Page 114 of The Souls of Lost Lake
“Ava, stop!”
His hands reached for her face, palming her cheeks. Ava shook her head from side to side as furious, broken sobs shuddered through her. Her eyes locked with Noah’s as Sanderson continued to hold her back against him.
“He killed ’em,” Ava sobbed.
Noah nodded, not releasing his hands from her face. “I know.Weknow. We heard everything.”
“Widower—”
“They got him. He ran into me and the others from town as he tried to get away.”
Ava’s knees buckled. Sanderson lost his grip, but Noah caught her. There was an exchange of some sort between the men. Sanderson gave Noah a slap on his back, then left them alone. Ava clung to Noah’s shoulders as he drew her into him. A primal agony took over her, a wailing sob from deep within her soul as she saw the ruins of the Coons cabin, the ruins of her family, and the ruins of her life.
Wren
Wren scurried the short distance between herself and Jasmine. Her eyes were finally adjusting to the darkness. The little girl huddled in the far corner, her own foot chained by a similar contraption. A box of crackers, a bottle of water, and a blanket were beside her. She was filthy. Her dark hair hung in matted strands about her face, and her thick dark lashes were wet with tears.
“Oh, sweetie...” Wren reached her and, without thinking, planted a kiss on the little girl’s forehead. “Jasmine, it’s okay. You’re okay.”
Jasmine buried herself against Wren. “I’m scared.”
“Yes, I know, I know.” Wren stroked Jasmine’s hair as best as she could with her hands bound together. She pulled back to look down into the child’s face. “I know your mama and your daddy.”
“Papi?” Jasmine’s chin quivered and dimpled. “I need my papi.”
“I know, sweetie. We’ll find him. We’ll figure this out.”
Wren couldn’t fathom what Pippin had done. Or why. So his story about her own abduction made sense—well, it at least followed a logical progression—but Jasmine? What did Pippin want with harboring a little girl in a deer blind deep in the wilderness?
“Have you been here a long time?” Wren checked Jasmine’s face and hands for wounds.
Jasmine nodded. “First, I was in a dark hole in some old burned-up place by a lake.”
Wren jerked her head up from inspecting a scabbing-over cut on Jasmine’s bare arm. “You were in the cellar of the Coons cabin?”
Jasmine shrugged. “It was dark. There were old things down there and spiders. That man used to come down, and he’d read me stories, but I just wanted to go home. He found a doll, and he told me all about his sister when she was little and how she made his mommy happy. That when his sister came, his mommy didn’t cryanymore. He wrote her name on the doll’s foot ’cause he said it’s hard to remember if you can’t see it now and then.”
“Arwen. Yes,” Wren nodded. “That’s me.”
“You’re Arwen?” Jasmine’s eyes welled with tears.
Wren wiped them away with her thumbs. “Yes, sweetie. That’s me.” Pippin had used the Coons cabin for his lair! It sickened Wren. She squeezed her eyes shut against the questions, then opened them and had to ask, “Did he hurt you?”
Jasmine shook her head. “No. Not really. I cut myself in the woods and got blood on my sweatshirt. He was mad when he realized I’d taken it off and dropped it somewhere. But it was an accident. He told me it’d be okay. He told me his mother was sad a lot, and then ... she went to heaven. But that he got sad like she did now. He needed me to help make him happy again. When his mom died, there was another little girl—he said she was going to make him happy like you’d made his mom happy, only she did something so he said he had to leave her behind in the woods. And that she went to sleep and didn’t wake up.”
“Trina...” Wren breathed. It had to be. Mom dying must have triggered something in Pippin. Instead of showing his depression and regression, he’d secluded himself. Developed a persona that fit the thirty-something adult who lived at home with his remaining parent. He was odd because—he was a nerd. But his hours of aloneness, secreting himself away in the basement ... he must have the same mental illness—undiagnosed—that Mom had! His response was to attempt what had helped Mom. A child, a companion. Trina had failed. He’d waited ten more years? What had triggered him to act now, and with Jasmine?
Wren shook her head. “But why you?” she muttered, more to herself than to the girl.
“What?” Jasmine asked.
“Nothing.” Wren smoothed the hair back from Jasmine’s face. “He didn’t hurt you? Touch you?” She had to check to be sure.
“No, he just told me stories. Brought me food. Sometimes hetalked as though his mama were here with us, but I never saw her. He’d just talk to the air. Say things like ‘See, Mama? Isn’t she what you dreamed of?’ Maybe she talked back? I didn’t hear her or anything, but he’d get a big smile on his face.” Jasmine pulled away and felt around until she found what she was looking for. She lifted another doll, this one a current doll with long blond hair and blue eyes. “He brought me a doll. To replace the one from the hole in the ground.”
Wren sagged onto her heels. She fiddled with the tie at her foot, the chain. There had to be a way out of here. “Okay, Jasmine. Here’s what we’re going to do, all right? I’m going to see if I can find a way out of here.”
Jasmine shook her head. “There isn’t one.”
