Silence on Cold River

by Casey Dunn

  I look up at the pipe where my constant walking back and forth, pull, loosen, pull, loosen, has pried a screw from the wall. I won’t make the same mistake. I won’t show my hand while the main door is closed and locked. But with two of us soon to control, he’ll make mistakes, he’ll get sloppy or distracted, and that door will be left open just a sliver, just once, and I’ll be gone.

  AMA Chapter 70 | 4:00 PM, December 9, 2006 | Tarson, Georgia

  THE STRETCH OF GRASS BEHIND the county courthouse was framed with white tents, which had sheltered the auction items from an early-afternoon thunderstorm. Mercifully, the storm had delivered more sound than rain.

  When Ama had woken up that morning, she’d wondered if she would not wake up the next day. It was an unsettling thought, stirring again in her middle as she recalled it now. She tried not to revisit the seventeen-year-old courtroom memory, or the way Michael had stared at her profile while they waited for the verdict to be read, but in the shadow of the building, the memory felt as present as the ground beneath her feet.

  It all started here. It would begin to end here, if all went according to plan. There was beauty in that, if not nearly enough justice.

  As the five o’clock start time drew closer, two caterers scurried inside a food truck at the back of the lawn, and several servers and a bartender prepped the open bar under another tent. A small stage and a set of risers had been arranged on the courthouse terrace. Even though the area was well protected from weather, the podium and the piano they’d brought in for the event were covered in a sheet of plastic and would stay that way until right before the event began. From the podium, Ama memorized the layout, paying extra attention to places someone could stand and watch without drawing much attention from the crowd.

  The sound technician arrived with two box speakers, and soon after him, the Tarson High School chorus filed out of a big van and headed up the steps. A gaggle of gray-haired women holding two giant flower arrangements better suited for a wake or a funeral came tromping up the wet sidewalk, voices tittering, faces angled in. A couple of them appeared to be holding casserole dishes. They began sliding couture auction items to the back of the table to make room for the food they’d brought, and Ama shook her head, wondering if she’d even survive the event long enough to be abducted by Michael.

  The pianist appeared onstage, hands clasped at his back, his eyes on Ama, waiting for her cue to begin. It’s showtime, she told herself, repeating the only thing she told herself before walking into a courtroom for opening and closing arguments. She held lives in her hands all the time. This was exactly the same.

  It was a lie, she knew. But sometimes people needed to be lied to, herself included. She wondered how many lies Hazel had told herself, how many days she’d woken up and swore to herself she wouldn’t end the day as Michael’s captive. The thought steeled her nerves. She pulled the covers off the podium and piano, plastered a smile on her face, and hobbled off the stage and into the fray.

  The notes of the piano floated in the atmosphere and partygoers strolled down the rows of items up for bid. Ama lost count of how many people approached her, touched her arm or her shoulder. How many times she had to tell Lindsey she was fine before sending her on a useless errand, and why didn’t she grab herself another drink on her way? How many times she repeated what happened in the woods: I’d sprained my ankle and he found me, bent down to help me up. I heard a bang, and the next thing I knew I woke up in a hospital. Ama wasn’t sure what she liked least, the looks of pity some gave her or the smirks other people didn’t fail to hide. But as long as they bid on something, they could wear whatever face they wanted.

  Nearly an hour into the auction, she excused herself from a group of perfect strangers who had spent the last few minutes peppering her with questions about the Hershaw verdict and carefully wove her way through the crowd. She kept her face turned down, letting her hair curtain her profile, and returned to the corner of the stage. Tucking herself behind a pillar, she strangled the stem of a champagne glass filled with sparkling water and studied each man in the crowd. The piano would be open soon, but Michael was nowhere to be seen.

  Two men crossed the lawn. Ama recognized Detective Martin immediately. With him was Eddie Stevens, who had already adjusted his tie twice since she’d taken notice of him. She thought she’d feel better with the event under way, the tracking device in place, and Eddie and Martin in sight, but she was instead laden with doubt. This was stupid. She was aching and exhausted, and the piano player was just finishing his playlist. The night was still very young, the plan at step one, and she was damn near dead.

  Panic erupted inside her. She moved away from the party, seeking a moment of quiet in the empty courthouse. It was funny how calm these halls could make her feel when almost everyone else who walked them was rife with nerves. She fingered the dainty silver chain that hung around her neck, which was more than just for looks: the thin loop of metal was a complete circuit and would send a signal from the locator between her legs to Eddie’s phone the moment she broke it.

  Her grand plan was feeling equally as fragile, and in that moment she realized she was wrong to keep Martin out. She needed backup. She’d looked into his history enough to know that he’d solved his fair share of cases. She was lucky Michael hadn’t shown up yet. She would find Martin, tell him her entire scheme, and let him follow her at a distance, and he could grab Michael when he got the chance. Hazel had to be somewhere in this town. They could go door to door, search every basement, every inch of the woods.

  Outside, a girl’s voice rose over the noise of the party, an incredible, piercing note sailing through an open window and flooding the hallway. Ama moved to the window, craning for a view, when a thought shot through her: Why was the window open?

  She spun on her heel, terror blazing down her limbs, and collided with Michael.

  MICHAEL Chapter 71 | 6:00 PM, December 9, 2006 | Tarson, Georgia

  AMA’S LIPS OPEN; HER EYES glisten with emotion.

  “You get it now, don’t you? You understand,” I murmur.

  A tear leaks out of one of her eyes, and she blinks it away, nodding.

  “We will have to sneak away. You’re the guest of honor at two events. Are you choosing me?”

  “Yes,” she says softly, and I feel a quiver in my chest.

  “We can’t get back out through the window. You’ll tear your dress,” I say. She’s worn a gauzy, long number, ethereal and feminine, and I am touched by the respect she’s showing Lady Fate.

  “There’s a door that will let us out on the side exit, closest to the trees. Do you remember it?” she asks. Her pulse flickers on the slope of her neck.

  “Yes. You’ll have to leave your purse.”

  “Should I drop it out the window?”

  “That’ll be fine,” I answer. “I need to check you to make sure you’re not bringing anyone with us.”

  “We’re alone,” Ama offers quietly, and steps her feet apart.

  I reach under her dress and feel up one leg. Her skin is warm and smooth, and she doesn’t flinch beneath my touch. I trace between her legs and down the other side. “I need to take off your ankle brace.”

  “Okay. I’ll need help walking,” she replies.

  I watch her face, mystified, and peel off the brace before dropping it out the window. Then I stand and lift her hair away from her neck, checking the back of her dress for a weapon or a wire, but all I see is pale, sloping skin and the satin edge of her underwear.

  I am suddenly overcome, bewildered by a burning sensation in my eyes. “No one has ever done anything like this for me. What made you change your mind?”

  “When that man tried to shoot you, it made me realize… it made me realize what’s really important, and that I needed to do what I could. That’s why I haven’t told anyone what really happened or who you are.” She smiles and brushes her hand down my arm. “You’ll tell the world when you’re ready.”

  “Thank you.”

  I ta
ke her hand in mine, keeping the rhythm slow as not to rush her until we’re safe from prying eyes, and we walk out of the courthouse together.

  MARTIN Chapter 72 | 6:05 PM, December 9, 2006 | Tarson, Georgia

  HAZEL’S SONG ENDED. THE APPLAUSE was loud as thunder, punctuated with whistles and calls for an encore. Eddie hadn’t moved from the moment his daughter’s voice came through the speakers until the last note had faded into the night. The next track began, and Hazel’s voice rose above them all, covering an up-tempo song. Some guests started dancing on the square of empty lawn close to the stage. Martin clapped Eddie on the back, and they watched the crowd come to life.

  “This is unreal,” Eddie said, grinning and dazed. “I need to thank Ama.”

  “Let’s find her,” Martin said, and peered across the lawn. The tents made it difficult to see anyone from the waist up, and this crowd was a gathering of fashionable, fit city women. They were swimming in a sea of Amas.

  Martin and Eddie made a loop around the auction tents, but Ama wasn’t there. They swung by the bar and the buffet, then searched the parking lot, but Ama was nowhere to be seen.

  Martin glanced up at the stage, where the pianist had begun playing along with Hazel’s voice, and spotted Ama’s assistant. She took a couple of clumsy steps and then steadied herself on a pillar.

  “Come on,” Martin said to Eddie, and moved in the direction of the stage. As the crowd thinned, Martin caught sight of Captain standing at the foot of the stairs, his hand like an arcade claw on a drink. Martin changed direction, hoping to avoid an interaction with him until Eddie received the message Ama had told him to expect.

  “Detective Martin,” Lindsey said, her voice cutting through the noise. He looked up and forced a closed-mouth smile. Captain spotted him, too, and waved him over.

  Martin shoved his hands in his pockets and made his way to the captain, Eddie following behind. To his surprise, Lindsey hurried down the stairs, catching her balance on the captain’s shoulder.

  “Have you seen Ama?” she asked. “I can’t find her anywhere.”

  “She was on the stage when we first got here. I haven’t seen her since,” Martin said, straining urgency from his voice. Something in Ama’s plan could have gone wrong, very wrong, or this disappearing act could all be part of it. Dammit, Ama.

  “Let’s look for her inside,” he suggested. He pulled on the first door within reach and found it locked. “Do you know if any of the doors are open?”

  “Just the service entrance, as far as I know,” Lindsey said. “It’s on the far side of the building.”

  “Thanks.”

  Martin wheeled away from her and hustled across the terrace. He knew walking this fast might draw unwanted attention, but the sense of alarm flooding his bloodstream was overriding his sense of caution. Eddie’s uneven footsteps sounded behind him, and he heard the captain catching up, too.

  “We need to get inside,” Martin said. “Eddie, did you check your phone?”

  “Nothing yet.”

  “Call her,” Martin ordered as they reached the service entrance. They waited outside as Eddie pressed his phone to his ear. The seconds passed maddeningly slow, and finally Eddie shook his head.

  “Dammit. Call her again. Keep calling her.” Martin swung the door open and headed inside. Most of the interior doors were locked, save the doors to the bathrooms. He pushed each door open and called inside, but the bathrooms were empty. He jogged the length of the corridor, peering out every window and around each corner. There was no sign of Ama.

  He returned to the center window and stared across the parking lot, his eyes following a group of laughing women, desperate for one of them to be Ama. But she wasn’t among them, and immediately he felt the weight of another body on his conscious. He cast his gaze down, sick with himself, and there in the bush bordering the front of the courthouse he spied a little white purse, the kind women carry in their hands, like what his ex-wife would take to parties and then make him hold once she’d had a second drink.

  He unlocked the window and lifted it up, then leaned across the sill to retrieve the little purse. Inside were Ama’s wallet and a phone, and on the ground was a black ankle brace.

  “Shit,” he hissed under his breath.

  “What did you find?” Captain asked.

  “It’s Ama’s purse.” He turned to face the other man. “We have a major problem.”

  EDDIE Chapter 73 | 6:15 PM, December 9, 2006 | Tarson, Georgia

  MARTIN STOPPED TALKING, AND CAPTAIN began roaring. Eddie stood still, his phone still ringing Ama’s.

  “Turn that thing off!” Captain shouted, and Eddie snapped back to the present. “Do you have any idea how many random people are here today, how light the security? What were you thinking? We could’ve had plainclothes officers valeting cars or serving drinks. We could have had a picture of his face to every unit in the entire state. What were you thinking?” he repeated.

  “I was thinking your department didn’t have those kinds of resources or knowledge of how to do that, and good luck finding a picture of his face,” Martin replied. “I tried.”

  “We don’t find Ama tonight, it’s your badge,” the captain said, pointing a finger in his face.

  “If we don’t find her, you won’t even have to ask for it. It’ll be on your desk Monday morning.”

  “Goddammit, Eddie. You were in on this? How could you, with Hazel potentially at stake here?”

  “She’s been at stake for a year, sir,” Eddie answered. “A year in this man’s hands, a man you thought was dead. You thought she ran away, and you thought I’d killed my own daughter.” Eddie’s eyes welled up.

  “Martin thought it was you. Martin convinced us it was you, so don’t put this on me.” Captain raked his fingers through his hair. “Christ Almighty. Where do we even start?”

  “Tarson Woods,” Eddie said. “That’s where he had her. That’s where he faked his death. That’s where he took them both. That’s not a coincidence. That’s where he feels safest, where it’s quietest in his head. That’s his home.”

  “That is also thirty square miles of terrain,” the captain countered.

  “Then we better hurry. Make an announcement, see if everyone at the party will help us search. Call every police department you can think of,” Martin said.

  “Wait!” Eddie looked at his phone. “I just got a text message, like you said I would.” He showed the screen to Martin. It was a long series of numbers and letters and what looked to be a phone number.

  “That’s Ama waving the flag,” Martin said. “I don’t know how much time that means we have, but I do know we don’t have time to call anyone except for whoever that number belongs to.”

  Martin took Eddie’s phone, dialed the number, and put the phone on speaker.

  “Hot Spot,” a man’s voice answered.

  “Do you know Ama Chaplin?” Martin asked.

  “She said you’d be calling sometime today. The number she sent to you is a tracking number. There’s an app to read it. I’ll send the link to this phone; then you can see where she is. Any troubles, you call me back.” The line went dead.

  “Jesus,” Martin whispered. “That woman is in the wrong line of work.”

  AMA Chapter 74 | 6:25 PM, December 9, 2006 | Tarson, Georgia

  AMA WATCHED MICHAEL DROP HER necklace to the ground in the little stone hutch, hoping that the broken chain had sent the text message to Eddie’s phone. She hoped they could figure out to call the second set of numbers and that Martin wouldn’t be a complete asshole to Durante. She looked at Michael’s scarred hands and, above all else, hoped she would survive the worst decision she’d ever made in her life.

  Michael knelt and trailed his fingers over the ground, rubbing a streak of topsoil between his fingers before standing.

  “Why do you drop jewelry here? You left my watch here, too. It has some significance to you,” she asked, partly to slow him down and partly out of genuine curiosity.

 
“When they opened the factory, my dad and a few of his friends gathered here and they each buried a piece of silver. Apparently someone said their grandmother swore it would bring them money.”

  “It didn’t, though. So why continue it?”

  “They sacrificed themselves for magic.” Michael’s face turns down, and the corner of his mouth curls in a boyish expression. “My father used to call it that—what they produced at the factory. Magic and money were produced, just not for them. You will produce magic, and it will probably yield money for someone, just not for you.”

  Ama masked a shudder as Michael steered her deeper into Tarson Woods. The dark of night and her staggered gait forced every step to be deliberate and slow. She had no idea if she’d been out here for five minutes or five hours, and despite the blinding pain of each movement, Ama felt weightless and adrift, sailing on a steady stream of panic borne adrenaline. Nausea washed hard over her, and she crumpled, trying not to dry heave. Michael hauled her up by her elbow.

  “I’m glad it happened this way, walking through the woods together. Not to mention it’ll be a lot faster than me carrying you. You’re heavier than you look. I had to stick to the trails as much as possible before. Took way longer than it should have.” He let out a boyish laugh.

  “I’m all muscle,” Ama said through chattering teeth.

  “It’s time to use those muscles, my lady. Let’s pick up the pace,” he said, becoming serious. “We need to get underground before anyone misses you.” He yanked her arm and she stumbled forward.

  Underground. Fresh terror slithered through her. Would the tracker work underground? Durante had said it would carry up to five miles. But could it do all of that from under the earth?

  MARTIN Chapter 75 | 6:55 PM, December 9, 2006 | Tarson, Georgia