Page 24

Kevin Barrett stood on the roof of the abandoned Ozark Sole Works factory, his silhouette stark against the darkening sky.

He swept the beam of his flashlight upon the crude broadcasting antenna, its metal framework rusted but still intact.

The bolts had corroded, creating a reddish stain that spread across the concrete like dried blood.

Kevin ran his fingers along the metal struts, feeling the rough texture.

Yes, it would serve, if it proved necessary.

Sandra Reeves had been a disappointment. Her voice—once so vibrant, so perfectly pitched—had failed to capture the cosmic signal he sought. Useless, just like his first attempt with the man.

His plan had been flawless. Why didn’t it work either time? He had become despondent, and then the phone call earlier that day had changed everything.

Diana had called, using the name he’d adopted solely for her—Zephyr.

“I need you,” she’d said. “They’ve come.”

Kevin had felt the panic rise in his throat as she’d spoken of law enforcement officials asking questions.

He knew the visit could only mean one thing—that the law was closing in on him.

And now he had to act faster. And he had to seize an opportunity he’d been long waiting for.

The Midnight Voice herself was coming to him.

Kevin checked his watch. 9:32 PM. She would arrive soon.

He gathered his equipment and moved toward the roof access door.

The hinges groaned in protest as he pulled them open, revealing a dark stairwell below.

Kevin flicked the flashlight beam down the concrete steps, illuminating decades of dust and debris.

The beam caught a scuttling movement—a rat or large insect—and Kevin felt a momentary kinship with the creature.

Both of them dwelled in forgotten spaces, and both moved through shadows unseen.

He descended the stairs carefully. When he reached the landing, a vast, empty mass production space spread out before him, where workers had long ago stitched and shaped footwear. Kevin had spent countless hours here as a sound engineer during Astral Waves’ brief existence.

He smiled as he remembered those days—the excitement of illegal broadcasting, the thrill of sharing fringe ideas that mainstream media would never touch. Ray Tucker had been the face of the operation, but Diana—she had been its soul.

The Midnight Voice had spoken of cosmic consciousness, of signals from beyond our dimension trying to break through. She alone had heard the messages in the static between stations, and she had interpreted them for her loyal listeners.

And Kevin had believed her. Had worshipped her.

Until she rejected him.

The memory still burned like acid in his mind. The night he’d approached her after a broadcast, trembling with excitement, confessing that he too had begun to hear whispers in the static. Her eyes had narrowed, assessing him.

“You’re not ready,” she had told him. “You’re hearing echoes, not the true voice.”

The dismissal had crushed him, but he’d persisted in his efforts. Years of listening, tuning, and adjusting frequencies. Years of failure.

Until he’d realized the truth—human bodies were better antennas than any metal construction.

Kevin descended another flight of stairs, moving deeper into the building’s core.

Finally, he reached the narrow staircase that led to the basement.

This had been Ray’s stroke of genius—broadcasting from below ground level, using the building’s mass to help shield their signal from immediate detection by the FCC.

Kevin descended slowly. The basement corridor was lined with storage rooms and utility spaces.

At the far end, behind an unmarked door, lay the former heart of Astral Waves.

He approached it reverently, feeling the familiar quickening of his pulse.

How many nights had he spent in that room, listening to Diana’s hypnotic voice weaving tales of cosmic consciousness and interdimensional communication?

He pushed the door open, and there it was—the studio, preserved like a time capsule of fringe radio broadcasting.

Kevin swept the beam of his flashlight across the space, noting with satisfaction that the backup generator he’d checked last week still sat in the corner.

He approached it, set down his equipment, and gave the starter cord a firm pull.

After a moment of resistance, the generator coughed to life, its low rumble filling the room.

With power flowing, Kevin flipped switches on the wall. Battery-powered emergency lights flickered on, casting the studio in a dim, yellowish glow. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

He moved to the central table and placed a two-way radio there, a poor substitute for the professional equipment that had once filled this space, but adequate for his purposes.

He checked his watch again. 9:51 PM.

Soon, he thought. Very soon.

***

The tires of their vehicle squealed as Jake took the corner. Jenna braced herself against the door, her mind racing faster than the car. Diana Wells had vanished—slipped right past the officers assigned to protect her.

“How the hell does someone under police protection just walk out?” Jake grumbled. “Morgan’s going to be apoplectic.”

“Morgan’s the least of our concerns right now,” Jenna replied. “If the killer gets to Diana before we do...”

She left the thought unfinished. They both knew what was at stake.

The new age shop came into view. A police cruiser was already parked haphazardly near the entrance—Chief Morgan’s vehicle. Colonel Spelling stood beside it.

Jake pulled in behind the cruiser and killed the engine. They approached the storefront where Morgan was berating a uniformed officer. “—most basic aspect of the job. You had one responsibility. One!”

Colonel Spelling stood slightly apart. When he spotted Jenna and Jake approaching, a flash of relief crossed his features.

Morgan turned, his anger redirecting toward the newcomers. “Glad you could join us, Sheriff.”

Jenna ignored the comment and addressed the uniformed officer directly. “Officer, I need to understand exactly what happened. When did you last see Ms. Wells?”

The young officer straightened, clearly relieved to be addressing someone other than Morgan.

“Ma’am, I checked on her approximately an hour ago.

She was with the employee, Janet Roff, discussing inventory.

Everything seemed normal.” He swallowed hard.

“I returned to my post outside. When I went back in to check again about a half hour ago, Ms. Roff informed me that Ms. Wells had stepped out. I immediately called it in.”

“Stepped out,” Morgan repeated, his voice dripping with disdain. “Like she went for a coffee run instead of fleeing protection during an active murder investigation.”

Jenna studied the storefront. The dreamcatchers hanging in the window swayed gently in the morning breeze, and wind chimes created a jarring melody against the tense scene unfolding below them.

“Let’s talk to Janet,” she said, moving toward the entrance. The others followed, the bell above the door announcing their arrival with a cheerful chime that felt wildly inappropriate.

Janet emerged from behind a beaded curtain, her expression shifting from professional welcome to apprehension when she registered the four law enforcement officers.

“I’ve already told Officer Daniels everything I know,” she said defensively.

“Well, now you can tell us,” Jenna said, stepping forward. “We need to know exactly how Diana left without being noticed.”

“Diana has... methods of avoiding attention when she doesn’t want it. She’s been doing it for years.” She gestured vaguely toward the back of the store. “Wigs, makeup, different styles of clothing.”

“And you didn’t think to mention this to the officers assigned to protect her?” Morgan’s voice rose.

“Diana values her privacy,” Janet replied stiffly.

Jenna stepped closer to Janet, intentionally positioning herself between the employee and Morgan’s mounting frustration.

“Janet, where did she go?” Jenna’s voice was firm but measured. “This isn’t about privacy anymore. It’s about keeping her alive.”

The employee’s shoulders slumped. “She went to her childhood home,” Janet finally said. “It’s been vacant for years, but she still has a key. She goes there sometimes when she needs to... center herself. That’s how she puts it.”

“Address,” Morgan demanded.

Janet hesitated, then wrote an address on a piece of paper embossed with the store’s logo. She slid it across the counter.

“It’s on the eastern edge of town,” she explained. “Kind of isolated.”

“Did Diana specifically tell you she was going to her childhood home?” Jenna asked, watching Janet’s face carefully.

Janet’s eyes flicked away for a fraction of a second. “Not exactly,” she admitted. “She said, ‘I’m going back to where it started.’ I’m sure that’s what she meant.”

Where it started …

The words echoed something else, something important …then the connection snapped into place.

Sandra Reeves. The dream.

During her dream visit, Sandra had said something crucial—that her captor had mentioned luring the Midnight Voice “to where it all started,” the place where she “spoke to the world.”

Not Diana’s childhood home. The radio station.

“Thank you for your help, Janet,” Jenna said, already turning toward the door. “If Diana contacts you, call immediately.”

Outside on the sidewalk, Jenna turned to the group.

“I think we’re making a mistake,” she said before Morgan could start issuing orders. “I don’t believe Diana went to her childhood home.”

Morgan’s expression darkened. “And where exactly do you think she went, Sheriff? You have a crystal ball we don’t know about?”

Jenna steadied herself. “The abandoned shoe factory—Ozark Sole Works. The one that once housed Astral Waves.”

“The pirate radio station?” Morgan scoffed. “Based on what?”

Jenna measured her words carefully. “Janet said Diana’s exact words were ‘I’m going back to where it started.’ For the Midnight Voice, that could easily mean where she first broadcast.”

“That’s one hell of a leap,” Morgan said, shaking his head. “The employee specifically said she meant the house.”

“She interpreted,” Jenna corrected. “She didn’t know for certain.”

Colonel Spelling had been quiet, but now he studied Jenna with that penetrating gaze she’d come to recognize—the look that said he knew she wasn’t sharing everything but wasn’t going to press her on it.

“Diana Wells hasn’t been connected to that station in what, twenty-five years?” Morgan argued. “We have a concrete address and a pattern of behavior versus your... hunch.”

Jenna held her ground. “My professional assessment suggests we should check both locations.”

Morgan threw up his hands. “Fine. Spelling and I will check the address we actually have. You and your deputy can waste time at an abandoned factory if that’s how Genesius County wants to allocate its resources.”

He stalked back to his cruiser, leaving Colonel Spelling standing with Jenna and Jake. The Colonel’s expression remained impassive, but his eyes held a question.

“Graves,” he said quietly, “is there something specific pointing you toward that factory?”

Jenna met his gaze. “I have reason to believe I’m right.”

Spelling nodded, not asking for details she couldn’t provide. “You have my number. We’ll check the house, but I’m keeping a unit available. Call if you need backup.”

“Thank you, Colonel,” Jenna said.

As Spelling headed toward Morgan’s cruiser, Jake asked Jenna, “Alright, what am I missing? That had something to do with Sandra in the dream, didn’t it?”

“Sandra told me the killer talked about luring the Midnight Voice ‘to where it all started,’ “Jenna confirmed, as they walked quickly toward their vehicle. “The place where she ‘spoke to the world.’ Those were her exact words.”

Jake opened the driver’s side door. “And you’re certain that means the radio station?”

“It makes more sense than her childhood home,” Jenna said, sliding into the passenger seat. “Think about it—Diana became the Midnight Voice at Astral Waves. That’s where she ‘spoke to the world.’ Where it all started for her public persona.”

Jake started the engine. “Morgan’s going to be insufferable if we’re right.”

Jenna was already pulling up the location on her phone. The GPS map on her phone zoomed out to show the location of the abandoned Ozark Sole Works factory on the outskirts of Pinecrest. Jenna’s intuition hummed like a live wire. She was right about this—she had to be.

“There,” she said, holding up the phone for Jake to glance at. “Four miles northwest, just off Route 7.”

Jake pulled away from the curb, accelerating. Jenna stared ahead, hoping they weren’t already too late.