Arden hung up and looked at Joe. “Four minutes.”
Joe remained standing over Jackson, but spoke to Arden. “We waiting?”
“It would be wise,” Arden replied.
A few minutes later, police sirens howled in the distance. Arden used her gloved hand to pull out a recorded tape of Jackson’s confession, put it in a nice baggy, and left it nearby for the police to find. As soon as they saw the flashing lights, Joe and Arden darted out of the alleyway. Jackson curled up. His emotions had gone from desperate to numb.
Arden and Joe circled round to Arden’s bulky, blue, four-door Lincoln Town Car. It wasn’t fast or pretty, but was perfect for staying incognito.
They followed the GPS out of Atlanta. The farther into rural territory, the more visible the stars became, but no matter how often they looked, there was always another plane flying out to and from the Atlanta airport.
Joe sat silently in the passenger seat. Arden had one hand on the steering wheel and was silently praying for the fourteen-year-old girl under her breath.
“About the name mix-up,” Joe said, breaking the silence. “Riley. Lily. It was a stupid mistake.”
Arden stayed fixed on the road. “Don’t beat yourself up about it,”
They’d caught enough of these guys, it was easy to get confused.
Joe smirked. “I thought you’d be the one to get offended. You know, with your belief and all that.”
“The names don’t matter so much. It’s if we can get them in time,” Arden replied. “I’m praying we do.”
“If God wanted to help left Riley Collins, she would’ve never gotten taken in the first place,” Joe said bitterly.
Arden had gotten to the place where she wasn’t interested in proving her faith. She willfully chose to believe it. Joe could doubt all day long. Arden would fight to hold on to hope.
Soon the city was a memory behind them. They passed by Georgia farmlands and up a mountainous road. Near their destination, Arden parked off the road. Taking night-vision binoculars, Arden and Joe hiked through the woods. They reached a ridge with a good vantage point of the rundown singlewide trailer and the decaying school bus next to it. The bus’s windows were blacked out with paint. Its flat and rotting wheels sunk into the earth. Weeds and thorns sprouted up around its rusted body.
A moment later, the police cruiser Derrick called in rolled up to the property. Arden and Joe stayed on their bellies and watched from behind a toppled tree. The sounds of the night critters surrounded them. The police car’s headlights illuminated the single-wide trailer and bus.
Arden’s belly rumbled slightly, reminding her of the fast she was on.
Please, let her be alive. She silently prayed.
The two dark-skinned cops spoke to each other.
“We’re in the middle of nowhere. I don’t get how someone called this in?” one said.
The other replied. “It doesn’t matter. If the girl is here, we have to check it out.”
“I missed a date for this,” the first cop complained.
They knocked on the door to the trailer. No response.
Joe nudged Arden and whispered. “Why aren’t they checking the bus? Didn’t Derrick tell them?”
Arden found a rock and handed it to Joe. “You warn them.”
Joe’s mouth made a line on his face. He got up into a crouching position, aimed, and threw the rock at the back of the bus. It thunked against the metal. The cops turned that way. They went to investigate the bus. Rusty rebar had been slid over the door to prevent it from being opened from the inside. The first cop removed it while the other cop pulled open the accordion-like door. He scrunched his nose.
“Stinks,” he complained as he entered. The other cop followed.
Arden waited. Her pounding pulse echoed across her body. Please, be alive. Come on.
A minute passed.
And then another.
Arden fought the temptation to move closer.
Finally, one of the officers left the bus, walked two feet, and vomited.
Joe cursed under his breath.
Arden held a deep breath as she combated the feeling of dread.
The second officer walked out with the girl in his arms. She was dressed in a dirty shirt and shorts. Dirt stained her skinny frame. It looked like she hadn’t been fed during the whole two months of her captivity. Her cheeks were sunken down to her skull and her face was a ghastly grey. With the goggles, Arden watched her stomach. It gently rose and fell. Arden let go of her held breath. “She made it.”
Sighing in relief, Joe rolled on his back and gazed at the stars.
Minutes later, an ambulance and more squad cars arrived. They put the girl on a gurney, gave her an oxygen mask, and placed her in the ambulance.
Arden’s phone buzzed.
She answered.
Derrick said, “Dove secured. ICU imminent. Good work.”
“Likewise,” Arden replied.
They hung up.
Joe glanced Arden’s way. “Derrick good?”
“Yeah,” Arden replied and backed away from the edge. “Ready?”
They drove away before any of the cops were the wiser. Arden was glad she had watched the extraction. The police had been useless thus far and she wanted to make sure the girl was safe. Derrick was usually good at relaying the message to his peers. He was a dispatcher at the local police department but used to work with Macon PD until Arden convinced him otherwise. She had made the move to Atlanta and needed to have a contact in the police department. If not, she’d have no way to relay the information to the cops without raising suspicion. She considered herself a soft vigilante. If a criminal could be detained through the proper legal channels, Arden would take that route. She often found condemning pictures of the kidnapper and sent them as an anonymous tip to the police. However, there were times when Arden had to bend the rules.
They drove back into Atlanta and through one of the lower middle-class neighborhoods. Arden pulled to a stop outside of one of the many generic-looking homes. It was blue with a white porch and an A-frame roof. There was a fenced-in front yard with an old doghouse.
Joe unclicked his seat belt. “You want to say hi?”
Arden cracked a tired smile. “Of course.”
They walked together down the small path to the front door. Joe fiddled with his key fob until he found the right one and then undid the lock. They walked inside. It smelled like spaghetti sauce. They followed the scent to the kitchen. Studious seventeen-year-old Jessica Carmon stirred the red sauce. She had long hair, a skinny frame, and round glasses.
“Hey Arden. How’s Patty?” Jessica asked.
Arden replied. “I learned I’m too busy for a dog. I had to take her back.”
Joe walked to the booster seat and adorable two-year-old Ethan. The toddler smiled widely. Joe smiled back. “You miss me?”
“You know he did,” Jessica said. “Dad, could you give me a hand?”
Joe tapped the child on his nose. “Wait for me.”
The toddler said, “Grandpa.”
Arden’s heart melted. It amazed her how something so cute could come from something so tragic. The child was partly the product of a very bad man.
Joe washed his hands and got out the plates. “You going to eat with us, Arden?”
“I think I’m going to try to get some rest tonight,” Arden replied, not wanting to publicly announce her fast.
“The offer stands if you change your mind.” Joe set the plates on the table.
Arden walked up next to Jessica. Bubbles popped on the surface of the red sauce. “How did your presentation go today?”
Jessica tucked her hair behind her ear and smiled shyly. “Public speaking is not my favorite thing in the world.”
“You’ll get better.”
“That’s what Mr. Vaughan says,” Jessica replied. “He’s helping me fill out college applications, you know?”
“That’s good,” Arden replied.
Joe interjecte
d. “Keep them local.”
“I know, Dad,” Jessica said with teenage angst. She whispered to Arden. “I’m gonna do it anyway.”
“I heard that,” Joe replied.
Arden smiled a little bit.
She checked her watch. It was almost 10pm. She said her goodbyes. Jessica gave her a timid hug, Joe nodded curtly, and Ethan smiled from ear to ear. Arden admired Jessica’s resilience for raising the boy. Most girls who went through what she did would want to terminate the child. With Jessica still a full-time student, Joe spent most of the time raising Ethan. Arden told him that he could get a real job anytime, but he refused. He liked working with her and as much as Arden didn’t like to admit it, she enjoyed his company. Years ago, she ran solo in pursuit of child abductors and human traffickers. To have someone who shared the same conviction and wasn’t afraid to get their hands dirty was an asset she couldn’t afford to lose. More than that, Joe was one of her only friends.
The drive back home was sober and quiet. Arden kept the radio off and windows up as she cruised. Even though an hour and a half had passed since Riley was rescued, Arden still felt the adrenaline high. She made it to her apartment. Back in Macon, before she teamed up with Joe, her home and office shared the same space. With his resources pooled with hers, they were able to split their new office in Atlanta and with the money left over, Arden was able to lease a room at a local motel called The Six Shooter. It was a two-story bed and breakfast with a neon sign. Unlike some motels in Atlanta, this one wasn’t infested with crackheads, prostitutes, and adulterers. Arden gave a lot of credit to prayer. She couldn’t count how many times she’d circled the property, asking the Lord to cleanse the atmosphere. It seemed to have helped. The place had largely been cleaned up and most of the guests were single.
Arden parked her car and hiked up the exterior staircase to the walkway that led to her apartment. It had a small kitchen, a queen-sized bed, a couch, TV, and a bathroom. Having spent most of her life living in shared dorms at the various orphanages, she grew accustomed to smaller living quarters. After she got inside, she turned her music player on and let instrumental praise music break the silence. After changing into her PJs, she sat on the couch with her feet on the cushion and read the Word. She didn’t get far before she found herself praying for the locals, the police’s safety, and for evil that snaked through the city to be revealed. An hour passed quickly and when she opened her eyes, her vision quickly landed on the corkboard she had covered with a sheet. Part of her warned her not to look, but she rose and approached anyway.
She grabbed the corner of the sheet and pulled it away. It billowed as it landed in a heap by her feet.
A web of multicolored string and thumbtacks held sticky notes, pictures, and news articles to the corkboard.
At the heart of it all was a picture of a pretty redhead.
Patricia Briar. Arden’s sister.
3
Left Hook
One hand on her hip and her teeth anxiously digging into her lower lip, Arden stood before the corkboard. Her mind raced as she examined the chaotic web of information.
From an onlooker’s perspective, the corkboard appeared to be conspiracy-theorist nonsense. Shorthand notes were tacked next to blurry photographs. There were lists of names, random amounts of money and tax returns, initials, places followed by questions marks, and more all brought together by multi-colored string. Each connected back to Patricia like the valves of her heart.
It had been six and a half years since Arden started her investigation, and there was still a long way to go.
Arden remembered Patricia had been going off of the deep end for while. Through her late teens and twenties, it was hard to find her alone. There was always another guy or another party. To the outside world, she was just another skank, but Arden knew her. She understood the hurt. Both of them had spent their lives in the low-income foster care system. The rules were strict, and the caretakers were often a little too “friendly.” It wasn’t just with the girls, either. Arden recalled making pacts with her little sister to cause so much hell that they would be forced to transfer to another facility. No amount of discipline was going to silence them. The strategy proved to be a two-edged sword. Their rowdy behavior got them out of the pit they were living in but destroyed their credibility with all authority figures, cops, and counselors they encountered later on.
Arden was twenty and Patricia was eighteen when they were finally free. Living together, they went to a forgettable local community college. To satisfy her curious nature, Arden sought after a journalism degree. Patricia wanted to become a welder of all things. Arden never understood why. Her poor sister was never good at it.
After graduating, they realized the difficulty of getting their dream jobs and settled for a sleazy bar named Travis’. Arden spent years drinking tequila shots with the locals while her sister flirted for extra tips. Eventually, the owner, Travis, was accused for a dozen sexual harassment allegations and was shamed publicly. Looking back, Arden wondered what he might’ve known about Patricia’s downfall. Unfortunately, he ate the barrel of a shotgun long before she could get any answers.
In their mid-twenties at this point, both of the girls were unemployed. They maintained their fast-paced lifestyle by mooching off of friends and gullible men. One night, during a party, Patricia was wasted and met a group of cool guys. She decided to become a roadie for their band that she’d just heard of. Arden forbade the idea. If they wanted to keep their apartment, both of them needed to be working. Patricia leaving would screw over Arden and vice versa.
But Patricia was never one to obey authority.
After a huge verbal confrontation and a lot of nasty words Arden still regretted, her sister stormed off. The next time Arden saw her would be years later…
Keeping herself from going too far down memory lane, Arden set her jaw and backed away from the corkboard. She couldn’t look at it without fuming. Go to sleep, a still, small voice told her. In the morning, your thoughts will be clearer.
Arden flipped the light switch and climbed into bed.
Her mind wouldn’t turn off.
Though her eyes were closed, she visualized the corkboard as clear as day.
She remembered tracking down the band, who had left Patricia at some truck stop after they grew tired of her.
She remembered tracking down the truckers, who claimed a few men picked her up.
After so many failed leads, Arden gave up and let her sister live her life.
She regretted that choice dearly.
Years later, when Arden started her real investigation, she’d heard rumors that Patricia was homeless, that she was a prostitute, that she became the escort of some business mogul, and that she had married a millionaire and lived in a yacht house. The more Arden researched, the stranger the theories became. Patricia was living in Alaska, she found Jesus in jail, and she was apparently kidnapped on her way to Mexico and forced to become a drug mule. Some of her old friends claimed she spent time in California while others said that she lived on a beach near Miami. None of the sources were solid and the witnesses weren’t trustworthy.
The more Arden looked into it, the more frustrated and jaded she became. For all she knew, her sister was never more than hours away the whole time. Eventually, a trustworthy source led Arden to Atlanta. Multiple sources had seen her around bars and nightclubs. Patricia knew how to draw a crowd, so it was no surprise people remembered her. Nevertheless, no one could lead her to a reasonable suspect.
Arden sat up and fluffed her pillow. She lay back down at her side and stared at the digital alarm clock. At some point in the night, she slipped into a vivid memory.
It was years ago.
Arden was twenty-nine.
With one of her legs tucked under the other, she sat on her mother’s old clothing chest and looked out the window. Iron clouds split soft rain on the horizontal country road and small forest beyond it.
It was only by some miracle Arden was back in thei
r parents’ home. They had been killed in a car crash when Arden was six. The house, which should’ve been passed down to Arden, had faulty paperwork and was kept by the bank. Two years after Patricia left, Arden worked at a local banking branch, taking on double shifts and spending her few hours of free time drinking, partying, and doing everything else that came along with her suicidal lifestyle.
She eventually saved enough money to buy back the old place. Being unoccupied for so long, it needed major repairs. The ranch home had five acres of overgrown land and was located on a small country road outside of Macon, Georgia.
It had two bedrooms, but the second was tiny and could barely hold twin beds. Why her parents bought the place was beyond Arden’s understanding. Her father was a postman and her mother spent her hours looking after the kids. Perhaps it was purchased for the isolation. As far as Arden knew, they were the only ones that ever drove down this road. Their neighbors were mostly old farmers with few reasons to ever leave their property.
Arden got up from her spot. She yawned and decided it would be right to clean the place up a little. Most nights she was couch surfing, but when she had a day off, she’d stop by and look after the place. A lot of furniture got thrown out during the foreclosure. The rest of the house was dead space.
Picking up a dustpan and broom, Arden got to work. The rain made her drowsy. After she finished, she crashed on her parents’ old bed and fell asleep.
It was nighttime when she heard the tires screeching. Arden sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. A van sped down the road. A sickening feeling pitted her in her stomach. She didn’t know what it was, or how to explain it, but inside, she felt she needed to go and investigate. Working at the bank and having a degree in journalism, she had learned to pick out details. Putting on a coat over her lazy cleaning clothes, she stepped out into the night.
Light rain fell on her face. The damp grass cushioned her bare feet. She made her way up to the road and looked both ways. There was nothing to be seen to the right -- the direction where the van had driven. It was long gone, as if the drivers were going sixty plus miles per hour. Arden turned to the left. The ominous straight road extended into eternal darkness. There was a pale lump in the ditch. Hugging herself and slightly shivering from the cold spring rain, she walked towards it. The wet road cooled her soles. Her hair was slightly messy from sleeping. A few strands were stuck to the corner of her mouth. She brushed them away as the object became visible. Arden couldn’t make out what it was.
Secrets Boxset: A Riveting Kidnapping Mystery Collection Page 11
