Page 64 of Last Seen

Chapter Forty-Five

Theo

Brockville, Tennessee

It’s nearing sunset when Theo takes the left-hand turn into the Brockville town limits, grinding his teeth in frustration.

Four and a half hours, and there’s nothing that Lincoln Ross can find that implicates Miles Brockton or anyone else in this godforsaken town of wrongdoing.

They have nothing to go on. No leads. No sightings.

The Tennessee Highway Patrol and the Knoxville Police are pulling their traffic cams to see if they can find the Camry, and that’s all they’ve got.

There is nothing he wants to do more than come in guns a-blazing to rescue Halley. Assuming she’s here. Assuming she is in danger at all. Assuming she didn’t drop her basket and start murdering people.

He can’t imagine that from his wife, but they say you never really know someone, right?

Halley’s always had a little darkness in her, that he does know.

Considering she’d lost her mom so young, he thought he understood why.

She always had bad dreams—actual night terrors, saw shadowy figures in the room trying to kill her, that sort of thing.

For the next few days, she’d be quiet and withdrawn.

He’d try to get her to talk about what she was experiencing, to him, to someone, but she always demurred.

Now, he wonders if she was worse off than he thought all along. If the past week has broken her in some way.

He drives through the town. It is Stepford. It is Mayberry. It is Seahaven. It is a perfect rendition of what a charming small town is supposed to be. Beautifully appointed houses; smiling, waving people; clean and safe and perfect. A cheerful cage for those who want to live a special, unique life.

That’s what Miles Brockton sells them, and they eat it up.

What darkness lies beneath this veneer? Because it feels so wrong to him.

Everything he thought was engaging and welcoming when he drove in the first time to look for Halley is now strange.

Brockville is too pristine, too isolated, too good to be true.

It is a movie set for a utopian society; the dystopian world is hidden just below the surface.

Scratch deeply enough, and they won’t bleed; they will hemorrhage.

He cruises the street and finds himself in the hamlet they call Canter.

What the hell is up with these names, anyway?

He read that Brockton wanted to re-create the small-English-village feel and used charming British towns for the names, just shortened: Avalon, Canterbury, Glastonbury, and Somerville.

He dropped the second halves of the names and gave each quadrant its unique identity.

Presence is vital to a utopian society. He is surprised to realize this perfect haven is now giving him culty vibes.

Brockville is an expensive, elegant, sinister place.

Maybe Donnata Kade was exactly right. Maybe they do turn people into shells of their former selves.

Suck out the marrow and leave only the bones behind.

People come to cults to be led, to be sheep, to be told what to do.

There is nothing divine about handing over your personal responsibility.

To ignore your autonomy. To follow blindly.

He quickly surmises that Canter has nothing to do with horses running through fields, as he’d first imagined, and everything to do with health and wellness. The gym, yoga studios, what seems to be a care home for the elderly, doctors, a clinic, a pharmacy ... even a small hospital.

When Theo left Brockville, Noah Brockton was in the ICU fighting for his life.

With nothing better to do, he swings his truck into the parking lot and strides inside.

The hospital is quiet and virtually empty except for the few people stationed in the ICU.

Theo checks in at the desk and is told to wait.

A few minutes later, the nurse returns and points him down the hall.

Noah Brockton is pale, hooked to at least four machines, but his eyes are open.

He sees Theo through the glass and waves a hand, gesturing for him to come into the room.

“You gonna live?” Theo asks, and Noah smiles weakly.

“So they say. I’m glad you’re here. Did you find Halley?”

“Tell me what happened and I’ll tell you what I know.”

Noah shuts his eyes. “You have to find her. She’s in danger.”

Theo’s adrenaline bumps up a notch. “Are you saying she didn’t shoot you?”

He stares at the ceiling, then shakes his head. “No, she didn’t.”

Relief crashes through him, followed by dread. He knew it. Damn it, he knew she didn’t do this.

“Who did?”

“You really don’t know where she is?”

“She’s disappeared. Her Jeep was dropped off in Nashville. But she wasn’t the one driving it.”

Noah struggles to sit up. “Who? Who drove it?”

“Catriona Handon.”

Noah goes limp, staring at the ceiling. “What have I done?”

Theo narrows his eyes at Noah. “What the hell is going on here, man? If it wasn’t Halley, who shot you? Was it Cat?”

“No. It was a dead man. My half brother, Ian.”

That’s the second person who’s used a dead man’s name. “Do you know a woman named Donnata Kade?”

Noah nods. “Used to live here. She’s disturbed. Dad let her stay because he was worried about her. You know what they say.”

“Keep your enemies close?”

Noah frowns. “No. Charity starts at home. But she became too volatile, and he had to ask her to leave.”

“Oh. Well, I met her, and she said some rather damning things about your brother, and your father, and your family. This town. All of it. Seemed pretty convinced you people are the devil incarnate.”

“Not me. But Ian, yes. Though I swear to you, I thought he was dead. He and my dad got into an altercation years ago, and Ian was killed. But apparently that wasn’t the truth.

Apparently, my father let him go with the caveat that he never return.

He unleashed hell into the world to save us. Our town. My family.”

“Your dad told you that?”

“He did. He thought that was the best way to protect us. My God, he was so naive. He always has been. Naive and idealistic and easily led.”

“Goodness. Those are not exactly the words you want to hear from your youngest son.”

Miles Brockton stands in the doorway.

Noah looks at the ceiling again. “Sorry, Dad. But it’s true.”

“Idealistic, definitely. Naive, maybe. But never confuse compliance with knowing which battles to fight, my boy.” He strides to Theo’s side, hand out. “Miles. You’re Halley’s husband.”

Noah flinches at this statement, but Theo squares his shoulders and shakes with a modicum of distaste, knowing his only chance here is to appear unthreatening, to make them think he’s really the bumbling idiot they believe him to be.

“Yes. You don’t have any idea where she is, do you?”

“I don’t, no. She certainly did a number on my boy here.”

“Dad. I told you. It was Ian.”

Miles moves to Noah’s side. Pats him hard on the shoulder, making the man wince. “Son. I’ve told you a hundred times. Ian is dead. You’re imagining things.”

“He’s not. He was in Brooke Cottage, he shot me, and he took Halley.”

Miles has Noah’s shoulder in a tight grip now.

“You’re mistaken. You’ve had a trauma. You need rest. Mr. Donovan—”

“Agent. Agent Donovan.”

A glint in Brockton’s eyes. “My apologies. Agent. We need to let my son rest. He’s been through a lot.”

“You’re not going to gaslight me any longer, Dad. This has gone too far.”

“Stop now, son. Agent Donovan, after you.”

There is no question he’s being forced out of this room. But to where? To what end?

“Look at the cottage!” Noah shouts as the glass door slides closed.

Miles approaches the nurse, a woman so young she seems fresh out of school. “Please tend to my son. He is overwhelmed and not himself. I think a sedative is in order.”

“Yes, of course, Mr. Brockton. I’ll call the doctor right away.”

Miles turns to Theo, his face arranged in concern.

“I suppose you aren’t going to let this go, and I can’t say I blame you.

If my dearly departed wife got herself into trouble, I would have moved heaven and earth to help her.

” He guides Theo to the doors and, surprisingly, follows him out.

Theo keeps expecting Miles to tell him to leave, but instead he says, “Let’s lay all this to rest, shall we?

Would you like to follow me to Brooke Cottage?

Or ride with me?” He looks pointedly at Theo’s huge gas-guzzling truck with distaste, but there’s no way in hell Theo is going anywhere with this man without his rolling arsenal.

“I’ll follow you.”

“Suit yourself. You know they do make electric versions of your vehicle.”

“I’m aware,” Theo says. There’s no way in hell that’s happening. He needs a truck he can repair himself if something ever goes wrong. Call him old fashioned.

They drive—slowly—for a few minutes. The lights are turning on all across Brockville, making the streets feel even more welcoming and charming.

Miles waves to every person they see. They all wave back enthusiastically.

Town founder, mayor, leader, priest, hero—whatever he is to these people, they love him.

Brooke Cottage looks much the same as when Theo drove past on his first trip to Brockville. Miles parks, pulls out a key, and lets them in. Flips on the lights.

The cottage is spotless.

It certainly doesn’t look like someone was shot there.

Theo’s been to plenty of crime scenes. There’s no scent of blood, nor disarray.

It is a pleasant, empty place, ready for the next excited tenant.

The cleaners have been here. They worked quickly.

And because of that, there is no trace of his wife.

Her indiscretion does not appear before him.

Shooting the man she’d taken as a lover .

.. It still feels too surreal to imagine.

“Feel free to take a look around,” Miles says. “I have no secrets here.”

“Do you not have any secrets, Mr. Brockton?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you know a woman named Donnata Kade?”