As we near the Starbucks, I cast a surreptitious look to the street, searching for Foster’s car. He said he’d be in a black SUV.
“Students hanging out in the cafeteria, standing at their lockers, that kind of stuff,” Zed is saying.
I spot the black vehicle parked near the coffee shop. I think that’s Agent Foster in the front seat. Now I just need to get rid of Zed.
“Sure,” I say. “I can do that.”
“Sweet. You can upload any photos to the yearbook account—”
“Can we discuss the details another time? I really have to go.” I edge toward the curb.
He wrinkles his forehead. “Where’s your friend?”
I vaguely gesture down Main Street. “I’m meeting her at the end of the block.”
“Okay.” Zed frowns for a moment, then shrugs. “I’ll get out of your hair, then. See you later.”
Only when he turns back in the direction of the diner and is several yards away do I hurry toward the SUV.
“Sorry,” I say as I slide into the passenger seat. “This guy from school wouldn’t stop talking.”
A glint of humor fills Agent Foster’s eyes. “I recognize the kid. He posts videos about the case online. Seems obsessed with it.”
“Yup. Has a podcast too.Obsessedwould be putting it mildly.”
Foster waits for me to buckle my seat belt before pulling away from the curb. “These kids are something else,” he remarks. “Thinking they’re smarter than the hundreds of people who have been living and breathing this case for years.”
“The new theory is that the bodies are in the lake, and the cops just didn’t search it properly.”
Foster snorts under his breath. “Those were some of the most intensive water searches the bureau ever conducted. There’s nothing in that lake. And while I do appreciate the sustained interest in the case, as any publicity is good for us and can bring new leads, the arrogance is astounding sometimes. Teenagers, untrained civilians, believing they can find things we didn’t.”
“And you really believe they can’t?”
“Trust me, all these questions your school friends are asking, you think they haven’t been asked a thousand times before? That we haven’t followed the same leads? Interviewed the samepersons of interest? The case is colder than Alaska. The only way it’s getting solved is with new evidence. And ifwecan’t find that evidence, a bunch of teens in town sure as hell won’t.”
“Yet you’re turning to a teen for assistance…” I gesture wryly at myself.
“No, we’re turning to Thorn’s daughter. Of all the people in this town, you’re the only person who might be able to offer that new evidence,” Foster says as he pulls onto the interstate on-ramp. “You know more than you think, Ryan.”
It isn’t long before we arrive in Nashville, where I take in the sights of downtown with a sense of déjà vu. The scrapbook Gran made me has a couple of photos of my mother and me on a trip to Nashville, standing in front of the redbrick exterior of a music joint with a faded sign. I peer out the window of Foster’s SUV, wondering if I’ll see it now, until I remember this isNashvilleand there are hundreds of music joints lining the streets.
Foster has his window cracked, and the scent of frying fish and sweet barbecue wafts into the car. I inhale deeply, because the smell is so familiar. The Southern air always feels a little thicker, slower, as it rolls over you.
A few minutes later, he parks in front of a three-story medical building and cuts the engine. With a wry smile, he says, “Ready to get hypnotized?”
I exhale in a rush. “No time like the present.”
thirty-one
I Don’t Want to Be Here
I walk into the psychiatrist’s office with a churning stomach and a heartbeat that’s vibrating in my throat. The walls are painted a soothing shade of blue, and soft music is playing from a small speaker in the corner, but I don’t feel soothed. I only feel dread.
“I’ve worked with Dr.Wilmer before,” Foster assures me when he sees my face. “She knows what she’s doing, I promise. She’ll talk you through the process.”
Dr.Wilmer is a petite woman in her forties. Her gentle eyes observe me carefully as we exchange introductions. I assumed Agent Foster would be in the room for this, so I’m startled when he makes himself comfortable on the love seat in the waiting area. My heart beats even faster as I follow Dr.Wilmer into her office, watching her close the door behind us.
“I understand why you’re here, Ryan,” she says. “That you’re desperate for answers. But while hypnosis is a powerful tool, it’s not about forcing memories. It’s more about letting yourself experience them in a safe, guided way.”
