Authors: CJ Lyons
They were maybe the saddest words Lucy had heard all day. She wished she'd never stayed, wished she'd never came. Suffering through the psych eval would have been better than this desolation. And she'd be home with her family right now.
But she owed it to Adam. And Karen. Not to mention the two boys. Even Olivia.
After all, protecting kids was what she did best. No one ever said it would be easy.
<><><>
The knife was a SOG. Military surplus, razor sharp. A knife meant for killing, not a child's toy. Morgan slid the blade a millimeter below the apple's skin and peeled one long, unbroken ribbon away from the juicy flesh.
"I think," Morgan chomped down on the apple's exposed heart and chewed thoughtfully, "maybe Adam's become a fish."
Clint said nothing for a long while. His gaze fixed out on the two-lane highway unwinding before their headlights. Driving in the dark, in the snow, in the mountains, faster than the speed limit marked on the curves because Clint was smarter than any Penn-DOT bureaucrat who decided how fast was safe, used to excite Morgan. So very different than the flat, boring, endless wheat fields Clint had plucked Morgan from.
Morgan waited for Clint's answer because it would change everything.
Finally Clint spoke. "Maybe. We'll see. But," his large palm landed on Morgan's head, squeezing not in a loving father-child manner but in a "I'm the boss" power grip, "I'll be the judge of him. Not you."
Morgan nodded. Clint released his grip.
Using the knife to dissect the apple, Morgan chewed and smiled at the thought of Adam, the eldest, the good son, squirming like any other fish beneath the blade.
Chapter 22
Footsteps echoed up and down the halls of New Hope Elementary. Some running, some merely rushed. Boots stomping, sneakers squishing, even heels clacking. All coming to Jenna.
The principal had been worthless, but his secretary was good. They quickly sequestered the principal in his office. Set him the task of soothing parents of other kids who had no possible contact with the missing boys, while she and Jenna coordinated the search efforts and triaged the phone calls.
The secretary, her name was Gail, wheeled in a large county map pinned to a cork board and a second whiteboard to keep track of responses. As volunteers and professionals from surrounding communities trickled into the school, Jenna assigned them to a search group, keeping civilians with trained first responders.
By the time Lucy arrived back from the Harding house, they had over fifty people out in the field with another two hundred promised for the next morning. The hardest part wasn't the actual search—there was only so much that could be accomplished in the dark and they didn't want too many amateurs out there compromising possible evidence or tracks—but rather the fielding of phone calls. Seemed like everyone in the county called to ask what they could do or just to ask what happened. All with an undercurrent of unvoiced anxiety: had evil returned to New Hope? Were their families at risk?
Jenna let Gail handle those. She'd run out of patience for holding hands and soothing worries. Her nerves jangled with adrenalin and something she couldn't describe. A strange, restless, building pressure. She was half tempted to track down Bob for another session of hit and run sex, but he was out searching.
"Savannah Gleason, WOLT News." A blonde in heels and a shearling coat burst into the office, waving her microphone in Jenna's face as her cameraman followed close on her heels. "I understand we may have a child predator on the loose. Any connection to the New Hope Killings four years ago? Is it true one of the missing boys is Darrin Harding, son of the New Hope Killer? What are you doing to protect the citizens?"
Jenna blinked, glad she stood behind the counter, her badge out of sight. "Sheriff's giving out interviews in the cafeteria. Down the hall to the left."
"Where are the families?" Gleason persisted. "Any chance of getting them on camera? Could make all the difference," she wheedled.
Difference in ratings, not the lives of the boys. "Ask the sheriff."
"I'll talk to you." A short man with dark hair strode into the room. Muscular in the ex-jock going to seed way, he wore camouflage from his hat to his boots and a bright orange vest. "And your lawyer if you go on air with those defamatory accusations about my son's parentage."
The blonde stumbled back. The reason why she was still in a small-town market, no doubt. No guts. "Oh, Mr. Harding, I'm so sorry, sir. I didn't see you there. I was just trying—"
"You were trying to goad these women into making a statement that would get you ratings instead of letting them focus on finding my son and his friend." Despite his initial bluster, Harding ushered the woman and her cameraman out as if politely asking guests to leave a party. "Now, let's leave these women in peace, and we'll start coordinating interviews for everyone." He flashed a smile full of charm at the room at large. "Don't worry, sweetheart, we'll let you go first so you can scoop the rest of the boys."
And he was gone.
Jenna arched an eyebrow at Gail. "I take it that's the world-class lobbyist Kurt Harding?"
"Yep, that's Charming Harding. Friend of the voting man," Gail said, quoting a slogan. "If you've got ties to agri-business, fracking, or coal mining."
Jenna pursed her lips. Harding hadn't seemed all that charming to her. But the reporter sure seemed to fall for his patter. "He seemed more upset about their mentioning Darrin's real father than he is about Darrin being lost."
"It's the boy I feel most sorry for. Might be better off if he stays lost." Gail turned away as she mumbled the last, but Jenna caught it. For a town called New Hope, it sure seemed like there was a lot of despair. Even before the events of four years ago brought to light what was happening in the caverns below the mountains.
<><><>
Adam slept in fits and bursts, getting up to check on the kids. They finally stopped crying and went to sleep. But still he hid in the shadows surrounding the pit and watched them.
He did the right thing rescuing them, he was sure. Dad would be so proud.
So why did he feel this knot in the middle of his chest, making it hard to breathe? Every time he swallowed it burned. And each time he closed his eyes and laid down to sleep his ears filled with screams.
Finally he gave up and went outside. A good half-foot of snow had fallen overnight, making him glad for his new boots. There were no human tracks anywhere near the cave's entrance and he used the hemlock branch to cover his, although given the depth of the snow he trudged through, he couldn't hide them completely. The snow was still falling pretty heavy, so he thought it would be good enough.
The sun wasn't up yet, but on the edge of the woods he spotted lights on at the school on the other side of Stolfultz's cornfield. He edged through the stalks of dead corn, keeping low and out of sight, until he emerged onto the road, then backtracked to the school to see what was going on.
To his delight, three news vans were parked on the front lawn of the school, one each from Huntingdon, Altoona, and State College. Their bright lights aimed at reporters huddled in down coats and fur lined gloves, trying not to look cold, as they talked about the two missing boys and the search that continued throughout the night.
They didn't know about Sally yet. He wasn't sure if that was good or bad.
Didn't matter. The news was out. Dad would be here soon. He'd know what to do.
Adam blinked and the image of Dad's smile eased the morning chill that had settled into his limbs. Dad would be so proud of him. He'd never leave Adam again. Not after today.
<><><>
The overnight search teams, mainly law enforcement officers and members of the Bradys' church, straggled into the staging area at the school. They grabbed cups of coffee and cocoa and dragged their feet in defeat, gray puddles of melting snow shadowing them.
Colleen Brady stood at the doorway waiting in hope. Hope that ebbed fast with each sorrowful shake of a head.
Lucy stood beside her, wearing her parka as defense against the wicked draft from the constantly open door, and tried to offer some comfort. "This morning's search has Civil Air Patrol volunteers from three counties joining in as well as other volunteers."
The State Police were helping the sheriff supervise and coordinate the effort. They gave each group a map grid and assigned them a law enforcement officer. She didn't tell Colleen about the special team of experienced spelunkers being assembled to search the caves. Although the volunteers, mostly college kids from Penn State, were thrilled by the prospect, with the complexity of the numerous caverns, there'd be no quick answers coming from below the mountains.
Echo Cavern, the cave system the New Hope Killer used, was first on the list to search, a fact that had sent the media into near-hysteria. Colleen and her son hadn't even lived in New Hope at the time, but that wouldn't stop the press from speculating about the possibility her son might lay dead at the bottom of a crevasse. Alongside the body of a serial killer.
Deputy Bob shuffled past them head hung low, not even bothering to take the coffee Colleen offered him. Despair clouded the corridor behind him. Colleen made snuffling noises. Silent, heavy sobs that shook the coffee from the paper cup, splattering the floor and her hand.
Lucy loosened her fingers from the cup and tossed it into the trash. She shepherded Colleen into the girl's bathroom, its bright posters full of cheerful school pride a slap in the face after the gloom outside. Colleen didn't notice. She lurched to the sinks, gripping the edge of one, her body folding as if her spine had broken in half, head resting on the cool porcelain as she finally gave into grief.
It always happened in missing children cases. No matter how strong the parents and loved ones were, when kids were involved, there was always a breaking point.
Lucy had seen God-fearing, law-abiding men attack innocent bystanders they thought might somehow be connected to their child's disappearance. An investment banker from Medina, Ohio, had even grabbed at an officer's gun to try to force more information, new information, good information from the officer. Lucky he hadn't been shot.
She knew from experience there was nothing to do but wait. Which was the hardest part. The part the parents were left with once the initial crisis passed and the investigators moved on.
The second hardest part of Lucy's job. Shutting down a search and leaving the families with little hope and a lifetime of waiting.
Colleen's breakdown was short and hard. And nowhere near over. Nurses, doctors, cops—people required to compartmentalize—snapped, vented, then shoved it all down until they became overwhelmed again. They needed to do. Something. Anything. Even if it was just stand in a drafty corridor and hand out coffee to the volunteers.
"I can't go back out there," she whispered after splashing water to dilute her tears. "Can we go outside? Some place quiet? I need air."
"Of course." Lucy handed the mother her coat, made sure she had it buttoned straight, and ushered her out of the girls' room, down the hall past the gymnasium where the next group of searchers received their briefing, and out the back doorway. They emerged in a quiet corner of the yard near the teacher's parking lot.
Colleen stood braced against the brick wall, staring in the direction her son was last seen. She held one hand over her mouth, as if swallowing a scream, her posture stiff. Lucy turned her back to give her some privacy. She watched for signs of reporters or anyone else who might intrude upon the mother's solitude.
Lucy had forgotten how much she hated Pennsylvania winters. Not so much the cold or the snow, but the absolute bleakness. The way the clouds pressed down, trying to squeeze the life out of everything that dared to live below. The wind that sliced between every stitch in every seam of clothing. The gray light that drained all energy, as if it already swallowed the sun and was hungry for more.
After a few minutes, Lucy tried to distract the mother. Sometimes too much thinking made things worse. "I don't remember winter being this gray when I was a kid. I remember blue skies and jumping out of bed in the morning hoping for a snow day."
The winters she remembered as a child were filled with sunlight reflecting from pristine snow drifts, ready and waiting for her to leap into them and spread her wings, carving out angels.
The laughter of her dad and mom, usually accompanied by the click of a camera. On special days, they'd tumble and roll in the fresh powder alongside her, laughing so hard they'd end up flat on their backs, holding hands, their gasps filling the air with fluffy puffs of joy.
"Marty's like that," Colleen said, clutching her hands together. "Gets up even earlier than usual when it's supposed to snow. He loves school, don't get me wrong. But you know little boys. Excited by the possibilities, you know?"
"My daughter just turned thirteen and she's still that way. Me? I just want to stay in bed under the covers. Everything seems so gray when it snows. Bitter. Dark."
"Maybe it's climate change?"
For Lucy winters changed at age twelve, when her dad died. After that she was cold all the time. Probably because she refused to wear her hat or boots or mittens, and God forbid she appear in public wearing anything less I-don't-give-a-shit cool than her dad's old denim jacket. Winter seemed interminable back then. She and her mom, shut up together in their tiny house that seemed so very crowded and so very empty, both picking at the fresh scars her dad's death carved.
Winters never regained their appeal. Not after that. Certainly not this morning.
Lucy surrendered to the cold and zipped her parka tight. Not like she'd be shooting anyone, not while on a search and rescue mission. Everything they learned made it seem like the two boys had wandered into the woods on their own and gotten lost.
Colleen drifted into silence once more. Lucy slit her eyes against the wind shrieking across the fresh snow, scouring it clean of evidence, and stomped feeling into her feet. California Jenna suffered more, but she impressed Lucy by not complaining, instead throwing herself into the job of coordinating the search teams and logging their results.