She heard Samuel’s bedroom door open at the same time Terry Russel turned to face the exit she clearly didn’t plan on taking. She stared right at Winnie as she said, “I know that you worked for Illuminations, the supposed facility where Josalyn was receiving care.”

Winnie’s heart was racing. If either she or Terry called the police, there would be questions. Of course, there was no proof—nothing. Was there?

“I have the police report Josalyn made, reporting her kidnapped infant,” Terry continued, and that’s when Winnie’s vision shook like there was an earthquake in her head. If she hadn’t been holding on to the door, trying to usher Terry Russel out, she would have collapsed.

The police report. No one knew about that because the woman in it had not been named—she’d been a Jane Doe. Josalyn had somehow found Winnie’s landline after she stopped picking up her cell—and left a message on the answering machine.

Winnie could still hear the girl’s voice, thick with something she’d either drunk or smoked. When she said Winnie’s name it came out “Wunnie…”

“Someone took my kid, my fucking kid. Please call me. I don’t have a phone anymore, I’m calling from a payphone. I tried to go to the police and make a report, but fuck, they don’t give a shit about me, they never did! Fuck you, Officer Morales!” She’d shouted the last part, like there was an officer standing in front of her. “They thought I was drunk, they wouldn’t listen to me…!” And then the line had gone dead. She’d played the message once more and then deleted it. Within the hour, Winnie had disconnected the home phone with the company and put the cordless relic in the pile to take to Goodwill. She changed her cell number, too, and made sure the new one was unlisted. She’d replaced the landline later, when she wasn’t so afraid, and Nigel asked why they got rid of it in the first place.

“I don’t remember,” she had lied.

For the next few weeks, she’d pored over articles online, trying to find a mention of Josalyn, though Winnie wasn’t certain who to look for. A girl…? A homeless woman…? A prostitute…? She’d been all those things under Winnie’s care, but she’d also been something else—a very vulnerable, likable girl. There was nothing in the news or online about any of the above, nor did the news report a missing infant. A child no one knew existed had simply ceased to exist. She could have let it go, but her need to know what happened to Josalyn was consuming. Eventually she’d done the only thing she could—asked Nigel for help.

“Why can’t you leave it alone?”

“Don’t you want to know so we can be—”