Gone, page 9
The door swings closed behind me. “To get my brother,” I mumble.
Outside, I start the truck and throw it into gear. In the rearview I see Owens burst through the exit door, looking around for me. He runs to his car. I back out fast, the truck shaking, bumping, and spinning out. I drive straight over a grassy medium and screech off down the main road. An oncoming car swerves past me, horn blaring. I floor it, picking up speed, going right through an intersection, and swerving right.
A glance in the mirror confirms Owens is nowhere in sight.
Perfect.
It’s all me now, and I know exactly where Tyler is.
My truck lurches to a halt. I get out, starting for the front door. I change course, running the perimeter of the trailer.
When I round to the side entrance, Donna Keller opens the door, looking out of breath. I don’t speak. I push past, moving into the kitchen. Straight ahead is the living room I was in before with the old dog lying on the frayed couch. To the left is a hall with several open doors. I hurry in that direction, finding two bedrooms and two bathrooms.
I step back out into the hall. With a confused expression, Donna Keller stands in the kitchen, watching me.
I don’t buy it.
“You look tired,” she says.
“I am tired. I don’t sleep. I dream about black walls, red writing, missing boys, Evan Lager, and your grandson.” I watch for a reaction but don’t get any.
Instead, she walks to the stove. “Why don’t we have some tea? Tea makes everything better.”
I stay where I am, my ears tuned. But I hear only the sound of the ticking clock that I heard before.
Donna moves around, getting tea from a cabinet and two cups. She turns on the faucet and fills the kettle. The stove clicks as she lights it. “How’s your mother holding up?”
Hesitantly, I move toward her. I come to a stop in the open doorway where the kitchen and living room meet. Once again, I look at the dog. On the table next to the couch sits the picture of Donna and her husband that I saw before. Beside that is a shallow dish with trinkets—earrings, sewing supplies, a letter opener, and an old-fashioned key.
Son of a bitch.
I walk over and pick it up. It’s the same one I found in Grandpa’s shed, down to the color and weight, design, and even the goddamn heart etched into it. With it in my hand, I’m about to turn and confront Donna when my eyes fall onto the framed photo of her and her husband. They stand outside this trailer, smiling and hugging, newly married and new homeowners. Around her husband’s neck hangs a necklace with a peace sign.
Tom Lager, or whatever his name really is.
“I miss him every single day,” she says from behind me. “I still remember the summer we met. He mesmerized me. I hung on his every word. I would have done anything for him.”
I don’t turn around. “Are you talking about my grandfather or Tom Lager?”
She chuckles. “You remind me of him. It’s the eyes. Determined. Suspicious.”
Finally, I face her.
She holds a gun pointed at me. “Now come into the kitchen and have tea.”
FIFTEEN
Friday, 7 a.m.
Jill told the Uber driver to drop her off a block from the studio. She got out, taking the oversized purse with her. Her phone rang. It was Olivia again. Jill hit ignore.
She pulled the hoodie over her head and walked quickly to her destination.
At the rear of the studio, she took the mini bolt cutters from the bag and snapped the lock on the back door. It easily slipped free, falling to the cracked pavement.
Jill stepped inside. No sound could be heard.
She walked through the gutted building to the black door that separated her from Carl. She opened it, finding him moving around, moaning and shaking.
Jill stood in the doorway. She took out a small flashlight and flicked it on. She looked around, noting the stains of urine and blood smeared across the interior. Carl thumped his head on the floor. Jill put the purse down. She extracted the bag full of her father’s pills that Nell had brought back home.
Carl stopped moving.
“I’m not doing this for you, believe me. I’m doing this for me. I won’t let Nell go down for this.” She took out a handful of pills, showing them to Carl. “Just tell me why, and it’ll be a peaceful ending for you.”
Carl frowned.
Jill stepped closer. She directed the light on the photo of Tyler and Luca still taped to the wall. “Why did you take them?”
Carl’s frown deepened like he was searching for the answer in the rubble of his brain. He shifted, looking at the photo.
Jill waited, not nervous. More at peace with her decision.
His lips moved. “They were being bad boys, picking at my bumper stickers. Bad boys need to learn lessons.”
She nodded, relieved to hear him speak. “And where did you take them?”
“Where you put bad boys. In the hole.”
Jill felt the color drain from her face. She closed her eyes. Her breathing got away from her. “Did you hurt them?”
“Yes, but Evan made me stop. He always makes me stop.”
Her eyes opened back up. She shined the light in Carl’s face. “How many times have you done this?”
“A lot. I used to help Papa find them. We liked teaching the bad boys a lesson. I used to be a bad boy, but now I’m good. Papa liked me best. Even more than Evan. He wanted Evan to be mean to me and the others, but he refused. Papa made Evan move out. But I still visited him. I’m a good little brother that way.” Carl giggled. “Want to know a secret?”
“Yes.”
“I liked making Nell mad by not talking. Want to know another secret?”
Jill nodded.
“I watch Grandma sleep. Want to know another secret?”
Jill didn’t respond.
“Papa never let any of the boys go home. He’s a liar. Want to know another secret?”
Again, Jill didn’t respond.
“I’m not really twenty-one. I’m a liar, too. So is Grandma. Want to know another secret? When I was little, I hit my head with a brick on purpose. Over and over again.”
“Why would you do that?” she asked, the words barely audible.
“I like hurting myself. I ended up damaging my brain. It’s the only reason why Papa kept me. He said he liked me stupid. Want to know another secret?”
Jill remained silent.
“They’re dead.” He giggled. “Dead. Dead. Dead. And I’m not going to tell you where to find them.” His gaze became vacant again. All his secrets told. He looked at the pills Jill still held. “Can I have those now?”
Numb from his secrets, she barely registered walking over and pouring the pills into his mouth. She barely registered him swallowing them.
Just stay calm, Dad used to tell the crazies.
Jill told herself that now as Carl opened his mouth, wanting more. And she gave them to him.
Carl swallowed. She waited for him to ask for more, but he didn’t. Instead, he smiled and closed his eyes.
Jill sat beside him, tears streaming down her face. “It’s okay,” she whispered to herself. “You’re going to be okay.”
She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, watching Carl die. She should be horrified at what she’d done. Yet she wasn’t.
“Oh my God, Jill.”
She didn’t have to turn around to know Sheriff Owens stood behind her.
SIXTEEN
Friday, 9 a.m.
“Just give me Tyler. I don’t care what you do. Run. Hide. I don’t care. Just give me my brother.”
Again, Donna chuckles. “Good God, you are just like your grandfather. He said the exact same thing when he found out. ‘Run,’ he said. ‘I know this isn’t on you. Just let me give all the families peace.’ Except it was on me. I knew what my husband was doing. It’s why I carried on my oh-so-secret love affair with your grandfather. It was the only way to keep the law on my side.”
“Using the key with the heart?”
“Yes, he bought a ‘love bungalow,’ as your grandfather used to call it. Even put it in my name in case something happened to him. Such a sentimental man.” Fondly, she smiles.
Then the smile fades, and her eyes don’t waver. The gun in her hand doesn’t shake. She has no fear as she considers me. “Do you have a weapon?”
“Like I would tell you if I did.”
“Don’t talk back to me, girl. I promise you, you will regret it.”
“No, I don’t have a weapon.”
“Not too bright coming here with nothing to use. You underestimated an old woman.” The kettle whistles. She steps aside, motioning me out of the living room and back into the kitchen. “Pour the water into the mug on the right.”
I walk across the floor, my brain spinning. Where is Tyler? Luca said he heard me through the ticking. That means the two of them were in this house somewhere.
Tyler still is.
A round table sits in the center of the kitchen with a throw rug underneath. I circle it, coming to a stop at the stove. I turn the burner off and pour the hot water into the cup on the right. I note something ground up at the bottom.
Something poisonous, I’m sure.
With the gun pointed at me, Donna moves in, lifting my coat. She feels my back and sides, presumably for a weapon. She finds my phone and tosses it into the sink.
“I found your husband,” I say. “The man with the peace sign around his neck? The fictitious Tom Lager? He was dead, all shriveled and skeletal. I found him in the cellar at Father Richards’ home who did a little Guardian Angel number on him. He tied your husband up and threw him in a storm cellar to rot and pay for his sins.”
“That’s a lie.”
“It’s not. I promise you it’s true. He’s dead. At least now you know. You have peace. Unlike the families of the boys who are buried somewhere on this property.”
She doesn’t respond.
I turn to look at her, pleased to see that my words have rattled her. “What do Evan and Carl have to do with this?”
“Evan is, or rather, was more insurance. He was your grandfather’s, only I kept that tight to my chest to be used if needed.”
“Your husband didn’t know?”
“My husband thought Evan was his, though he never really took to him. Five years ago, I told him the truth. He walked out, said he needed some time. But he never came back. At least now I know where he went and where he’s been these past five years. Thank you for that.”
“What does the last name Lager have to do with anything?”
“Just a name my husband liked. He used ‘Tom Lager’ when he was out and about, up to no good. Evan liked using the name, too. It’s the only thing the two of them shared.”
“And Carl?”
“That poor boy. So slow, but goodness did my husband love him. Carl was the son he always wanted. They did everything together. That boy has been so lost without his Papa. Recently, he started driving by the house where my husband took him all those years ago. Carl started asking me questions about that house. Even though he’s slow, I knew it was only a matter of time before he figured out who he really is.”
“Randy McMillan.”
“Yes.”
“But Randy’s supposed to be twenty-nine.”
“Yes, when all this flared up, I told him to tell everyone he was twenty-one in case connections were made. He’s a good boy. He did as I said.” She nods to the cup. “Should be cool enough now.”
I take a breath, looking at the brown water.
“Ground cherry pits. It takes a while. You’ll have time to see Tyler and say goodbye. You’re a tall girl, but not as tall as your grandfather. It took hours for him. He left our love bungalow and went home. You were visiting that weekend. He’d just confronted me with all the evidence. I told him Evan was his. He was so upset. Yet he still gave me the ‘pack and run’ speech. He was coming here the next day with a team to retrieve Carl and the bodies. Your grandfather was going to come to me and Evan later. None of that worked for me, though. Maybe if he would’ve let me keep Carl…”
“You killed my grandfather.”
“I did.” She nods to the cup. “Now, drink.”
“No.”
“Drink it or I will end your life right here in this kitchen right now. I’ll get your brother and make him scrub your brains off the floor.”
“Where is he?”
“One. Two. Th—”
Trembling, I grab the tea. I drink, my eyes on her the whole time. With half of it gone, I place it back on the counter.
“Let me see.”
I open my mouth.
“Good girl. And don’t worry, I didn’t use ground pits on the boys. I have my own personal recipe for them. Keeps them nice and loopy.”
In the sink, my phone rings. I glance down to see Sheriff Owens’ name light up my screen.
“Shove it down the disposal and turn on the water.”
With shaky hands, I do. A grinding noise fills the kitchen.
“Put the keys to your grandfather’s truck on the kitchen counter.”
I pull them from my front jeans pocket and place them in sight.
Donna motions me out. I exit the house through the side door. She follows, the gun trained on my head. She directs me across the yard toward where the old Mustang is parked.
“I’ll never forget my husband’s face the first time he took a boy. It’s been fifty years ago now before we even moved to this area. I can’t remember the boy’s name, but he was being a bad boy to his mommy. Talking back to her at the park. My husband wanted to teach him a lesson. He never had the patience for bratty kids. He believed in corporal punishment, as do I. So did your grandfather, you know. I think that’s why we got along so well.”
She stops at the Mustang. “After he left, I stopped. Imagine my surprise when Carl came home with your brother and his friend. ‘They were picking at the stickers on my car,’ he said. ‘I told them to stop, and they stuck their tongues out at me. We need to teach them a lesson.’ Reminded me so much of my husband.” She opens the driver’s door to the Mustang. “Of course, Carl doesn’t remember, but that’s exactly what he did to my husband. He stuck his tongue out at him.” Donna chuckles. “Full circle and all.”
She nods me into the Mustang. I slide behind the wheel. The keys dangle from the ignition.
Standing inside the open car door, Donna puts the gun to my head. “Start the car and back it up a few yards.”
I turn the key. Loudly, the engine turns over.
The radio crackles. “Breaking news. While police haven’t released any official statements yet, several sources say that Carl Keller was held captive for the last four days in the abandoned studio and was pronounced dead on site. We’ve also learned the building is owned by Olivia Yeager, the mother of the recently found missing boy, Luca Yeager. Suspected of the murder and in custody is Jill Brach, the mother of the remaining missing boy, Tyler Brach.”
My pulse ratchets up. Oh, no.
No, no, no.
I stare through the dirty windshield. It blurs and warps. What did Mom do?
I don’t look over at Donna, but in my peripheral, I see rage fill her body. It vibrates through her legs and arms and flushes her face. Rearing back, she punches me hard with her fist. My head snaps to the right. My ears ring.
“Back the car up.”
Shifting into reverse, I do. Donna walks beside it, keeping the gun on me.
“Stop,” she says. “Get out.”
I put it in park, and I step from the car. The tea kicks in quicker than I expected, making me teeter. As I grab onto the roof to steady myself, I notice a large piece of plywood lying on the ground where the Mustang just was.
“Move it out of the way.”
I do.
The smell of ammonia hits me, and I wince. My eyes water as I stare down into a grave-like hole in the ground, maybe seven feet deep.
“You wanted to know where the boys are buried. We throw them down there and cover them with lye.”
“Tyler!” I scream.
She fires a shot into my thigh.
I stumble. The soil crumbles out from under me and I fall into the hole. I land hard, blood bubbling from the wound.
“Eye for an eye, you bitch. That’s for Carl.” She starts to pull the plywood back over the hole.
“Where’s Tyler?”
“Under the kitchen floor. Don’t worry. I’ve changed my mind about him. I’m going to let him live. I’ll need him now that Carl and Evan are both gone.”
“No.”
“There’s lots to keep you company down there.” She tosses in a lighter. “Look around. If you can manage to stem the bleeding, you might last as long as twenty-four hours before the tea completely takes you. I’ll bring Tyler over then. He can help me pour lye over the top of you.”
Gritting my teeth, I try to get up. She slides the plywood over the hole, blanketing me in darkness. Outside the Mustang revs. She drives it back over the plywood, parking it and turning it off.
I jab my finger down my throat and make myself throw up. I do it several times until only bile remains.
Outside I now hear Grandpa’s truck crank. She’s got a lot of land and trees. She could park it anywhere, to be disposed of later.
My thumb rolls across the lighter, bringing it to life. It flickers off of dirt walls. The area looks to be as long as it is deep—seven feet or so, roughly dug, with jabbing marks presumably from the shovel used to dig this hell hole. In the back corner, a chunky mound of dissolved and corrosive human remains leers at me. Despite having nothing left in my stomach, I heave more bile.
The flame dies.
I bring it back to life. I turn to inspect the wall behind me and the flame dances across three red words:
bad boys die
SEVENTEEN
Friday, 10 a.m.
They throw the boys down here and those three words are the last thing they see.
Blood pulses from my thigh. In the darkness, I slide my belt from its loops and tighten it above the bullet hole. Carefully, I stand. Once again, I flick the lighter to life. I look at the underside of the plywood. I can break through that. I know I can. Stretching up, I estimate I need at least one more foot of height.
