- STEVEN -

"I can't..." I breathed. "This can't be real."

"Well, believe me: it is real," Irina fired. "Steven, you need to accept the fact that your dad isn't who he says he is...all of us do. It's the only way we're ever going to make sense of all this."

"And what about your mom?" I retorted, turning to face her. "Prudence said her hands weren't the cleanest either!" I glared fiercely across the couch. "I mean, what kind of woman lies to her daughter about locking away a sister she never even knew?"

"Probably someone who was scared your dad would—!"

"Guys!" Sam spoke up. "We can't do this right now."

I folded my arms across my chest.

"Sam's right," Ahmed said. "I'm gonna text Prudence my number, and then the four of us've gotta figure out our next move." He grabbed his phone and began typing.

"I think Prudence made it pretty clear," Irina announced, rolling her eyes. "We can't leave this house no matter what."

"Well, I can't just sit around either," I protested. "What if Lane goes after my dad?"

"Were you not listening at all to Prudence's story!? Steven, your dad is a monster! And maybe even a murderer! Do you really think—?"

"That's enough, Irina!" I raged. "I don't care what Prudence said! I don't care! I know my dad isn't perfect, but I can't just let him die! I...I...." My voice crackled as it trailed off, the burn of tears threatening to fall at the edges of my eyes.

"Steven." Ahmed's hand wrapped around my shoulder. "Steven, it's okay."

I bowed, my head shaking from side to side.

"Irina, Sam, could you give us a minute?" Ahmed's request was low, and he squeezed my shoulder tighter as he spoke. "Please?"

Irina was the first to stand to her feet, and Sam reluctantly followed her from the living room.

Ahmed sighed. "You've been through a lot, Steven. And I understand why you don't want to stay here, but...we can't leave."

"You don't understand anything," I spat, shaking myself free of Ahmed's embrace. "You don't understand my family, and you don't understand my life."

He drew back. "I understand what it's like to lose a dad, lose a mom—lose people who said they cared about you." He shook his head. "I understand how it feels to think your family's one way, only to find out something completely different."

I hunched forward, rested my elbows on my thighs.

Ahmed gave another sigh. "And I understand how much it hurts when...when the people you trust most in the world betray you, or...or lie to you about...everything."

I sniffled. "Well, if you really do understand all that," I began, "then you know why I can't stay here." I turned to him. "Ahmed, I have to know my dad's side of this...I have to know why."

"Steven..."

"I feel like I'm going to explode," my voice cracked again. "I can't just sit here, Ahmed."

He fell silent.

"Then I'm coming with you."

Ahmed and I turned in unison to the doorway.

"Sam?" Ahmed started. "What are you—?"

"Steven, you're right," Sam turned to me. "If we stay here, if we don't hear your dad out, we may never find out what really happened...to Lane or anyone else."

"You can't be serious!?" Irina berated, stepping into view. "Sam, Prudence said—"

"I know what Prudence said." He drew closer to Irina. "But if we have any chance of finding Lane, of...saving her, then..."

"Saving her!? Sam, she could be the one behind all of this!"

"Then that means now more than ever, she needs us...needs me. She's not a psychopath, Irina...she's just a scared girl, a girl that nobody gave a chance." He sighed. "When you were younger, you said she was like your big sister. Well, now your sister needs some help. And maybe I can help her; maybe I can find her."

Irina drew a long breath and placed her hand on her hip. "Fine. But if you and Steven get answers, then so do I."

I turned to face her. "Huh?"

"I'm going to find my mom."

"Irina, you can't..."

"Do not tell me what I can't do, Steven. We are long past that stage of our lives."

I shrank back against the couch cushions, held up both hands. "Whatever."

Irina rolled her eyes, then turned to brush past Sam.

"Irina, wait!" Ahmed jumped from the couch and ran behind her. "Irina, you shouldn't go out there alone."

"I'll be fine, Ahmed."

"Irina, please. If Sam's going with Steven, let me come with you." He paused. "I mean, I've met your mom. Maybe if we're together, she'll listen to the two of us...or, maybe tell us the truth..."

She crossed her arms and stared at him. "You've got Prudence's number, right?"

Ahmed nodded.

Irina growled, rolled her eyes again.

****

Sam and I ended up taking his car, and the first place we decided to look for my dad was at the church. If police were searching our house, I figured Dad'd probably head to his office to clear his head—and Mom might've even been with him.

When we made it to the parking lot, Sam offered to come inside and help me search.

"Sam, I don't...could you just...wait here or something? I really need to do this myself."

He paused. "Dude, if your dad knows what happened to L—"

"Sam...please."

He sighed. "You've got ten minutes, and then I'm coming inside." He pulled into a parking space and unlocked the doors. "Go."

I opened my door and stood from the car, backpack strapped across my shoulders, then ran inside the church.

It was dark, but hallway lights shone from the walls to brighten a path for me. I practically sprinted all along the carpeted floor until I arrived at my dad's office. But the voice I heard coming from inside wasn't my dad's—it was Landon's.

"Thank you for coming." His words were hushed. "I have to admit I was a little scared. When I asked to meet, I wasn't sure you'd show."

Who is he talking to?

"Of course. I'm just glad to know that you're still keeping well."

A jolt of electricity shot through my body. Charity?

"Listen, Charity...there's something you should know. I've called Pastor Hall here as well. He's on his way."

"I understand," her voice didn't falter, light and endearing as always. "Is everything alright?"

He drew a weary breath. "No—it's...everything is really not alright."

"Well, is there anything I can do to—?"

"Charity, please," Landon cut in. "Please just listen."

Silence.

"You know I'm the treasurer here. I work for Pastor Hall. But I—I took things too far. I know I shouldn't have done this, but...I broke into your house, Charity."

She let out a low gasp. "Landon..."

"I didn't steal anything, but...I would have. If I had found it." He took a deep breath. "I'm not sure if you know this, but Marissa Harraway used to live in your house. A long time ago. She worked for Pastor Hall, and he forced her to have a key made—a key that she gave to him. So he could always get in if he wanted."

"But why would he need a...a key?"

"Because he was hiding something. Something terrible."

I heard the rustling of papers inside the room.

"You know Lane Martin went missing twelve years ago—that she died twelve years ago. Well, there was a documented file, as well as an official police report released after her death. The cops never found her body, but they found bloody clothes by the falls at the edge of town. Cross-referencing video footage from all the surrounding areas, they concluded that the only way she could've survived would be to swim seven miles to the nearest city; and even then, she'd have to make it through miles of wood and trees."

"I see. But if it was released by the police, why did you need to keep the file?"

"That's just it—the file itself was never released. The police chief back then just made a statement to quell the press, but he gave the file's only copy to Marcus. As far as anyone else in the town knew, there was no file. I mean, how can you pull together a file on a dead girl whose corpse was probably chewed apart by fish?"

"Then I'm not sure I understand what you're saying. Why would you keep a file if—?"

"We didn't keep it. Marissa did. And she didn't even know it. After Lane disappeared, Myra Gravestepper's daughter was mysteriously hospitalized; and Marcus agreed to foot the bill. Some thought it was a show of good will, but the girl insisted that Marissa had tried to kill her...and Lane. Marissa swore to her innocence, but police found her blood in the hallway behind a desk."

"...What?"

"I don't know how it got there, and neither Marcus nor Marissa would ever tell me anything about that night. And as for the police chief—Sigmund Stapleman, I think was his name—he was in Marcus's back pocket. Apparently, his son and Marcus had been friends at seminary, so he really respected him. That's why he gave him the only copy of the police file and declared Lane's death a suicide—he trusted Pastor Hall, and so did everyone else...including me.

"I trusted him when he told me to flip the balance on his checkbooks twice that same year. I trusted him when he told me to keep quiet—about everything. And I trusted him when he told me to lock that police file inside a false leg on Marissa's coffee table—a false leg she didn't even know was there. He'd had me give her that table when she first moved in. Called it a 'last resort,' a bit of insurance. And after Lane went missing, Marcus kept her file in that house all those years, right under Marissa's nose. And for all her searching this church, she could never, ever find where he put it...because it was never here to begin with.

"He used that file to blackmail her, make her do whatever he wanted. Anytime an independent news reporter would come knocking, or whenever Madam Caroline would go snooping for one of her articles, he used Marissa as his watchdog. He kept her on a leash, always afraid that he'd release the full police file to the world, that he'd tell everyone that she must've had something to do with Lane's death. Why else would her blood be at the church? And why else would some little girl in a hospital bed be screaming that she tried to kill her?"

"Landon, that's...awful," Charity whispered. "It must have been so hard for you."

"Way harder than it needed to be," his words came low and unfeigned. "I should've just said no. I should've refused. But I was scared. And it just made things worse when all the other online documents with any information about Lane's disappearance were moved to state jurisdiction. Pastor Hall had his file, but...the rest became visible public records for anyone who looked hard enough, and we could never get the state to remove them. Even though we had the only actual incriminating police report, part of me's always wondered if pieces of it got out, if maybe a few of those public records included some private ones too...and if anyone found them." Landon let out a tenuous breath. "And it's starting to look like that's exactly what happened."

"What do you mean?"

"The file went missing. When I...broke in...that's what I found. The file was gone. I told Marcus, and he showed me these pages someone'd left inside his house."

"Oh, my. Was it the same—?"

"No. No, it was different, but...still terrifying. Terrifying to think that someone knew, that they knew about the cover-up. That they want us all dead."

"Dead? Landon, what on earth? Who wants you dead?"

"Charity," Landon's voice grew lower. "The night the police found Shelby...I was with her."

"What?"

"I didn't do it, Charity! I swear! I could never hurt her! We were just spending some time together; that's all. Then this blond woman appeared out of nowhere with a gun to the window. She forced both of us to give her our phones and get out and follow her; she told me to leave, to run into the forest, and said she would kill Shelby if I didn't. So I ran—I kept running until I heard ambulance sirens, and I called the cops from a friend's house as soon as I made it out of the woods." He paused, sniffled. "Charity, I swear to you: I went to that hospital as soon as I could to make sure Shelby was okay, and I told the police everything they wanted to know. The only thing I left out was the part about the file, but...I just felt so awful. So useless."

I heard Landon sigh before continuing:

"I couldn't save Shelby. I couldn't protect her. All I could do was run away, leave her at the mercy of some monster. I was so scared, and...and I just felt guilty all over again...for that night."

Footsteps sounded. Landon must have stood up and started pacing.

"The night Lane went missing—at least I think it was that night—I had the craziest dream. I saw this girl. It was Lane; I'm almost sure of it. She was banging on my window, but I was afraid to go outside. I was with Shelby. And I knew Shelby was...seeing Marcus at the same time. But in the dream, I didn't care; I felt so capable, so powerful. Being with her was...well, a dream. And I didn't want to wake up.

"In the morning, Shelby was gone. And I didn't see her again for years. She left the church. I was so drunk I couldn't even tell if I'd really brought her home, if she'd really made love to me. I thought maybe I'd just imagined the whole thing. But then I found...blood. Outside on my front porch."

"Oh, Landon," Charity's soft voice cooed. "Landon, you mustn't—"

"It's my fault! It was my fault then, and it's my fault now!"

"You don't know that. What if you really were dreaming?"

"Then what about the blood!? That little girl was outside my house begging for help, and I...I..."

Sniffles sounded. Was Charity embracing him in a hug? Was Landon crying? Had he fallen to the floor in sheer agony? Was he weeping with the pain of what he'd done—might've done?

"The lady who did it," Landon's voice grew weaker, less assured, "who hung Shelby from that fence—she looked so much like Lane did all those years ago. But somehow, she was...different. I can't explain it, Charity..."

I couldn't decide whether I wanted to stay or run back to the parking lot. Landon had said my dad was on his way, but—

"Steven!" a hushed whisper reached my ears, and I turned to face down the hallway.

"Sam? What the—"

"Your dad's here. I just saw his car pull up outside."

My eyes grew wide. "Dude, we've gotta hide."

"What?"

"Look, questions later, okay? Come on! Let's get to the sanctuary."