Some traces of the investigation are still in the schoolyard. A couple of the pieces of bright yellow police line haven’t been removed from the fence, and wooden markers stick up from the ground where the investigators divided up the area in a grid to organize the search. They instantly remind me of the bright pink pieces of plastic dotting the gravel and grass alongside the train tracks near Feathered Nest.
Those markers were there for so long after the tragic and gruesome death of a young woman who briefly thought she’d escaped the clutches of a serial killer. And in a way, she had. She managed to get away from him, to not die while he watched. She just didn’t know that while she was running through those woods, the marks from the dog chain around her neck, that she was already dead. Even if the train hadn’t come, she wouldn’t have survived her injuries.
It makes me wonder how long these markers will stay in place. This is a much more heavily visited spot than the land beside the train track weaving through woods and open farmland. The police may not come back for them, but I can’t imagine they’ll simply be left alone. Someone who comes here out of morbid curiosity will take them. For now, they are lingering evidence of the sharp turn this case has taken, and all the questions still left to be answered.
I walk through the gate and across the abandoned playground to the tree. The stone is gone, inevitably brought in as evidence. It’s sitting in a cardboard box in a locker somewhere now, waiting for someone to figure out who left it there. In its place is a gaping hole in the ground. It’s much larger than I would have expected it to be. But the investigators likely started the dig anticipating, like many did, that they would be digging up the body of a thirteen-year-old girl. Not one of a preterm fetus.
Trying to put myself into the position of a teenager wanting to come to this place to be away from adults and enjoy myself, I walk over to the rusted old merry-go-round and lower myself down onto it. The heat of the August sun has soaked into the metal throughout the day, making it warm as I sit down.
I left the hospital during that tenuous time of day when the sun is still out, but it’s clinging to those last few moments. Now it’s given up and evening has taken over quickly. Around me, long shadows stretch out from the old equipment and tall trees.
This would be very much like how it was the day Ashley went missing. It wasn’t as overcast today as it was then. There hasn’t been any recent rain, but a chill still starts to build in the air. It reminds me of Allison’s mention of Ashley’s sweatshirt.
Curiosity makes me take out my phone and scroll through a search until I find a list of the weather from that week five years ago. It was raining and unseasonably chilly in the days leading up to her going missing. Though the continuous rain had stopped by that day, the temperature was still low and there were some showers in the late evening and overnight.
I can’t imagine Allison and Vivian camping in the rain. The area they showed me wasn’t big enough to accommodate a large tent, which means if they were there, they had just put up something small. A type of tent that would likely leak in the rain. Yet neither one of them mentioned rain overnight.
A sound off to one side breaks me out of my thoughts and I’m instantly sharply aware of my surroundings. My senses intensify and my muscles tighten, preparing for whatever might be waiting for me. I hear another sound; this time it’s unmistakable. Footsteps. They are muffled by the grass and the layer of fallen leaves from seasons of neglect, but they are definitely there.
Someone else is in the schoolyard. The shadows conceal whoever It is, leaving me at a disadvantage. Standing up slowly, I place my hand on my gun.
“Who’s there?” I demand. “This is Emma Griffin of the FBI. I’m armed. Come out slowly.”
This time when I hear the footsteps, they’re accompanied by a sound that blends with the rustling leaves, but comes out higher. Crying.
I walk toward the sound and see a figure in the darkness near the tree. It steps out into the moonlight. The faint haze of an old streetlight in the alley behind the schoolyard illuminates her face.
“Allison,” I say, both relieved and aggravated. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m sorry,” she starts. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I didn’t know you were here.”
“You’ve been here the whole time?” I ask.
She nods and looks back toward the alley. “I parked back there. That’s how we always used to get in here. That way if the police did drive by, they didn’t see our cars or catch us sneaking in or out.”
“So, you did come here a lot,” I say.
She nods, her face starting to clench as a new wave of tears comes over her. She wipes them away, but there’s nothing that will stop them.
“All the time. Any time we could get out without our parents, this is where we came,” she says.
“Including the night Ashley disappeared,” I say.
She nods again and draws in a shuddering breath. “Yes.”
“Allison, why are you here tonight? Is Vivian with you? Someone else?”
“No. I’m here alone. I don’t come here with anyone anymore. Just alone.”
“Why?”
She looks at the tree and dissolves in sobs. I put my gun back in the holster and walk over to her, wrapping my arms around her shoulders.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers through her tears. “I’m so sorry.”
“Allison, what happened? I need you to tell me the truth now,” I say.
She gets herself together and nods, stepping out of my hands to walk over to the
