Part 6
At that exact moment, Gail Evans was creeping up the gravel driveway. She had barely managed to wait for the sun to fully rise before marching over to Mac’s house, armed with a mental list of questions for the mystery woman. She placed her rubber boot on the bottom step of the wooden porch.
Then, the scream tore through the walls.
It was a raw, agonizing sound that froze the blood in Gail’s veins. Her mind instantly flashed to the worst, most violent true-crime documentaries she had ever watched.
“Sweet Jesus, what is he doing to her?” Gail gasped, stumbling backward off the step.
She didn’t wait to find out. She turned and practically sprinted down the driveway, fumbling in her jacket pocket for her cell phone. Her hands shook so badly she dropped it once in the dirt before finally punching in the number for the county sheriff’s dispatch. She yelled into the receiver, her voice cracking as she begged them to send a deputy immediately, swearing that the old hermit at the end of the road was murdering the woman they had found in the woods.
Twenty minutes later, a county sheriff’s cruiser came flying down the dirt road, kicking up a massive plume of gray dust. Deputy Miller, a broad-shouldered man with ten years on the force, threw the cruiser into park and stepped out. He unclipped the retention strap on his holster, mentally preparing himself for a bloody, chaotic scene. He took the porch steps two at a time and pushed the heavy front door open without knocking, his hand resting squarely on the grip of his sidearm.
The scene waiting for him on the other side made him stop dead in his tracks.
There was no blood. There was no struggle. The house smelled faintly of wintergreen and toasted bread. Mac and the young woman were sitting quietly at the kitchen table. Two mugs of steaming tea sat between them, alongside a small jar of local honey.
The woman didn’t look like a terrified hostage. Her color had returned, and she was slowly rolling her shoulders, a look of profound, exhausted relief washed over her face.
“When you brought out that wooden tool, I really thought I was going to die,” Elena was saying, letting out a breathy, tired laugh. “But I can’t believe it. I can actually move my neck. The pressure is just… gone.”
“Give it a day or two of rest,” Mac said, taking a sip of his tea. “The muscle is going to be bruised, but the nerve is free.”
Deputy Miller stood in the entryway, his hand slowly dropping away from his holster. “Morning, Mac. Mind telling me what’s going on here?”
Mac looked up, noted the deputy’s rigid posture, and let out a heavy sigh. “Let me guess. Gail called dispatch.”
“She said you were killing somebody,” Miller said, stepping into the kitchen and taking off his hat.
Mac shook his head. “I was resetting a locked lumbar muscle. The release hurts for about three seconds, and Gail happens to have terrible timing. Nobody is hurt, Deputy.”
Miller studied Mac, then shifted his gaze to Elena. He stared at her face for a long, quiet moment. He frowned, pulling a folded dispatch printout from his breast pocket. He flattened it against the kitchen table.
“Are you Elena Sterling?” Miller asked, his voice dropping into a serious, official register.
Elena’s hand froze around her mug. The relaxed curve of her shoulders vanished, replaced instantly by a rigid, brittle tension.
“State police put out a regional BOLO for you late last night,” Miller continued, tapping the printed photograph. “Your husband filed a missing persons report. He told detectives you wandered off from your rental cabin up near the state park. We’ve got search and rescue teams coordinating right now. How did you end up miles away in Blackwater Bog?”
The fear in Elena’s eyes was no longer the vague, confused panic of the day before. It was sharp, cold, and devastatingly clear. She looked down at her tea, her breathing turning shallow.
“He didn’t lose me,” she said. Her voice was barely a whisper, but it carried through the quiet room. “He left me there.”
Miller pulled a small notepad from his pocket. “Your husband left you in the bog?”
Elena nodded slowly, her knuckles turning white against the ceramic mug. “He planned it. He knew my back was spasming. He knew I couldn’t walk long distances. He said we needed a weekend away to save our marriage. He rented a cabin at Pine Ridge, told me we were going for a short walk to see the water, and led me straight into the marsh.”
She stopped, pressing her lips together to keep them from trembling. “When the mud pulled me in, he just… stepped back. He watched me sink to my knees. Then he turned around and walked back to his car.”
“Why?” Mac asked quietly from across the table.
“Because he wanted NovaTech,” Elena said, looking up. “It’s a software firm we built together from the ground up. He’s been seeing someone else for a year. I found out. If we divorced, I would take half the company and force a buyout. He didn’t want to split it.”
Mac leaned back in his chair, his brow furrowed. “So, you didn’t actually lose your memory out there in the woods.”
Elena looked away, shame flushing her cheeks. “No. I remembered everything. But when Gail pulled me out… the reality of what he had just done to me was too heavy. I couldn’t say it out loud. I just wanted to erase it.”
“The man belongs in a federal penitentiary!” a loud voice boomed from the hallway.
Gail marched into the kitchen, her boots tracking dust onto the floorboards. She had clearly been waiting on the porch, eavesdropping through the screen door.
Mac shot her a dark look. “You couldn’t just knock and ask, Gail? You had to call the sheriff’s department and tell them I was committing a murder?”
Gail had the decency to look slightly embarrassed, adjusting the collar of her jacket. “I heard screaming, Mac! What was I supposed to think? You live like a hermit. I thought you snapped.”
She pointed a finger at him, quickly going on the offensive to cover her guilt. “And by the way, why am I just now finding out you fix backs? I’ve lived down the road from you for thirty years complaining about my sciatica, and you never said a word!”
Despite the heavy tension in the room, Mac let out a short, rough laugh.
“Now everybody in Apple Creek is going to know,” Mac muttered, shaking his head. “Fine, Gail. Bring your bad knee and your sciatica over next week. I’ll fix you up.”
Deputy Miller cleared his throat, steering the room back to reality. He looked at Elena. “Mrs. Sterling, I can put you in my cruiser right now. We’ll go down to the station, get you a safe place to stay, and you can give a formal statement to the state detectives. We’ll have him in handcuffs before lunch.”
Elena shrank back slightly, the idea of facing the police stations, the questions, and her husband’s high-priced lawyers suddenly looming over her.
“She can stay here,” Mac said, his voice cutting through the room with absolute finality. He looked at the deputy. “She’s safe here. Let her parents come get her. I’ll drive her to the station myself when she’s ready to talk to the detectives.”