CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Sheila's call went straight to voicemail.

This is Star. You know what to do.

"Star, I don't know where you are…" Sheila paused, not wanting too much frustration to creep into her voice. "Listen, whatever you need, you can just talk to me, okay? I'm more concerned about you than I am about the car. Just…be safe. Call me back." She ended the call and flopped down on the couch. She was in the Coldwater County Sheriff's Department's break room, recovering from the disappointment of ruining a golden opportunity to catch the killer. They had predicted where he would be and seen him with their own eyes, and still he had gotten away.

She glanced at the time: 2:03 am. She really ought to get some sleep, but thoughts of the elusive killer and Star's uncharacteristic disappearance kept her awake.

Finn entered the break room, his tired eyes reflecting her own exhaustion. He quietly poured himself a cup of coffee, added a pinch of sugar, and leaned against the counter.

"I've just had a word with someone from social services," he said, taking a slow sip from his mug. "They're stepping in to check on Otis' granddaughters. Apparently, they're safe."

Sheila nodded, relief washing over her. She looked up at Finn, grateful for his thoroughness. "That's good news," she said. "We could do with some of that right now."

"Yeah," Finn replied, his gaze softening as he looked at her. "You okay?"

Sheila took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "We were so close to catching him, Finn. And now...I don't know what to do next."

Finn crossed the room and sat down next to her on the couch. His arm found its way around her shoulders, pulling her close. "We'll figure this out together," he reassured her, "just like we always do."

Silence fell between them as they both stared at the half-empty cups of coffee on the table.

"I'm worried about Star, too," she said. "Nobody's seen her or my car. "

Finn frowned. "Any theories where she might've gone?"

She pictured Leary's battered, exhausted face as he explained to them how the killer had forced him to drive away. Was it possible the killer had been hiding in Sheila's car, just waiting for her return—and instead Star had shown up?

"No," Sheila said, shaking her head. "But I can't shake the feeling that she's in trouble."

Finn took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, his grip around her tightening. "We're going to find her," he said. "She's probably just blowing off some steam. You know how emotional teenagers get."

"She's fourteen, Finn. She shouldn't be driving at all."

Finn sighed. "What do you want to do? You already put out an APB. Unless you can think of where she might be, there's nothing to do but wait for her to turn up." He studied Sheila, his face only inches from hers. "What is it?" he asked.

"The only thing that would make sense," Sheila began slowly, "is if she went back to her dad's place."

"The guy you beat up because he was beating her up?"

"Something like that. But it doesn't make sense—she was miserable there. Why would she go back?"

"Miserable or not, that's her father. Nothing can change that unhappy fact." He rose, stifling a yawn. "Come on, let's go check it out. It's clear you're not going to get any sleep while worrying about Star, and I'm not going to get any sleep while worrying about you."

***

The drive to Star's old home was largely silent. The night enveloped the town, casting long, dark shadows across the deserted streets. Sheila's heart pounded in sync with the rhythmic hum of the car engine.

She turned to look at Finn. His brow was furrowed in concentration as he maneuvered through a series of turns, following the GPS route to Star's father's house. She suddenly felt an immense surge of gratitude toward him. Through their shared history of struggle and loss, he had become her anchor, always steady and reliable when things spiraled out of control.

"There it is," she said, her heart leaping at the sight of her car parked across the street from Oakwood Apartments, the rundown building that Star used to call home .

Finn pulled their car over, the headlights illuminating the faded brick of the building. They both got out, approaching Sheila's car with a dreadful apprehension. It was silent, only broken by their footsteps echoing on the asphalt. The car was empty, but Sheila spotted a glint of metal under the passenger seat: Star's locket. She picked it up gently and held it in her hand. It felt heavier than she had expected.

"Let's check inside," Finn suggested, and they made their way to the entrance of Oakwood Apartments. As they climbed up the creaky stairs to Star's old apartment, the silence seemed louder, more eerie. They stood outside the battered door, marked with the number '305.' Finn stepped forward and knocked.

No answer.

He knocked again, louder this time, but still there was no response. Sheila felt her heart pound in her chest like a drum. She stepped up to the door and pressed her ear against it. At first, there was silence, but then she heard a faint sound—was that a sob?

"Star?" she called out, worry creeping into her voice. "Are you in there?"

Another muffled sound, but no clear response. Sheila's concern grew. She reached for the doorknob, expecting it to be locked, but to her surprise, it turned easily.

"It's open," she whispered to Finn, her brow furrowing in confusion.

Finn nodded, his hand moving to his holster as a precaution. Sheila pushed the door open slowly, revealing the dimly lit apartment within.

"Star?" she called out again as she stepped inside, her hand instinctively moving to the gun at her side. The apartment was small and cluttered, a mess of worn-out furniture and discarded beer cans.

She moved deeper into the apartment, her heart pounding with fear and anticipation. She checked each room: the kitchen—empty; bathroom—empty; first bedroom—empty. Finally, she reached the second bedroom. Pushing open the door cautiously, she stepped inside.

The room was void of presence but rich with memories: a small bed in one corner, several sketchbooks scattered across a wooden desk, a wall adorned with photographs of Star in happier times. Sheila tried to reconcile this with the abusive father whom she had encountered in this very building not long ago, the man who had tacitly admitted to beating his own daughter as a form of discipline.

"Thought he was just a monster, didn't you?" a voice behind her said .

She turned around to see Star in the doorway, her arms crossed, looking lost and defiant all at once.

"Star," Sheila whispered, relief flooding her.

"You're not wrong," Star continued, seeming not to hear her. "He was—is—a monster. But that doesn't give you the right to treat him the way you did."

"I was just trying to—"

"I don't care what you were trying to do!" Star exclaimed, nearly shouting now. "I saw what you did. I saw his face."

Sheila's heart sank. It was just as she'd feared: The man had played the victim card, making Sheila out to be the villain.

Sheila moved closer to the girl slowly, taking in her tear-streaked face and the hollow look in her eyes. "You don't have to be here," she said softly. "You have a choice."

"Do I?" Star shot back, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. "My whole life has been other people's choices. My dad's choice to hit me. Your choice to rescue me. Well, now it's my turn to choose."

"What do you mean?" Sheila asked, a knot forming in her stomach.

Star's eyes hardened. "I'm leaving. Getting out of Coldwater County altogether. I came here just to see this place one last time before I go."

Sheila's heart dropped. "Star, I—I'm so sorry. I never meant to make things worse for you. I thought I was helping, but I realize now that I took your situation into my own hands without considering the consequences."

"Yeah, well, good intentions don't fix anything," Star muttered, but her voice had lost some of its edge.

Sheila took a deep breath. "You're right. I messed up. But running away isn't the answer. It's dangerous out there, especially for someone your age."

"Can't be worse than here," Star said, but Sheila could see the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes.

"Listen," Sheila said gently, "I know I've given you reasons not to trust me, but I'm asking you to give me one more chance. Instead of running away, why don't you come have breakfast with me? We can talk about what you want, what you need. No judgments, no decisions made for you. Just listening. What do you say?"

Star was silent for a long moment, her gaze searching Sheila's face. Then finally she nodded, a small, almost imperceptible movement that filled Sheila with relief .

"Fine," Star replied, a hint of her usual smirk appearing. "But I'm warning you—I eat a lot."

Sheila laughed, the tension in her chest easing slightly. "That's fine by me. My treat."

It was a small victory, perhaps, but in the storm they were currently weathering, any victory felt significant. She knew they still had a long way to go; Star's healing process had only just begun, and Sheila still had her own demons to fight. But for now, in that small, quiet bedroom, it was enough.

"Come on," Sheila said, standing up. "Let's get out of here."

Finn stepped into the hallway and cleared his throat. "I hate to kill the mood, but we've got business. Coroner just called—wants to give us her report in person."