“Tell me again,” Livia said. “A leather holster?”
“Yes. From my father’s belt. He walked down these thirteen steps,” Megan said, pointing to the cellar. “He did it nearly every day for two weeks. And he did it wearing his uniform and his belt and his holster and his gun. I know that sound, Livia. I’ve known it since I was a child. And once you and I started this together, once you filled me in on what you knew, slowly everything made sense to me. The twisted memories in my mind unwound themselves and all the madness of those two weeks vanished. He never touched me, Livia. Never assaulted me because I was never supposed to be taken. Casey Delevan abducted me. The way you discovered he took Nancy Dee and Paula D’Amato. He brought me here for my father, but he had no idea who I was. When my father found me, sedated and asleep, he knew his problem was immediate and immense. The man he hired to take girls had abducted his daughter. After his discovery, my father couldn’t release me because I would lead authorities back to this house and to this abandoned subdivision. Too much had happened in these houses with the other girls for him to allow that. Too much was still happening, until recently, with Paula D’Amato. He couldn’t have this place discovered. So he kept me sedated for two weeks, fed me sedatives in my food and in my lemonade. He allowed the town’s search to die down. Bought just enough time for the pressure to lessen. And then, when he believed it was safe, he loaded my food with one more massive dose of ketamine, almost killing me the way he did Nancy Dee. I was nearly catatonic when he placed the burlap over my head and transported me to the bunker. I remember parts of the ride, almost an hour.
“The bunker, he knew, would make the perfect story. It would be the greatest detractor from where he’d actually kept me and the other girls. Once he deposited me, deep in the woods, he left me there with the door ajar. When I woke up and was coherent enough to walk, I found the bunker door cracked open. Through the haze of sedation, I ran for my life. I didn’t escape, Livia. I did what he knew I would do. I found my way home.”
Megan redirected her flashlight to the staircase.
“I have to see for myself.”
“We shouldn’t do this alone, Megan. We need to get help and sort this out. Make sure of the things you’re saying.”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” Megan said. “But I have to see this place again. I need to see that it exists somewhere other than my mind.”
She shined the light at the thirteen stairs she knew would be there, and started down to the dark cellar.
There was nothing—not in her years of schooling, or her single year of internship, or her four years of residency, or the last three months of fellowship—that could have prepared Livia for what she saw when she reached the bottom of the stairs.
They had tried the light switch, but the house was not live with electricity, so they had to negotiate the stairs under the guidance of the flashlight. When they reached the last step and sprayed the light across the basement, Livia screamed when she saw the two eyes reflecting back at her, like a cat in the bushes.
The eyes belonged to a skeleton of a girl who was draped in a ratty T-shirt many sizes too large. Her long hair was a knot of tangles, and her cheeks looked to have sunken like the elderly. The girl recoiled on her bed when the light found her, curling up into a ball with her knees to her chest and arms wrapped around her shins.
“Don’t hurt me!” the girl shouted.
Megan, on her own quest to this point, turned suddenly into the young, inexperienced woman she was, looking to Livia with wide eyes and a frightened face. Livia took the flashlight from Megan and shined it away from the girl, realizing that as it was the only source of light, the girl had no idea who had entered the basement.
“It’s okay,” Livia said. “I’m a doctor. I’m here to help you.”
“Is he here?” the girl asked in a panicked voice. “Is he with you?”
“No,” Livia said, slowly approaching. “Just us. No one will hurt you.”
The girl began rocking back and forth on the bed, still holding her legs to her chest. Livia couldn’t tell what was happening; she thought perhaps this girl was having a seizure. But once she moved closer, she saw that the girl was smiling, laughing almost.
“Please help me,” she said. “Please take me from here.”
“I will, sweetheart. I will,” Livia said. She put a hand on the girl’s shoulder. The girl quickly took it and squeezed and reached for Livia’s embrace. Livia hugged her and matted her coarse, dry hair as the girl sobbed on her shoulder. Livia allowed the embrace to last only a few seconds.
“We have to get you out of here,” Livia said. “We have to hurry, all right?”
The girl nodded. “The chain is shackled to the wall. I’ve tried to loosen it, but there’s no way.”
Livia moved to the wall and crouched down to the chain that was anchored there. She grabbed the chain and pulled. It didn’t move. She looked to Megan, who was stuck, unmoving, at the bottom of the stairs. “Megan! Come help me.”
Megan snapped to attention. She shook her head. “You won’t be able to,” she said. “Not without a tool or a hammer.”
Livia shined the light around the cellar. There was a table near the corner. She went to it and found a bottle of spray paint, noticing for the first time the dual X’s painted onto the far wall, excess paint weeping down in long streaks to the floor. The sight sent an eerie flutter through Livia’s gut. She resisted the morbid urge to examine this troubled place, and instead opened the drawers in search of anything that might help her pry loose the shackle. The drawers were empty.
“Okay,” she said. She turned to the girl. “Sweetie, what’s your name?”
“Elizabeth Jennings.”
The name was familiar. Livia had searched during the last weeks for other missing girls in the area, and she vaguely remembered coming across this girl’s story. She remembered, too, this girl’s profile in Nate’s black binder. She was another girl from a bordering state.
“Okay, Elizabeth. I have to go out to the car to—”
“No! Don’t leave me.”
“Elizabeth,” Livia said in the darkened basement. “I have to get a tire iron so we can pry this chain loose. There is no other way. We’ll be right back, I promise you.”
The girl began to shake and cry.
“We are not leaving you. We’ll be back. One or two minutes, I promise.”
“No!” the girl cried.
“I’ll stay,” Megan said.
Livia paused. She knew what it would take for Megan to remain here on her own.
“Are you sure?”
“Go,” Megan said. “But leave the flashlight.”