I don’t even know if I say goodbye to Creagan. I stuff the phone in my pocket and stalk back down the hall to the room flanked by police officers. They step aside when they see me coming.
I open the door and find Ashley in a hospital gown in the bed. She’s sitting up, but the bed is adjusted to support her back so she’s leaned against it as it holds her up. The gown, clouds of white pillows, and the blanket over her make her look even smaller than she did when she was walking across the field. Misty is sitting beside the bed, holding one of her daughter’s hands. The other arm has a needle in it, pumping fluids into her clearly malnourished, dehydrated body.
Her head is leaned to one side, looking at her mother as if she’s trying to avoid the stares of the three police officers crowded on the other side of the bed.
“We need as much information as you can give us,” one of the officers says.
“The longer you wait, the harder it’s going to be for us to find who did this to you,” another adds.
“You need to tell us what you remember.”
“Stop,” Misty says, her voice trembling. “Can’t you see how much you’re upsetting her? This is ridiculous.”
“Time is of the essence when it comes to a situation like this, ma’am,” the first officer says. “If we don’t get the information quickly, she might not remember details or not be willing to share them.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Are you suggesting she would try to protect the monsters who did this to her?” Misty asks.
“It wouldn’t be the first time a victim was unwilling to say something because he or she was defending a captor.”
“Get out of here,” Misty snaps, her voice low and angry.
“We need to interview her.”
“Not right now.”
“She’s been through something very serious…”
“Obviously she has, and yet you’re here trying to climb down her throat. I’m her mother and I’m telling you she’s not ready to talk right now,” Misty says.
“With all due respect, ma’am, Ashley is eighteen. She’s not a child anymore and you can’t determine if she undergoes an interview or what she says.”
“Enough,” I cut in, stepping further into the room. The officers turn to look at me and I take out my badge. “Emma Griffin, FBI. I’m handling this case now. You can leave.”
“But…” one of the officers starts.
“I said, enough. This girl has been through hell and you’re not going to speak to her that way. Go back to the station.”
I stand at the foot of the bed, staring down the men until they leave the room. Once they’re gone, I turn back to Misty and Ashley.
“Thank you,” Misty says. “I appreciate that. I can’t believe they were treating her like that.”
“I’m sorry for that,” I tell her. “Their behavior was unacceptable. But they’re gone now and I’ll make sure they don’t come back here. How does that sound?”
Misty nods. “Thank you.”
“Hi, Ashley,” I say. “My name is Emma. I work for the FBI.”
Dark eyes slide over to me. “Hi.”
“I’m really happy to see you. When you’re ready, I’d like to talk to you about what happened,” I say.
I’m about to turn away and leave them alone again when Ashley nods.
“I’m ,” she says.
“What?” I ask.
“I’m ,” she says. “It’s fine. I can talk to you.”
“Are you sure? You don’t have to right now,” I say. “You can take some time to rest.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “I want to talk.”
Thirty-Two
I nod. “Alright. Go ahead. Take your time.”
“Where should I start?”
“How did you get to the vigil today?” I ask.
“I walked most of it,” she says. “Someone drove me part of it.”
“Is that someone the person who’s had you?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “No. I left. I got away and just started walking. I heard about the vigil and thought it would be the best place to go.”
“Where were you?” I ask.
“Maybe that’s enough for now,” Misty says. “She should get some rest.”
“It’s alright,” Ashley says again. “I can talk.”
“Okay,” Misty says, reaching over to smooth hair away from Ashley’s forehead.
“I was in a big old farmhouse. I got out and I started walking. I walked until I got to the road, then I kept walking until someone picked me up.”
“How did you know about the vigil today?” I ask.
“The news,” she says. “He forced me to watch it any time they talked about…”
She goes quiet and I push forward to get her past the block.
“If you’re ready, can you tell me about what happened five years ago?”
She pulls back against the pillows slightly and her eyes drop down to focus on the blanket draped over her. As though she’s looking into the past. She shakes her head.
“See?” Misty says. “She’s not ready. We need to give her a break.”
“No,” Ashley says. “I just don’t remember. Not much of it, anyway.”
“That’s understandable,” I say. “You went through something extremely traumatic. It’s not unusual for the brain to lock out memories of things like that. They might come back. Just tell me anything you can remember.”
She draws in a breath and lets it out slowly.
“I was hanging out with my friends. We’d gone to the park.”
“Do you remember what you were doing at the park?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “No. I don’t remember anything else until I woke up in the house. I was chained to a bed. Then I met Wolf.”
Misty’s spine straightens and an uncomfortable expression flickers across her face. She glances at me.
“Wolf?” I ask.
Ashley nods. “That’s what he told me to call him.”
“And what did Wolf look like? Was he young? Old?”
“I was thirteen, so he seemed old.”
“Okay,” I say, trying to sound encouraging. “But how about the last time you saw him? Before you came to the vigil? How old would you say he was? My age? Your mom’s age? Older?”
“Older,” she says. “His hair used
