Page 92 of Unforgotten

Alone in the silence, she prayed with all her might for Bethanne to make it to safety. For Scott to not find her before she could. And for God not to forget her. She knew that by now her family would have notified the authorities. They—along with Ryan—were probably out looking for her.

But how would they know where to go? How many people knew about the old shack not far from her aunt and uncle’s property?

Her desolation started to get the best of her. She started thinking about being forgotten. Started dwelling on how thirsty she was. How long she had gone without food. Was she simply going to die in here all alone?

Scott returned, opened a shopping bag and dumped it on the floor. Out fell hundreds of pictures of her. They scattered, kicking up a bit of dirt, and settled in with the grime and decay surrounding them. And then he began to talk. Mumbling. Barely making sense.

Sitting on the dirty floor in the shack, Candace tried to keep herself together, but it was getting harder and harder with every second. Although it had likely only been thirty minutes since Bethanne had escaped, it felt like two days. She was barely hanging on. Now that she was alone with Scott, she didn’t know how she was going to survive until help arrived.

And she knew that someone would come, sooner or later. Bethanne would see to that.

She let her mind drift from what was happening to her. Bethanne probably had no idea how much she’d helped Candace. Her cousin had a grit to her that most people overlooked while others had simply forgotten that it was there. Candace had been guilty of doing the same thing.

For so long, she’d thought of Bethanne as “poor Bethy” or perpetually kept her age at sixteen. Even when Bethanne told Candace about her job reviewing books, she hadn’t taken it seriously. All she’d ever done was nod and smile and say that her job sounded fun and so good for her. And before her eyes, some of Bethanne’s pride and self-esteem had withered.

But Bethanne had been incredible throughout their captivity. It wasn’t that she hadn’t given up, it was that she’d been strong. And had encouraged Candace to be strong too. Candacereally wished that she’d taken the time to tell Bethanne that she was grateful for her.

Now she wondered if she’d ever get that chance.

“You aren’t looking at me, Candace,” Scott said in his angry, nasal voice. “Look at me.”

Since she had no choice, she stared into his camera and did her best not to flinch when the flash blinded her. After the camera clicked eight, nine, ten times—she really had no idea how many times he pressed the button—she looked away.

He was breathing harder now. “I’m not done. And you weren’t smiling. You need to smile.”

She swallowed. “I can’t.”

He let the camera hang from its strap around his neck and grabbed her shoulder, his long fingernails digging through the fabric of her T-shirt and pinching her skin. Then, to her horror, he began to rearrange her hair. It was knotted and tangled, but he carefully caressed each curl.

He stepped back and lifted the camera again. “It’s time to strike another pose. Move so your legs are laying out flat in front of you.”

No way did she want to start posing for him. “It’s hard to reposition without the use of my hands.”

Instantly she regretted saying those words when he crouched in front of her. After sliding a hand along her calf, he pulled her leg out. She was hurting so badly from his beating, even that reposition made her cry out. “You’re hurting me.”

“You deserve it. You’re not cooperating. Get up.”

She wasn’t sure if she could.

“Sit up and pose! Do it! I’m taking your pictures.”

Somehow she was able to use her elbow to get herself into a sitting position, but she was in so much pain, she couldhardly bear it. And she was angry. “Stop it!” she yelled. “Stop taking my picture.”

“That’s why you’re here.” Picking up another bag he’d brought in and then seemed to have forgotten, he turned it upside down. Even more photographs spilled out. “Don’t you see, Candace?” He bent down and spread them out on the floor. “Don’t you see what I’m doing for you?”

Every one of the photographs was of her. Some in black and white, some in color. Some had been taken years ago, back when she’d been homecoming queen her senior year in high school. Others were far more recent.

He’d been everywhere. When she was at school, in stores, at the library, with Ryan, driving in her car. With her family. There had to be at least two hundred of them. The sight turned her stomach. “I don’t want to see them.”

“Of course you do. Look!” He picked up a color photo from the top of the pile. “Look at you here. Do you remember this?”

She stared at it. “Last summer.” She was wearing a pair of short shorts, a tank top, and flip-flops. Around her neck, the dark blue straps of her halter bikini top were visible. She didn’t have a lick of makeup on, and her hair was a scraggly mess. She’d been with one of her girlfriends on their lake, and for hours they’d lain in the sun, then jumped in the lake to cool off before laying out again.

He smiled as he ran a finger over her body in the picture. “I couldn’t believe it when I saw you looking like that, Candace. You looked so bad.”

“Bad?”

He nodded. “That’s why I took so many pictures of you like this. I had to fix you.”

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