Page 16

The Turner residence stood like a monument to small-town success, set back from the street behind a meticulously maintained lawn that stretched nearly fifty yards from the curb. Rachel studied the property as she pulled into the concrete driveway, noting how the November sun caught the red brick facade in a way that made the house seem to glow. The wrap-around porch, supported by thick white columns, circled the entire first floor, its wooden planks recently stained a deep mahogany. An American flag hung limply from a post near the front steps, its colors vibrant against the weathered brick.

As she brought the car to a stop and parked, she noticed the carefully pruned boxwood shrubs that lined the front of the house and the array of chrysanthemums, still holding their autumn blooms, dotting the landscaping. Two white rocking chairs sat empty on the porch. The scene projected an air of perfect suburban tranquility that Rachel knew was merely a facade, hiding the turmoil of a missing daughter.

They made their way up the brick path to the porch steps, their footsteps echoing in the late afternoon quiet. Rachel noticed a single security camera discretely mounted in one of the eaves - a modern touch that seemed at odds with the home's traditional aesthetic. The doorbell was the electronic kind equipped with a camera. It chimed with a deep, resonant tone when Novak pressed it. Rachel wondered if these security measures had always been here or if they’d been added after Monica’s disappearance.

After a moment, the heavy wooden door opened to reveal a woman Rachel estimated to be in her late forties, dressed in pressed khakis and a navy cardigan. Her brown hair was styled carefully, but her face showed the strain of prolonged worry, with dark circles under her eyes partially masked by makeup. She carried herself with the slightly awkward movements of someone who had recently gained weight, as if she hadn't quite adjusted to her new size.

"Can I help you?" she asked, her voice carrying the distinctive local accent.

Novak took the lead. "Mrs. Turner? I'm Agent Novak with the FBI, and this is Agent Gift. We'd like to speak with you about your daughter Monica, if we could."

The woman's hands immediately went to the cross pendant hanging at her neck. "The FBI? I don't understand - we've been working with the local police. Why would the FBI be involved now?" Her eyes widened suddenly. "Has something happened? Have you found her?"

"Mrs. Turner," Rachel interjected gently, "we're investigating several disappearances in the area that we believe may be connected—and Monica is one of them. We'd just like to ask you a few questions. May we come in?"

Mrs. Turner hesitated for a moment, then stepped back from the doorway. "Yes, of course. Please, follow me."

The interior of the home was even more impressive than its exterior suggested. Rachel took in the details as they followed Mrs. Turner through the foyer, their footsteps muffled by a plush Oriental runner. The hardwood floors gleamed with a fresh coat of wax, and crown molding traced elegant lines along the ceiling. A crystal chandelier cast rainbow prisms across the walls.

But what caught Rachel's attention most were the religious touches throughout - not overwhelming, but unmistakably present. A tasteful crucifix hung centered on one wall, its silver surface catching the light. Family photos lined another wall, many featuring what appeared to be church events and confirmations. Though she’d seen Monica’s photo in the case files, she saw only a single picture with the missing girl with the family photos.

The living room continued the theme of understated wealth mixed with religious devotion. An oversized leather sectional dominated the space, but Rachel's eye was drawn to the family Bible prominently displayed on an end table. It was quite old, and its leather cover was worn from use. A prayer journal rested on the arm of the recliner Mrs. Turner lowered herself into, its pages marked with numerous colored tabs.

"Please, sit," Mrs. Turner said, gesturing to the sofa. As Rachel and Novak settled themselves, she asked, "You mentioned other disappearances? What exactly does that mean?"

Rachel chose her words carefully, not wanting to give unwarranted hope or unnecessary fear. "We're looking into several cases of missing women in their twenties and early thirties from this general area. The similarities between these cases have led us to believe they may be connected."

"And you think Monica's disappearance is related to these others?" Mrs. Turner asked. Her voice took on an edge.

"We're exploring all possibilities," Novak said diplomatically. "Could you tell us a bit about Monica? What kind of person she was?"

Mrs. Turner’s face softened slightly at the mention of her daughter. "Monica was - is - exceptional. She just graduated from Virginia Tech with a degree in Forestry. She had such dreams, such plans." Pride crept into her voice. "She was going to work for Wildlife and Fisheries down in southern Virginia. She always loved the outdoors, even as a little girl. She'd come home covered in mud from exploring the woods behind the house, but with the biggest smile on her face."

Rachel noticed how Mrs. Turner's hands trembled slightly as she spoke, though her voice remained steady. "And what about the times leading up to her disappearance?” Novak asked. “How was she then?"

"She was fine," Mrs. Turner said quickly - too quickly. "She was excited about her future. Making plans. She had no reason to..." She trailed off.

Rachel leaned forward slightly. "Mrs. Turner, I’m sorry to ask, but it is relevant to the case. Was there any indication that Monica might have been having thoughts of self-harm? Did she ever say anything that worried you, or leave any kind of note that suggested—"

"How dare you?" Mrs. Turner's voice cracked like a whip, her face flushing red. "How dare you come into my home and suggest such a thing? Monica would never - she was a good Christian girl who knew that suicide is a sin." She stood abruptly, her hands clenched into fists. "We raised her right, taught her proper values. She would never consider such a selfish, cowardly act."

"Mrs. Turner, please," Novak began, but Mrs. Turner cut him off.

"No! I've had enough of this. For months, the local police have done nothing - nothing! And now the FBI shows up just to suggest my daughter killed herself?" Her voice rose to a shout. "Get out! Get out of my house!"

A movement in the doorway caught Rachel's attention at the same moment. A teenage girl stood there, perhaps fifteen or sixteen, wearing jeans and an oversized sweater. She had Monica's same dark hair and eyes, but where Monica's photo had showed confidence and joy, this girl's expression held uncertainty and fear. She had large, brown eyes that looked capable of holding a variety of emotions at once.

Mrs. Turner noticed her daughter and immediately modulated her voice, though fury still simmered beneath the surface. Rachel noticed that tears had started forming in her eyes as well. "I'm sorry, sweetie. I lost my temper at these... these people. But they were just leaving. Go on back to your room."

The girl's eyes met Rachel's for a brief moment, and Rachel saw something there - a desperate need to communicate. But the girl simply nodded, looked quickly back to her mother for a moment, and disappeared back up the stairs.

"I believe you know where the door is," Mrs. Turner said coldly, turning her back on them. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but you’re no longer welcome in my home.”

Rachel knew better than to push the point, so she got to her feet and headed for the door. Something about the mention of suicide had triggered Mrs. Turner. And while there was clearly a story there, she wasn’t going to get it out of her right now. She and Novak made their way out of the house in silence. The perfectly maintained lawn now felt like a mockery of the pain and secrets festering within those brick walls. They were almost to their car when movement just barely caught Rachel's eye.

She looked back to the house and saw nothing at first. But then, looking up, she saw someone standing at an upstairs window. It was the same teenage girl who had stepped into the living room when Mrs. Turner had lost her temper. She was standing close to the glass, her face nearly pressed against it. The window slid open soundlessly, and she peered out for a second.

“Novak…look,” Rachel whispered.

Without a word, the girl tossed something out - a small white object that fluttered in the breeze before landing on the grass. Novak jogged over to retrieve it while Rachel kept her eyes on the window, but the girl had already vanished. Novak hurried back to the car with the object in his hands—a crumpled piece of paper, balled up tightly to be able to throw it further.

Back in the car, they unfolded the crumpled paper together. The car was filled with a palpable tension as Rachel started to feel that whatever was written on this paper might change the trajectory of the case. The handwriting on the paper was rushed but legible, likely having been written in the two minutes or so between the girl walking away to her room upstairs and Rachel and Novak reaching their car.

The note on the paper read: "Monica told mom and dad she was gay last year and brought her girlfriend home. Mom and dad flipped out, forbade her to see her gf. After that, Monica DID threaten to kill herself ALL THE TIME. Sorry for mom. She's in denial."

Rachel looked back at the house. The upstairs window was closed now, the curtains drawn. But now she understood the pain behind those family photos, the gaps where Monica should have been. She understood the desperate grip Mrs. Turner kept on her faith, using it as a shield against truths she couldn't face. And somewhere out there, Monica—if she was still alive—carried the weight of that rejection.

"Well," Novak said quietly, "I guess that confirms our theory about suicidal ideation."

Rachel nodded, her brain working overtime as the pieces started to take shape and click together. If Monica's family's rejection had driven her to contemplate suicide, did that automatically make her a target for whoever was out there, nabbing suicidal people? It was still an unformed theory but now that they had further confirmation with Monica Turner, Rachel was almost willing to bet that was exactly what was taking place.

"Let's head back to the precinct," she said. "We need to compile everything we know about these missing women. There has to be a pattern we can use to find them."

She saw a look of disappointment on Novak’s face as they pulled away from the Turner house. She wondered if he, too, was starting to feel like this case was nothing more than a lot of running around in circles. But as for Rachel, she still saw that teenage girl at the window, bearing the weight of family secrets and the absence of her sister. It was further evidence that this case was indeed deeper than they’d originally thought and that some houses, no matter how perfect they appeared from the outside, held darkness hiding within their walls.