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Cariño: I’m ok
She knows I’m worried about her, and I’m sure throughout the day she will send texts my way to let me know she is doing alright. Pulling up my security app I tap into the camera feeds from outside the house. Seeing nothing I put my phone back into my pocket.
So much for the damn weather report, looks like the storm is moving in quicker than they predicted. We’ve been on the road now for almost four hours and about half an hour ago the snow started falling and its steadily increasing
"I think we’re keeping ahead of it. It’s a good thing we’re only one exit away from being in Bozeman," Logan remarks.
Leaning forward I enter this guy’s address into the GPS system—752 Claremont Blvd. and it lets us know our destination is another twenty minutes from the first exit. So fuckin’ close to finding answers.
The nearest neighbors look to be about two miles down the road. He lives on the outskirts of town in a rural area. After taking in the property we both check our weapons and pull gloves over our hands, so we leave no evidence that we were ever here before getting out of the truck. Once done casing the perimeter of the home, we make our way around back.
Yesterday, Reid showed Logan how to reset the alarm system once we gain access to the home with a universal hack code he can punch into the keypad. Pulling a small leather case from his coat pocket, Logan uses a set of tools to pick the lock and after a couple tries the lock pops. We walk inside and as I’m closing the door he disarms the alarm. I didn’t even know someone could do that shit until he got to talking about it on the ride here. Ever since my mind’s been running a mile a minute. I thought my system at home was top notch and now I’m not so sure.
Quietly Logan and I make our way through the house doing a sweep through every room. I took the upstairs while Logan took the main floor. I come upon the only room I find furniture in. A queen size bed that was slept in at some point because the bedding is disheveled and there is a chest drawer to my left. I walk to it first pulling open the drawers only to come up empty. They had nothing but clothes inside them. I notice the only bedside table and proceed to dig through it coming across a piece of mail with his name on it, a rent receipt. Thinking we can possibly lift a full set of prints off it I take a plastic bag from my back pocket that we both have on us for any evidence we happen to come across, place it inside and seal it shut. I find nothing else of importance, so I head back down to find Logan. As I’m rounding the stairs I notice a small door underneath the staircase. Logan comes walking from the kitchen, "No signs of the guy. What did you find upstairs?" he asks.
"His room and a rent receipt. I stuck it into a bag, so we can check it for prints later. Where do you think that small door leads?" I ask him, pointing to the door I notice to my left.
"We have one of those. It’s usually a storage space," He says walking to the door and opening it up.
Peering inside we see nothing—at first, but upon closer inspection I notice a handle attached to a door on the floor. "Does yours have that?" I point.
A puzzled look crosses his face, "No."
Squatting down, I grab the handle and pull. The fucker is locked. Logan digs the lock pick tools out of his back pocket and hands them to me. I haven’t picked a lock in years. It takes three attempts before the locking mechanism on the inside clicks. Handing the tools back I lift up on the handle again and find stairs leading down underneath the house.
"He had this locked for a reason. Let’s get down there and see what we can find."
Trying to fit my large frame through the small and narrow stairwell wasn’t easy, and the thick stagnant air that engulfs us as we make our way down is suffocating. I pause trying to let my eyes adjust to the darkness as I reach inside my jacket pocket and pull out a flashlight.
A dim light comes on overhead and I turn my head to find Logan has found the switch on the wall next to stairs and a stunned look in his eyes. I spin around ready to take some fucker out only to be met with a sea of pictures covering the wall in front of us.
All of them pictures of Alba.
The cords in my neck tighten and my breath gets caught in my throat. I’m looking at some kind of shrine. There has to be at least fifty pictures pinned to the old wood wall. This guy has been watching her for months. Even before she left for college because one of the photos I recognize is from the day of her party when she wore that breathtaking blue summer dress. I reach out and rip it off the wall.
"Brother, focus. We need to dig through here and find anything we can to who this guy is and where he could have gone."
Logan’s voice is muffled. I can only half-ass make out what he said through the rush of adrenaline that has started pumping through my veins. Desperately trying to shake it off I start canvassing the room and come upon another door located near a shelf full of boxes by the back of the room. When I turn the knob, it opens without hesitation and I walk inside.
What I find makes my stomach knot up. Shackles hanging from cold damp walls. Off to the right a twin-size bed and a toilet in the corner of the small room. It’s a small fuckin’ jail cell is what it is.
Did this guy have plans to take my woman and keep her prisoner in here? The more I take in, the more my heart rate increases. It’s to the point I hear it roaring in my ears.
"Gabriel," Logan shouts from the other room, "I found something."
"Yeah, I found something too, brother," my voice catches in my throat as it echoes off the bare stone walls. I hear his footsteps as he walks up behind me flashing his light inside, getting a look at what has me rooted in place.
"Fuckin’ hell, man," he says stunned by what’s in front of him as he hands me a stack of papers mixed with photographs. "It seems this psycho has done this before. He has various pictures of women, and tons of news clippings about their disappearances. And that’s not all, man," he hands me one more bundle, this time containing more pictures. I know right away by the look on his face I’m not going to like what I see. I look down and shine my light on the stack of photos in my hand.
I am never going to be able to get these images out of my head. The site of these women as I sift through them one by one chained to the wall. Some of them so emaciated you can make out their backbones and their backs are scarred with slash marks.
A sudden need to call and check on Alba hits me. I haven’t gotten a text from her lately. I need to hear her voice to settle the storm brewing inside me.
Handing the pictures back to Logan, I dig my phone out and swipe the screen bringing up her number then putting the phone to my ear. Nothing happens. I look at the screen noticing that I have no bars down here.
"Need to go upstairs. Can’t get a signal down here," I tell Logan. I let Logan lead the way back up the narrow staircase opening and back into the foyer area of the house. Once I check my phone and make sure I have reception I tap send calling Alba again.
"Hello," her sweet voice says.
