Chapters (95)
- Front Cover
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Contents
- Video #1
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Video #2
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Sixty-Two
- Sixty-Three
- Sixty-Four
- Sixty-Five
- Video #3
- Sixty-Six
- Sixty-Seven
- Sixty-Eight
- Sixty-Nine
- Seventy
- Seventy-One
- Seventy-Two
- Seventy-Three
- Seventy-Four
- Seventy-Five
- Seventy-Six
- Seventy-Seven
- Seventy-Eight
- Seventy-Nine
- Eighty
- Eighty-One
- Eighty-Two
- Eighty-Three
- The Final Video
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Back Cover
The voices get clearer as I descend. “You’d better believe I’m going to stay right here the whole time you talk to my son,” Dad says. His voice sounds louder and sharper than I’ve heard in a long time. “And if I have to call our lawyer, I’ll do it. In fact, I might just make that call right now.”
“That’s your right, sir,” the voice says. “Actually, it’s your son’s right.”
“You haven’t even told me what this is about,” Dad says. “I don’t like this cloak-and-dagger stuff. And at this hour. You’re disturbing my family.”
The detective I’d talked to a few times last week about Chloe is in the kitchen. Detective Haley. He’s younger than Dad, maybe early thirties, with close-cropped hair. He wears tight shirts that accentuate his thick muscles. In the hospital and even after I came home, he spoke to me in a low-key way about the events of the night of the dance. And about Chloe. He never said he thought I was guilty, but he never gave me any reason to believe he thought I was innocent. I couldn’t tell what he thought of me, and that made me more nervous than anything else.
I’d watched enough true crime documentaries—the kind Daniel was making—to know that the police are always working some angle, that they have ways to make people trust them in order to get more information.
I reminded myself of that every time I talked to him.
But it’s been a few days, and even though everyone else in town seems to think I’m the prime suspect, maybe Haley doesn’t. He seemed to be on to other things, investigating other people. He’d probed every part of my life, so maybe he’s ruled me out. A lot of theories are swirling online, and not all of them involve me. Some say Chloe ran away. Some say she’s the victim of a serial killer. Some say a gang of boys from our school—or maybe from another school—kidnapped her or worse. Some say members of a Satanic cult use the woods where we crashed to sacrifice animals. Maybe, people theorized, they’d started sacrificing humans.
“Hunter,” Detective Haley says, “why don’t we take a seat and talk?” He reaches for a chair at the kitchen table. He’s wearing a tan suit and a white shirt with no tie. When he moves, I see the black pistol and holster attached to his belt. “I have some questions for you, and your father is welcome to stay.”
Dad nods his approval, and we all sit down. Dad’s face looks like it’s been chiseled out of granite. He sits with his arms crossed.