After Cody died, everything changed.

The misery and helplessness you feel when someone you care about is taken from you is something that is impossible to quantify. I think that's because it's difficult to describe a negative; it's just naturally hard to understand. A black object absorbs all of the colors of the visible spectrum and reflects none of them to our eyes, so what we see is really an absence of color. Loss, too, is an absence. It's like a part of you is missing, creating a hole around which the rest of you stands. Sometimes the hole grows, dragging other parts of you inside. Some people may lose themselves completely. Other times you're able to file the hole with something else, although it's never quite the same as what was there before. Most often, you're just left there on the edge, feeling incomplete and wishing things had turned out differently.

Cody's death was hard on me - much harder than when Sydney disappeared. When you're told your energetic and fun-loving friend took a rope into the woods, wrapped it around his neck, and hanged himself until the life drained from his dangling body, it tends to impact you a bit differently than when you don't have tangible proof of what actually happened.

Worse yet, I knew it was all bullshit. Cody didn't kill himself. He didn't have any reason to.

At first, I blamed his dad, but I'm not sure why. The times I'd met him, he always seemed like a good person. Maybe it was the easiest explanation for my mind to latch onto. However, when I saw his tear-streaked face at the funeral and heard the grief in his voice when he spoke, I knew he wasn't responsible.

That only left one explanation: Cody was murdered. As I sat and watched his lacquered coffin descend to its final resting place surrounded by the heartbroken faces of friends and family, I thought about the fear Cody must have felt when he realized he was about to die. The woman from the library's ominous words echoed in my mind: the man who knows too much risks more than his crown.

Cody had simply known too much and now he was gone. That meant that what we found in Mr. Kirk's office was important – important enough to kill for. That brought me to my next question: Were Katie's, Adam's, and my life in danger as well? What was going to happen to us? I would find out soon enough.

Adam and Katie were both there at the funeral, but I was never able to talk to them; it wasn't really the time or the place. After that, I was never able to get in touch with them again, no matter how many times I called. William and Macy hadn't seen them either, and now I knew I couldn't speak a word of what had happened for fear of the same thing happening to us. So, I kept everything to myself.

Time moved on, as it does, despite it all. We got along just fine that summer – William, Macy and me - and even made some new friends, but I felt like we'd lost three friends this time instead of one.

One day, near the end of that summer, I decided to ride my bike by Adams's house to see if I could catch him playing outside or something. I noticed the large moving van as soon as I turned onto his street. When I got closer, I saw the FOR SALE sign in the front yard. There were several men loading furniture and boxes into the truck, but no sign of Adam.

Several days later the house was empty, the people who'd once lived inside gone without a trace, just like Ethan's family had been. I never saw Adam again.

On the first day of ninth grade, Katie was absent. I think it was the first time I was actually ready for a summer to end - just so I could possibly talk to her - and my heart sank when I realized she wasn't there. The knowledge inside me felt like it was eating me alive; I wanted to talk to someone about it so badly and Katie was the only one left.

A week passed and still no Katie. I finally asked Macy if she'd heard anything. She said another girl had told her that Katie wasn't coming back to school – she was going to home schooled from now on.

So Katie was isolated, Adam had moved, and Cody was dead. That left....me, alone with whatever knowledge I possessed, apparently free from consequence or retribution. Alone with the gaping hole that was growing inside me: the blackness that reflected no light. Over time the constant Whys slowly faded as they always do when there is no answer to fill the space they create.

Ninth grade ended up going pretty well for me, all things considered. I was a pretty decent student and was generally liked by my teachers and friends. Luckily, I never spent too much time in Principal Strickland's office. William, Macy, and I remained as close as ever - maybe even closer because of what happened to Cody.

At the Fall Dance that year, I asked a pretty girl named Allison to be my date. I remember walking up to her in science class to ask her, my mouth dry and my stomach churning. I didn't even have the courage to say it out loud – I wrote the question on a folded piece of lined paper from my notebook. She wrote back. YES, with a heart at the end.

When we took a break from dancing (back then, it was really just holding each other's shoulders and swaying side to side) to get some punch, I heard a kid from 7th grade talking about a younger kid in his neighborhood that had gone missing. They were blaming it on Indians who'd come down from the mountain and took him in his sleep. For a moment, I remembered when Zach Craig told us about the book and almost told them about it, but decided against it. I didn't want that on my conscience. And to be honest, I guess by then the news of another disappearance didn't have the same emotional impact on me as it would have the summer prior. I wasn't okay with it by any means, just numb. At least, that's what I told myself. What happened in our strange little town had just become a part of life I suppose and I was okay with not asking any more questions.

That spring, I convinced Allison to run varsity track with me. I knew the girls' and boys' teams traveled on the same bus together to the track meets and it gave me that much more time to spend with her. Plus, she was tall and lean and perfect for the team. We had recently started "talking", which was sort of the equivalent of dating I guess, and things were going really well between us. For the first time in quite a while, I can remember being honestly happy and content.

Near the end of that spring – April, I think – I got invited to a second funeral. A wake, actually. This time, it was Macy's Great Uncle. He was the one with the cancer that Macy had been upset about for quite some time. He had fought as long as possible, but finally succumbed to it. I'd never met him before; he was already sick when I had moved to town, but I agreed to go anyway to support her as long as she would pick me up.

It was a Saturday and as we rode down the street towards the funeral home, I noticed that there were cars everywhere. The funeral home parking lot was full and the street was lined on both sides; we had to park almost three blocks away. I asked Macy if all those people had come for the wake and she said without hesitating, "When your last name is Shaw, people come."

I had never been up on who was who in town and honestly didn't care. I knew she was related to the Shaws, but didn't realize that the Great Uncle that was sick was one of them. We'd never really talked about him that much.

The line to greet the family was out the front door, snaking through the parking lot in front of the funeral home. I realized this would take a while, but decided to stick it out for Macy's sake.

"Macy, how are you related to this guy?" I asked while we waited.

"He's my grandmother's brother on my dad's side," Macy said, straightening up. She had always been very proud of her heritage. "My grandmother was Margaret Shaw. She married Cecil Jackson and my dad was their only son. I've always been kind of mad I ended up a Jackson instead of a Shaw," she said unapologetically.

A woman in a black suit jacket and skirt was walking down the line handing out small pamphlets. We both took one. On the front, it said:

In Memoriam: Alexander Elias Shaw

"You know," Macy said, "My Great Uncle got his middle name from his father Elias, who our school is named after. Did you know that?"

"No, I didn't." I replied.

I looked down at the pamphlet. Alexander Shaw. The name tugged on something buried inside of me, but I wasn't sure exactly what it was.

"Macy, if you don't mind me asking," I said gingerly, "what type of cancer did he have?"

"Brain cancer. I think it was a tumor. "

Finally, everything clicked into place. The blood rushed to my head and my vision went white for a moment as I realized why I remembered the name. Alexander Shaw was A.S. from the note in Mr. Kirk's office. I would bet my life on it.

All of the buried feelings came flooding back at once. I waited in line and finally paid my respects, but I couldn't tell you the names of anyone I talked to or what their faces looked like - my mind was too preoccupied.

After Macy's Mom dropped me off, I slammed my front door open and yelled for my dad. After a moment, he came into the living from the kitchen carrying a sandwich and chips.

"How was the wake?" he asked innocently, a smile on his face. When he saw the look on my face, his smile disappeared.

"Tell me about Alexander Shaw," I said.

He was silent for a moment. "What do you mean?" he asked, looking around to see if anyone else was near.

"Tell me," I pressed. "I know you know."

"Carson...." he started.

"If you don't tell me, I'm going to the police. I'll tell them everything...."

Just then, my sister walked in from the kitchen. "The police? Carson, what are you talking about?" She was a senior and about to graduate, so she thought she owned the place.

"Nothing, Beth," my dad said. "Don't worry about it."

"Whatever, Carson. You're a spaz." She hopped up the stairs to her room.

I repeated it again. "If you don't tell me, I'm going to the police, Dad. I'm serious."

He looked like an injured dog who was looking up at the master who had just beat him. He remained silent.

"Fine," I said, turning around to open the door, "I'm leaving...."

"Carson, wait."

I closed the door slowly and turned around.

"We'll talk about it tonight. I promise. Please, just wait until tonight. Okay?

***

That night, I sat on my bed, waiting. I was fuming inside. Finally, the door opened and my Dad walked in, dropping down onto the bed like his legs carried the weight of the world.

He looked me right in the eyes. "Carson, I'm just going to ask you this one time." He paused for a moment. "Please reconsider this. Trust me, you don't want to know. Even though you think you do."

"I do want to know." I hoped my eyes conveyed the feeling of the thousand daggers in my heart.

"I'll buy you anything you want. Take you anywhere," he pleaded. "Remember how you wanted to go to Colorado to go skiing? Let's go; I'll take you. We can even leave Beth and your mom here. Please, Carson."

I only hesitated for a second. "That's not gonna work, Dad," I said stubbornly. I was a teenager; I wanted things my way. There would be no convincing me. At that point, I'd already foolishly accepted whatever consequences would follow. I wish I'd listened.

He dropped his head, obviously in pain. My heart was Jekyll and Hyde: one half ached for him, the other for the truth. The truth won.

He breathed in deeply, then out again. "Okay," he finally said. "Just so you know, after this, nothing will be the same. Ever again. Do you understand? Really?"

No, I thought. "Yes," I announced as if the word signed what was rest of my life away.

"What do you want to know?" he asked, his eyes glassy.

"What are they doing at that place in the mountains?"

"Medical research and experimentation," he sighed. "It's funded by the Shaws. They opened it in the early 70's I believe."

"Alexander Shaw?" I asked.

"His family, yes. I don't know how much you know about the Shaws, but they own half of the property, not to mention the people, in town. They have the resources and the connections to do pretty much whatever they want. At first, the facility was working for private clients doing cutting edge genetics research. Then, old Mr. Shaw got sick."

"Brain cancer." I said.

"Right. His family panicked, from what I'm told. He is the patriarch of the Shaw family; he had a hand in every business they were a part of. He even sat on the school board at Elias Shaw until he finally stepped down and let Mr. Jackson, Macy's dad, take his seat. The Shaw family funds much of what goes on at Elias Shaw."

Elias Shaw was a well-funded private school and we always had the nicest furniture and equipment that money could buy. This was the 80s, so we didn't have Promethean boards and iPads like schools have now, but our grounds were well-manicured and clean, our sports uniforms were always top of the line, and our school lunches were always delicious and healthy. It showed in our test scores, which were always some of the best in the state.

"They brought in some of the best doctors in the country, who started researching ways to cure his brain cancer or at the very least slow it down. Luckily, it was not a fast moving tumor; they had some time to figure it out. Several years in, the tumor was still growing slowly and none of their efforts had paid off. I think they found the cancer in other places too. Then a doctor - from Cambridge I believe - discovered something called stem cells, which the doctors believed might have the potential to save him, along with several other cutting edge techniques they were developing. Those fields were very new, so there was a lot of trial and error." He paused and breathed deeply. "That's where the.....the people came in."

I was sick to my stomach and I felt my eyes welling with tears. "Sydney? Is she dead?"

"Yes, Carson. I'm sorry." His eyes were wet as well.

"Why her?" I cried.

"I'm pretty sure it had to do with her blood type, Carson. Mr. Shaw had a relatively uncommon type only shared with about 15% of the population. Hers was a match."

Tears streamed from my eyes as I remembered that day outside of the school office – the day I had first met Sydney Taylor.

I'd been called in to fill out some form that my Mom was supposed to have sent in and passed her as she was leaving, a bandage on her arm. I guessed she'd given blood or something.

"So the school's in on it." It wasn't a question. It made sense, considering the way the teachers and Mr. Strickland were acting after Sydney disappeared.

"Carson, I......" he looked down at his shoes. "Yes, they are. The Shaws fund the school. In return, they get the school's...cooperation."

"And Ms. Kelley?"

"No, not her." he said, wiping his eyes. "I don't know where she is. She was given a choice: to help with the..... recruitment of test subjects, or face the consequences. I guess she chose to run."

"What about Cody? Adam and Katie??" I asked.

"You all scared them pretty good, Carson. There had to be consequences. Cody's Dad was given a choice. I don't know what his options were, but I think you know which one he chose. Look where it got him. The Shaws are not to be messed with. I really feel badly for him – Cody was a nice kid. Katie's dad was reprimanded pretty harshly for not securing his documentation better, but because he is an employee out there, Katie got off lightly. Adam's family ran before they could get to Adam. I don't know where they are and honestly hope they get away, but I know better."

My head was swimming by this point and I started to feel a creeping terror growing inside me. It crept up my spine, level by level, and lodged itself in my head. It was the feeling that everything I knew, or at least thought I knew, was a lie.

My Dad chuckled under his breath. "Also, the little myth about the Indians? I thought that was a clever one." He must have seen the confusion on my face. "It's a misdirection, Carson – a red herring. Most people are.......they believe what you tell them to believe. People have an innate need to understand; I think Man has something in his DNA that causes him to seek out an answer for everything. It's just in his nature. If he can't find the answers, he creates them. Isn't it easier to believe that mysterious savages come down from the mountain and steal children rather than the man next door?"

He looked at me, gauging my reaction, but my face was blank.

"I think one of the research assistants came up with it, but I'm not sure how they planted the story. Once it took hold though, it spread like wildfire. The lady you told me about at the library – that's Bernice. She's kin to the Shaws. She knows. She really shouldn't have said anything to you at all, though. And the list of names in the book, that's a mystery to me. I didn't even know about it."

He placed his hand on my knee. "Bub, are you okay?" he asked gently.

That brought the tears again. "Not really," I finally said. "But I still want to know one thing."

I guess he knew what I meant, because he cleared his throat, but didn't say anything. So, I asked.

"How do you know all of this, Dad?"

He stood up and walked towards the door, then turned around and leaned against it. "I knew that eventually you'd get to that question and I would eventually have to tell you the answer."

"So what is it?" I asked, looking up at him. It felt like an eternity before he answered.

"Carson, I help them."

My mouth dropped open. I suddenly couldn't hear the sound of the fan spinning above me, or the whirring from the air conditioner in the attic, or the sound of the cicadas outside. Everything had gone quiet, save for the sound of my rapidly beating heart. Help them? I didn't know how to respond; it was the last thing I expected to hear. My brain just couldn't process it. I bent my head down and cradled it in my hands as my world went from silent to crumbling all around me.

"Before you say anything, let me explain." He grabbed a chair from the desk in my room and pulled it over towards the bed, sitting directly in front of me.

"Son, they wanted your sister." I looked up at him, slowly.

My family had moved back to town when I was in fifth grade; my older sister had actually been born here, but I had been born in Tennessee before my dad had been transferred back because of his job.

"When we lived here before - when she was much younger - a man came to the door one day. It was a Saturday and your mother was at the grocery store with Beth I think. He explained that Beth had been chosen for some experimental genetics testing and they wanted me to hand her over. Of course I flipped out and tried to close the door and call the police, but he forced his way in. He had a gun, Carson. We were pretty new to town and I guess they thought we were an easy target. He said he would kill them both if I didn't comply. I begged and pleaded with him, offered him money, my car, the house, or whatever it took to get him to leave us alone. He said he was sorry, but he was just doing his job...."

"Why didn't you run?" I yelled, interrupting him. "Or do something?"

"We did, Carson. He said he was coming back that evening for Beth. When your mother got home, I told her everything. We called the sheriff's department and told the deputy we talked to about what happened. They said they'd send someone out, but no one ever came. When it got closer to evening, we packed up what we could and left. We stayed in a motel for two days. We called the sheriff's department again and got the same deputy. We told him where we 'd gone and that we really needed help. He said he would be on his way. He never came, Carson."

"They're in on it?" I asked.

"Yes, they are. I figured it out when I saw the same car that had parked in front of our house that day stop in front of our hotel room. No one knew where we were except the sheriff's department. They'd found us, but we had nowhere to go."

"What happened?"

"The man had a key to the motel door. A key, Carson. He walked right in, but something had changed. I thought I was going to have to fight him – kill him – but he gave me another option. Instead of me giving him Beth, I had to promise to help them if they ever called on me. To do what, I wasn't exactly sure, but I agreed on the spot. Anything to get him out of there.

"Dad....." I started.

"There was no other choice, Carson," he said, tears welling in his eyes again, "I would have done anything for Beth and your mother. After the man left, we ran. I requested a transfer with my job and got it. We moved to Arkansas within the month. I hired a moving company to pack up the house – we never even went back. Plus, your mother was pregnant with you and we knew we had to get you and your sister out of there."

"That's when y'all moved to Tennessee," I said.

"Yes. You loved it there, remember? We did too. But a week after we arrived, we knew we hadn't escaped. I got an envelope in the mail, no return address, and there was a letter inside with only four words: when the time comes. How did they know where we were? They had to have connections outside of North Carolina, maybe even as far up as the Federal government."

"We tried to forget about everything, and we almost did. We lived in Tennessee for 12 years. 12 wonderful years. Then, one day, I found out my job was transferring me again...."

"Back here," I groaned.

"Yes, Carson. It was the worst day of my life. You were 12 and your sister was 15 and I guess we could have dropped everything and run, but I wasn't willing to risk it. I thought if I went back and they made me help them.....do whatever, if I could just do it long enough to get you both out of high school and on your own, we'd be okay. Maybe I was naïve. Either way, we moved back, and that's when they recruited me to help."

"Why did they need you?"

"From what I've learned since, Mr. Shaw came down with the brain cancer sometime in the late 70's, after we'd left. That's when they got serious and started kidnapping people to run the experiments on. I was an easy mark – they already knew they had me."

I was numb by that point. Completely numb. I looked at my Dad and knew that I would never think of him the same way again. How could I? Somewhere deep down, I understood that he did what he thought he had to do. Closer to the surface, I hated him for what he'd done. They were my friends! I think he could see it on my face.

"I told you that things would never be the same, Carson," he said, wiping his eyes.

"Did you take Sydney?" I narrowed my eyes.

"No, I didn't. I promise. That was another guy. But there is one more thing I need to confess. I've already told you everything else and I might as well get this off my chest while you're still talking to me."

I waited.

"I know you remember the Bakers. Ethan and you used to play all of the time and Mr. Baker and I were golfing buddies, remember?"

"I remember," I said, my voice emotionless.

"Do you remember playing on the side of the road one day, and a white van pulling up and stopping in the road?"

Seth and I had been playing just off the road in my neighborhood when a van stopped in the middle of the street, the windows tinted so that you couldn't see anything inside.

"Yes, I do." I said numbly. I already knew what was coming next.

"I was driving that van, Carson. I knew Ethan would be playing there that day and planned on taking him, but was surprised when I saw you and your little mop of hair playing in the grass beside him."

I closed my eyes and laid back on the bed. I was nauseated again.

"I ended up getting him later, though. I had to, Carson. I told the Bakers that I took him - told them everything. I even apologized and said I was just doing my job, just like the man that tried to take Beth had. Thing is, the Baker's had an older son, too, and I made it clear they'd lose him as well if they caused fuss. So they left town instead."

He tried to grab me, to pull me up and hug me maybe, but I wouldn't budge. I wouldn't even look at him.

"I'm sorry, Carson. I'm sorry for all of it." He got up to leave. "I'm sorry it happened this way and I'm sorry I had to do what I did. You may never talk to me again, but I want you to know one thing: I did this all for my family. I did it for your mom, I did it for Beth, and I did it for you."

***

My relationship with my Dad crumbled soon after that. I never asked him about the disappearances again. I still had three more years of high school, so we obviously had to interact with each other, but he was right about what he had said: things were never the same. Things with my mom were better, and she never asked why my Dad and I were never close again. I knew she knew, though.

The rest of high school went by in a blur, as things remembered always do. Two things remained constant though: Allison and I continued to date. And people kept disappearing. I hoped things would change when Mr. Shaw died, but that didn't happen. My guess was that the Shaws were using what they had learned to assist other patients, but who knows. Although I wanted to, I never told Allison about any of it.

On the day I graduated from high school, I remember my dad's gigantic smile. He'd done what he set out to accomplish, but at what cost? My sister was at a successful job somewhere in Washington, D.C. and I would be finally getting out of town as well. I'm sure he was ecstatic.

Later that day, though, I realized things were far from over.

I dropped Allison off at her house to change after the graduation ceremony. I was going to pick her up later that day for a date at our favorite restaurant to celebrate. As I pulled out of her driveway, I noticed a car following closely behind me. It stopped on the side of the street as I pulled into my driveway.

A man got out of the vehicle and started towards me. I met him between our two vehicles.

"Congratulations, son," he said, smiling. I'd never seen him before.

"Get out of here," I warned.

"Why so hostile?" he asked, spreading his arms like he wanted to hug me. "I'm just congratulating you on your graduation. Quite the accomplishment."

"What do you want?" I asked.

"Carson, it's your lucky day. I'd like to offer you a job."

I didn't even have to ask what that meant. Now it made sense why I hadn't faced the same consequences my friends did. They wanted me to follow in my father's footsteps. Everything had come full circle.

"No, thanks," I said, turning to leave.

"Wait a minute, son. What would your pretty girlfriend think of you turning down a job?"

I stopped in my tracks.

"You're right," I said, turning around. "I'm sorry for being rude. I'd like to talk about it."

He was a bit taken aback at my change in attitude, but answered all the same.

"Is that right? Okay then. Can you meet me behind Charlie's in 20 minutes? It's a bit more private there."

"Okay." I nodded.

"See you then." He turned quickly around and go into his vehicle. My first inclination was to take down his license plate number, but I knew it wouldn't do any good.

As soon as he was out of sight, I ran into the house and shoved as many clothes into a bag as I could. After grabbing my toiletries and a few other items, I ran to my car and sped as fast as I could to Allison's.

I banged on the door until Allison opened it. She saw my face and immediately asked what was wrong.

"We have to go, Allison. Now!" I said, trying to pull her out.

"Carson, what are you talking about?" she said, pulling her arm away. "What's wrong?"

"I can't explain right now," I coaxed, reaching my arm out again. "Allison, do you love me?"

"Yes, of course I do. I don't understand...."

"You have to trust me. Please, Allison."

I don't know how or why, but she followed me out the door with only the clothes on her back. We got into my car and just drove. I didn't know where we were going, but I explained everything as we went. Allison cried - a lot - and it broke my heart. I guess she realized she would never talk to her family again. I wanted to go to Washington, D.C. to see my sister, but knew I couldn't risk it. I wasn't dragging her back into this and I sure wasn't going to put any of Allison's relatives in harm's way.

And so began our life on the road. I knew what these people were capable of and was terrified to stop for any significant length of time. After several weeks of living in motels, looking for work during the day and hiding out by night, we made it down to Florida.

Luckily, we both got jobs cleaning the rooms at the motel where we were staying in return for free room and board. It wasn't much, but we also didn't have any expenses, so we were able to save some money. I think the owner knew we were running from something. Sometimes when we saw him - a very kind man of Indian descent – he'd say, "No worries. I'm not telling," in his thick Indian accent.

We got by there, for a while at least. We had each other and that was what was most important to us. Florida seemed a lifetime away from that town at the bottom of the Smoky Mountains in North Carolina, but it wasn't far enough. One day, I saw a vehicle creeping through the parking lot with tinted windows. I have no idea who it was, but I decided then and there I wasn't sticking around to find out.

We used most of our money to book a plane trip to Costa Rica. Allison loved the way Florida smelled and felt and I agreed that it would be amazing to live near a beach somewhere, as long as it was anywhere but here. We flew out early on a Saturday morning and watched the ground shrink beneath us as we rose into the air. We never returned to the United States.

We've lived in Costa Rica for the last 25 years or so. We have a daughter, Ellie, who is 7 now. I do accounting and Allison is a fishing guide. She's always loved the water. Things are quiet here and we like that just fine.

At the beginning of this, I said I wasn't sure why I was ready to tell this story, but I realize now that's not true. We found out about three months ago that Allison is pregnant again. She's in her early 40's (never say a woman's age, I've learned), so I'll admit that this new bundle of joy is quite a surprise. We are thrilled beyond belief.

When I looked at the sonogram for the first time and saw that small little life growing inside my wife, I felt the same thing I felt when Ellie was born: that overwhelming feeling of love and protectiveness that only a parent can understand. If you're a parent, you know what I mean when I say I would do anything for my girls or my wife, even if it cost me my own life.

Allie and I had to give up everything, even our relationships with our families, to ensure our safety and the safety of our children. Even though I haven't talked to my dad in over 25 years, I now can appreciate what he did for me and my sister all of those years ago. I'm not sure I wouldn't have done the same thing.

I have a shotgun under my mattress and a pistol locked in my nightstand, and every night I got to sleep prepared to spring out of bed and defend my family from the monsters that may still be searching for us. In all honestly, they've probably forgotten about us by now, but you can never be too careful.

The last bit of good news: we found out last week we were having a baby girl.

I think we're naming her Sydney.