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With the radio down, she pulled her car right onto Steele Bluff Road, driving up the hill past a couple of houses until she saw the grand estate on her left. A short rock wall stretched along the edge of the drive, and it opened to a well-kept driveway that led through an opening. No gate, noNo Trespassingsign—though the trees promised watching.
On the other side, she saw the lookout point and a patch of gravel to the right. She rolled down her windows as she pulled in, cutting the engine.
There was a lone light on in the large house, and she squinted her eyes, but could see nothing, no one, not even when she exited the car.
He saw her, though.
Valerie walked along the gravel, finding a small staircase encased in wildflowers leading to the lookout. After casting another fleeting glance at the home, she turned away and walked down the steps.
There was a white building with a small green door on the side that she noticed as she descended. It had a lock on it. When she passed it, her eyes caught on the American flag on the front of the building. She peered behind it to the hollow space inside.
It made her shiver. There was nothing but darkness there, though she knew it would be less fearsome when the sun came up.
Ahead of her was a wide rock ledge. She walked to it, opting to sit down and cross her legs.
In the distance, the sun's warm glow could barely be detected. The heat of the lost summer wrapped around her.Muggy.According to the calendar, it was fall, but it still felt hot most days, and she was ready for the cold. She’d missed it, and memories of her life before the ranch always brought shivers, a longing for the cold of a long night.
She and Nicholas had traveled the coast of California to the heat of Arizona, never far north, zigzagging across the west, aimless but drawn somewhere. Their time in Colorado had been in spring and summer months, dry air that seemed to rip your breath from you. And all the while, the center of the continent pulled her to him, drew her in.
She didn't know why, and when the truth would look at her, she would fall into its eyes; though it would not be the angel she imagined, and she would shiver at the horror, warm at the need.
She felt eyes on her then, but pushed the feeling away. Where they came from, there was always an eye on you. Watching, preying, waiting for you in the dark. How could one man create such pain?
She'd fantasized about killing Markus in his sleep many times while living on the ranch.
Before he could rape another one of the girls when they came of age.
Before he could plan more brutality for Nicholas.
She’d imagined stabbing him in his dead eyes, the ones he claimed were taken from him.
And she had. She'd killed him, killed more. Just as she had killed her darling sister and her beautiful Gregory.
She needed to repent, to atone for her sins.
She wanted to speak to the Deacon. Prayed he would be her confessional, her awakening.
She hugged her knees, laid her cheek on them, and closed her eyes as she thought of the moment. The town was eerily quiet, warm, ready to float into the day.
There was no confessional on the ranch—not the traditional kind, anyway—and she craved it. Needed it.Deservedit for what she had endured.
Gregory’s cries, the screams of her sister, and the cries of the children as the slaughter endured throughout the night—she could hear them.
And some of those screams made her smile.
NINE
The first time I saw Amber Hughes was at the grocery store with Valerie as she finished up the last of our weekly shopping.
Having grown bored looking at magazine and comics, I’d meandered to the front of the store to browse the board by the exit that had help wanted requests, yard sale advertisements, and other various community news tacked to it.
When my eyes caught on the grainy photo pinned to the board—Amber Hughes in black and white, forever immortalized—I knelt to my knees, studying her face. She had a wide smile and dark eyes. Her hair was long and curly. Above her face sat one word in all caps:MISSING.Below it was a plea for information regarding the whereabouts of their daughter, a prayer, and the names of Pastor and Mrs. Hughes.
As I stared at her face, a shadow passed over the board, and I turned around to see Eric Childress standing outside, staring inside the grocery store. His eyes seemed to look through me, as if he’d have been staring at the poster whether or not I was there. After a moment, he blinked, stepped back, and looked me in the eye. He hadn’t been in the grocery store while Valerie and I shopped, and he never came in. I watched him drive away in his truck as I pushed the cart out for Valerie.
Eric and I had never talked in school. He was a senior, a basketball player, baseball player, and a member of the National Honor Society. Mr. Childress was the Sheriff of Hart Hollow, and his mother was the Elementary School Principal. They lived in a neighborhood close to the trailer park, just up a hill in a nice home.
The first time I heard Amber’s name from his mouth was a week later, in early October, in the locker room. I’d just finished my last period of the day, which was gym. Embarrassingly, I’d been falling asleep in class occasionally. My late night walks, my nightmares, and the hours I spent trying to catch up on studies caught up to me from time to time. Though I should have been, I was rarely tired—save for the nights I didn’t sleep at all.
