Chapter 2

CHAPTER

2

LINDSEY

Present day

"LINDS, YOUR MOM and I are going out for dinner. You're on your own to get yourself something to eat" My dad said, poking his head around my bedroom door.

I pulled my Airpod out of my ear and gave him a nervous smile. He had no idea he had caught me listening to the first episode of the Ten Seconds to Vanish podcast for the fifth time since its release. The new episode was due to drop over the weekend and I could barely contain my impatience.

"I'll be fine, Dad. I'll have some of Mom's leftover lasagna."

"Your mom told me to tell you that she made a casserole if you wanted it." He peered hesitantly into my room. "And you know what she'd say about excessive screen time. Do us both a favor and read a book or something, otherwise I have to hear about it," he laughed absently, indicating my phone with its lit up screen and the podcast graphic in plain view. Dad wasn't one to lecture, or be too involved with my life in any way, which was in stark contrast to my mother's hovering. Ultimately, they seemed to balance each other out.

I quickly flipped it over before he could see it. "I'm listening to a podcast, no eyes necessary." I wanted to smack myself as soon as the truth left my mouth.

Dad raised his eyebrows. "A podcast? Which one? Maybe I've heard of it. I'm down, I hear stuff," he joked.

"Oh it's nothing exciting. Just a podcast on fancy hotels," I lied, feeling awful at how effortless it was for me to do so. Lying to my parents wasn't natural for me. We had an open and honest relationship, which made me feel ten times worse.

Dad made a face. "Sounds like a pass." Dad and I didn't share interests, so it wasn't hard to put him off the scent.

"Not a sports car in sight, I'm afraid," I teased. My dad loved muscle cars, particularly the bright yellow 1965 Mustang Boss 429 he kept parked in the garage and I had never seen him drive.

Mom and I didn't understand why he kept it out there. The garage's roof often leaked when it rained, and it was freezing in the winter and boiling hot in the summer. And for a brief time, when I was younger, it seemed to be where every animal in the neighborhood went to die.

I remembered as a kid, that to combat the stink of a raccoon that had crawled up into the eaves and began to rot, Dad had filled glass bowls with white vinegar and left them lined along the floor and on the shelves. He had also taken to dousing everything in peppermint oil. Apparently, it was a problem with the way the houses on the street were built. Our neighbor, Mrs. Lewis, complained of a similar issue.

Eventually the smell subsided after Dad told us he boarded up the hole on the side of the house. Regardless, Mom and I steered clear of the garage. It wasn't exactly a place you wanted to spend much time in.

"Definitely not for me then." His eyes crinkled at the edges as he smiled.

My dad was incredibly handsome. He had aged well and it was impossible to go anywhere without women noticing him. He was the epitome of masculinity; tall, broad shouldered, dark haired, chiseled jaw line and an easy-going smile. He had charisma and was very likable. But he only had eyes for his car magazines and his phone that seemed permanently attached to his hand.

His job as a real estate agent demanded a lot of his time. He was a broker and had started his own agency when I was a little kid. He had worked hard to become one of the ‘best goddamn realtors in the county.' As a result I rarely saw him growing up, though Mom always told me it was all in the name of keeping a roof over our heads.

"Okay then, we'll be back in a while." Dad paused, as if deciding whether to come into my room. I couldn't remember the last time he had stepped inside. He didn't make a habit of venturing to this part of the house. The proximity to the permanently closed door across the hall acted as a barrier, keeping him out most of the time.

Eventually he took a step back, away from my room. Away from me. With a quick glance around and a slight wave, he headed downstairs.

My parents and I existed easily together for the most part. Dad gave me all the space I could have ever wanted, my mother all the nurturing I had ever needed. I loved them both. They had always been the most important people in my life, which is why, at thirty years old, I still lived at home. Some adults may find it suffocating, and if I was being honest with myself, some days I did as well, but mostly I appreciated that I could depend on them for anything.

Most people couldn't understand how the thought of leaving my parents alone with their unending grief, left me with a sinking feeling of guilt that was much worse than letting my mom continue to do my laundry and my dad to dutifully pay my car insurance.

When I went away to college, Mom struggled. She would call constantly to check that I was okay and ask what I was up to. She wanted to know who my friends were and if I was dating. It had been unnecessarily hard on all of us, considering I could have lived at home and gone to the great school that was less than fifteen minutes away.

But going to Southern State University had never been an option. Even though my parents were both alumni and it was where they had met, it would always be Jessie's college. That had been her life. And it would never be mine. Any other prior claim was forgotten once she had gone missing. The college would forever belong to a girl who would never be going back.

So, together, my mom and I decided I'd go to North Carolina East College, knowing it was only four years. And the moment I graduated, I came back home. We had never discussed it, but we came to a silent, mutual agreement.

I was a grown woman stuck in limbo between my old life and the prospect of a new one. But I wasn't in a hurry to rectify the situation. Because moving on had proven incredibly hard for me, too.

I turned the podcast back on as soon as I heard the front door shut. The high-pitched voices of the two hosts, one clearly from the South, the other with an indescribable British accent, filled my ears as they laughed and joked about something that wasn't remotely funny.

"What do we know about Jessica Fadley?" one of them asked, her question taking on the dramatic cadence of someone putting on a show.

"We know she was super smart."

"I read she graduated top of her class in high school, which is pretty damn impressive," Rachel, the first host, laughed.

"Yeah, not everyone is like you, Rach, drinking their way to a solid D average during their teenage years," Stella teased.

"Well, it's not like she was Miss Perfect. Sure, Jessica was smart, but once she was off to school, like most of us, she had a good time. People who knew her said she partied and stayed out late—she was getting the full college experience," Rachel interjected.

"She sounds like my kinda gal," Stella cooed.

Okay, I'd had enough. I turned it back off, shutting down the streaming app before I was tempted to turn it back on. Listening to people making light of my sister's life and disappearance was the worst kind of masochism.

This was their entertainment, but it was my life. Her life.

"Ugh," I groaned, leaning back in my chair and pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes. "What is wrong with me?"

I knew I was torturing myself, and I knew it wasn't healthy.

A loud thump caught my attention and I froze. My ears strained in the throbbing silence.

Was that a rustling? A sign of movement?

It was coming from the direction of my open doorway. I dropped my hands and glanced toward the closed door across the hall. I stared, imagining it gradually creaking open.

There was a barely audible sigh. A release of pent-up air. And it came from her room.

There was an uncomfortable buzzing in my ears, and my palms started to sweat. This wasn't the first time I had experienced unexplained noises, yet I never grew accustomed to them. Each and every time, I became paralyzed with an irrational fear that felt rooted in the grief that permeated the house.

I got to my feet and slowly, quietly, made my way to the door of the room that hadn't been occupied in twenty-four years.

I put my hand on the knob, willing myself to turn it. It felt warm, as if it had been held only moments before.

There was an echo of a presence. As if I had only missed her by a few seconds. I could almost feel her on the other side. Waiting for me.

I hurriedly backed away.

After that, I decided that staying home was a bad idea. I needed to get out of that house and the remnants of ghosts that sometimes, on days like today, made themselves known.

As I sped away from home, I glanced in my rearview mirror, seeing Southern State at the top of the hill, all lit up. I wondered, not for the first time, about Jess's life there.

Would I ever find out?

Instead of driving toward downtown, I found myself making a detour. I followed the main road out of town, only about five miles, until I reached a familiar turnoff. Police tape cordoned off the area, so I couldn't drive down the narrow gravel path that cut between the trees, leading to Doll's Eye Lake.

I pulled off to the side of the road and let my car idle. I watched groups of people walking through the thick growth of trees. A nondescript white van was parked at the edge of the woods. A woman wearing white coveralls leaned against the side of the van talking on her phone.

The normally quiet, secluded place was bustling with activity. Teams were combing through every square inch of dirt and rock, looking for something— anything —that would explain how a body had come to be buried in the ground there. In a place familiar to every person that lived in Mt. Randall.

Is this where Jess had been the whole time? I wondered to myself. Only a couple of miles away?

Feeling cold from the inside out, I put my car in drive and did a U-turn in the middle of the road, heading back to town.

Mt Randall wasn't always a place people wanted to visit. The Chamber of Commerce had worked tirelessly over the past ten years to put it on the map. They'd wanted to create a town that still clung to its small town roots while also embracing innovation and progress. As a result of their efforts, Mt. Randall was slowly becoming a tourist hot spot known for its shops and restaurants.

The chamber had a fight convincing some of the older townsfolk—those stuck in their old ways and how things had "always been done." But ultimately the chamber got their way, and now the town was starting to thrive.

Ten minutes later, I parked my car in my designated spot in the Bronze Monarch's lot and headed into the luxurious restaurant. The staff weren't surprised to see me because I did this often. The food at the Bronze Monarch's restaurant, The Golden Butterfly, was incredible. It had an esteemed reputation and won numerous awards, mostly thanks to our Michelin-starred chef, Pierre Rochefort.

When she saw me, Evelyn, the hostess, waved me over to my usual table near the windows. I sat down and smiled sheepishly at her.

"I've been dreaming about the clam chowder since Pierre sent me the week's menu," I laughed.

"He's outdone himself this time," she agreed, tucking a stray red curl behind her ear. "He said he's put a secret ingredient in it, and I don't know what it is, but it works. I had a bowl for lunch and I'm taking some home for Reg and the kids," she chuckled.

My stomach growled in anticipation.

"I'll tell him you want a large bowl." Evelyn gave me a wink.

"Make it extra large, with a basket of bread, and a large red wine, too, please," I requested eagerly.

"Coming right up," she assured me and then headed back to the kitchen.

The Golden Butterfly wasn't particularly busy tonight, so I knew I wouldn't be waiting long for my food, not that I wasn't happy to wait. These people, this hotel, were my second family. My second home. I didn't go out very often, so this was the extent of my socialization.

It may have seemed strange to some—your place of employment being your sole social outlet—but it was. I had never cared much about having tons of friends or going out every night of the week. Even as a teen, I tended to stick to myself, and was happy to do so. I never felt I was missing anything. I had always been content with my life. I had to be. Being the sister of a missing girl didn't make me Miss Popular.

"Would I be feeding you another line if I were to ask to join you?"

I looked up to see Ryan McKay, the guest I had helped earlier in the week, standing in front of me, a half drunk cocktail in his hand.

I debated whether to let him. Despite my better judgment, I found myself inclining my head in invitation. Perhaps it wasn't Ryan, but the promise of a diversion from my dark, obsessive thoughts that had me thinking that letting him sit with me was a good idea.

I surreptitiously looked him over. He was the kind of man you stopped to appreciate. I also couldn't help but notice the lack of a ring on his left hand.

"That seems to be your MO, Mr. McKay," I deadpanned as he sat down.

His cheeks flushed as he grinned. "I can tell I haven't made the best first impression. I feel like I need to rectify that immediately. I can't have you thinking I spend my time traveling around the country hitting on beautiful hotel staff."

It was my turn to blush. I wasn't usually one to be swayed by compliments, I was too guarded to let throwaway comments affect me, but something about his delivery seemed to get to me.

In that moment, he reminded me of my dad. The sort of man who was used to getting what he wanted. He saw my dismissal as a challenge and I knew it wouldn't stop him. I also knew I'd probably give in eventually. It felt like an inevitability.

I let the tension sit between us for several seconds before I took pity on him.

"You can join me as long as you drop the tired pickup lines." I couldn't help but smile secretly. "I don't make it a habit of socializing with guests, though. No matter how handsome they are."

Oh god, had I really said that?

Of course Ryan jumped on it. "You think I'm handsome," he stated with a flirty smile. "If we're going to share a meal and a drink, can we finally stop with the Mr. McKay stuff? We're old friends by this point, right?"

"Sure, Ryan," I snorted, earning me another one of his charming grins. He dished them out like candy, and it was hard not to feel all warm and giggly when he bestowed it. Diane, one of the full-time servers, appeared with my order.

Diane placed the food and wine down, looking at Ryan in barely concealed surprise. I never ate with anyone, so I knew the sight came as a shock.

"Do you want to order anything?" Diane asked Ryan.

"I'll have what Lindsey's having. Minus the wine. I'll have another whiskey sour instead," Ryan told her, his eyes never leaving my face.

I stared at Ryan in exaggerated annoyance, but the scent of my chowder demanded my attention, so I picked up my spoon and started to eat.

"One drink, that's it," I warned, in between mouthfuls.

"We'll see," he teased.

One thing was for certain, Ryan McKay was going to be trouble.

"That was the best clam chowder I think I've ever had," Ryan moaned as he sat back in his chair after finishing.

I agreed with a nod, my mouth still full.

Ryan was watching me closely, and despite the intensity of his gaze, I didn't feel uncomfortable. There was something about this good-looking stranger that put me at ease.

"So," I said, letting my guard down a little bit, "when you checked in, you said work paid for your stay. What is it you do?"

"I'm glad you asked, because I think it's something we need to talk about," he replied, going suddenly serious.

"What do you mean?" I took another sip of wine, my earlier ease now being replaced with conditioned wariness. I sat up a little straighter in my chair.

Ryan reached down to a leather bag by his feet and pulled out some papers. I was suddenly on high alert.

"Listen," he began, a hint of pleading in his voice. "I want to be honest with you, right off the bat." He handed the papers to me. I looked through them, and the chowder began to curdle in my stomach.

They were old articles about my sister. About the other missing girls of Southern State University. There were pictures of my house. Of the college. Of Doll's Eye Lake. My hands trembled as I came to a photograph of my parents and me at a vigil. I looked about six, so it must have been right after Jess went missing. We obviously didn't know our picture was being taken. My parents held on to each other, their faces an agonized portrait of grief and despair. I clung to my mother's skirt, my cheek pressed against her thigh. I looked distressed, though most likely because of my parents' sobs and not because I understood what was going on.

The violation hit me like a fist to the stomach.

"Who are you?" I hissed angrily.

"I promise I didn't know who you were when I checked in, but," Ryan looked around us as if to make sure we weren't overheard before continuing, "I'm a journalist."

"A journalist." It was an admission that filled me with bitterness and apprehension. The papers in my hand fell to the table, scattering as they landed.

"Have you heard of the new podcast, Ten Seconds to Vanish? " he asked, a hunger in his eyes that I recognized. One I had seen in the eyes of every reporter who had invaded my privacy and hounded me for interviews for the past twenty-four years.

I opened my mouth to speak, but he was already continuing, rushing ahead in his hurry to explain, to convince.

"I'd been pitching a story on the missing girls of Southern State University for years. My editor at the Chicago Courier never entertained the idea until the podcast's first episode went viral. Now everyone is talking about these cases I've been passionate about for so long. Then when the remains were found in a place heavily associated with Jess's cold case, my editor finally gave me the green light to come down here and start on what I plan to be a series of in-depth articles about the investigation." He paused to take a breath, his eyes drilling into mine. I felt pinned in place. Like an insect tacked to a piece of wood.

"Wait—" I began, but he cut me off again.

"As I said, I didn't know who you were at first. That wasn't why I checked in to this hotel. Call it dumb luck. Or maybe serendipity. Whatever it was, it felt like a sign. There was something about you, I just didn't know what. Now I know. You're her." He pointed to the little girl in the picture, clinging to her devastated mother. "You're Lindsey Fadley, Jess Fadley's little sister. It was only ten seconds, right?"

I had heard enough. More than enough.

I stood up, grabbing my purse. In my haste, I knocked over my glass of wine, soaking Ryan's papers. In a daze, I fumbled for a napkin, dabbing the quickly spreading stain as Ryan went to grab the documents.

Our hands brushed and I recoiled as if he had burned me. I dropped the napkin on the table and turned to leave.

"Please, hear me out," Ryan implored, but he wouldn't sway me.

I spun back around to face him, my expression thunderous. " Hear you out? You're all the same; a bunch of vultures. Leave me alone. Leave my family alone. This is my life. Don't you get that? It's not just a story."

"It's my life, too!" He snapped unexpectedly, confusing me.

"What?" I snarled.

He seemed to get ahold of himself, looking contrite. "I'm sorry, it's only … I've been looking into this case, all of the cases , for as long as I've been a journalist. I've put everything into it, wanting them to be solved. I know it must sound ridiculous to you, but this case—Jess's case—it's important to me, Lindsey."

I flinched at the sound of my name on his lips. "But that's the problem. To me, it's my missing sister, my heartbroken mom, my devastated dad. To you, it's only a story—a case. But this is our life that you're investigating, and for what? A fancy byline and an award or two? You'll dig up your dirt, then go back to your old world, not caring about any devastation you leave behind, just like all the others."

Feeling emotionally depleted, I quickly left, not daring to look at Ryan again. I already knew that Evelyn would put my meal on my hotel account, as that was our usual routine.

Outside, the air had turned colder, and I realized that in my temper, I'd left without my jacket. The anger evaporated as I tried to get my bearings. I had been ambushed. Or at least that's what it felt like. I felt vulnerable and exposed.

"You left this inside." Ryan appeared beside me, my coat in his hands. He held it out to me and I took it without a thank-you.

I put it on and fished my keys out of my purse. I didn't want him following me to my car. I didn't trust him.

"Lindsey, I didn't know who you were when I checked in. I just thought you were this gorgeous woman who I really wanted to talk to. But yes, you seemed familiar. And like any good journalist—"

"Or creepy stalker," I interjected coldly.

Ryan ignored the barb. "I looked you up. It wasn't hard to make the connection." Ryan turned back to the hotel entrance. "Please, let's go back inside."

"Are you joking?" I scoffed.

"Let me buy you a drink. There's more I want to talk to you about."

"Why?" I demanded, glaring at him. "So you can dig up some dirt on Jess? Pick my brain for any scrap of memory I have of her? I'll make it easy for you, Ryan, I barely remember her. All I know is that she was my sister and I loved her, everything else is …" I waved a hand around, unable to find the words. My anger was turning to grief like it always did whenever I talked about her. "This is all so you can gnaw at her bones for your story, but I won't let you."

"That's not how it is," he gasped.

"So, why should I talk to you? Particularly when you don't appear very trustworthy."

Ryan took a moment before replying, clearly trying to change his tactic since the old one wasn't working. He ran his hand through his hair, his cheeks reddening. "I know how this looks. But, I've been researching this case for years, Lindsey …"

"Stop saying my name like you know me!" I screeched, my fingers curling into claws ready to gouge his eyes out.

"But I feel like I do." He lifted his hand as if to touch me, then thought better of it. "I want justice for Jess." I had an intense reaction to him saying her name. My entire body seized up, as if to defend myself. "For the other girls too, of course, but especially Jess. I want to know where she is. What happened to her. I want her family—"

"Me," I interjected dryly.

"Yes, you—I want you to get some form of closure, if that's at all possible." His tone was carefully neutral. "But Lindsey, I also need to know what happened to her …" His words died off, but they hung in the air like a portent.

"Why do you care so much?" I asked quietly, daring to look at him, and then wishing I hadn't. He looked mournful. It was hard to hold on to your anger when you could understand that need for answers, no matter what.

"Because Jess was a person. A woman with a life. With dreams. With a future." He took my hand and this time I let him. "She had people who loved her— deeply —and we all deserve to know what happened to her. But especially you, Lindsey. Maybe you more than anyone."

I pulled my hand away, refusing to admit how much his words moved me. How much I longed for someone to see Jess as the living, breathing person she had been.

"What will talking to me accomplish?" I pressed.

"I don't know. But I think we can help each other." Ryan took a scrap of paper and pen from his satchel and hastily wrote his phone number down, before handing it to me.

"Call me, anytime. I'm here for a while and I'd like to share what I know with you. Perhaps there are things you remember—"

"I was six. I told you—I don't remember anything," I countered, taking the paper and shoving it in my pocket.

"You'd be surprised how much gets suppressed with time and sometimes a little poking and prodding frees stuff up. I've seen it happen a time or two."

If he'd been investigating for as long as he said, then perhaps he knew things about Jess's life that I didn't. My sister was my Achilles' heel, she always had been. Ryan was dangling a carrot in front of me that I couldn't resist. He probably knew it, too.

"Fine, Friday then," I suggested, finally relenting.

Ryan's eyes lit up. "Friday sounds perfect. Should I meet you in the bar—?"

"No. Not here." Talking about my sister's case at work was the last thing I wanted to do.

"Okay. Text me a time and place and I'll be there." Ryan was trying to rein in his excitement, but failing.

I started to walk toward the parking lot, but stopped, looking back one last time.

"Just so you know, I'm only agreeing to this because I want to hear what you know about my sister. Don't hold anything back. No secrets."

"I'll tell you what I know, Lindsey," he promised. I still didn't trust him, but I needed to see where this went. For Jess's sake.

Ryan's eyes met mine. "I'll see you Friday." He started to walk backward toward the hotel entrance. I couldn't help but laugh at how silly he looked. I half hoped he'd trip and fall on his ass.

"Goodnight, Lindsey," he called. "Sleep tight, don't let the bedbugs bite," he sang playfully and this time I did smile.

He had charmed me. I hoped I wouldn't regret letting him.