Page 116 of Trip Through Your Wires

She looks so small compared to his sizable frame. Her bleached hair fanned out on the pillow like an angel.

“No,” I gasp, bringing my hands to my mouth.

“What?” Jake asks.

I turn to the window, too stunned to speak. The girl on the tape is the one from the room.

“Sparky?” he presses. “What is it?”

I turn back to the TV and look over at the row of cases and reach for another. Ejecting the first tape, I pop it in, and push play and the footage is the same as the first. Only, it’s another girl, and another man.

I pop the tape out and put in another, doing this over and over, seeing the same variation of sick, twisted depravity. Old men with young girls. Some conscious, others not. But not one of the girls is from the club. I haven’t seen any of these girls before, until I pop in a tape that makes me freeze.

The girl on the bed is young. No more than thirteen. And she has the most beautiful long, brown hair you’ve ever seen. Hair I braided when she sat in front of me with a bowl of popcorn on the nights I babysat her. Tears prick my eyes as memories of a girl I’ve known since birth hit me. The girl I see on the tape. Meg, Caleb’s sister.

I dig through the pile of cases and when I find the empty shell I pulled this tape out of, I look at the date. Last week. She was here. Right here in this bungalow under my very own nose, and I didn’t know.

I drop the case and reach for another, noting the dates on their labels. The oldest is two months ago. But when I look at every cassette case, and read every name, that’s when I see the others. Chrissy, Mary, Carlie, Laura…they’re all here.

Royce didn’t kill those girls. All this time their families have been grieving, believing their daughters are missing, or worse, dead. But all this time they were here, serving Richardson.

I push up and run to the bathroom, kneeling next to the toilet, throwing up violently. Jake rushes in, holding my hair and rubbing my back as tears stream down my face.

Royce may not have killed those girls from Cherry Cove, but he may as well because Richardson had taken their lives and used it for his own gain.

When I’m done emptying the contents of my stomach I sit back against the tub and run the back of my hand against my mouth. Jake pushes up and looks around. Finding a glass, he brings it to the sink, rinses it off, then fills it with water and hands it to me.

I take a sip, my head pounding. “They were being trafficked,” I say in disbelief. I saw a segment about it on 60 Minutes a few months ago. Girls disappearing right off the street, never to be heard from again.

“That’s what he was planning for you,” he bites out angrily.

I nod, fresh tears springing to my eyes. “They’re not dead,” I say numbly, a new realization hitting me. “Those girls from Cherry Cove, Royce didn’t kidnap or kill them. I saw Meg. She was just here. I didn’t kill a murderer. I killed an innocent man.”

Jake crouches down and pushes my hair back, the way he’s looking at me making my chest ache. “He was far from innocent, Sparky. He was going to rape your best friend. What happened was self-defense.”

I nod, wanting to believe him. “We have to find them. Travis’ sister,” my lower lip trembles, “she’s only thirteen.”

Jake was there the day we hung up her fliers. He knows how much she means to Travis, and all of us who know her. “We will,” he nods. “I promise.”

Sticking out his hand, I place mine in it and he pulls me to my feet. As we make our way back to the room, he grabs a pillow from the bed, removes the pillowcase, then makes his way over to the pile of tapes on the floor and tosses in every cassette and case.

“Come.” He throws the bag over one shoulder and sticks his free hand out. “We can turn them over to someone we trust. But first we need to get out of here.”

I nod and reach for his hand, pulling open the door and leaving the bungalow behind.

Following the wooden path out of the swamp, we make it to the parking lot. The sun is out and directly overhead, which means it’s midday. We were down there for hours.

We hurry to the parking lot, and I look around. The grounds are abandoned, even though the club is open tonight. I’m not sure if it’s always like this during the day, or if Richardson sent everyone home to deal with Jake and me. I wouldn’t know. I always arrive at night and have no clue how he staffs this place when it’s not open.

Either way, I don’t care. I want to get out of here and never see this place again.

Guiding me over to the only car in the lot, I hand Jake his keys and he opens the door for me. Once I’m tucked in the seat, he closes the door and makes his way around to the driver’s side.

After he drops the case in the back seat, he takes off his sweatshirt, tosses it in the back and then slides into the driver’s seat and starts the car.

“Don’t stop at the guard booth,” I advise. “If anyone is there, just drive through.”

He reaches for my hand and holds it while peeling out of the parking spot. “Don’t worry. I’m not stopping until this place is behind us.”

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