Chapter 42

42

Present Day

Embarrassed by her rare outburst of emotion, Wylie quickly dried her eyes and stared at the little girl in disbelief. The woman in the other room was Becky. This was Becky's daughter. The girl that everyone thought was dead was alive. And the man that killed Wylie's family and kept Becky a prisoner was locked in the toolshed.

Wylie pressed her face to the window and looked toward the shed for any sign of movement from Jackson. All was quiet. Maybe he had hurt himself trying to break down the door. Or maybe he was just waiting for Wylie to let down her guard.

They would just have to stay alert and wait. Wylie was good at waiting. All those years ago, she had waited for someone to come into the cornfield to save her, waited for someone to save her parents, her brother, Becky. She waited for Jackson Henley to be put in prison for murdering her family. But none of those things came to be until now. Becky had come home.

Wylie could wait Jackson Henley out. She had been doing it for twenty-two years; what was one more day?

Taking the little girl by the hand, Wylie led her to the living room. Becky was gone from the sofa. Wylie pulled the missing person's flyer from the file folder.

She heard soft crying coming from the closet and slowly opened the door. The woman, Becky, was sitting on the floor, trembling. Wylie lowered herself to the ground and climbed in next to Becky, setting the flashlight on the floor in front of them. The girl stood just outside the closet door, listening.

"He's out there, isn't he?" the woman asked, her voice shaking with fear. "He's come for us."

Wylie tried to smooth the edges of the creased photograph and then handed it to Becky. She stared at it for a long time as if trying to place the person in the photo. Though she wasn't looking at Wylie, the woman was listening so intently she was barely breathing.

"Becky," Wylie said softly. "It's me. It's Josie."

The woman lowered her head and shook it from side to side in disbelief. Tears streaked down her face leaving a ragged path through the dried blood.

Wylie reached for the woman's hand and she flinched as if burned. Wylie kept a gentle grip on her hand and turned it over, palm up. She traced the horseshoe-shaped scar with her finger. "I have one too," Wylie said trying to keep her voice even and calm. The knowledge that Jackson Henley was locked in the toolshed would keep but not for long. But first, Wylie had to make Becky understand who she was.

"We were ten, I think," Wylie said. "We got the idea that we should be blood sisters. We used my mother's paring knife. You were braver than I was and made a deeper cut. That's why you have such a noticeable scar. But I have one too, see?"

Wylie held out her hand and the woman's eyes flicked toward it and then away. "Sisters forever," the woman murmured.

The girl, seeing her mother's distress, climbed into the closet with them.

Wylie waited for the woman to speak, to say something, anything. But there was only silence, and for a moment, Wylie thought she had gotten it all wrong. This wasn't Becky—only a scared, lost stranger looking for safety in a storm. Wylie suddenly felt foolish. After all these years, she had forgotten how to hope and understood why. It was too painful. She pulled her hand away.

Finally, the woman spoke. "I'd forgotten what you looked like. I mean, if I closed my eyes really tight, I'd get little flashes."

Becky looked up at Wylie, her eyes shining with tears, and then she smiled, and there she was. The Becky Wylie remembered.

"I thought you were dead," Wylie said. "We all did, except for your mother. She never gave up looking for you."

Becky wiped her eyes. "I thought she was dead. He told me she was dead. That no one was looking for me anymore, that no one cared."

"We all cared, everyone cared," Wylie tried to assure her. "Agent Santos did everything she could to try and get Jackson Henley convicted."

"Jackson?" Becky asked, her forehead furrowed in confusion.

Wylie nodded. "Yes, Jackson Henley. There just wasn't enough evidence to arrest him for killing my family and your disappearance. They couldn't find the gun he used or my brother's missing truck. They couldn't find you. But don't worry. He's caught now. I locked him in the toolshed. He'll never hurt you again."