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“There was another person in the car. She was driving. I just saw her in the distance. It was Rosemary!” Izzie insisted. “She ran the other way.”
The officer smirked and nodded. “Good story.” He glanced in the direction where Izzie was pointing, but there was no one there. He tsked and walked away.
Tears came streaming down Izzie’s face. How could this be happening? She tried to quiet her nerves, assuring herself everything would be sorted out. She would give them her statement, then they would question Rosemary, and the matter would be cleared up.
But that’s not what happened. The following day, when the police questioned Izzie’s colleague, she said she knew nothing of the situation. Yes, she and Izzie left the pub around the same time, but Izzie drove off by herself. None of that was true, but Izzie couldn’t prove it. Unbeknownst to Izzie, Rosemary carried a flask in her purse to offset the effects of the cocaine she took regularly. The cocaine that had prompted her to drive so fast that night.
When the collision occurred, Izzie had struck her head on the car window, knocking her unconscious. Rosemary saw the opportunity to pull Izzie into the driver’s seat and pour the remains of her flask into Izzie’s mouth and on her clothes. There was no way Izzie was going to get out of the legal nightmare Rosemary had entrapped her in. And she didn’t. Izzie spent a few years in jail. Her former fiancé eventually became betrothed to Rosemary, and her architectural firm fell apart. Her life was in ruins. That was until she met Myra Rutledge.
Chapter Two
Zoe Danfield
Zoe Danfield grew up in the rural town of Point Pleasant, West Virginia. The county seat of Mason County, it sits at the convergence of the Ohio and Kanawha Rivers. The town is designated on the National Registry of Historic Places. Locally, Point Pleasant is celebrated as the “First official battle site of the American Revolutionary War.” However, for most people, history does not necessarily come to mind when discussing the area. Two things usually enter the conversation: the Silver Bridge and the legend of Mothman.
In 1967, the Silver Bridge connecting Ohio to West Virginia collapsed, killing forty-six people, the deadliest bridge collapse in U.S. history. Built in 1928, it was known as the “Gateway to the South,” allowing for more efficient commerce and commuting. It was also known for its propensity to shake and pitch. Many daily users complained, but to no avail.
Then, on December 15, 1967, a final horrifying shudder began at the Ohio tower, with each link breaking like a string of pop beads. Quickly, the bridge toppled over, pulling thirty-two vehicles and sixty-seven people into the forty-four-degree water, causing the deaths of forty-six. The disaster was the impetus for the creation of the National Bridge Inspection Standards.
It was determined that the first link below the Ohio tower had suffered internal stress corrosion. The contractor, American Bridge Company, had settled on a cheaper building material, one susceptible to corrosion. Instead of using cable steel, such as that used for the Golden Gate Bridge and the Brooklyn Bridge, they’d decided on eyebars. The eyebar is a long, flat piece of steel with two round holes at each end that connects to the next eyebar with a pin. And it was an eyebar that collapsed under the weight of rush hour traffic. It was deemed an unforeseeable accident and the engineer and contractors were not assigned blame. Twelve years later a small settlement was reached in the amount of nine hundred and fifty thousand dollars. People were heartbroken, but they carried on.
A strange offshoot of the tragedy was the rise of folklore around the Mothman, described as a humanoid creature—a brown human-bug hybrid. He was said to be six foot seven, with bright red eyes and a wingspan of ten feet. It’s said that there were sightings of him starting November 15, 1967, until December 15, 1967, the day of the bridge disaster. Some think he is the harbinger of doom, while others think he is Doom itself, causing horrible disasters. He is a favorite legend of those intrigued by the paranormal, and allegedly haunts an abandoned TNT factory from World War II.
Every year the town celebrates this fabled creature with a Mothman Festival, featuring films, parades, pageants, music, and a variety of events. The townsfolk say it’s their biggest tourist attraction, with the Mothman Museum as the centerpiece. The legend was clinched by the publication of John Keel’s 1975 book The Mothman Prophecies, which was subsequently made into a film starring Richard Gere.
But for Zoe, the idea of the Mothman was just creepy and she avoided discussing him . . . it . . . with anyone. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe the paranormal existed—just the opposite. When the Mothman movie was released, Zoe was at the impressionable age of fourteen. And who wouldn’t believe Richard Gere? The book was even more disturbing to her. It was advertised as a true story of the paranormal experienced by a journalist. Yes, Zoe was aware of the mysterious and mystical, and she preferred to stay as far away from it as possible.
But what truly haunted her was the Silver Bridge disaster. Even though the collapse had occurred two decades before she was born, Zoe was fixated on the tragedy. It was a major part of the town’s history and was mentioned on a regular basis. For Zoe, the photo on a shelf at her great-uncle Ralph’s was a daily reminder. Zoe’s father would occasionally speak about it. He had been five years old at the time. That evening his father came bursting through the kitchen door with the devastating news that his brother had gone into the river.
The history of the tragedy affected her on a deep, cellular level. She sensed the pain her father had felt hearing the news of his uncle’s death and seeing his father cry for the first time. It was like having something ripped from your chest. If she let it, it would take the wind out of her. As a child she liked to play with Legos and Tinkertoys, determined to build something unbreakable. Something that wouldn’t fall apart and kill innocent people.
It was clear to her family, friends, and teachers that Zoe was bright and curious. Almost obsessive. By the time she was ten she had more building blocks, dowels, joints, and wheels than the entire town combined. Her mother was constantly after Zoe to dismantle her creations so she could vacuum her room. After a lot of pouting and sulking on her part, Zoe’s dad rigged a piece of plywood on two sawhorses in the basement, where she would spend hours after school. A few years later, when she began high school, Zoe’s parents worried about her lack of interaction with kids her age, until she finally revealed the small village she had created. She entered it in a school contest and won a thousand-dollar prize. At that point, her parents’ only concern was how they would pay for a college degree for their kid. She certainly had the brains. And the determination. They knew if Zoe wanted to go to a high-ranking engineering school, it would have to be on scholarship. She studied hard and made few friends. It wasn’t because she wasn’t personable. Getting into college was her priority. Even dating boys would have to wait.
Ironically, she was also interested in high fashion. She viewed clothing as if it were a building, fascinated by shape, width, height, proportion, color, and texture. And form. It wasn’t surprising that her only two magazine subscriptions were Popular Mechanics and Vogue. She would analyze the structures of the seasonal fashion collections, but also deeply admired Anna Wintour. Wintour was Vogue’s editor-in-chief, a position she held for almost thirty-five years. Zoe respected Wintour’s climb to success. At age twenty-one Wintour began working as an editorial assistant, forging ahead to become the most powerful woman in the fashion industry. Zoe was impressed with Wintour’s reputation for being exacting and her personal taste in clothes. Fortunately for Zoe, she was tall and thin and able to carry off a similar look: bobbed haircut with bangs, and large, black-rimmed glasses. The only thing she did not mimic were Wintour’s high-heeled shoes. Zoe was tall enough without them. Maybe if she had a limo like Anna, she might consider it, but only kitten heels. In the meantime, she would have to work her way up to The Devil Wears Prada lifestyle.
But Zoe was resourceful and found less expensive ways to achieve a “titan of industry” look. That style helped her gain a position in the male-dominated business of commercial manufacturing. Her civil engineering degree along with her master’s degree in business management made her an excellent candidate for upward mobility. And her personal style of dress spelled out “I know what I’m doing” loud and clear. Zoe was somewhat of an enigma. At first glance she was intimidating. Then she would smile and warm the room. Powerful, yet gracious.
It didn’t take long for her to rise to the level of Vice President of International Sales at the REBAR Corporation, manufacturer of industrial building materials. Her work in design and development slowly morphed into different responsibilities as the company changed hands. They were consolidating divisions and she could either go in the desired direction or find work elsewhere. Zoe took well to her new position reviewing potential clients’ plans, making recommendations, and sealing the deal. She never considered herself a salesperson, but she was quite good at selling. Perhaps it was because she had vast engineering knowledge and could articulate the various options to the clients. In turn the clients felt confident they were in the right hands.
Zoe had been with the company for just over ten years. It was exciting, watching their projects come to fruition. She was able to travel the globe, checking on job sites where her company supplied the foundation materials. Everywhere from São Paulo, Brazil, to Mumbai, India, to Rome, Italy. But now she was having serious misgivings about her job, her future, her ethics, and, most importantly, her life.
Ever since she’d started asking questions about the quality control department, her life had turned upside down. She was transferred to a different department and a few times she thought someone was following her. Then came the hang-up calls from phones with “Unavailable” as the caller ID. The near-miss on a subway platform had been chilling. She was getting spooked. Only the idea of the Mothman could produce the feeling she was experiencing. She was beginning to think she was on her one last nerve.
Chapter Three
Zoe and Izzie
Zoe and Izzie had met at Tufts University when they were freshmen. Izzie was majoring in architectural engineering and Zoe in civil. It happened in the cafeteria. The room was packed with students and Izzie was craning her neck to find a place to sit. A student was sitting at the end of a crowded table in the corner. It was her severe haircut and black glasses that caught Izzie’s eye. The only available seat was across from her. Izzie studied the situation and approached the table.
“Anyone sitting here?” she asked politely.
“No.”
“Nope.”
“Uh-uh.”
Zoe was the only one who looked up at Izzie before answering. She tilted her head toward the available chair. “Please.”
