Chapter 25

Jenica

When I hear the rusty hinges of the door creaking, I bury my head in my arms, and pull my knees tighter to my chest. I'm too scared to look, afraid of what it would mean if it's not Jake.

Richardson is a madman that would do anything to ensure his survival. If it is him, if he is the one that has walked out of that room and not Jake, my life will be over. It won't matter what he does with me, my heart will be dead.

Footsteps approach, slow and tired, and when they stop, I press against the stone, a chill crawling up my back. "Sparky," Jake whispers, "it's me."

I don't look up. Too afraid what I'm hearing is not real—a figment, nothing more. But when I hear the soft rustle of fabric, followed by a warm hand on my forearm, I look up.

"Hey," he smiles at me softly, while tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

I bring both hands to my face and start sobbing. I haven't cried since the day I learned my dreams of playing ball were over. But my tears taste the same—salty and bitter.

"It's okay," he reaches for me and pulls me off the floor. "It's over."

He holds me for a moment, face buried in my hair as he holds me protectively against his chest, then starts walking.

With my arms around his neck, make our way down the dark tunnel, and when we reach the end and turn the corner, a warm glow lights up the corridor in front of us. It's the tunnel from earlier. We were just here. Or were we? How long has it been—minutes? hours? I had no clue.

Striding down the hall, we reach the circular staircase, and when we reach the top, he sticks out his hand and feels along the wall. The panel to the back of the closet opens and he steps through, only we're not in the club. We're in what looks like a room.

"Put me down," I pat his chest.

He tightens his hold, shaking his head. "No way."

"Jake," I look up. "I'm okay. Let me down."

He sets me down gently, holding onto me for a moment, before letting me go, and watches as I check out the space around us. It's not until I get to the window and look out do I realize we're standing in one of the bungalows on the property.

It's luxurious. Like a hotel room, with a sitting area, and a large bed with pillows, as well as a fireplace and TV. There's also a large closet filled with women's clothing and a bathroom with travel sized toiletries on the counter and a medicine cabinet on the wall.

Opening it, my mouth falls open when I see what's on the shelves. There's condoms and lube, and other contraceptives, as well as bottles of pills with names I've never heard of before, as well as spare toothbrushes, toothpaste, and mouthwash.

I take in every detail, wondering if this is where Richardson hid all those months, but when I look up and see what appears to be a piece of tech equipment in the corner of the ceiling, a pit grows in my stomach.

Placing my foot on the edge of the tub, Jakes rushes over and grabs my hips. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Just, keep me steady," I press up on my toes for a better look, and sure enough, it's a small camera.

"What's on the other side of this wall?" I turn down to him. "Can you look?"

With one hand on me, he grabs the frame to the bathroom door with the other and looks out. "It's the wall."

Stepping down from the tub, he drops his hand and follows me as I make my way out of the bathroom and stand on the other side of the wall, staring at it.

"What are you looking for?" he asks, standing next to me.

"There's a camera in there," I point to the bathroom, "which means the cords are in the wall."

He looks from me to the wall, and before I know it, he's hit the wall with his fist.

"Jake!" I shout. "Your hand!"

"It's fine," he shakes it like he's just killed a bug.

"That's your throwing hand."

"And?" he shrugs.

"And…don't do it again. Let me get something."

I search the room for something to hit the wall with and seeing nothing but a table lamp, I unplug it and bring it back to where he's standing.

"Look out," I motion for him to back up.

Turning the lamp upside down, I hold it like I am swinging a bat, and slam the base into the wall. The sheet rock cracks, and a piece of paint chips off. I hit it again and again until there is a hole big enough to fit a hand through, then drop the lamp to the floor.

Reaching inside, I feel around and when I touch what feels like cords, I pull my hand back. "I knew it. Whatever was going on in here was being filmed." And I had a pretty good idea of what that something was given what I found in the medicine cabinet.

I look around the room again and when my eyes zero in on a media cabinet under the TV, I rush over. Kneeling in front of it, I open the doors and find a row of VHS tapes. Each had a name written on the side of the case…Sarah, Darla, Laura. There has to be at least two dozen, maybe more.

"Watch the door," I say to Jake, reaching for one of the cases and opening it.

"Sparky, we need to—"

"Watch the door," I say again, and pop the tape into the VCR below.

He heads over to the door and stands at the window, pulling back the blinds to look out, before dropping his hand. "We're fine but hurry up."

Ignoring his warning, I push play and wait for the video to come on. When it does, I'm horrified. It's a girl, a few years younger than me, and she's laying on the bed, passed out, while a man in a mask has his way with her.

She looks so small compared to his sizable frame. Her bleached hair fanned out on the pillow like an angel.

"No," I gasp, bringing my hands to my mouth.

"What?" Jake asks.

I turn to the window, too stunned to speak. The girl on the tape is the one from the room.

"Sparky?" he presses. "What is it?"

I turn back to the TV and look over at the row of cases and reach for another. Ejecting the first tape, I pop it in, and push play and the footage is the same as the first. Only, it's another girl, and another man.

I pop the tape out and put in another, doing this over and over, seeing the same variation of sick, twisted depravity. Old men with young girls. Some conscious, others not. But not one of the girls is from the club. I haven't seen any of these girls before, until I pop in a tape that makes me freeze.

The girl on the bed is young. No more than thirteen. And she has the most beautiful long, brown hair you've ever seen. Hair I braided when she sat in front of me with a bowl of popcorn on the nights I babysat her. Tears prick my eyes as memories of a girl I've known since birth hit me. The girl I see on the tape. Meg, Caleb's sister.

I dig through the pile of cases and when I find the empty shell I pulled this tape out of, I look at the date. Last week. She was here. Right here in this bungalow under my very own nose, and I didn't know.

I drop the case and reach for another, noting the dates on their labels. The oldest is two months ago. But when I look at every cassette case, and read every name, that's when I see the others. Chrissy, Mary, Carlie, Laura…they're all here.

Royce didn't kill those girls. All this time their families have been grieving, believing their daughters are missing, or worse, dead. But all this time they were here, serving Richardson.

I push up and run to the bathroom, kneeling next to the toilet, throwing up violently. Jake rushes in, holding my hair and rubbing my back as tears stream down my face.

Royce may not have killed those girls from Cherry Cove, but he may as well because Richardson had taken their lives and used it for his own gain.

When I'm done emptying the contents of my stomach I sit back against the tub and run the back of my hand against my mouth. Jake pushes up and looks around. Finding a glass, he brings it to the sink, rinses it off, then fills it with water and hands it to me.

I take a sip, my head pounding. "They were being trafficked," I say in disbelief. I saw a segment about it on 60 Minutes a few months ago. Girls disappearing right off the street, never to be heard from again.

"That's what he was planning for you," he bites out angrily.

I nod, fresh tears springing to my eyes. "They're not dead," I say numbly, a new realization hitting me. "Those girls from Cherry Cove, Royce didn't kidnap or kill them. I saw Meg. She was just here. I didn't kill a murderer. I killed an innocent man."

Jake crouches down and pushes my hair back, the way he's looking at me making my chest ache. "He was far from innocent, Sparky. He was going to rape your best friend. What happened was self-defense."

I nod, wanting to believe him. "We have to find them. Travis' sister," my lower lip trembles, "she's only thirteen."

Jake was there the day we hung up her fliers. He knows how much she means to Travis, and all of us who know her. "We will," he nods. "I promise."

Sticking out his hand, I place mine in it and he pulls me to my feet. As we make our way back to the room, he grabs a pillow from the bed, removes the pillowcase, then makes his way over to the pile of tapes on the floor and tosses in every cassette and case.

"Come." He throws the bag over one shoulder and sticks his free hand out. "We can turn them over to someone we trust. But first we need to get out of here."

I nod and reach for his hand, pulling open the door and leaving the bungalow behind.

Following the wooden path out of the swamp, we make it to the parking lot. The sun is out and directly overhead, which means it's midday. We were down there for hours.

We hurry to the parking lot, and I look around. The grounds are abandoned, even though the club is open tonight. I'm not sure if it's always like this during the day, or if Richardson sent everyone home to deal with Jake and me. I wouldn't know. I always arrive at night and have no clue how he staffs this place when it's not open.

Either way, I don't care. I want to get out of here and never see this place again.

Guiding me over to the only car in the lot, I hand Jake his keys and he opens the door for me. Once I'm tucked in the seat, he closes the door and makes his way around to the driver's side.

After he drops the case in the back seat, he takes off his sweatshirt, tosses it in the back and then slides into the driver's seat and starts the car.

"Don't stop at the guard booth," I advise. "If anyone is there, just drive through."

He reaches for my hand and holds it while peeling out of the parking spot. "Don't worry. I'm not stopping until this place is behind us."

***

"Hey," Jake places his hand on my thigh. "Wake up, Sparky. We're here."

I open my eyes and sit up from where I'm curled against the seat. "Where are we?"

"Charleston," he smiles and points for me to look out the window, so I do.

Before us is a sprawling white clapboard building, with flags hanging over the front, and palm trees lining the entrance. "How long have I been out?"

"A couple of hours," he squeezes my leg. "Passed out after the drive-thru in Davenport."

I wipe my eyes and look down at the drinks in the cup holders between us. I had a Coke and fries. Something to wash down the after taste of vomit.

"How are you feeling?" His eyes scan my face.

"I'm good," I reach out for his face and place my hand against it. "You?"

He turns his head and kisses my palm. "I'm good."

"I wonder what they gave us?" I drop my hand, asking what I know he too is wondering. There's a strange metallic taste on my tongue and feel the sedation lingering in my muscles.

"Come on." He reaches for the door handle. "Let's go get checked in."

I look to the back seat and see the pillowcase where Jake dropped it. The tapes inside prove the girls from Cherry Cove are still alive and need to be found.

"We'll find them," Jake says confidently as he follows my eyes. "I promise, Sparky."

I nod and get out of the car, watching as reaches for the case and pulls it from the back seat then makes his way to the trunk. Opening it, he drops it inside and removes his overnight bag.

Stretching my arms overhead, I take a deep breath and fill my lungs with fresh air. It's familiar. Warm and salty. Like home. Like Cherry Cove.

"I can't believe you drove all the way here." I drop my arms and watch him make his way over to me. "You must be exhausted."

He grabs my wrist and squeezes. "I've been looking forward to this weekend for weeks, but honestly, now, I don't care if all we do for the next few days is sleep. As long as we're together."

I run a hand over my head, fingering a knot from the ratting of my hair for the bouffant. "I must look like hell."

"Not possible," he brushes the back of his hand against my cheek. "You're my Heaven."

Sliding his hand in mine, we make our way toward the lobby. Once he's checked us in, we take the elevator to our room. Making our way down the hall, I look at the photos lining the wall—black and white images from the property's historic past.

Coming to a stop at the end of the hall, Jake puts his key in the lock and pushes it open, holding the door so I can enter. I make my way into the room and he follows, and once he drops his bag on the luggage stand, we both look around.

The room is beautiful. To the left is a big bed, with a green and white striped duvet and pillows that match, to the right, a comfortable sitting area with a TV, couch, and two chairs, and straight ahead a sliding glass door that leads out to a balcony.

"If the team stays in places like this, maybe I should try out for the Hellcats," I shoot him a wry smile.

"We don't," he laughs. "The team is staying down the road. Told Coach I was spending the weekend with family and he approved the change."

"What?" I turn back to the room. "This can't possibly be the same rate."

"It wasn't," he confirms. "But my parents have AAA and there was a discount for off-season. We're good, Sparky."

I make my way further into the room, taking it all in, then head for the sliding glass door and open it. Stepping out onto the balcony, the ocean greets me.

"No better way to start the day, than by taking a dip in the ocean," Jake whispers as he comes up behind me and wraps his arms around me.

"I don't have a suit," I turn around. "In fact, I only have the clothes on my back."

"So you can wear mine," he shrugs.

"And if we go out?" I smile.

"Who says we are?" He leans in and winks, before kissing the tip of my nose.

"You have games all weekend. Shit, you had one today."

"Right." He runs a hand through his hair. "About that…I'm not playing."

"What?" My eyes search his.

"Yup," he drops his hand. "I'm sitting this weekend out." I open my mouth to protest but he stops me. "I'll explain later. Right now, why don't you get washed up? I'm sure you could use a long, hot shower."

"You sure? You've been driving for hours."

He pulls me toward him and rubs my back. "Yes, I'm sure. Take all the time you need. I'll order room service and give Cruz a call. He's probably wondering what's going on since I didn't call to check in like I said I would."

I swallow and look down, still blown away Jake found me last night. I shudder to think what may have happened had he not. "I'm sorry I ruined the weekend."

"Ruined it?" He tips my chin up and looks at me like I just told him I saw Bigfoot. "Sparky, you didn't ruin it. Not by a long shot."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," he smiles. "Now go. Take as long as you want. I'll be here."

I tip my head up and give him a kiss, never loving the way those three words sound more than I do right now.