floor joists overhead.

  Just as he was about to retreat to the doorway and signal to Terrence, a flicker of movement to his right caught his eye.

  Stitts whipped around, leading with the gun, and almost — almost — fired off around. Somehow, he managed to stop himself before killing a black squirrel that scampered up one of the walls and then fled out one of the smashed windows.

  Heart racing, Stitts exhaled loudly. Then he swore under his breath and carefully made his way over the broken floorboards to the door.

  He leaned out and gestured for Terrence to join him. The man hustled over, his expression grim.

  “Nothing,” Stitts grumbled. “The inside is worse than the outside; it doesn’t look like anybody has been here in a long time.”

  Terrence nodded and then entered the house himself to do a sweep of his own. He re-emerged a few seconds later, his frown having since become a scowl.

  “Fuck,” he said, pulling the walkie-talkie from his belt. “This was the most promising location in Kingsfield County.”

  As Terrence radioed back to Mrs. Ross and checked in, Stitts lit a cigarette and pulled out his phone.

  Nothing. Not a text, not a ping, nothing.

  This left Stitts little in the way of options. There was one thing he could do, but if he took that road, he’d break what little trust Chase had left in him.

  Not now, Stitts chided himself. If I don’t hear from her by tonight, then I’ll use it. But not until then.

  Terrence slipped the walkie back onto his belt and turned to face him.

  “Half the units have already completed their searches; they’ve found nothing. Not a shirt, a backpack, hair band… nothing.”

  Stitts’s heart, which was racing since he’d almost shot the squirrel, suddenly pumped the breaks.

  He was exhausted. It wasn’t just the lack of sleep, although this was a significant factor; it was also the stress of dealing with Chase, of keeping his secret for so long.

  It was the situation, of knowing that there were four girls out there that — dead or alive — needed to be found.

  He rubbed his eyes and took a drag of his cigarette.

  “What we do now, Terrence? What the fuck do we do now?"

  Chapter 47

  Chase groaned and opened her eyes. There was something abrasive on her eyelids, and it took her a moment to realize what it was: sand or dirt had stuck to her drying tears.

  Her head was pounding and with every beat of her heart, her eyes seemed to bulge a little.

  The only saving grace was the fact that the bindings on her hands had been removed.

  “Georgina,” she whispered. “Georgina?”

  With considerable effort, Chase managed to flip onto her stomach a
nd then push herself to her knees. Only then did she look around.

  The room she was in — a cell, it was a cell — had only one window high above her. And while the moon was full, the light coming in from that window was weak.