by Lisa Regan
Into the caverns.
She focused on her breathing. In, out. In, out.
Sitting at the kitchen table, she pulled out her phone to ask Noah to come home, but her eyes were drawn to the notifications over the voicemail icon. Without thinking, she opened the voicemail app and played the message. It was from the social worker at Muncy State Prison. “Detective Quinn,” she said and introduced herself. “I’m just calling to let you know that inmate Lila Jensen is very ill. The last round of chemotherapy was not as successful as the doctors had hoped. We’ve placed her in hospice care. It’s a matter of days, from what I understand. I thought you would want to know. She’s been asking for you repeatedly. Please give me a call to discuss visitation.”
Disgusted, Josie threw her phone across the room. It smacked into the cabinet door beneath the kitchen sink and fell to the floor. “Discuss visitation,” she muttered. It implied that Josie didn’t have a choice, that it was inevitable Josie would visit a dying woman. Didn’t it matter what Lila had done to Josie? Did Lila’s dying wish trump all the horror Lila had inflicted on Josie when she was just an innocent child?
Without realizing it, Josie had crossed the room and opened one of her overhead cabinets. An unopened bottle of Wild Turkey stared back at her. Just one sip, she thought, then the demons swirling around her would be quiet. For a little while. But Wild Turkey had always been a short-term solution to her problems—and consuming it never ended well for her. Over a year ago, she’d sworn off drinking. Then five months earlier, after Noah’s mother was murdered and he’d broken up with her, she’d taken it up again. The result of that night was not something she wanted to relive. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t drink again.
Just one shot, urged a voice in the back of her head.
She slammed the cabinet door closed. It was never just one shot, though, was it? By the time Noah returned home, she’d be half a bottle deep and she’d say things she knew she’d regret. She’d ask questions she didn’t want to know the answers to—like whether or not he’d stay with her if, ultimately, she decided not to have children. She realized now that that was a conversation they should have had before moving in together. When she was married to her late husband, Ray, they’d always been on the same page, having both survived horrific childhood experiences. Both of them had been abused, and they didn’t want to pass down those genes. But since then, Josie had found out that the woman she had thought was her mother wasn’t her mother at all, and that she actually came from a good and loving family. Her DNA wasn’t tainted after all.
Still, she had so many reservations about her ability to be a good mother. She was happy serving and being of use to others through her job. A job that she worried would interfere with mothering a child of her own. It was fear, pure and simple. Now it was being compounded by the fact that Noah couldn’t stay away from Baby Bestler. He had a niece and he often helped Josie babysit her friend Misty’s son, but he’d never been so enamored of either one of those children. Was it because he’d watched the baby come into the world, she wondered, that he couldn’t tear himself away? Or had he reached a point where he wanted children of his own?
“It’s only been a day,” she muttered to herself. It felt like weeks since she had broken her coffee mug on the unwieldy toaster oven. She padded over to the kitchen table, pushing thoughts of the Wild Turkey out of her head.
She sat down and paged through the Maya Bestler file that Moore had given them earlier. Everything Moore had already told her was inside, including photos of the superficial cut on Garrett Romney’s forehead. It was razor thin and only two inches long with little bruising; Josie could see why investigators had thought it was self-inflicted. The round, angry face beneath it did nothing to dispel the notion that Romney might be violent. His brown eyes were glittering marbles of hatred, and his thin upper lip lifted in a sneer. The initial reports described him as combative and uncooperative. Still, that wasn’t enough to try him for murder. Exhaustive searches didn’t turn up any sign of Maya, which was curious considering Maya’s account of her abduction. Had the hermit moved her into the caverns before searchers gained on them? Had they not thought to check the caves? Josie made a note to ask Moore in the morning.
The file was thick, considering what little evidence police had been able to glean from the campsite and from Garrett Romney. It looked as though the prosecutors had tried hard to amass circumstantial evidence against him, perhaps with the hope of going forward one day without a body. There were statements from neighbors, friends, and coworkers of Maya stating that she often appeared bruised and in pain. Some neighbors reported often hearing her screaming behind closed doors. On four separate occasions, Doylestown police department had been called to Maya and Garrett’s home for domestic disturbances but in all four instances, Maya had insisted that Garrett hadn’t laid a hand on her. There were medical records as well documenting three of her fractures with ER visits. In each one of them, Maya said she had fallen. In spite of all of this, Garrett was the first and only person Maya asked for after she escaped. This didn’t surprise Josie though; domestic violence survivors were often deeply entrenched in their abusive relationships, even when they didn’t want to be. It was no easier to separate themselves emotionally from these men than it was physically. Going against their abusers could mean—and often did—death.
The sight of Renee Kelly cowering on her cot floated to the forefront of Josie’s mind. Was she being abused by an individual on the commune or was there something more systemic going on? None of the other Sanctuary members appeared to be hurt or in distress. Coached, yes, but not despairing the way that Renee Kelly appeared.
But it wasn’t her case anymore. Chitwood had taken her off the Yates/Gresham case and any connection it may or may not have to the Sanctuary. She would have been upset except that Chitwood was right—Gretchen was the best woman for the job. Her experience in Philadelphia’s homicide department gave her an edge over Josie. That was fine. Josie cared more about the case being solved than her own ego.
She closed the file and rubbed her burning eyes. The bottle of Wild Turkey called to her again. She could practically feel its warmth sliding down her throat. But no. She needed sleep, she decided, not alcohol. She retrieved her phone from the kitchen floor. Upstairs, she stripped down to her T-shirt and crawled into bed. She didn’t know if she’d still be awake when Noah got home, so she sent him a text letting him know they were due to meet Moore the next morning to explore the underground caverns in hopes of finding the hermit.
He responded almost immediately.
Be home soon.
But she was asleep in minutes.
Twenty-Three
Josie cried until her thin, seven-year-old body had nothing left. Her tears soaked into the rough, smelly carpet on the closet floor. “You promised, Mommy,” she said over and over again. “You promised.” The words had started out loud and forceful and now they were weak and jagged, pushing out on the edge of the shudders that racked her tiny body. Lila had promised Josie that she wouldn’t have to go into the closet as long as she didn’t tell anyone that it was Lila who had sliced open her face. But Lila had tossed her in anyway.
“Shut up,” Lila hollered from the other side of the closet door.
The darkness was absolute. Josie heard the scrape of a chair as Lila pushed it up against the closet door, cutting off the last sliver of light from beneath the door. Josie rolled back and forth, slamming herself against the door, then wall, door, wall. She pushed her feet against the wall and screamed. The closet wasn’t big enough for her to stretch out. Staggering to her feet, she thrust her hands forward and suddenly the too-close walls of the closet were gone. She took a few steps, first walking, then running, but the darkness didn’t end. No matter which direction she turned, there was no light to be found. She was trapped in the darkness forever. Panic squeezed her chest, crushing her so she could barely breathe.
“Mommy, please,” she cried again. “I’m scared.”
<
br /> From somewhere came Lila’s voice, spiteful and biting. “You’re never coming out, JoJo. I told you, if you said one word, you were going into the closet forever.”
“I didn’t tell, Mommy,” Josie insisted, lurching through the darkness, looking for something to grab onto. Anything besides the unrelenting, endless blackness.
Suddenly, a hand squeezed Josie’s chin and the side of her face where her scar was burned. She flailed her arms but there was no one there. Then Lila’s face appeared, bathed in light, inches from Josie’s own. Her lips peeled back from her teeth, which were sharpened to points. “Not one word,” she growled.
Josie slapped at her but hit nothing except air. Warmth poured down her legs and the smell of urine stung her nostrils. She tried to move her head, but Lila’s ghost grip held it in place. Josie stared into Lila’s mouth as it opened wide and a black walnut fell out.
Her screams echoed off the bedroom ceiling and walls. She followed Noah’s voice out of the nightmare. “Josie, Josie wake up.” She reached out into the darkness, relief flooding through her as she felt Noah’s chest. “The lights,” she gasped. “I need the lights.”
He pulled her into his arms, rolling slightly to reach the bedside table. She heard a click and then soft light flooded the room. Her room. Their room. Her huge, beautiful king-sized bed. The bank of windows along one wall that would let the sunshine in the moment it peeked over the horizon. The closet with no door, her and Noah’s clothes hanging from the rod, their shoes lined up on the floor. She clutched at him, the solid feel of his body in her hands bringing her back from the brink of hysteria. Gently, he stroked her hair away from her face and cupped her chin, his touch light and tender compared to the memory of Lila’s fingers digging into her skin.
She looked into his hazel eyes.
His thumb traced her cheekbone, wiping away a tear. Jesus, she was crying. She wasn’t a crier. Noah said, “We can sleep with the lights on if that helps.”
The fact that he didn’t ask questions or press her about the nightmares or why they were becoming so frequent made her tears come faster. She nodded and pressed her face into his chest. He held her, settling back against the headboard. She looked over and saw that his clock read four forty-seven in the morning. She knew she wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep. When she closed her eyes, the image of Lila’s face, her yawning mouth, the black walnut came rushing back, causing a tremble in Josie’s body. Each time, Noah’s arms tightened around her. He fell back to sleep but she stayed awake, inhaling his scent and studying him. Dark stubble dotted his jawline. She traced it with her fingers and stared into his face which was loose and expressionless in sleep. At once she felt grateful for his presence and fearful that what they had wouldn’t be enough for him. Would he be able to withstand this? Her demons?
As the morning stretched on and daylight crept in through the windows, she set those thoughts aside and nudged him awake. “Hey,” she said. “We have to get up.”
He groaned something unintelligible but didn’t open his eyes.
“Noah,” she said. “Wake up.”
She ran her fingers through his thick brown hair until he opened his eyes. She didn’t bring up the nightmare. Instead, she asked, “How was the baby? Everything okay?”
For a moment, he looked confused. Then he blinked a few times and sat up straighter, disentangling from her. “Oh, yeah. He’s fine. Everything’s fine. Are you—are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Did you sleep at all?”
Josie smiled. “Yeah, of course. We have to get ready and get going if we’re going to meet Moore and his team in Lenore County by eight.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I got your text last night. Caverns, huh?”
He reached out to pat her arm, but she hopped out of bed before he could touch her. She picked up her phone from her nightstand, searching for a text from Gretchen. It had been sent only moments ago.
Renee Kelly never showed. Sorry, boss.
She put the phone back on its charger and headed for the bathroom.
“Yeah,” she answered Noah. “Caverns today.”
“Josie,” he said. “Look at me.”
Reluctantly, she turned toward him. “What?”
“Maybe we should talk about these nightmares you’ve been having.”
“Yeah, sure. Another time, though, okay?”
“Josie.”
“We have to go to work, Noah.”
He slid to the edge of the bed and put his feet on the floor. “You think you can do caverns? We could maybe station you outside, have the rest of the team go inside?”
“I’ll be fine,” she lied.
Twenty-Four
Josie’s anxiety was an undertow, tugging at her all morning. They drove to Lenore County and met up with Moore and another member of his team whose name was Nash. Parked in one of the state gameland parking lots, they reviewed the diagram of the caverns that Maya had drawn for them. Moore was brusque and businesslike, and Josie wondered whether his superior had dressed him down after Chitwood’s call. It was raining lightly, the clouds overhead black and full. Josie addressed Moore and Nash. “They’re calling for more possible thunderstorms today. You two okay with being out here in that?”
A muscle ticked in Moore’s jaw but all he said was, “Your call.”
So he had been reprimanded and likely blamed her and Noah. Josie glanced at Noah, who gave her a barely perceptible nod. He would defer to her. They could wait it out, and be safe should the forecast storms arrive, but Josie couldn’t shake her suspicion that the man who had kidnapped and held Maya Bestler was responsible for the Yates murders and Emilia Gresham’s disappearance. Maybe she was wrong, but if she was right, every moment they waited reduced their chances of saving Emilia in time. If there was even the slimmest possibility that the two cases were connected, and that finding Maya’s abductor would solve the Yates and Gresham cases, then Josie had to take a risk.
“Let’s go then,” she said.
They set off into the woods in their rain gear, equipped with flashlights and headlamps. Five hours later, the rain, while still light, hadn’t let up. Twice they were caught in a lightning storm, forced to stop, positioning themselves fifty feet away from one another and staying low to the ground until it passed. They discussed turning back each time, but they were so deep in the woods, the storms would be over by the time they returned to the cars.
Josie was regretting her decision to go forward with the search in the rain by the time they stopped to check the GPS units. She was sweaty and starving and the only thing her brain had room for were the blisters on her feet.
Noah addressed Moore. “I thought you said you knew where these caverns were.”
Moore squatted next to a large tree trunk and drank what was left in his bottle of water. He wiped rain from his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “I haven’t actually been in them in twenty years. I thought they’d be easier to find.”
Josie looked up from her GPS. “We’ve crossed the county line at least a half dozen times. We’re actually in Denton right now. Are you sure we don’t need to be further south?”
From his pack, Moore pulled out an old paper topographical map. He spread it out on the forest floor despite the rain soaking it through almost immediately. Noah walked over and knelt beside him to study it. Josie stood over them, her GPS unit out in front of her so she could compare it with the paper map. Noah and Moore argued for a few minutes over which direction to go while Nash stood several feet away looking annoyed. Once they came to a decision, Moore made to move his now soggy map, but Josie placed a boot on top of it. “Wait,” she said. She squatted down and pointed to where Moore and Noah now believed the caverns were located, about four miles southwest. “How far from the caverns was the campsite that Maya disappeared from?”
Moore tapped a finger against his lips, studying the map. “I can’t remember exactly, but I’m pretty sure somewhere over here.” He pointed to another section of
the map, far south of where he now believed the cavern entrance was located.
“How many miles is that?” Josie asked. “From camp to cavern?”
He shrugged. “Maybe twelve or thirteen.”
“Did you conduct a large-scale search for Maya Bestler after she went missing?” Josie said. “On the Lenore County side?”
“Of course,” he answered. “But obviously it didn’t turn anything up.”
“You used dogs?”
He stopped fidgeting with the map and really looked at her. Josie didn’t miss Noah’s look, either, which said: you’re going to do this now?
Moore said, “Of course we used dogs.”
“How soon after she went missing did you start the search?” Josie asked.
“Well, that’s impossible to tell. We only had Garrett Romney’s report, and we all thought he was lying. He said he woke up disoriented and injured and walked out of the woods until he could get cell service. But we don’t know for sure how long it was between the time that she actually disappeared and Garrett reporting her missing. The hermit could have had a head start. Why?”
“It was just a question I had after I read the file, but now, we don’t even know how far the caverns are from the original campsite—”
Moore stood up, crumpling his map in his hands. “I know where they are,” he said.
Noah said, “Well let’s go then. I don’t want to be dragging this guy out of the woods in the dark—or get caught in more thunderstorms.”
With that, he stomped off. Moore’s colleague tromped off after him. Josie and Moore stared at one another for a long moment. She said, “I wasn’t trying to imply your team didn’t do a thorough job. It’s just odd that Maya said the hermit moved her around for several days before they got to the caverns, but she couldn’t be found, even with dogs.”
