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Claire.
My sweet cousin from over a decade ago now, taken at the hands of a madman.
Claire . . .
My dream from the other night came back to me in a flash as if I’d just woken up from it.
She had Elizabeth with her.
We don’t have much time.
My heart began to pound fast and hard, my intuition screaming at me to listen. But listen to what? My dream?
She’s safe . . .
But where was she? Where?
I closed my eyes and tried to focus, focus, focus.
Then it came back in crystal clarity. The weeds, the small grove of trees, the stone bench. The lake.
My eyes popped open as a conversation I had with Sofia came to mind from weeks ago.
There are some hiking trails behind my dorms . . . I found this pond with some cute benches and stuff . . . it’s quiet . . .
It wasn’t a lake.
It was a pond, and that was where she’d taken my baby.
I just knew it like I knew my own name.
Without another thought, I spun back to my bedroom and yanked on socks and tennis shoes. With all the cops coming and going, the alarm was disarmed, and I was never more grateful. With a single-minded focus, I grabbed my keys, then slipped past everyone toward the back door and out, running to the back gate.
I did not look back as I zipped out of the driveway and down the street. I glanced in the rearview mirror once after I’d hit the main road, surprised no one was following me.
A part of me knew I should’ve said something to Justin or the police officers, but what was there to say?
I had this dream . . .
Yeah, they’d probably think I was crazy.
I needed to follow my gut, see if I was right, then call for help if I was. I just didn’t want to waste time answering dumb questions. Not today. Not after she’d already been gone this long.
I flew onto campus and skidded to a stop back in front of student housing, where we’d been earlier. I jumped out of my car and sprinted down the path behind the building, following nothing but my mother’s instinct, praying it would lead me to the right hiking path and a hidden pond.
“Please, God,” I managed as I ran, my breaths coming hard and fast, panic nipping at my heels. “Please don’t let me be too late.”
There was a clear walking path to the left, but a magnetic force pulled my feet to the right, down a small, weed-filled path that was barely visible. I was forced to slow my pace as the brush smacked my face and stung my exposed flesh.
My phone vibrated in my pocket, but I ignored it, pressing on until I proved myself right or wrong.
Eventually, the path took a turn, and I could see up ahead where it spilled out into an open area. I slowed almost to a stop, my heart in my throat when I heard voices.
“Please,” the female voice said. “Let’s just get some help.”
“Don’t be so weak,” the man snarled.
Something in that voice was familiar, pushing me silently forward, especially when I heard a small whimper.