I start to walk away from him, toward where Dean is giving his statement to other officers.
“Emma,” Noah says from behind me. I turn to look at him. “I'm sorry you were wrong about this one.”
I shake my head. “I don't care about being wrong. It happens. I'm not superhuman. What matters is finding out who put Lakyn out here and why.”
“How did you even find her?” he asks. “This field is huge.”
“A ghost led her,” Dean says, walking up to me.
“A ghost?” Noah frowns.
I shake my head. “No. It wasn't a ghost.”
“But there was someone out here?” he asks.
I look over his shoulder to the tree line in the distance. It wasn't until after Dean and I found Lakyn's body that we noticed the faint outline of an old shed or barn far out in the field. The trees curve around it, creating a small clearing for the building.
At the edge, just past the corner of the building, a flash of white appears beside one of the large trees. The face of a woman stares back at me, blonde hair falling over her shoulders. Dark pants hang on her thin frame. She watches me silently, then sinks behind the tree.
"Something was moving in the corn," I tell the detective. "We didn't see what it was. It might have just been a deer." He nods. "Do you have everything you need from me?"
"Are you going somewhere?" he asks.
"I need to go to the jail."
"Do you want me to call?" he asks.
"They'll know I'm there," I say.
“So, you're telling me that people who are responsible for the private messages of the inmates get to decide which ones of them are valuable and not? They get to apply worth to someone else's message?” I ask.
“The staff is able to show discretion,” Warden Light says. “It's part of the job.”
“Part of the job is assigning value, determining the worthiness of what another person wants to say to a friend or family member?”
“The purpose of the messaging system is to allow people on the outside to communicate more freely with the inmates here. But, as was already discussed, it's not feasible to allow people from the outside to directly call an inmate. The message system is the only possible way my staff can ensure the security and integrity of the facility. They must listen to every single one of the messages and determine if it is appropriate to pass along to the inmate.”
“That's bull,” I say. “Whoever was listening to this message didn't even bother to listen to the entire thing. She just made a note that it was an unintentional call and went on to the next thing. If that staff person had bothered to sit there and listen to what was going on, maybe she would have caught on to what Lakyn was trying to say. Even if it wasn’t clear, she should have given it to Xavier. It wasn't anyone’s job to decide that he didn't need to hear the message.”
“It sounded like an accidental call,” the warden protests.
“That wasn't for her to decide. An accidental call doesn't go on for almost an hour. Lakyn Monroe has been lying in that field for five months because nobody bothered to let Xavier listen to that message.”
“You think he would have miraculously been able to know what was going on?” he scoffs. “You put way too much stock in that lunatic.”
“And you put way too much in your interpretation of other people. This is a failure in your facility, warden. Now let me see Xavier," I demand.
“Excuse me?”
“Somebody needs to tell him the person he considered his only friend in the world is dead. And he deserves to hear it from someone who isn't going to mock him,” I say.
He looks at me as if he wants to refuse me, but both of us know I hold leverage in this conversation. Finally, he gives a single dip of his head, an almost undetectable nod.
“You're right. He does need to know. But it's the middle of the night. Come back in the morning, and you can talk to him.”
I go back to the hotel and stand under a hot shower for a long time. I stand there while it washes away the dirt and sweat, then longer until I don't know what it's washing away anymore. Finally, I know I have to get out. As much as I would rather just stand there, I need to try to sleep before tomorrow.
Rubbing my hair with a towel, I walk out into the rest of the hotel room.
Someone’s sitting on my bed.
I stumble backward with a sudden gasp, my mind instantly taking inventory of what I can use as a weapon in the bathroom. But I clap my hand over my mouth before I let out a scream.
“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you,” Sam says sheepishly.
I drop the towel and run to him, jumping into his arms as he stands up. He holds me close, burying his face in the curve of my neck. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't need to. I know he'll just hold me until I'm ready to not be held anymore.
When that time comes, I step back, and he ducks his head to kiss me.
“Dean gave me his key to your room. I hope it's okay.”
“Of course, that's okay. What are you doing here?”
“I'm here to be with you,” he smiles. “I packed a bag as soon as I got off the phone with you after you called the police
