Page 26 of Her Last Farewell

The whole complex had a distinctly isolated feel, with dense Virginia forest pressing in on three sides and an abandoned pizzeria completing the picture of desolation. The once-bright "Sammy's Pizza" sign hung crooked above a storefront whose windows had been boarded up so long ago the plywood had started to rot.

"Pretty depressing scene for a suicide prevention hotline headquarters," Novak commented as they approached the heavy metal door of the hotline center. He seemed to regret the poorly worded comment, frowning as Rachel pulled the door open.

Inside, a narrow hallway led them past a series of empty offices before opening into what appeared to be the main operations center. The room was large but felt cramped, with eight identical cubicles arranged in two rows under harsh fluorescent lighting that cast an institutional pallor over everything. The carpet beneath their feet was a dark gray, worn thin in pathways between the workstations, its original color long since lost to time and thousands of footsteps.

Only two of the cubicles were currently occupied. A middle-aged woman with graying hair wore a headset but wasn'tspeaking, while a younger man in his twenties appeared to be reviewing some kind of paperwork. Neither was actively taking a call.

"Can I help you?"

Rachel turned to see a man approaching them from a small office adjacent to the main room. He appeared to be in his early thirties, with kind eyes and the sort of genuine smile that immediately put people at ease.

“We’re looking for Mitchell,” Rachel said.

"That’s me…I'm Mitchell Drake, the day shift manager," he said, extending his hand. "We don't get many visitors here. Can I help you?"

Novak stepped forward first, shaking Mitchell's hand. "Agent Ethan Novak, FBI." He gestured to Rachel. "And this is Special Agent Rachel Gift. We're investigating a series of disappearances that may be connected to a recent murder. And the investigation has led us here, to the hotline."

Mitchell's smile faded slightly, but the warmth in his eyes remained. "That sounds serious. How can we help?"

Rachel glanced around the room again, taking in the motivational posters on the walls and the small coffee station in the corner. "We'd like to understand how your operation works here. Maybe learn a bit about the volunteers. Dr. Margaret Tharpe mentioned she volunteers with you occasionally."

"Ah yes, Dr. Tharpe is a huge asset. Probably our most qualified volunteer for sure," Mitchell said, leading them to a small break area with a round table and few chairs. "Please, have a seat. Can I get you some coffee? It's not great, but it's hot."

They declined the coffee offer, and Mitchell sat down with them, his posture attentive but relaxed. "The center operates 24/7, though we're typically at reduced staff overnight. We have four rotating managers who oversee operations, but the bulk ofour work is done by volunteers—amazing people who give their time to help others in crisis."

"How many volunteers do you have currently?" Rachel asked.

"Eleven active volunteers right now, not including the managers," Mitchell replied, a note of frustration in his voice. "We could really use more. This county may only have 26,000 people, but the need for crisis intervention never seems to decrease." He shrugged and gave a small, thin smile that looked very sad. "We do what we can with what we have."

"Can you walk us through how calls are typically handled?" Novak asked, pulling out his phone and opening the notepad app.

Mitchell sat up straighter, clearly passionate about the process and eager to share. "Every call is treated with absolute seriousness and confidentiality. When someone calls in, they're connected to the first available volunteer. We follow a specific protocol that begins with active listening and establishing rapport. The volunteer’s first duty is to understand the caller's immediate situation and assess their level of crisis. Sometimes we make sure men who call in are paired with men, and the same with women. It can’t always work out like that, but we try…"

He gestured to a laminated chart on the wall that outlined what appeared to be an assessment flowchart. "If someone expresses immediate suicidal thoughts or intentions, we try to keep them talking while also gathering any information they're willing to share about their location. In cases of imminent danger, we can contact emergency services—but we're very careful about that because the threat of intervention sometimes prevents people from reaching out in the first place."

Rachel nodded. "How often do you get calls from people inimmediatecrisis?"

Mitchell's expression grew somber. "More often than you'd think. Last month alone, we had twenty high-risk calls where the person had both intention and means. Those are the hardest—knowing someone is standing on the edge, literally or figuratively, and your voice is the only thing standing between them and that final decision."

He paused, collecting himself. "But we also get many calls from people who just need someone to listen. Sometimes, prevention is about reaching people before they hit that crisis point. Every call matters, whether it's someone actively contemplating suicide or someone who just feels overwhelmed and alone."

"It must take a toll on the volunteers," Rachel observed, watching the woman in the cubicle remove her headset and rub her temples.

"It does," Mitchell agreed. "That's why we have mandatory debriefing sessions and a rotation system to prevent burnout. We also provide regular training on crisis intervention techniques and self-care. The work is emotionally demanding, but the volunteers here are incredible. They show up shift after shift, knowing that every call could be the difference between life and death."

Rachel shared a look with Novak before continuing. "We understand the importance of confidentiality in your work, but we're investigating the murder of Carla Rhodes, a local woman, and the disappearances of three other women. We have reason to believe they may have been targeted because of their vulnerable emotional state."

Mitchell's face paled slightly. "That's... that's horrible. But I hope you understand, I can't disclose any information about calls we may or may not have received. That confidentiality is sacred—it's the foundation of trust that allows people to reach out to us in the first place."

"We respect that," Rachel said gently. "But would it be possible to get a list of your current volunteers? I only ask because we know for a fact that one of the missing women did indeed call into the hotline at one point. Any help you can provide would help us be thorough in our investigation."

Mitchell seemed to wrestle with the request for a moment before nodding slowly. "I suppose that wouldn't breach any confidentiality,” he said. “But I highly doubt any of our volunteers would be involved in something like that…not inanyway. But give me a moment to print that out for you."

As Mitchell disappeared from the breakroom and strode across the call center towards another office, Rachel stood and decided to take Mitchell up on his offer for coffee after all. She poured some from the carafe into a Styrofoam cup and sipped at it black. He’d been correct; it wasn’t very good, but the warmth of it was comforting.

"You know," Novak said quietly, "places like this are probably more important than ever. With everything going digital, actual human connection becomes rarer. Sometimes people just need to hear a real voice telling them they matter."

“Oh, for sure.” She had heard stories that Paige brought home…stories about kids younger than thirteen who were already dealing with self-harm issues. It was terrible.

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