Page 101 of See How They Hide

Catherine wasn’t in love with Mathias Costa, but she loved him. He was supposed to have married her sister; they were supposed to have been kin. Beth was head and shoulders a better person, a better woman, than Kara. She was beautiful, elegant, classy, intelligent. She was everything...and Matt left her. He left her and then she became the victim of a serial killer. If Matt had stayed, if he had loved Beth like Catherine wanted him to, her sister never would have been alone the night she’d been abducted.

Catherine closed her eyes. It had been nearly two years and she still hadn’t accepted that her sister was dead and she was alive. She knew intellectually that Matt wasn’t at fault, but she couldn’t stop thinking about what might have been, whatshouldhave been.

One.

Two.

Three.

She opened her eyes and clicked on Kara’s email.

Catherine:

I sent these to the team, but I wanted to add a message to you.

Riley sees more than most people. I think you understand that more than anyone. She sees things that aren’t there, that are beneath the surface. I look at her sketches and see trees, flowers, people. But I sense that there is more—I just can’t see it. I’m hoping you can.

Kara

Damn her.

Catherine wanted to hate Kara, and when she was beginning to feel comfortable and justified in her dislike of the cop, Kara did something likethis. Sending her an email and asking for her advice.

Catherine read the email three times looking for something passive-aggressive, something unprofessional,anythingto show to Matt and say, “She’s not good enough for you.” Or, rather, “She’s not good enough for the team.”

But there was nothing. Kara was straightforward and to the point.

So Catherine looked through the pictures.

Riley was certainly talented. Art, in Catherine’s opinion, was part talent, part instruction. Some people could pick up a pencil or paintbrush and create something beautiful, and with guidance and practice become even better. And some people, like Catherine herself, could take years of classes and still be mediocre.

Catherine had already analyzed the five pictures of individuals Riley claimed to have helped escape the confines of Havenwood. Cal, the boy who had been friends with Riley and Jane, was the clearest of all, which isn’t surprising considering Riley had grown up with him and they were near the same age. The others had varying degrees of clarity, but she hoped that even though many years had passed, the sketches could help identify the missing people. Ryder was diligently working with the hospital and social security administration to obtain the current names and addresses of each person.

Her first pass through the new set of sketches was cursory to get a sense of Riley’s style and the overall feeling the images conveyed. What she choose to accentuate or dismiss was interesting. Eyes were always a focal point on faces, while hair and bodies were almost incidental, clean strokes and shadows to tell you that there was a body or hair, but nothing detailed. Nature was portrayed with light and dark, the sun often playing a role in highlighting a part of the plants. Animals were technically accurate, no human traits incorporated as many artists did.

When Catherine saw Calliope, she involuntarily drew in a deep breath. This couldn’t possibly be the way the woman looked. It was an image born of imagination, eerily beautiful.

But, perhaps, Riley’s version of the mythic villain Medusawashow her mother looked to her. Growing up with a beautiful woman who committed, perhaps, heinous crimes. A duality, a Jekyll and Hyde personality. Someone who could persuade as well as manipulate, show compassion as well as cruelty.

In Kara’s earlier notes, she’d relayed that Riley had taken classes in Greek and Roman mythology, and perhaps what she had learned in college about Medusa had cemented certain personality traits, in her mind, of her mother, merging the fictional and real people into one, as a coping mechanism for Riley. She had left everything she had known...her home and her community, her friends and her family. As she learned more about the world around her, her perception of the world she left behind would shift and change.

Riley needed counseling. Had she left the cult and gone into counseling immediately, she would probably be in a better place now. Though Catherine wasn’t as confident that Havenwood was a cultin the traditional sense, not as confident as Dean at any rate, there were definite signs of a collective group run by a dominant, authoritarian figure. Not a messiah personality who twisted religious messages for dark purposes, but a strong personality who exploited the individuals’ need for community—or perhaps family and a simpler life.

Riley’s art also showed a maturity and self-exploration of her world that could be cathartic on its own. Guided art would help more, but Riley seemed to have found something that gave her a sense of peace to help come to terms with all that had happened to her and her family—both family by blood, and the shared Havenwood community.

The second time through, Catherine looked deeper at the meanings of the images and how they were grouped. Faces were always the focal point, with sketches of nature in the background, smaller, often as a border or doodles. Incidental. Yet, there was a lot of detail when she looked closely.

Riley had been asked to draw anything that reminded her of Havenwood. Dean had wanted a map, thinking that would direct them to Havenwood, but Kara had indicated that Riley had left Havenwood at night and didn’t know how to return. Catherine wasn’t positive that was the truth, but she believedRileydidn’t think she could return. She either blocked it out or deliberately avoided thinking about it to the point that she couldn’t remember.

But it was in her head, somewhere. Catherine was confident she could draw the information out of Riley, but it would take time—and they might not have time.

Still, there was enough detail here in the drawings that Catherine had a thought that might get them further.

She called Ryder, even though it was well after seven in the evening. “Are you still on campus?” she asked, referring to Quantico.

“Yes.”

Of course he was. If Matt was working, Ryder was working.

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