33. Chapter 33

Chapter 33

RICHARD

“Her mother joined that crazy cult and disappeared. She’s dead, Luna. We all know that,” I scoff.

“Do we? Do we know that for sure? Where’s the body, Rick? What cult did she join?”

Her words make me pause. I’ve been so certain, but now I’m not sure. “What are you getting at? I don't speak Lunatic.”

She takes a deep breath. “When you concluded that the Slasher, Billy Brooke and our Ghostface Striker are somehow related, I started digging. My dad was a cop in Hollowbrook. Years ago, a girl named Izel walked into the police station, claiming that she and her mother were held captive. Ava Montclair left Isla on the stairs of Victor’s mansion, and Victor and his wife took her in and raised her. The Montclairs were a big name in Hollowbrook, and my father knew Isla well. But when this girl, claiming to be Izel, showed up, everyone thought she was just a runaway because she was spitting image of Isla. She kept insisting her name was Izel, but no one believed her. My father dropped her back at the Montclairs, but it bugged him. Isla’s medical records never mentioned a scar, but Izel had one on her stomach.”

“Wait,” I interrupt, my mind racing. “Are you saying...?”

Luna nods slowly, confirming my worst fears. “Yes. Izel and Isla are twin sisters. Two different people. And the one we know as Izel was telling the truth back then.”

“So that means Ava never joined a cult but has been held captive by her father?”

Luna nods. “Probably.”

“But why would he do that?” I ask, almost absentmindedly.

Then it hits me. David had mentioned something about Will getting Ava pregnant. Maybe Will abandoned her, and she returned home, only for her father to lock her away to keep the scandal under wraps. In families with old money, reputation is everything. A pregnancy out of wedlock would’ve been a disgrace. Ava would’ve been seen as a shame to society, the kind of scandal that could ruin not just her, but the entire family’s standing.

“Jesus,” I mutter, the pieces falling into place in the most horrific way possible. “The body we found in your car was Isla’s body. Who killed her?”

“Izel, but I’m assuming it was self-defense. Victor brought Izel into the real world to avoid questions about Isla’s disappearance. He is the Ghostface Striker, Rick. And he used her to kill everyone around her as a punishment for her disobedience.”

The more I think about it, the more it starts to click. It makes sense why Izel— that I’d predicted—would send those letters. She knew damn well that whoever she was in contact with would end up dead, and those letters were her way of warning me without directly implicating herself.

And the handwriting? That makes sense now too. The writing on the enrollment paper wasn’t Izel’s—it was Isla’s.

“How do you know all of this?” I ask, barely holding onto the edge of control.

Luna swallows, her gaze dropping to her hands. “Izel gave a statement. It was buried in her file—the one my father kept under wraps. Martin... he shared some details with me. He told me that if Izel ever slipped up, if she ever showed even a hint of rebellion, Victor would kill her mother and frame Izel for every single murder he committed. And I knew it was the truth when Victor spared my life. He wanted me to turn against Izel. He was banking on the fact that I’d hold it against her for kidnapping me, that I’d help frame her. But that’s not what happened. He even went so far as to threaten a girl, forcing her to give the FBI a false description of my attacker—describing Izel to a T.”

“Why didn’t she say anything?” I demand, unable to grasp why Izel kept this from us, from me. “We could’ve helped her.”

Luna shakes her head. “She was denied help once, by law enforcement. They didn’t believe her, didn’t protect her. So, how could she trust anyone else? She thought if she spoke up, it would only make things worse, that you’d think she was lying. She’s been living in constant fear, Rick. She couldn’t risk another betrayal. And there’s no hard evidence that Victor Montclair is the Ghostface Striker. In fact, he’s got files, every shred of evidence, and it all points to Izel, linking her to each kill. He’s turned the entire narrative against her, and it’s airtight.”

This whole time, I thought I was profiling her, figuring out her secrets, when in reality, I didn’t even scratch the surface. All I did was push her further into a corner Victor had trapped her in. And now, everything’s falling apart.

“Where are the reports?” I ask, focusing on the next steps.

“They’re in Hollowbrook. But I took pictures of them in case I needed to call out Izel’s lies.”

She reaches for her phone, but her movement is slow and labored. I help her pick it up, and she fumbles with the screen, unlocking it. She taps a few times and then hands it over to me.

I take the phone and slide through pictures she’s taken. There are documents detailing everything from Izel’s statement to the horrifying details of her abuse. There are notes and annotations, and in one of the statements, there’s a detailed account of Izel being sexually assaulted by Victor. I keep scrolling, my eyes tracing every word, every gut-wrenching detail of what she endured. Her world torn apart, her trust shattered by men who only took from her. Victor may have inflicted the most brutal of wounds, but I’m no better, am I?

I told myself I was different, that my intentions were justified. But the evidence says otherwise. I used her, just like the rest of them, pushing for answers, manipulating her reactions—all in the name of the case. I’m no better than anyone else who’s taken pieces of her for themselves. I took what I needed, dissected her pain for information, convinced myself it was necessary. But all I did was add another line to the list of people who have used her.

“I did something terrible, Luna,” I admit.

Luna’s eyes narrow. “What did you do?”

“I threatened Izel to get your location,” I confess, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. “I held a knife to her, tried to scare her into talking.”

“You used a knife to threaten her?”

“And... I may have used sex to get answers from her,” I add. “But I stopped the minute I realized I couldn’t go through with it.”

Luna’s disappointment is almost tangible. “So, her father tried to kill her, her grandfather made her life miserable, and her boyfriend used her. The examples of men she has in her life… it’s no wonder she’s so messed up.”

I feel a deep sense of shame and regret. “I’ll make it right, Luna.”

I stand up with a sense of urgency, my body already moving toward the exit. Luna starts to get up and I feel a strange mix of gratitude and guilt.

“You don’t have to,” I say almost as a plea.

“I am not letting her down, Reynolds,” Luna asserts. “Not when everyone else seems so good at it.”

I nod, acknowledging her words, and we walk out of the room together. Colton rushes towards us with concern etched across his face.

“What happened?” he asks, but I don’t answer. Instead, I tell him, “Keep an eye on Wilson. If he asks, tell him I am on medical leave.”

“He won’t believe that. You’ve never taken a medical leave or even a personal day.”

“Then tell him I’m dead.”

Colton’s face pales, his eyes widening like I’ve just told him I saw a dinosaur roaming around. His mouth opens to argue, but I cut him off with a wave of my hand, already turning away. “Adjacent,” I mutter over my shoulder, not in the mood to explain any further.

I lead Luna out of the building, and we settle into my car.

I pull out my phone and dial Emily. She picks up after a couple of rings.

“Any movement on Martin’s location?”

“No,” she responds. “He’s gone off the grid. We’re working on it.”

“Damn it,” I mutter, hanging up the phone. I grip the steering wheel tighter.

Luna glances at me, worry etched on her face. “Where do you think Izel could be right now?”

I let out a heavy sigh, racking my brain for any possible leads. “If Izel’s headed anywhere, it’s probably to confront Victor. But finding her before he does…that’s the tricky part.”

“Do you think she has any safe places? Somewhere she’d go to regroup or think things through?”

I think back to our time together, trying to recall any mention of a place like that. “She never really talked about a place like that. She always seemed like she was running, never stopping long enough to have a safe haven.”

I feel a pang of regret as I remember how she’d once said she felt safe around me. At the time, it felt flattering, but now I realize how much she meant it. I was her fucking sanctuary, and I let her down. The thought makes me angrier at myself.

“Remember every small detail,” I urge her. Luna nods, and I can see her expression mirroring my intensity. I know she’s been through enough, and it is selfish of me to ask her to help me fix the mess I’ve created, but my options are painfully limited.

Luna hesitates before responding, “I don’t know where she was held captive, Rick. I don’t think she knew it either.” Frustration creeps into my expression. A dead end. But we can’t afford to give up.

Maybe Izel went home to Hollowbrook. It’s a long shot, but I have to try. We arrive in Hollowbrook, and I drive past the old Montclair estate, my gut telling me this place holds more secrets than we know.

“Think she might’ve come here?” I ask Luna, slowing the car as we near the mansion.

“It’s possible,” she replies. “It’s the only home she’s ever known, twisted as it is.”

I park the car a little down the road, out of sight. I ring the doorbell, and the chime echoes through the silent night. After what feels like an eternity, a woman in her sixties opens the door. She’s dressed in an old-fashioned housecoat, her silver hair pulled back into a neat bun.

“Can I help you?” she asks.

“SSA Richard Reynolds, FBI,” I say, flashing my badge. “We’re looking for Izel Montclair.”

The woman’s face shifts from caution to confusion. “Izel? Oh, you mean Isla? She arrived about an hour ago. Please, come in.”

“Can we see her?” I ask, my patience hanging by a thread.

“Of course,” she says, stepping aside to let us in. She calls out, “Isla, dear! You have visitors!”

No response. My heart pounds in my chest as we step into the foyer.

“Where is your husband?”

“He’s in the backyard, playing golf,” she replies, pointing us towards the back of the house.

Luna and I exchange a look and head through the house. The place is a maze of antique furniture and family portraits. We reach the backyard, but it’s empty. No sign of Victor, and more importantly, no sign of Izel.

“Fuck,” I mutter, scanning the darkened yard. “Where the hell are they?”

Luna looks just as frustrated as I feel. “He’s gotta be around here somewhere. And so does she.”

I rack my brain, working to narrow down their possible locations. “They didn’t leave the property. Mrs. Montclair would have noticed if they did. So, they have to be in the house.”

“But where?” Luna asks. “This place is huge.”

I think back to what I know about Victor and the Montclair estate. “When your dad found Izel, was she on foot or did someone drop her off?”

Luna frowns, trying to remember. “I can’t recall. I’m not even sure if my dad ever mentioned that detail.”

“Think,” I urge. “It could give us a clue. Was there any mention of a car or anything like that?”

She shakes her head. “No, he never said anything about that. Just that she showed up at the station.”

I pace back and forth, running through the possibilities in my mind. “If Victor had her captive, it’s likely he didn’t want her seen. He wouldn’t risk moving her around too much.”

“Right,” Luna says, catching on. “So, if she wasn’t moved around, where would he keep her?”

I think over the possibilities. Victor wouldn’t risk moving Izel far; too many eyes, too much exposure. He’s smart and careful. If Izel was captive before, it had to be somewhere right under everyone’s noses. The house, with its labyrinth of rooms and hidden corners, is the perfect place.

“What if she was held here?” I say, the realization hitting me. “In her own home?”

Luna’s eyes widen. “You think he’d be that bold?”

“Think about it,” I say, my mind racing. “He’s a master manipulator. Keeping her close, right under everyone’s noses, is the ultimate power play. No one would suspect it.”

Luna bites her lip, contemplating my words. “But if we’re wrong, we’ll be wasting precious time searching this entire place.”

She’s right. We can’t afford to chase dead ends. I turn to Mrs. Montclair, who’s watching us.

“Mrs. Montclair,” I exhale, steadying my tone. “Can I ask you something?”

She looks at me, her eyes clouded with confusion. “Of course, dear. What is it?”

“How did Ava disappear?”

Mrs. Montclair’s expression shifts, her eyes filling with tears. “Ava,” she murmurs. “My sweet Ava…”

“Are you okay?”

She shakes her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. “No,” she whispers. “I haven’t been okay since the day she vanished.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, my words feeling inadequate in the face of her grief. “We’re here to help.”

“Are you here to look for my daughter?”

“Yes,” I reply firmly.

“But why now? The case was closed years ago. In fact the sheriff and the police department were in such a rush to close the case back then. They just declared her dead, with no real investigation.”

How do I explain this to her? I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what comes next. “Mrs. Montclair, there’s something you need to know. We believe that Izel might be in danger and finding her could lead us to answers about Ava’s disappearance.”

Her face pales. “What do you mean Izel’s in danger? She was just home. Probably went out with her grandfather to help him.”

“I can’t get into all the details right now, but I need to know everything you remember about Ava’s disappearance. Anything could help.”

She nods, the lines on her face deepening as she recalls the painful memory. “Ava was in the yard, talking to her boyfriend, Will, when I left with my elder daughter, Mia, for the grocery store. She was smiling, laughing… like any other day. She told Victor, my husband, that she was going out with Will later. Victor saw them leave together.”

Her voice trembles as she continues. “When Mia and I came back, the house was quiet. At first, we didn’t think much of it. Kids her age are always out and about. But as the hours passed, worry set in. We called her friends, even Will’s parents, but no one knew where they were. That was the last we ever heard from her.”

I let her words sink in, piecing together the fragments of the story. “What about Will? Did he have any reason to harm her?”

She shakes her head vehemently. “No, Will loved Ava. He was a good kid. They were young, but they were serious about each other. We never had any problems with him.”

Well, that’s a first. So far, I’ve heard nothing but negative things about Will. Everyone painted him as a reckless, irresponsible jerk who bailed on Ava when she needed him the most. This changes things. If Will wasn’t the bad guy in this story, then the real villain is still out there.

“Did the police find anything suspicious?”

“Nothing,” she says. “No signs of a struggle, no clues, nothing.”

“Did Victor mention anything unusual about that day?”

She hesitates, then shakes her head. “Nothing unusual, but he was adamant that she ran away. We even hired a private investigator, but when we received a letter from Ava saying she’d joined a cult, Victor didn’t want to pay the investigator anymore. He said it was a lost cause.”

I exchange a glance with Luna. Our eyes confirm the suspicion between us: Victor was involved in Ava’s disappearance. Why would a father not put in the effort to find his daughter? The letter was too convenient, and it raises too many red flags.

Victor’s insistence that Ava ran away and his reluctance to keep searching point to something darker. Maybe Ava was never far from home. If Mrs. Montclair was out getting groceries, it wouldn’t give him a lot of time to get Ava out of the house without drawing attention.

“Mrs. Montclair,” I say carefully, “do you mind if I take a look around your house? Maybe there’s something that was missed before.”

I know this isn’t legal or formal in any way, but I don’t give a fuck. If Victor has Izel, I’ll cross any legal boundaries. I used to be the kind of man who followed the law. Now? I write my own, and they’re written in the blood of anyone who tries to take my girl from me.

She looks taken aback but nods slowly. “I suppose so, but I don’t know what good it will do now.”

We follow Mrs. Montclair back to her house. I start in Ava’s old room. It’s been preserved like a shrine. Everything is in its place as if she might walk back in any moment.

I check the obvious places first—closets, under the bed, drawers. Nothing jumps out at me. I move to the window, examining the locks. My frustration mounts. There has to be something.

“Anything?” Luna asks, checking the closet.

“Not yet. But I can’t shake the feeling we’re missing something obvious.”

I turn my attention to the walls, running my fingers along the seams of the wallpaper. One corner feels different, a slight bulge. I peel it back gently, revealing a small hidden compartment.

Inside, I find a collection of letters and some other random teenage stuff—notes from friends, ticket stubs, little trinkets. But the letters catch my eye. They detail how much Ava’s father wanted to control her. He wasn’t particularly happy about her relationship with Will.

As I read through them, something falls out. Two bus tickets to Virginia, dated the day Ava disappeared. Ava and Will were planning to run away, but they never made it.

But how is that possible? They did make it. It's the only way all of this adds up. He and Ava didn’t just disappear off the grid. They found themselves in a cult. Maybe they got sucked in with promises of freedom or salvation—something that seemed like an escape from the tight grip Ava’s father had on her. Ava had the twins there, in secret. Will fathered the girls, but they never got the chance to live a normal life. Isla and Izel were born into this. That’s why the birth certificates were buried, why everything was hidden.

“Rick, over here,” Luna calls out, breaking my train of thought. She’s pointing at a loose floorboard.

I cross the room and kneel beside her. The board creaks as I force it open, revealing another stash of documents. As I sift through the papers, a chill runs down my spine—what I see shocks me to the core.