Page 34 of Once Vanished
April: If you hurt her, I swear to God—
Unknown: Threats don’t become you, April.You’re more sophisticated than that.Or at least, that’s what your file suggests.
April’s stomach lurched.
Unknown: Oh yes, I know all about you.Your interests.Your traumas.Especially that unfortunate business with Samuel Peterson a few years back.
The name hit April like a physical blow.The room around her seemed to recede, replaced by memories she’d spent years trying to bury: the rough wood against her back, splinters digging into her skin.The damp, dark space beneath the deck.The smell of earth and mold.The sound of Peterson’s voice, the hissing of the blowtorch as he brought it closer to her face, the heat of it searing her skin without touching it.
Her legs gave out, and she sank onto the edge of her bed.Her breath came in short, sharp gasps.
Unknown: I touched a nerve, didn’t I?My apologies.Truly.What he did to you was unconscionable.
April forced herself to breathe deeply, the way her therapist had taught her.In through the nose.Out through the mouth.Count to four.She wouldn’t let him do this to her.She wouldn’t let him pull her back into that darkness.
April: What do you want?
Unknown: Just a pleasant conversation.Is that so much to ask?I’ve been fascinated by your mother for quite some time.The way she thinks.The way she works.The way she killed Peterson to save you.Quite dramatic, wasn’t it?The struggle in the water?The way your mom took him out with a shotgun?
April felt sick.How did he know these details?The case files were confidential.
Unknown: I’ve always wanted to see that place, you know.Where it all happened.Where your mother became a killer to save her child.It’s romantic, in a way.Would you take me there someday, April?Show me where it happened?
She stared at the screen.The very thought of returning to that place made her body go cold all over again.She couldn’t answer.Wouldn’t.
After a moment of her silence, he texted again.
Unknown: Guess not.Well, I’ll find it on my own.Give your mom my best wishes.
The thread went silent.April stared at the screen, her heart hammering against her ribs.The implication in his message was clear.He was going there.To the place where her mother had killed Peterson.And if Leo knew what had happened there, he knew much more about their family than anyone had realized.
Her hands shaking, April hit the call button on her mother’s contact.This wasn’t something that could wait for Mathers to notify them.Leo was on the move, and he was headed somewhere deeply personal to their family.Somewhere April had sworn she would never return to.
The phone rang once.Twice.
*
Riley watched as the forensics team combed through the dilapidated house, their methodical movements a stark contrast to the chaos around them.Dust motes swirled in the shafts of sunlight that cut through broken window blinds, illuminating years of neglect and filth.She stood in what passed for a living room, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, as if physically holding herself together.Every second spent here was a second not spent finding Jilly, but she knew this place might hold some key to understanding Leo—and that could lead to her daughter.
“They’re not finding much,” Bill said, coming to stand beside her.His presence was solid, reassuring.A counterbalance to the precarious tilt of her world.
“Because there isn’t much to find,” Riley replied, frustration sharpening her tone.
She glanced toward the kitchen, where Smitty sat hunched at a scarred table, a female officer sitting across from him.The man looked small, diminished—a far cry from the raving, terrified figure they’d encountered upstairs.The sedative the paramedics had administered had calmed him, but it had also dulled whatever insights he might have provided.
“We’ve asked him everything we can think of,” Bill said, following her gaze.“Names, dates, places.He either doesn’t know or can’t articulate it.”
“Leo chose him specifically because of that,” Riley said, bitterness threading through her words.“A mentally impaired homeless man who’d be grateful for shelter and who couldn’t provide coherent testimony.”
A social worker had arrived fifteen minutes ago, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and practical shoes who’d immediately assessed the situation with a professional calm that Riley envied.Now she was talking quietly with Smitty, explaining what would happen next.The man nodded occasionally, his weathered face blank with either acceptance or incomprehension—Riley couldn’t tell which.
“Social services will place him in appropriate care,” Bill said, reading her thoughts.“He’ll be safe.”
“Safe,” Riley echoed hollowly.“Unlike my daughter.”
Bill didn’t offer empty reassurances, and Riley was grateful for that.Instead, he asked, “What does this place tell you about Leo?”
Riley forced herself to focus, to look at the scene as an investigator rather than a desperate mother.