Page 51 of The Vanishing Wife

“Not everything,” Ava said.

“That’s probably a good thing. I can’t imagine it’s the kind of story you can forget when you’re trying to go to sleep at night. I know it took me a long time to figure out how.” Leigh tried to keep her body language as neutral as possible—to ease the agitation coming off Ava in waves, as an emotionally focused therapist would do—but she couldn’t stop the tension from slipping into her hands. “Let’s just say I’ve been where you are. I lost my entire family like you. I was a couple years older. My mother was the one to kill herself. My father went to prison for murdering my brother, and I… was left alone.”

One second. Two. Ava risked angling her attention back into the bus. Not quite toward Leigh, but close. “How did you get through it?”

That seemed to be the question of the week. First, from Detective Moore. Now Ava. As though she were the authority on grief and recovery and healing. Really, all she wanted was to go back. To stay the woman she’d been for the past two decades. The one that’d protected her for so long, that she could count on. This new version… Letting go of the anger and the isolation didn’t seem to fit yet, but change was part of life. Adaptation ensured survival, and opening herself up to new relationships was one more thing she would have to endure until things clicked into place. “The truth is, you don’t. Not really. Something this significant stains your soul. It’s always going to be a part of you. In every friendship and romantic relationship. In whatever career you choose. Loss will try to make a lot of decisions for you. Where you live, who you allow in your life, if you go to college, but you ultimately have to be the one in control.”

Another silent moment on Ava’s end. Not as distant this time.

“Can you tell me about the text messages your mom saved on her phone?” she asked.

“He… tricked me.” A flood of shame and self-hatred coated three simple words.

Yeah. Predators had a habit of doing that. Lying, manipulating, dominating whatever and whoever they could to get what they wanted. As much as Leigh wanted to come right out and supply Samuel Thornton’s name, she couldn’t lead Ava to make any accusations. It all had to come from her. “Who tricked you?”

“Sam. I didn’t know it was him at first. The messages came to my Instagram account. There was no profile photo, and the only things he’d posted were photos of the beach.” Ava kept her stare directly ahead, to the M&M wrapper—now empty—on the table above her knees, but Leigh had the feeling she wasn’t interested in the bright yellow design. “If I’d known he was the man from that night, I wouldn’t have responded.”

“The photos from your mom’s phone were pretty damaged in the fire,” Leigh said. “I wasn’t able to read them clearly. When you say Sam tricked you, do you mean Samuel Thornton?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s his last name,” Ava said.

“Okay.” Confirmation. This was what they’d been searching for. “How did he trick you?”

“It was small things at first. Saying ‘hi’ and that he lived in Gulf Shores, and we could be friends. He told me his name was Sam, and he asked would I be interested in him showing me around sometime? He knew all the best beaches where tourists didn’t go.” Ava shook her head. “I told him I practically grew up here every summer since I was ten.”

Information gathering. Samuel Thornton had been trying to feel out his target. Get a sense of how much he could manipulate her. “Did he push to meet you in person?”

There was that rush of shame again, color climbing into Ava’s pale neck and face. It accentuated the beauty mark above her lip. “Not at first, but the more we talked, the more he brought it up. Like if I wanted to get ice cream or catch a movie. Pretty soon we were talking like we were friends.”

“Then he started asking for pictures.” As much as Leigh hated to think this way, Samuel Thornton had followed a textbook predator profile. Starting small, asking for favors. Tit for tat. “Was it his idea or yours to send the nude?”

“He sent me one first,” Ava said. “I’d never… I’d never seen a guy like that.”

“You liked it. There’s nothing wrong with that. Your response was natural. Completely normal for your age.” It was pretty easy to fill in the blanks from there. “Did you feel pressured to send one back?”

“Kind of. He didn’t come right out and say it.” Ava lowered her voice. A mere whisper that seemed to be absorbed by the confetti seats. “He stopped talking to me. When I sent a topless photo, he started answering my messages again.”

“All right, and did you meet up with him?” Leigh’s gut knotted tight.

Hesitation didn’t just grip the fourteen-year-old in that moment. It full on strangled her answer. “Yes. I didn’t know it was him. I thought I was talking to someone like me. My age.”

“What happened, Ava?” Leigh asked.

“I told my mom I was meeting up with Saige at the bookstore. She offered to drop me off.” The words were a rush now. Leigh barely had the chance to keep up. “I figured I’d done everything right. I was the one who suggested to meet at the bookstore. It was a public place, right? If I got there early, I could do a little shopping. I was in the romantic comedy section, and he came up behind me. Said he’d been dying to meet me in person.”

Leigh’s heart missed a beat. “But you recognized him as the man that was there the night you got drunk with your friends last summer.”

“I was so uncomfortable, but I couldn’t call my mom to come get me without telling her I’d lied,” Ava said. “Sam offered to give me a ride home. It was hot outside, and I was sweating. He must’ve noticed because he offered me a water bottle from a cooler in the backseat.”

Leigh had a feeling this story was about to take a dark turn. And she had to wait. She had to sit there and give Ava the opportunity to get it all out despite every instinct she owned.

Tears skimmed down Ava’s face. “I woke up face down in his bed. Naked. My insides hurt. My skin burned. I was nauseous and felt like I did the night after I got drunk last summer, but I wasn’t drunk. I promise.”

Benzodiazepine. Leigh would bet what was left of her career on it. A central nervous system suppressant. A damn roofie. “Was Samuel Thornton there when you woke up?”

“Yes.” Ava nodded. “He told me no one would ever believe me. He had me get in the shower and wash over and over. When I was done, he told me I was his from then on. That I couldn’t leave.”

“How did you escape?” The answer was clear by then.

---