A.J. Rivers
The Girl That Vanished
(Emma Griffin FBI Mystery - 2)
Prologue
Her phone never rang after ten. The world might still be churning outside, but in the little white house at the end of a winding brick path, everything stopped as soon as the clock ticked past nine. So, when her phone started ringing at almost midnight, it took Sandra a few seconds to process the sound. It seemed to ring from a far distance, somewhere she wouldn’t be able to find it. But as the fog of sleep dissipated, it sounded stronger and louder, finally leading her to snatch it from the bedside table where she left it when she toppled into the sheets hours before.
“Yes?” she muttered, rubbing away the sting in her eyes with her fingertips.
“Mrs. Brooks?” a voice asked.
“It’s Ms.”
The correction was a reflex. Four years after her bitter divorce, Sandra still felt like she was fighting to reclaim herself. People always assumed she was still attached to him. The ‘r’ was implied, a given to most people who spoke to her. It was just a letter. Just one tiny letter. But it made so much of an impact. Even in her almost-sleep, she snapped back against it even before she could fully process the voice speaking to her. It sounded familiar in that distant kind of way that she knew she’d heard it before, but no face formed in her thoughts.
“Yes?” she repeated.
“This is Troy Macmillan, from Twin Rivers Camp.”
The mention of the summer camp she sent her daughter to just three days before snapped her awake. Sitting up against the headboard, Sandra turned on the lamp beside her and squinted at the sharp pain the bright light cut through her eyes.
“What’s wrong? Is Alice homesick? Let me speak to her,” she said.
It was the first time she let her daughter go away from home for more than a few hours. At ten years old, she hadn’t even had a sleepover with a friend from school. She preferred to be at home, to lose herself in her world of books and dolls, her pets and her mother. This summer was meant to be different. Sandra saw glimpses of change in her daughter, hints that she was right on the brink of breaking out of her shell. Securing her a spot at the idyllic summer camp for the first two weeks of summer break was meant to give her a nudge. Sandra envisioned her daughter coming home at the end of the two weeks brimming with confidence and stories and wanting to fill her schedule with new friends and activities.
But now it seemed that after just three days, Alice wasn’t coping. Sandra had prepared for this. She wasn’t going to force her daughter out into a world she wasn’t ready for and possibly end up making her retract even more. She told her to give it a couple of nights, and if she wasn’t having fun to call her. Sandra was readying herself to give Alice an encouraging talk when the camp director finally responded.
“No. Alice is missing.”
* * *
Sandra didn’t know how she got to the camp. She was just suddenly there, dressed and with her thick hair pulled back in a clip that pressed painfully into the back of her skull. The yellow glow from the windows of the administration building was jarring against the velvet brushstrokes of the darkened landscape. It was still hours from sunrise, but she wasn’t going to wait for it to get to the man who said those words to her. She didn’t remember putting on her clothes, sweeping back her unbrushed hair, or driving the thirty minutes outside the town limits. But she would always remember the ominous light of the building.
The door opened before she got to the top step, and some of the light spilled out onto the porch. A dark-haired man wearing yesterday’s clothes and tomorrow’s fear stood in the doorway waiting for her. He stretched his hand out to her, but Sandra didn’t take it.
“Where is my daughter?” she demanded. “What happened to her?”
“Please, come inside,” Macmillan said, backing into the building.
She followed but didn’t take the seat he offered.
“How could my daughter be missing?”
“She was accounted for at dinner, and then went to the evening activity at the recreation center. We had a campfire tonight, and her cabinmates say she was there and then went back with them for bed. She was in her bunk at lights out, but when one of the other girls woke up to use the restroom, she noticed Alice wasn’t in her bunk,” Macmillan explained.
“How long ago was that?” Sandra asked.
“About an hour before I called you.”
Heat burned across her cheeks and down the back of her neck as spots danced in front of her eyes.
“An hour before you called me? My daughter has been missing for almost two hours? Where are the police?”
“Sometimes girls leave their cabins for dares, or because they want the excitement of breaking the rules. It’s happened many times before, and we find them wandering the woods or trying to meet up with boys at the boathouse.”
“She is ten years old,” Sandra said through gritted teeth.
“We looked for her throughout the camp, and when we couldn’t find her, we called you. We wanted to make sure you knew what was happening before we moved forward. Just in case there is a history of her running away or sneaking out.”
Her hands could have snapped his desk in half. She took a step toward him and leaned so he could see the bloodshot lines in her eyes. She wanted him to hear her words. To know what she meant by them.
“You lost my child. Get the fucking police here now.”
Chapter One
Now
“I know it isn’t real. But for the first few moments, it feels like it is.”
“Every time?”
My lungs depress as my breath slides out of them.
“Yes.”
“What does that feel like?”
I try not to resent the question. She’s doing her job. I’m the one closing off to it.
“Horrific,” I tell her. “I thought in dreams you weren’t supposed to be able to experience your senses. That’s what separates the perception of a dream from reality.”
“That’s a common belief, but the more we look into how the brain functions during sleep and what dreams really are, the more we’re learning that the brain is capable of some extraordinary things. Many people can’t feel any sensation during dreams, but for some, the intensity of experience in a dream is no different from being awake. Some even report the sensations are more intense, including physical pain.”
“So, that whole ‘somebody pinch me’ thing is just a bunch of bullshit,” I mutter.
The therapist looks like she wants to laugh, but it would be unprofessional. Instead, she adjusts her glasses up her thin nose and nods.
“That’s a good way of putting it. Especially in situations that are dramatic or impactful, your brain can relive every aspect of it in dream form. This seems especially true for nightmares.”
I nod.
“I can tell you that’s true. Even when I’ve realized I’m dreaming, everything is clear. I can feel the cold on my skin. I’ve never felt cold like that. Which doesn’t make sense because I know I’ve been in colder places. I’ve lived in colder places. But that night was cold like every cell of my body was turning to ice. And the smell.”
My eyes close as I try not to let it take over me right now. “The house smells like decay and dust and death. I can taste it. I don’t want to breathe because it gets on my tongue and makes me gag. I don’t want to go into the basement. Every time I have the dream, in those few minutes before it sinks in that it’s not real, something still tells me to stay away from the basement.”