Page 35 of Her Last Farewell

A concrete path, cracked and buckled from years of freezing winters, led to a sagging front porch. The wooden railings were rotted in places, and an ancient porch swing hung askew from rusted chains, creaking softly in the night breeze.

The front door was locked, but Novak made quick work of it with a well-placed kick. Rachel noticed that he took great honor in the act, but he rather enjoyed it, too. The door frame splintered with a sharp crack that seemed too loud in the quietnight, echoing across the overgrown yard. They entered with weapons drawn, flashlight beams cutting through the darkness to reveal an interior that was jarringly neat and clean compared to the exterior's decay. Rachel flipped on the first light switch she saw, tearing apart the darkness.

The contrast was startling. While the outside of the house spoke of abandonment and neglect, the inside was meticulously maintained. Religious imagery dominated the walls—crosses of various sizes and materials, framed Bible verses, and what appeared to be an original painting of Jesus walking on water. Rachel counted at least a dozen crucifixes of varying sizes as they moved through the front room. The furniture was sparse but well-maintained, everything in its proper place, arranged with an almost obsessive precision. It reminded Rachel of a museum display, sterile and impersonal despite the religious warmth it tried to project.

Their footsteps echoed on hardwood floors that had been polished to a mirror shine. A Bible lay open on a small table near a recliner, its pages marked with dozens of colored tabs. A single notebook was opened next to it, revealing dense, cramped writing.

"Andrea?" Rachel called out, her voice echoing slightly in the empty space. "Sarah?"

Before she could call another name, a cry rang out from somewhere below their feet, muffled but unmistakably human. The sound sent a chill down Rachel's spine. They located the basement door quickly, finding it unlocked. The stairs creaked ominously as they descended, flashlight beams revealing concrete walls and a dirt floor. The temperature dropped noticeably with each step, and Rachel began to notice a smell that she recognized as human sweat and a strange, musky odor that usually accompanied people who had experienced high levels of fear.

The basement was larger than Rachel expected, and the sight that greeted them turned her stomach despite her years of experience. She saw just a single cage at first. A temporary wall had been built next to it, giving the rest of the area the feel of a small barn. As more of the room came into view, she saw that there were three cages in all, large like oversized dog kennels. They were arranged in a row, each one separated by its neighbor by one of those thin wooden partitions. Inside each one was a woman, all looking terrified but very much alive. The cages were meticulously constructed, with feeding slots at the bottom and small ventilation holes drilled in precise patterns along the sides. Each had a small bucket in one corner and a thin blanket folded neatly against the back wall.

She felt her heart breaking for these women, choosing to focus on that rather than the anger towards Layne.

"FBI," Rachel announced clearly, her voice steady despite the horror of the scene. "We're here to get you out."

"Thank God," the woman closest to her said. "Oh, thank God…"

The cages were secured with heavy padlocks, and given the situation, Rachel didn’t see any other way to get it done; she certainly didn’t want to wait for another team to arrive with bolt cutters. No…she needed to free these women now.

“All three of you, get to the back of your cages for a moment,” she said. “We’re going to have to shoot the locks.”

Rachel and Novak made quick work of them with precisely placed shots from their Glocks. The gunshots were deafening in the enclosed space, the sound bouncing off the concrete walls and making their ears ring. But, oddly enough, it was almost pleasant, given what the noise indicated. Freedom.

As Leery called for ambulances and emergency services, Rachel helped the women out one by one. They were weak and disoriented, but otherwise appeared physically unharmed.Their clothes were relatively clean, though worn, suggesting Layne had indeed been caring for them in his own twisted way. One of them—Rachel thought it was Andrea but couldn't be entirely sure in the chaos—threw her arms around Rachel in a fierce embrace, sobbing into her shoulder. The woman's body trembled violently, and Rachel could feel her heart racing through her thin shirt.

Over the woman's head, Rachel met Novak's eyes. His expression mirrored her own mix of relief and triumph. They'd done it—they'd saved three lives and found the man who had held them captive. It all happened so quickly, in a whirlwind of action and questions, but it was done.

As the sound of approaching sirens began to fill the air, Rachel held the trembling woman tighter, knowing that while this chapter of horror had ended for these women, their journey toward healing was going to be a long one. The basement would need to be processed, every detail documented. And these ladies would be questioned relentlessly for several days. But for now, the priority was getting these survivors to safety and medical care.

Above them, Rachel heard more officers entering the house, their footsteps echoing on the hardwood floors. Soon this quiet house of horrors would be crawling with crime scene technicians, but Rachel knew the true horror of what had happened here would linger long after the evidence had been collected and the case closed.

Some darkness couldn't be cleaned away, no matter how much polish you applied to the surface. But she hoped deep down that none of these women would ever give up trying.

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

Rachel sat in her car and simply looked at her home for a moment. Peaceful and quiet, it seemed to call to her. She smiled at it, proud of the life she’d accumulated and place within its walls. It was still and silent as she stepped out of the car and eased the front door open. It was slightly after two in the morning, so she was careful to turn the handle fully before pushing to avoid the slight squeak that always seemed loudest in the quiet hours. The security light on the porch cast long shadows through the foyer, and she paused just inside, letting her eyes adjust to the familiar darkness. These late night returns had become routine over her years with the Bureau, but tonight felt different—perhaps because of the three lives they'd saved, or maybe because of the nagging thoughts about Scarlett that refused to fade.

The soft glow of the kitchen nightlight—a habit Jack had developed during her cancer treatments when she'd sometimes needed midnight glasses of water—provided just enough illumination to navigate the ground floor. Rachel stood motionless in the foyer, drinking in the peaceful atmosphere of her home. The living room to her right held shadowy shapes: Paige's textbooks spread across the coffee table, Jack's reading glasses perched on the coffee table, the family photos on the mantel.

The air still carried traces of dinner, the rich aroma of tomato sauce and herbs lingering hours after the meal. Rachel smiled, imagining the familiar debate between Jack and Paige—her husband steadfastly defending his traditional spaghetti while their daughter championed her favorite baked ziti. And his text from earlier had informed her that they ended up having neither, so no one had won the argument, she supposed.

She kicked off her shoes by the door, knowing Jack would probably trip over them in the morning. The thought brought a tired smile to her face—some habits never changed, no matter how many times he good-naturedly complained about her "shoe hazards."

Every muscle in her body ached for sleep, but the events of the day clung to her like a second skin she needed to shed. The downstairs bathroom would let her shower without disturbing her family. As she gathered clean towels from the linen closet, Rachel caught her reflection in the hallway mirror. She looked exhausted, but there was a familiar spark in her eyes, the one that always appeared after closing a case.

The hot water felt like heaven as she stepped under the spray, and Rachel closed her eyes, letting the steady drumming against her shoulders ease some of the day's tension. Her mind wandered back to Benson Layne's basement, to the moment they'd broken open those cages. The faces of the women they'd rescued played across her closed eyelids: Andrea Haskins, Monica Turner, Sarah Dupree—each one bearing the strange, confused expression of captives who'd been treated with twisted kindness rather than cruelty.

Monica Turner’s words echoed in her memory as she worked shampoo through her hair: "He brought us food three times a day. He made sure we had clean water. He even asked if we needed medicine." The bewilderment in her voice had been haunting. Sarah Dupree had been equally baffled, describing how Layne would read Bible passages to them, insisting he was saving their souls by forcing them to live. Sarah Dupree had perhaps been the most disturbing, her vacant stare and repeated whispers of "I don't understand why" speaking volumes about the psychological damage Layne had inflicted.

She knew she and Novak would have some paperwork to do, and a report to write up, but for now she was fine to consider itall wrapped. She hoped thinking in such a way would help her sleep more soundly.

Rachel reached for the body wash, considering how the prosecution would handle such an unusual case. Layne's defense would undoubtedly try to paint him as a misguided savior, a former youth pastor whose religious fervor had led him astray rather than a calculating predator. But Rachel knew better—she'd seen the careful planning in his operation, the way he'd positioned himself near Patterson Bridge to intercept women at their most vulnerable moments. His "kindness" was a form of control perhaps more insidious than physical abuse.

Still, she couldn't help feeling proud of how quickly she and Novak had cracked the case. Less than twenty-four hours from the call about Carla’s body being found to rescuing three women and apprehending their captor—it was the kind of win that validated her difficult journey back to active duty after cancer. And Novak... she had to admit he'd impressed her. Where she'd once resented him for not being Jack, she now saw the makings of a solid partnership. His willingness to trust her instincts on the bridge, even when her plan seemed reckless, showed how far they'd come.

As she dried off and wrapped herself in her robe, Rachel thought about how much her perspective on partnership had changed. Working with Jack had been seamless, built on years of trust and shared experiences. With Novak, she'd had to learn to trust differently, to accept that a new partner meant a new dynamic. Today had proved they were finding their rhythm.

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