Michael. Her thoughts focused on the possibility that she had tossed and turned all night over. She had examined every instance of their upbringing, and couldn’t find a hint in those memories of anything sinister. If only she could talk to this girl who had called the hotline. She had pressed John for more information, but he had only repeated the same things over and over. Sexual conversations. Centered on a young girl named Annie. She had told John that it must be a mistake—the girl had referred to him as Ralph, after all. No one referred to Michael by his first name. But John had stayed firm. The girl had provided his address and full name. It was Michael. She watched her husband sleeping, his chest rising and falling in uneasy breaths. He was an extension of her soul, a partner in life, as well as by law. Having him there, beside her, gave her hope that they would make it through this, whatever the outcome. Her thoughts returned to Michael, and she had a sudden thought. She set down her coffee and hurried to the bedroom, shedding her robe and yanking open the dresser drawer. Becky. If anyone would know this about Michael, it would be his wife.
CHAPTER 49
The gutting barn has a huge new padlock on it. It is the first observation that gives me any hope. I press my eye and then my good ear to the crack between the doors, hoping for any sign of what is inside. I’m met with darkness … silence. I tug at the lock in vain, and then move to the window, trying it and then stepping back, measuring the distance before striding forward and kicking the glass. Visions of it splintering beneath my foot, an explosion of power, were over-imagined—the only result of my kick is a spider web crack. I step back and try again, putting everything I have into it. My foot goes cleanly through, jagged edges of glass catching my leg as I pull my foot back. I tug my sweatshirt sleeve over my fist and knock out the sharp pieces, then hoist my body up and into the dark hole.
I hang for a minute—half in the window, half out—my eyes trying to adjust to the room. There is a low table beneath me, and I bring one foot up to the sill and crawl down, stepping gingerly on the table until I am sure it can hold my weight. The room smells of death, a smell that brings me instantly back to my childhood kitchen. The flashback causes an uneasy curl in my stomach, and I try to table the emotion, to save the desire for a time when it would be best served. I hear something and freeze, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound. I hear it again. A whimper—small and muffled. And it is in the room with me. Annie.
I jump off the table quickly, cursing myself for not bringing a flashlight, the window placed on the wrong side of the building to receive any sunlight.
“Annie?” I speak quietly, in the friendliest voice I can manage. “My name is Deanna. I am here to help you. Can you tell me where you are?”
Silence meets my question. A moment stretches into two, my hands beginning to clench and unclench in panic at the time lapse. “Annie, I know you don’t know me. But I want to get you out of here. I want to return you to your mommy. Can you please help me?”
I hear a sniff and spin, trying to place its origin. My left. I move in that direction, freezing when I hear her speak. “I’m over here. In the corner.”
I find her before she finishes speaking, my hands reaching out, closing over soft skin and flannel. I instinctively pull her to me, my arms closing around her in a hug, the first hug I have given in a very, very long time. The smell of her brings back memories of my sister, of Christmas mornings and bedtime stories. I almost sob at the memories, but instead plant a quick kiss on her head and release her. My hands pat gently over her, following her limbs until I discover the rough rope, knotted tightly around her wrists and feet. I tug at the knots, but give up quickly, the complicated bindings too tight. “Stay still,” I say quietly. I pull out my knife, flipping out the blade cut the ropes, not bothering to see where they lead. She behaves, sitting perfectly still until I pull her to her feet.
“I’m going to need you to listen very closely to me, okay?” I crouch, holding her by the shoulder, feeling her nod.
“Okay. Is Michael coming back?” she whispers.
I freeze at the question, wishing that I could see her face, could know the emotion between the quiet words.
“Was he here?” I asked, picking her light body up and placing her on the table.
“He brought me here. I’m supposed to wait for the kitten, but he never came back, and it got dark.” Her voice shakes, the barely contained hysteria evident.
I climb onto the table next to her. “Annie. I need you to be really grown up for me for about ten minutes, okay? Be strong, sweetie. It’s really important. I’m going to crawl through the window, and then I’m going to help you out. Do you understand?”
I can see her faintly now, dawn having fully arrived. She nods, her face tightening into a determined frown. I smile at her. “Good girl.” I move through the window, jumping easily down to the dirt and move back to the sill, reaching out my arms and feeling her eager body, her bare feet stepping up. In the next moment, I have her cradled in my arms and out of the shed. My cell buzzes in my pocket, and I reach for it, my other hand clasped firmly around Annie’s.
“Hey.”
“Jess, I’ve got to go. I just wanted to check in with you first.”
“Is he still at the house?”
“Yep. Hasn’t moved.”
“Okay. I’ll be out of here soon, so I should be fine without you. But Mike, Annie says that her Uncle Michael brought her here. Do you see any acquaintance of Ralph’s by that name?”
There is a pause, and then he is back on the line. “Michael is Ralph’s middle name. He must go by that.”
I nod. “Okay. Good. I just didn’t know if someone else was involved. Thanks. See you online sometime.”
He laughs in my ear. “Definitely babe. Glad to help.”
I hang up, smiling down at Annie. “Ready to go home?”
She nods, grinning up at me, full trust in her face. The look breaks my heart, reminding me so much of myself at that age. Back when I thought no evil existed in the world, and certainly never expected that evil to have flourished so well in myself.
We run together, her bare feet flying over the soft dirt, my backpack bouncing against my back. We are giddy, her over the adventure, oblivious to the danger she had faced, me over the insane possibility that my rescue attempt has worked. We squeeze back through the gate, skipping over the rutted dirt road, and race to the truck, me letting her win. I buckle her in the passenger side, the familiar movement painful in its normalcy. Putting the truck in reverse, I experience one heart-stopping moment when the tires spin, but then they catch traction and we move, flying backward onto the dirt road. I head left, headed for Brooklet, my mind thinking through the best way to return her as I drive. I am distracted, high on freedom and Annie’s carefree chatter and almost don’t notice the vehicle that turns right as we prepare to turn left. A blue Ford Explorer. My mind follows a moment after my vision, and I slam on brakes as I watch it disappear in a cloud of red dust. Ralph Michael Atkins. Georgia tags—X42FF—blue Ford Explorer.