Episode 5 - The Girl in the River

Chapter 22

Casey’s lungs burned with cold air. His head hurt like hell, and looking up there shadowy branches of pines against a dark sky.

Startling and stumbling to his feet, he remembered where he was.

Elmwood Cemetary.

The truck that had been pulled up along the center path was gone.

Along with—

Ethan Crawley.

He took a couple steps then siezed. His ribs were bruised—best case scenario. Maybe even one or two was broken.

Casey pressed forward in the dark, looking back toward his cruiser. He had to call it in, get an APB out for Crawley, and whoever the other man was with him.

He started down the paved pathway and saw his flashlight laying there. He picked it up, and it flickered on and off. It shined where they had been digging, right in front of a plot of dark granite gravestones, uniform in size and shape.

Daniel Thompson. Arthur Thompson. Jack Thompson Sr.

He stepped closer to the holes. They’d made a lot of progress however long he’d been out. Enough to reach the caskets.

Which were open, and emptied.

#

A swarm of police and federal vehicles gathered around Erin and Joe Thompson’s place that night, their flashing lights carving through the dark like beacons of despair.

The official assumption, following the exhumation of the Thompson family graves, was that someone was targeting the entire family—and that the same parties had also taken Millie.

For Casey, it seemed open-and-shut. He’d seen Ethan Crawley. Crawley had knocked him out cold. Crawley had been at the graveyard. It should have been the simplest arrest of his career.

But it wasn’t. Crawley had an alibi—an airtight one. He’d been working the late shift at the mill, and none other than Jack Thompson Sr. was able to corroborate.

“Been working late, just trying to keep myself busy,” Jack said, sitting stiffly in the interview room, his silver hair catching the fluorescent light. He wore a look of grim control, but Casey caught the subtle twitch of his fingers, the smallest sign of strain.

Chief Hart leaned back in his chair. “And you’re sure Ethan was there from nine p.m. to five a.m.?”

“That’s right. My shift manager confirmed it as well.”

“Thank you, Jack. I think that’s all we need from you for now.”

Jack rose with a nod, but as he passed Casey, he stopped. “You put yourself in harm’s way for us,” he said softly. “For my family. I won’t forget that.”

Casey didn’t respond. He couldn’t. His eyes were glued to the holding room door, where Crawley was being released. Crawley’s mud-caked boots shuffled as he stepped out, his face unreadable under the harsh lights. He didn’t even look at Casey as he left.

Casey turned to the Chief. “You’re just letting him go?”

Hart sighed, rubbing his temples. “Casey—”

“I know what I saw,” Casey interrupted, his voice rising. “He was there, Chief. He hit me. He was digging up those graves.”

Hart raised a hand to calm him. “You got clocked in the head pretty hard. And when you woke up, maybe your mind filled in the gaps. You’ve been under a lot of stress, son—”

“That’s not what this is,” Casey snapped. “I’m not imagining things.”

“Maybe you’re seeing what you need to see,” Hart said evenly. “You’re chasing answers because you can’t stand not having them. I get it. But we have to go where the evidence leads—and right now, it’s not leading to Crawley.”

Casey opened his mouth to argue but closed it again, his fists clenching at his sides. Hart’s words hit too close to home.

Jack clapped Casey on the shoulder. “Take care of yourself, son,” he said, then walked out.

Casey followed the Chief into the lobby, his head spinning. He didn’t even notice Lochlear and Reeves until they stepped into his path.

“Benson,” Lochlear said, his expression colder than usual.

“Not now,” Casey muttered, trying to push past.

“This will only take a moment,” Reeves said, holding up a folder. She unrolled a set of maps, the ones Casey had poured over feverishly the day before. “Found these in your cruiser. We know where they came from. Stay away from Heiser.”

Casey’s stomach tightened. “Why? Because he’s interfering with your cover-up?”

Reeves’s jaw tightened, and Lochlear stepped closer. “Because he’s a liability,” Lochlear said. “And so are you.”

Casey took a step back, his voice sharp. “You’re not even looking for Millie, are you? You’re just here to sweep this under the rug.”

“Watch your tone,” Reeves hissed, her eyes darting toward Hart, who was watching the exchange from across the room.

Casey let out a bitter laugh. “I think I know exactly what’s going on here. Dimensional Containment, right? Heiser told me all about it.”

Reeves froze, her face darkening. “You’re way out of line.”

“Am I?” Casey shot back, his voice echoing through the lobby. “Because it seems to me like you’re more worried about your secrets than finding that girl.”

The Chief clasped his arm like he was taking his blood pressure. “Weigh your next words,” he murmured.

Casey shook himself away, and glared between him and Lochlear.

He turned and started storming down the hallway.

He heard the phone ring, saw Gail answer. He was nearly out the door when he heard her yell for the Chief, her voice breaking, panicked.

Casey turned back around.

By the time he got back into the offices, he saw Chief Hart cradling his face in one hand.

Lochlear and Reeves were straightfaced, jetting out toward the back entrance to the parking lot.

Casey knew. Somehow, he did.

“They found her?”

Gail turned back to the admin office, face pale. Renyolds and DeYoung gathered.

The Chief nodded. “In the river.”

Chapter 23

The sky had shifted to bright blue as the morning cleared, but the air snapped with bitterness, as if no matter how bright the sun shone, there would be no warmth to be had in here in Westville.

No warmth, comfort or hope.

A runner had seen her first, stopped, stared and thought maybe it was just a wrong looking collection of sticks and debris from the windstorm.

She screamed and ran further, toward the police station, when she realized.

The frail, young gray body was pulled from the frothing churn of the dam, where the Slate fell to roll on beyond the town.

Olivia Fischer heard the sirens early.

She had been tired. Tired of everything. And so she slept long and deeply, but nowhere near sound.

But. as the sirens wailed through her window, the sound of panic and someone else’s soon to be known sorrow, she regretted having squandered the minutes and hours. She felt it then. The fear of this being the end of the search.

She swallowed it, and marched right downstairs, straight past Kathy and Aly in the kitchen, both of them glancing out the window toward the sound too.

Olivia didn’t pay it any mind as her mother protested and her sister called after her. Olivia threw on her shoes and got on her bike, following the sound.

It was coming from the river.

By the time she got there, emergency vehicles choked the street and the memorial parking lot by the dam. A firetruck, three police vehicles, an unmarked black van with a blue siren on top, and an ambulance.

Olivia’s chest clenched, her breath coming in tempered heaves as she thought about what that meant. It meant they had found someone. An ambulance meant they found someone, alive, and that they needed help.

Millie was ok. She had to be.

Olivia laid down her bike along the sidewalk over the bridge and pushed through the crowd. She glanced down the embankment, all shattered stone and mud near the bottom, where the small falls of the dam churned up water to roil beneath the train trestles that ran through Prince Milling.

She wasn’t sure where to look, and could scarcely see through the gathered throng, trying to push her way forward.

Then she heard it. A wail. Not a siren, but the kind that stilled the air and was all pain, shock and awe.

Olivia felt her limbs grow heavy and numb, and with fearful eyes she scanned the area, looking for the source.

Mrs. Thompson was crumpled to her knees on the pavement, near a stretcher, upon which Olivia could make out a flash of gray skin and tattered clothes.

Mrs. Thompson’s face was twisted in a silent scream, body trembling. Mr. Thompson paced in circles, hands above his head, gritting his teeth.

Olivia sprinted forward, breaking through the crowd, but came to a line of yellow tape.

A woman in a suit with dark hair and a severe look on her face met her there.

“You need to stay back.”

“Who is it? Who did they find?”

She frowned, then looked over Olivia’s shoulder to someone approaching.

Olivia turned. Casey.

“I’ve got her,” he said.

Olivia was taken at his blackened eye and a bandage around his head. She noted he was walking with a limp.

“What happened to you?”

Casey winced, and knelt down. “It’s nothing. Olivia—”

“I know. They found her,” Olivia said. “She’s going to be ok.”

Casey shook his head.

“She’s going to be alright. There’s an ambulance. They’ll take her and—”

“She’s gone,” Casey said.

“No,” Olivia said, throat tight and burning. “She’s right there. She’s—”

Olivia wanted to believe the ambulance had meant hope, that the gray flash on the stretcher wasn’t Millie. She needed to believe it. But as Mrs. Thompson cried out again over the rushing sound of the dam, it shattered that belief just when it tried to form.

Olivia knew. Of course she did.

Hot tears welled up in her eyes, making the whole world bleary as the cold sun shimmered.

A pair of hand’s clasped her shoulders, and Olivia cried and fell into them. Aly held her for along time right there by the river’s edge, long enough for the ambulance to drive off, and for the police to begin dispersing the crowd.

As Olivia walked to the car with her mom and sister she saw Kyle and Austin across the road on their bikes. Their eyes met for a moment.

And that was all it took, to know that it was over.

Chapter 24

She never had a chance.

The thought coursed through Casey’s mind like debris on the river. He stared out at the dark waters of the Slate through the windshield of his idling car, parked in the funeral home lot.

Four days ago, they’d pulled her from the river. Now the town was mourning the death of a girl they’d once hoped would be found alive.

Casey stepped out of the car and joined the queue that snaked along the sidewalk. A cool breeze blew, rattling the Christmas light display on a house across the street. Another house still flaunted macabre Halloween leftovers lingering on too long—skeletons and fake tombstones poking out of the lawn.

Inside, the dim lighting of the funeral home did nothing to soften the grim mood. Casey’s eyes found Joe and Erin Thompson at the end of the receiving line, standing beside the gleaming cherrywood casket. A photo of Millie rested on a stand: her winning smile, inherited from Joe, and blonde waves, courtesy of Erin. Her green eyes sparkled in the image, so alive it hurt.

Casey clenched his jaw and remembered the last time they’d talked.

“You keep calling me Nutcase, and I just might start to believe it,” Casey had said, sitting down next to her on the deck.

Millie fiddled with her CD player. “I call ’em like I see ’em.”

“Sure you do.” Joe had gone inside to grab burgers for the grill. Casey had noticed the three empty Corona bottles and glanced at his watch—4:30 p.m.

“How’s everything been?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. A little better, I guess. Mom’s picking up more shifts at the nursing home, so she’s not around as much. Which means they’re not fighting as much.”

Casey nodded. “Things will work out. Okay?”

Millie swallowed, then took her headphones off her neck. “Here, listen to this.”

Casey hesitated but obliged, slipping them over his ears.

She pressed play, and Alanis Morissette’s One Hand in My Pocket spilled into his ears, the phased guitar arpeggio and muted drum groove familiar from his night shifts.

“Good song. Sounds like she’s talking about you. Short but healthy.”

Millie laughed. “Why are you yelling?”

Casey pulled off the headphones. “Because I’m a nutcase.”

“Anyway,” she said, “a friend gave me the album. It helps. Everything’s gonna be alright. You know?”

Casey snapped back to the present, his chest tightening with red-hot anger. Whoever did this to Millie was still out there. He hadn’t given up on the idea that Ethan Crawley was their man. But the court of public opinion had already settled on a story, aided by the sheriff and Agent Lochlear: Millie’s body had simply been caught downstream and freed during the storm.

Plausible enough. Tragic. The kind of story people wanted to believe.

But Casey didn’t.

He moved closer to the end of the receiving line, his eyes scanning the room. The funeral home had a frozen-in-time feel, its creamy white walls accented with ornate crown molding. The mold-yellow carpet and gloomy lighting made the place seem more lifeless than comforting.

“Casey,” Erin said, stepping forward to hug him.

“How are you holding up?”

She nodded vigorously. “I’m still standing.”

Casey glanced around. Joe was nowhere in sight. When he asked where he’d gone, Erin said he needed a break.

Casey gave her a rueful nod, then after moment gave a half hearted ‘hang in there’ and drifted toward the coffee table. A figure near the green, ornate couches caught his attention.

Heiser.

Casey stalked over to him, the man’s sharp eyes scanning the room like a vulture sizing up prey.

“What are you doing here?” Casey demanded, his voice low but brimming with anger.

Heiser turned his gaze to Casey, unfazed. “Paying my respects.”

“Don’t give me that,” Casey snapped. “You don’t belong here.”

Heiser sighed, glancing toward the closed casket. “Maybe not. But I’m here because I have an obligation. To ensure the right things happen—and that the wrong things don’t.”

Casey’s eyes narrowed. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Heiser said, his voice calm but deliberate, “if certain people get what they’re after, this town won’t just be mourning one loss. It’ll be mourning many.”

Casey’s chest tightened. “You’re talking about Janus, aren’t you?”

Heiser’s lips quirked, a hint of amusement breaking through his stoicism. “You’re catching on. Janus doesn’t make moves like this unless they’re after something big. And they’re closer than you think.”

Casey took a step closer, his fists clenched. “What are they after? What did Millie have to do with it?”

Heiser hesitated, glancing back toward the casket as if weighing his words carefully. “Let’s just say... they need someone. Alive. To pull this off.”

Casey froze, the word alive reverberating in his mind like a struck bell. His pulse quickened. “You don’t think she’s dead.”

Heiser didn’t answer immediately, his gaze steady but distant, as though he were staring through Casey.

“You knew this wasn’t her,” Casey said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “That’s why you’re here.”

“I’m here,” Heiser said finally, “because Janus doesn’t need her gone. They need her alive to finish what they’re doing.”

Casey’s breath hitched. “And what’s that?”

Heiser leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Open a doorway. One that should never be opened.”

Casey stared at him, his pulse hammering. “What kind of doorway?”

“The kind that doesn’t close once it’s open. The kind that lets things through—things you can’t fight, can’t control.”

Casey’s stomach churned, the image of the red light in the woods flashing in his mind. “You’re saying Millie’s... what, some kind of key?”

“That’s one way to look at it,” Heiser said. “But it’s not just her. There are pieces in play you don’t even see yet. Pieces that have been moving for a long time.”

“Bullshit,” Casey spat. “You’re just here to stir the pot while people like you let this town fall apart.”

Heiser straightened, his expression unreadable. “You’re not wrong about one thing, Benson. There’s a crack in the foundation of this place. A deep one. If you don’t want it to split wide open, I suggest you start digging.”

Heiser turned and started walking toward the exit.

“What happens if they succeed?” Casey called after him.

Heiser paused at the door, turning his head just enough to catch Casey’s eye. “Pray you don’t find out.”

He stepped outside, leaving Casey standing frozen in the gloom of the parlor, his thoughts racing. Could Millie be alive? It was crazy. Wasn’t it? He’d seen the body. He had to admit he hesitated to think of it as her body, since the gray decomposition and whatever she’d been subjected to made her near unrecognizable But she had bore a vague resemblance—in the way that teenage girls did to one another.

Dental records had confirmed it. Then, the feds took care of that.

Casey’s mind swam. He wasn’t in the funeral home anymore. He was replaying that morning, and the flurry of the past two and half weeks.

“Hey,” said Aly, walking up behind him. He turned. She was in a well-fitted black dress, her blonde hair down and loose.

“You come alone?” Casey asked.

“Mom’s here. Liv wasn’t up for it.”

“Can’t be easy for her.”

“She doesn’t even believe she’s dead. I know denial is part of this. I felt it with Dad too. But Liv keeps saying Millie’s still out there. Like the body wasn’t her.”

Casey only nodded, but Aly could read him like a book.

“She keeps talking about you. And, some maps?”

Casey frowned. “Heiser, or Greg I guess,” he said, remembering that he’d become a regular of Aly’s apparently at the restaurant, “he came to me with some theories. Just left, actually.”

Aly furrowed her brow. “What is going on, Casey?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. Look, I can talk to Liv if you want.”

“No,” Aly said quickly. “I mean, it’s probably best she has space.”

When the silence got heavier, unspoken questions of past and present hanging in the air between them, Casey offered a quick goodbye and left Aly by the coffee, and when he reached the parking lot, he heard angry voices cutting through the cold air.

He crept across the street and pressed against the wall of the funeral home, eavesdropping on the conversation between Joe and Jack Thompson.

“You knew this was coming,” Jack said.

“No. This is your fault. You and your damn legacy.”

“Our legacy, Joe. I can’t afford not to deliver.”

“What does it matter? How am I supposed to move on from this? How is Erin supposed to—”

“She will. In time.”

“Go to hell.”

“Joe—”

“I’m done. I don’t care who the hell comes knocking. Let them. I’ll tear them apart.”

“Don’t do this, son.”

Joe stormed back inside.

Casey leaned back against the wall, his mind racing.

What had he just heard?

Jack Thompson tore off in his Camaro, leaving Casey with one haunting phrase: I can’t afford not to deliver.

He needed to talk to Joe. But pulling him away from the visitation in the state he was in wouldn’t do any good. It also couldn’t wait long.

Casey drove home, got the maps out again, the copies he’d made when Reeves and Lochlear hadn’t been hovering around.

He traced faint lines with his finger, his mind replaying the words he’d heard outside the funeral home. What did Jack need to deliver, and who was he so afraid of? Janus Global, was Casey’s best guess. But they were about as well defined as the Dimensional Containment Bureau, and half the time he felt convinced all of this was some elaborate ruse he was caught in the middle of. A nightmarish prank.

None of that changed the fact that it was all too real. And, if he was going to confront Joe tomorrow, he needed to be ready for answers he might not want to hear.

He left a message on Heiser’s motel phone, his voice low but firm.

“If you’re serious about stopping this ‘ritual’ or whatever the hell you’re calling it, I’m listening. Just come ready to explain everything.”

Casey leaned back in his chair, the maps spread before him. His eyes fell on a faint red line he hadn’t noticed before, branching off the main pipeline and marked with a single word: “Chasm.”

The phone line clicked as his message ended. Casey paused, suddenly unsure if it had been disconnected—or if someone had been listening.

Chapter 25

Unspoken suspicions filled the sanctuary of the old Methodist church the next morning, audible in the murmurs of the gathered mourners and visible in the way that eyes averted and darted in that awkward way of not wanting to face the truth.

And the truth was, Westville was scared. Changed. Different.

How could it not be?

Emily Grace Thompson, Casey read on the white half sheet sized bulletin, with a flowery design around the edge. Like there was supposed to beauty somewhere in all of this. This was only ugly.

He’d pored over the maps and county documents until Heiser left at 2 a.m, and sleep slowly overtook Casey. It was undeniable—Janus Global had deep roots in Westville. In fact, they’d had a hand in shaping the town’s prosperity since the early 20th century, investing in infrastructure and businesses that had made the town thrive.

Back then, they weren’t called Janus Global. They’d operated under various names, presenting themselves as seemingly disconnected investors. But every one of those entities shared a common thread: they were all tied to the same families—families who now held major stakes in Janus Global Logistics, which Heiser claimed had been officially formed in the early 1970s.

Casey could buy into that. It sounded plausible enough, like the kind of shadowy corporate history you might uncover in investigative journalism or cold-case work. It wasn’t exactly what he’d call “good old-fashioned police work,” given the conspiratorial slant, but at least it had a paper trail.

What he couldn’t buy into—at least, not entirely—were the other theories Heiser had laid out. Theories that reached back to biblical times, weaving ancient folklore with modern science in a way that made Casey’s head spin. Angels and demons weren’t just metaphorical or spiritual entities, according to Heiser. They were linked to “dimensional anomalies”—cracks in the window, he called them, created and exploited by forces beyond human understanding.

It was the kind of talk that belonged in pulp novels or late-night conspiracy shows, not a funeral parlor, and certainly not in a real investigation. And yet, it was becoming harder for Casey to dismiss outright. What about the red light in the woods? The way Crawley’s alibi didn’t make sense? What about the body in the river that didn’t feel like Millie, even if the records said otherwise?

Sitting here in the sanctuary as the funeral began, Casey tried to push it all to the back of his mind. He had to. If he didn’t keep a clear head, if he let himself get sucked into Heiser’s world of unprovable theories and ancient horror stories, he’d lose his grip on what was real—and that was dangerous.

Still, some small part of him whispered: What if? What if Heiser’s theories weren’t so far-fetched? What if this town wasn’t just grieving a senseless tragedy but was standing on the edge of something far worse? Casey didn’t want to entertain the thought, but it lingered like the shadow of a storm on the horizon, impossible to ignore.

He watched as Joe, Erin, Jack and Julie Thompson entered and filed into the front left pews, joined by the rest of the extended Thompson family. Joe’s face was blank, stony. It was a far cry from the tortured, furious expression Casey had seen on him during that heated exchange with Jack behind the funeral home.

After a hymn, Pastor Rick Stevens stepped up to the pulpit and began to recite Psalm 23. Casey barely heard the words until the line about the shadow of death broke through his thoughts.

That shadow loomed large over Westville now, over everyone in it. And maybe—just maybe—it wasn’t a metaphor.

#

The luncheon was downstairs in a long room with thin gray carpeting over hard cement, long folding tables set up in rows between the four circular metal support beams. Mourners stood out starkly against the white brick walls in their blacks, browns, and deep reds, lining up for the random and odd assortment of baked goods, casseroles, and small sandwiches.

A murmur of subdued voices filled the space, weighted by the heaviness of the morning’s funeral. Casey stood near the back of the room, his hands clasped in front of him, waiting for the right moment.

He watched Joe, who was leaning against the wall by the bathrooms, staring at the floor with a blank expression.

Casey approached cautiously, his footsteps muffled by the thin gray carpet.

“Hey man,” Casey said, giving his friend a hug. “Sorry I missed you at the visitation yesterday.”

“I had to step out for a while,” Joe replied. “It’s just a lot, you know.”

“I need to talk to you. Just for a minute.”

Joe sighed and straightened, his shoulders stiff. “What is it?”

Casey glanced around to ensure no one was listening. “I heard you and Jack talking. Outside the funeral home. It didn’t sound like just family stuff.”

Joe’s jaw clenched, and he looked away. “That’s between me and my dad.”

“Maybe, but this isn’t just about you, Joe. It’s about Millie. What’s going on?”

Joe’s head snapped back toward him, his voice low but sharp. “Don’t do this here. Not now.”

“I know what I heard, Joe,” Casey pressed. “You told Jack you were done with something—some kind of legacy. And he said, ‘we can’t afford not to deliver.’ What the hell does that mean?”

Joe’s face flushed, and he stepped closer, his voice a harsh whisper. “It means nothing. Just my old man rambling on about the family business. You know how he gets.”

“This isn’t about the mill,” Casey said firmly. “And you know it. You’ve been different, Joe. Even before Millie went missing. You’ve been distracted, angry. And now she’s gone, and—”

Joe’s hand shot up, silencing him. His voice cracked with barely restrained anger. “Stop.”

Casey hesitated but didn’t back down. “I know this isn’t just grief. There’s something you’re not telling me. If it has anything to do with what happened to Millie, you have to—”

Joe shoved him hard, his voice rising. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Casey stumbled back, catching himself against a support beam. Several heads turned toward the commotion, and the room fell silent.

Joe pointed a trembling finger at him, his voice breaking. “You think you can just come in here and throw around accusations? You think you know what it’s like to lose her? To bury her?”

Casey steadied himself, his ribs aching, and took a deep breath. “Joe, I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m trying to help.”

“Help?” Joe spat the word like venom. “You’re not helping anyone, least of all me. Just stay out of it, Casey. Stay the hell out of it.”

Before Casey could respond, Joe turned and stormed out of the room, leaving a stunned silence in his wake. Casey stood frozen, the weight of Joe’s words sinking in.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Jack Thompson watching him intently from across the room, his expression unreadable.

Casey pulled himself upright, saw Aly stand and start moving toward him. He figured he should leave before this went any further.

When Casey walked back up the stairs, he couldn’t get the scared, angry look in Joe’s eyes out of his head. But then, of course, Joe would be both of those things.

Casey would have been too, if it were his daughter. No idea where she was for weeks, with a fading chance of her still being alive. And then suddenly one day, there she is.

A girl in the river. Lonely, cold, and faded to gray.

Casey’s arms shook, and chills ran through him as he made his way out of the church and into the parking lot.

Aly called out behind him, but he didn’t turn around.

He had to reckon with what he’d become. What he’d gotten sucked into.

The Chief had been right. This was the Hopkins kid all over again. Casey searching for reasons, excuses, a way things could have gone differently. Instead of accepting it for what it was.

A failure. A loss.

But this was worse. He thought back to Steven Hopkins, that cocky smile as Casey let him off with a warning. The weight of the report he’d written later, describing how Steven’s car had wrapped around that oak tree, killing him and his girlfriend on impact.

The same feeling crept in now, settling deep in his chest like lead. Steven’s parents had never gotten closure. They’d buried their son, but there had always been whispers about how much Casey had known and whether he could have stopped it.

And now Joe. Confronted by his supposed best friend spouting conspiracy theories about his daughter still being out there somewhere and the killer at large, despite having seen her body. Despite the knowledge that the killer had been found in the river weeks earlier, with plenty of evidence to corroborate. Harry Meyers.

Every now and again, as Casey walked down the sidewalk under the gray November sky, with the first few frozen particulates of something like snow beginning to fall, he would shake his head as if to ward off the thoughts from invading again. He didn’t want to think about it, not anymore.

It was over. That girl in the river he had wanted to believe so badly wasn’t Millie Thompson. He realized then that he had to believe.

For the sake of everyone around him who was already moving on.

He couldn’t do this again.

He called Heiser, hands shaking as he hung up the phone, then moments later his car pulled in the drive.

Casey gritted his teeth, grabbed all the maps and documents after throwing on his coat, then came straight to his window.

“Mr. Benson. I thought I ought to update you on—”

“Go to hell,” Casey said, then let the pile of papers drop to the damp ground outside Heiser’s vehicle. “Take your shit and get out of my town. If I see you again, I’m giving Reeves a call.” He turned and looked straight at him before getting in his own car. “She might be interested to know what you’ve been pulling.”

“You’re making a mistake, Benson. You think walking away will make this easier?” Heiser yelled. “It won’t.”

Casey sped off.

Chapter 26

Olivia sat in the living room, staring at the blank TV screen when Kathy and Aly walked in from the funeral.

She’d tried to find the remote in time to make it look like she was watching something—anything—but hadn’t managed. Instead, the forensics book she’d borrowed from the library was shoved under the couch, its pages still open to the section on dental records.

Kathy didn’t miss a beat. She glanced at the TV, then at Olivia. “Nothing good on?”

“Just relaxing,” Olivia muttered, sharper than she’d intended.

“Everyone asked where you were,” Kathy said, setting her purse down.

“Did you tell them I wasn’t at a fake funeral?”

The words landed like a slap, and Kathy’s face tightened. Her cheeks flushed as she lowered herself onto the couch next to Olivia.

“I didn’t want to believe it either, you know. When your father got his diagnosis.”

“I don’t want to—”

“I’m going to tell you,” Kathy said, her voice firm and final. “Because you need to hear it.”

From the corner of her eye, Olivia saw Aly slipping out of the room, clearly not wanting to be caught in the crossfire.

“I wanted it to be a dream,” Kathy said. “Then I told myself maybe the doctors got it wrong. Maybe they mixed up the scans. But it wasn’t either of those things.”

“I know that,” Olivia shot back. “Cancer sucks. What else is new?”

“Here’s one thing,” Kathy said, her voice softening. “I can’t remember the last time you called me Mom.”

The words hit Olivia like a punch. She looked down, refusing to meet Kathy’s eyes.

“You’re scared. You’re hurting. Just like I was. Just like I still am now, only for you.”

“I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Which is exactly why we need to.”

Olivia shook her head, fighting the hot sting of tears. “All I think about when I think about Dad is the way he looked in that bed. Like he wasn’t even there anymore. His mouth hanging open, his eyes twitching—”

“It wasn’t easy to see him like that,” Kathy said, her voice quivering now. “But I believe he could hear us. He wanted his girls with him, right until the end.”

“Don’t!” Olivia shot to her feet, trembling with anger and grief. “Don’t tell me that.”

Kathy’s voice broke. “He wouldn’t have blamed you for not wanting to be in the room, sweetheart. I know that’s what this is about.”

Olivia’s chest heaved. “I wanted to, Mom. I wanted to be there, but I didn’t want him to be that way.” The words spilled out between sobs. “I didn’t want him to.”

“I know, I know,” Kathy said, standing and pulling her into a tight embrace. She guided Olivia back down to the couch as she cried uncontrollably into her shoulder.

Aly reentered the room, quietly sitting on Olivia’s other side and rubbing her back.

“I miss him,” Olivia choked out. “I want to tell him I’m sorry.”

“We all miss him,” Aly said softly. “And there’s nothing to be sorry about.”

Olivia didn’t believe that. Not yet.

They stayed like that for a long time, the weight of shared grief settling over them. Later, Kathy made popcorn, and they put on a movie, the noise filling the silence they didn’t know how to break.

After they went to bed, Olivia pulled the forensics book out from under the couch and picked up where she’d left off.

The section on dental records.

That was what had confirmed the body as Millie’s. They weren’t easy to fake. But not impossible. The book outlined cases where the easiest way to falsify them was simply to lie about the records.

To cover it up.

They were lying. Olivia knew it in her gut.

Her mom and Aly probably thought she’d start to move on after tonight. That she’d finally begin to accept Millie’s death.

But Olivia knew better. Millie was alive. Scared and alone.

She grabbed the phone and called Kyle and Austin. She told them to meet her by the river, where the body had been found.

That night, as Olivia lay in bed, she didn’t dream about her father in his hospital bed or Millie’s bloated, gray corpse. Instead, the last thought in her mind was of the girl in the river.

And how long it would be before Millie ended up the same way.

Chapter 27

The following day, fat gray clouds pregnant with rain or snow or something in between loomed over Westville.

Olivia paced around the pooling water coming from the drainage pipe at the edge of the woods by the river.

“Liv, the police said it was her,” Austin said.

“Those weren’t just cops,” Kyle said as he sent another rock skipping and clanging down the fathomless pipe. “Those were feds. My dad said so.”

“I don’t care who they were. Millie’s alive.”

She stopped pacing, and when she looked toward the dam where the body had washed up, she averted her eyes. She told them about her theory involving the falsifcation of dental records.

Neither of them were very convinced.

It couldn’t have been her. Or was it that she didn’t want to believe it? She regretted getting a closer look at the corpse, bloated, mangled, and stripped of flesh in places that showed bone and tattered remains of gray skin. Her gut was suddenly awash with nausea, like it had been the morning after the party, the night that Millie had gone missing.

She shook her head. “It’s all just so messed up.”

Despite her best efforts, when she drew in a shaky breath, she started crying—again. Heavy sobs. She hated this.

She turned away from Kyle and Austin and walked to the river’s edge, nostrils burning and eyes bleary.

We’ll find you, Mil. We will.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been standing there, the constant drone of the rushing water off the dam roiling beneath the train trestles, blissfully blocking out the rest of the world.

A hand tentatively landed on her shoulder. She turned sharply, and Austin pulled his hand away. “Sorry,” he said, turning, his long black hair glinting in the cold November sun.

Before she was even aware of what she was doing, she grabbed his wrist. “It’s okay.”

He stepped up alongside her, and for a moment, she wanted to let herself slide down into his arms and just stay like that for a while. She thought better of it—not the time—and sniffed, wiping her eyes instead.

They stood together for a moment before either of them said anything. A couple of sharp pings echoed as Kyle continued to pelt the corrugated metal of the drainage pipe with rocks.

“His way of dealing, I guess,” Austin said. “Everyone’s got one.”

“Yeah,” Liv said. “What’s yours?”

“I remember when my dad died, and we held a traditional burial up at the reservation. I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to watch him burn.”

Liv looked at him, his eyes on the river. “How old were you?”

“Six,” he said, and Olivia tried to imagine being six years old and watching her father be cremated right before her eyes. Instead, she’d just watched him get sicker and sicker day by day in the downstairs bedroom of their house. She didn’t know which was worse. “What’d you do then?” she asked.

“I don’t remember. I just know I didn’t cry. That bundle of cloth didn’t feel like Dad to me. But that body—”

He stopped. Olivia knew what he was thinking—that it was too awful to even talk about anymore, or think about. And yet, she was. She couldn’t help it. That body didn’t feel like Millie to her for a reason.

“That wasn’t Millie,” she said.

Austin swallowed. “Not anymore.”

“But I’m saying that wasn’t her. She’s still alive, and I know it.”

“Liv, come on—”

“If you want to give up on her, then fine—go home and just stop thinking about it.” Olivia stepped away and started walking up the rocky slope toward the parking lot. “I’m not giving up.”

“What about Millie’s parents? They don’t want to believe it either. But they have to. Just like you do.”

Olivia turned. “Screw you, Austin. I don’t have to.”

“Guys,” Kyle said.

“Shut up, Kyle,” Olivia snapped. “I don’t want to hear it from you too.”

“You don’t have to take it out on us,” Austin said. “She was our friend too.”

Heat boiled up in Olivia’s chest. “Well, you’re not acting like it.”

“Guys!” Kyle yelled, his voice high-pitched and tinged with panic. “You need to see this.”

Olivia looked down and saw him staring headlong into the drainage pipe.

Austin sighed and shook his head. “Now’s not the time for another poop joke or anything to do with my mom.”

Under any other circumstance, Kyle would have taken that as a challenge to come up with the most offensive joke he could, but he kept his wide-eyed stare locked down the shadowy tube. “Just look,” he said.

Olivia peered in. Nothing but a stream of dirty water and corrugated metal until all of that disappeared into the black.

“What are we supposed to be looking at?” Austin asked.

“Just wait for it.”

Olivia snorted. “I swear, Kyle, if you’re messing around right now—”

“There!”

Olivia’s stomach did a somersault and her chest tightened as an eerie red glow lit up far down the pipe, pulsing brighter and dimmer several times in a row, fading over time until it was gone again.

“Right there, you see it?” Kyle shouted. “What the hell is that?”

“Dunno,” Austin said, dumbfounded.

Olivia didn’t know either. But just like she knew Millie was still alive, she knew that somehow, that light was connected to her. She put one foot on the edge of the pipe and heaved herself up, just barely ducking to walk in.

“Whoa, what are you doing?” Kyle said.

“It’s just like that red light in the woods that night. It could lead us to Millie.”

Kyle shook his head wildly. “How?”

“Not sure. But I’m gonna find out.”

“I’m coming with you,” said Austin. He stepped up into the pipe and nodded at Olivia. The cold resolve she felt pooling in her unsettled gut warmed a bit as he offered a forced smile.

Kyle gulped audibly. “You guys are nuts.”

“You’re the one who wanted to show us,” Austin said.

“First rule of any horror movie—never go into a creepy tunnel. Second rule, don’t keep going down a creepy tunnel if you see some weird-ass lights glowing down there.”

“How about don’t split up?” Austin said.

Kyle stammered at that. “I’m staying out here. Where I can see.”

“Suit yourself,” said Olivia.

“You guys can’t just—damn it. Damn it, damn it.”

He climbed up into the pipe, his boy scout cursing echoing in the tunnel as they started forward.

“How long do you think this thing is?” asked Olivia.

“I think it spits out somewhere by Prince Milling, so it can’t be too long.”

Once they were a minute into walking the pipe, a dank sour smell assailed their nostrils, and the light from the entrance had faded to almost nothing. They were feeling their way through the dark until that same orange pulsing light shone closer ahead at the intersection of another drainage pipe.

Now that they were closer, Olivia heard a sizzling hissing along with the pulse, and she felt dread in her gut as the back of her neck prickled with gooseflesh.

“Anyone else hear that?” Austin said.

“Yeah.”

“Oh God, this is dumb. This is so gay, you guys. Why—”

Olivia stopped in her tracks once they got closer, and the pulse of red light faded. They were at the cross-section.

If they kept going straight, they would probably get to the place Austin mentioned where it spit out at Prince Milling. But as Olivia looked to the right, she saw the pipe narrow, and another incoming tinge of red pulsing light. As it got closer, she heard the sizzle—an ear-piercing sort of screech.

It made her angry for some reason, and terribly afraid. Like she had been these two weeks, only multiplied by ten. The red light got close enough to feel hot air blowing in her face, and Kyle pulled her back at the last minute, along with Austin. It whooshed by them, and that sinking dread came to a staggering low point, then rose again as the light faded down the left of the tunnel.

“Man, you guys. I think I’m gonna be sick.”

Austin was clutching his forehead. “What is that?”

Olivia looked down to the right. “We have to go this way.”

“We need to turn back,” said Kyle.

“He might be right, Liv.” Austin cleared his throat. “As much as I hate to say it.”

Everything in her didn’t want to come that close to the red light again. She thought if she did, she might not be able to contain her rage—that she might never have hope or a good feeling again. Then she thought of Millie. She thought of the time she’d broken her arm on her bike, and Millie had run two miles as fast as she could for help, then spent the next three nights with her, missing out on summer camp just to be with her while she recovered.

“That red light we saw in the woods,” she said. “And now this. This is it. Millie’s down there somewhere. It has her.”

“It? Like a damn ghost?” Kyle said.

“You were there,” Olivia said. “You saw it too.”

Another wave of the light came down the tunnel, and they all braced. Olivia covered her ears out of reflex, and the others did the same. It seemed to help, and as it got closer, she yelled, “Close your eyes!”

The fleshy blackness of the back of her eyelids flared only slightly brighter as it passed again, and the sick sinking feeling wasn’t nearly as bad as before.

“We just have to close our eyes as we go down. We can make it.”

“All to take us who the hell knows where,” said Kyle.

Austin stood at the edge of the cross section of the pipes, breathing out big breaths and bouncing on his toes. Then suddenly he took off running down the pipe.

Olivia jolted, then followed after.

“Dammit!” Kyle yelled, and she heard him running after as well.

Red light swelled ahead, and Olivia slowed and closed her eyes. Her head ached now, and legs quaked with weakness and nausea in her gut. But they kept moving. Suddenly the ground wasn’t clanking metal as they jogged down the pipe, but dirt and rock. There was a steady hum and whine, and a slight tinge of orange red light emanting from the walls of the tunnel itself.

“What is this?” Olivia said aloud.

“It’s like a cave.” Austin said. “My grandpa told me the Odawa had some underground burial sites, but nothing like this.”

“You guys do know we are now underground and no one knows where we are? If something collapses—”

“Then you’ll use your scout skills to get us out.” Olivia offered.

“I missed the badge for subterranean survival I guess.”

Olivia looked ahead. It just kept going. Then she followed Austin’s gaze somewhere behind her. His face grew pale in the dim red pulsing light.

Olivia turned, and worse those waves of red that had come on as they made there way here, she felt her stomach drop like an elevator in freefall. A wall of dirt and stone where the metal pipe should have been.

Kyle had turned now as well, and run to it. He slammed his fists on it, and kicked and swore.

Olivia swallowed. “Can’t go back. Just have to see where it leads.”

“Me and my big damn mouth,” said Kyle.

Austin took the lead, and Olivia reached back for Kyle’s hand. “Come on.”

He didn’t take it, but looked at her appreciatively as he walked around her.

They walked on amid the strange dull red glow the tunnel gave off, pulsing and undulating.

Then, there was a brighter light up ahead.

Olivia saw it and started moving faster, wanting more than anything to be out of here. Kyle and Austin fell into step with her, eyes fixed on the end.

“Wherever this lead, just be ready,” said Olivia.

“Ready for what?”, Austin asked.

“To kick some ass,” Kyle said.

Olivia and Austin stopped and looked over at him.

“Sorry… sounded cooler in my head.”

The blinding light ahead swallowed the tunnel, forcing Olivia to shield her eyes with her arm. The hum grew louder, evolving into an oppressive vibration that seemed to come from everywhere at once. As they stepped into the cavernous space beyond the tunnel, all three of them froze.

The world had changed.

Cold, metallic hallways stretched endlessly in every direction. Red shuttered doors lined the walls, their surfaces gleaming faintly in the dim light. Strange symbols were etched onto each one—symbols Olivia didn’t recognize but felt deep in her chest, like a warning she couldn’t understand. The air smelled sterile, but something acrid lingered just underneath.

“What the hell is this place?” Kyle asked, his voice cracking.

Olivia’s hands trembled as she stepped forward. “I don’t know. But we’re not leaving.”

“Not leaving?” Austin hissed. “Liv, we’re underground—this is some kind of nightmare maze. What if—”

The sharp clang of a door slamming behind them cut off his words. All three of them spun around, only to see the tunnel they’d emerged from was gone, replaced by another endless hallway.

“No way,” Kyle muttered, his face pale. “No freaking way.”

A sudden, guttural thrum rippled through the air, and the red light from the walls seemed to pulse in response. Olivia turned her head, catching movement at the edge of her vision. She held her breath, barely daring to speak.

“Did you see—”

Before she could finish, shadowed figures stepped out from behind the doors. Their faces were hidden behind smooth, featureless masks, their dark uniforms blending into the oppressive metallic walls. Olivia’s heart raced, her instincts screaming to run.

“Liv, we need to go!” Austin shouted.

The masked figures moved too fast. Before any of them could react, gloved hands grabbed Olivia from behind, dragging her toward one of the shuttered doors. She thrashed wildly, screaming for Austin and Kyle, but her strength was no match for their steely grip.

“Let her go!” Kyle yelled, launching himself at one of the figures. He managed to land a hit before another grabbed him, pinning him to the floor.

Austin swung his fists, connecting once, but the figures moved like shadows—fluid, methodical. They overwhelmed him in seconds, locking his arms behind his back.

The red door nearest them slid open with a deafening screech, revealing a void of blinding white light. Olivia’s vision blurred as she was pulled inside, her screams swallowed by the sound of the door slamming shut.

The last thing she saw was Kyle and Austin being dragged toward another door, their terrified faces vanishing into the stark, unyielding light.