Chris Mooney - The Missing

'Let's play with Carol for awhile. You know what the girls are like when they see the basement for the first time.'

'We can't risk it. There's too much trace evidence in the basement. We don't want the police to find anything on her to connect her to Rachel.'

'What are we going to do about her?'

'I'm still thinking about it.'

'She's at Mass General. I know her room number.'

'We'll talk about it when I get there. I'll see you in a couple of hours.'

Wait, there's something I need to tell you,' Boyle said. 'It's about Victor Grady.'

'Grady? What does Grady have to do with this?'

'Do you remember the names of the three girls who saw me strangling Samantha Kent?'

'I know two of them are dead.'

'I'm talking about the redhead, Darby McCormick.'

Richard didn't answer.

'She's the teenager who left her backpack in the woods,' Boyle said. 'You went into her house and she fractured your arm with the hammer -'

'I know who she is.'

'Do you know she's a crime scene investigator for the Boston Crime Lab?'

Richard didn't answer.

'She's working on Carol Cranmore's case,' Boyle said.

The Grady case is closed.'

'I don't like the idea of her snooping around.'

'Forget Grady. He's a dead end. Get Carol ready.'

'Let's keep her just for tonight. Just give me one night -'

'Do it,' Richard said, and hung up.

Boyle only needed a moment to get organized.

He tucked the Colt Commander in the shoulder holster under his vest. He slipped the silencer and stun gun in his right vest pocket so it was handy. The plastic bags holding rags soaked with chloroform were already in each pocket. He made a mental note to cut Carol and collect some of her blood. He wanted to plant it inside Slavick's house. It would be easy to do. Boyle had a set of keys to Slavick's house and shed.

Boyle was about to lock up the filing cabinet when he pulled the drawer back out and removed the old mask made of stitched-together strips of Ace bandages. He hadn't worn it in years. Smiling, Boyle slid the mask over his head and picked up the rope from the wall.

Carol Cranmore sat on a cot, underneath a wool blanket that felt stiff and scratchy against the bare parts of her skin. She didn't know how long she had been awake. She knew she wasn't wearing Tony's shirt anymore. The clothes she was wearing – sweatpants a little too tight and a baggy sweatshirt – smelled of fabric softener.

She had no memory of being undressed. The only memory she had was the one she kept replaying over and over in her mind – the stranger pushing a foul-smelling cloth over her mouth.

Carol buried her hands in her hair. This isn't supposed to be happening to me. I'm supposed to be at school today. I'm supposed to have lunch with Tony and then I'm supposed to go to the mall with Kari because Abercrombie amp; Fitch is having a huge sale and I've saved up money from babysitting because I'm a good person. I shouldn't be here oh God why is this happening to me?

The panic felt like a monstrous tide rising above her. Carol drew in a sharp breath and all the fear and terror were rushing through her, rushing up her throat, and she was screaming it into the dark room, screaming until her throat was raw, screaming until she had nothing left.

The darkness didn't go away. Carol closed her eyes and prayed to God – prayed hard. She opened her eyes. The darkness was still here. And she needed to pee. Was there a toilet hidden somewhere in this pitch-black room?

Carol swung her legs off the cot and felt something with a hard edge bump up against her foot. She reached down, hands moving across the shape. It was a cardboard tray holding a wrapped sandwich and a soda can. Whoever had brought her here had not only dressed her before putting her to bed, he had taken the time to wrap a blanket around her to make sure she was warm and had brought her food.

Carol wiped the tears from her face. She removed the Saran Wrap and took a bite of the sandwich. Peanut butter and jelly. She washed it away with the soda. It was Mountain Dew, her favorite.

As Carol ate, she wondered, for a brief moment, if her abductor may have been her father. She had never met him before – she didn't even know his name. Her mother referred to the man as 'the donor' and that was it.

If her father had abducted her – stories like that were all over the news, it did happen – he wouldn't lock her up in a room with no lights. No, her father hadn't brought her here. Someone else had.

Carol finished the rest of the Mountain Dew, wondering if there was a light switch on the wall.

The wall behind her had the same rough, sandpaper-like texture as the floor. Concrete, probably. She rubbed her hands up and down along the wall above her cot and failed to find a light switch. But that didn't mean there wasn't one in here.

Carol got her bearings. Okay, here was the end of the cot. Two choices: left or right. She decided to go left and started moving her hands across the wall, counting her steps as she searched for a light switch. She counted all the way to eighteen when the wall ended. No place to move but left.

Nine steps and her shin bumped into something hard. She reached down and felt something cool and smooth. She kept running her hands over the curves and then she felt water and it came to her: a toilet. Good. She wanted to pee but that could wait. Keep moving.

Ten steps and here was a sink.

Eight more steps and her hands were feeling around the controls for a shower. She turned the knob slightly, heard water run through the pipe and then felt it splash her head and face. She was locked in a small, cold room with a cot, a toilet, a sink and a shower. A light switch had to be close by. Her captor wouldn't let her live in the dark, would he? Please God, please let me find a light switch.

Six more steps and the wall ended. Ten more steps. The wall turned left and Carol followed it with her hands, counting one, two, three, four – wait, here was something rough and hard and cold. It was metal. She kept moving her hands along the metal, up and down and across.

It was a door but not like any door she knew about. This door was very wide and made of steel. No doorknob or lever. If Tony were here, he would know what it was. When his father wasn't busy being a drunk, he was a contractor, and a pretty good one -

Tony. Had he been brought here, too?

'Tony? Tony, where are you?'

Carol stood in the cool dark, listening hard over the blood pounding in her ears.

A voice called out from far away, sounding garbled, as though it were traveling underneath water.

Carol yelled Tony's name again, as loud as she could, and pressed her ear against the cold steel. Someone was trying to talk back to her. Someone was out there, but the voice was too far away.

An idea floated up from out of the depths of Carol's mind, surprising her: Morse code. She had read about it in history class. She didn't know Morse code, but she knew enough to work with it.

Carol knocked twice on the door. Listen.

Nothing.

Try again.

Two more knocks. Listen.

Two knocks came back, faint but clear.

A panel inside the door swung open to a burst of dim light. Staring at her from the other side was a face covered with dirty bandages, the eyes hidden behind pieces of black cloth.

Carol stumbled backward into the darkness, screaming as the steel door slid open.

Boyle took out the gun, about to enter Carol's room when his mother spoke to him for the first time in years:

You don't have to kill her, Daniel. I can help you.

Boyle's breath was hot and stale underneath the mask. Carol was bunkered underneath the cot, begging him not to hurt her. He didn't want to lose Carol – he didn't want to lose any of them, not now, not after all his hard work and planning.