“She’d been working at her bonds while Rainier wasn’t around. He’d check them every so often to make sure they were tight, but it’d been awhile. Late Friday night or early Saturday morning Rainier starts assaulting her, except this time one of the bindings on her wrist works loose. She manages to get free while he’s . . .” Hughes grimaced. “Anyway, she jabs him in the eye and while he’s floundering around, unties her other wrist. She scratches his face as he tries to tackle her and she runs. She said he cut her a couple times with something as she was going out the door, but he must’ve tripped and fallen because he didn’t catch up to her in the woods. She ran until she hit a road and then followed it until she saw lights. That was the residence where we answered the call.”
Something gnawed at the edge of Clare’s thoughts. “What time did the call come in on Saturday?”
Hughes tipped forward in his chair and shuffled through a few papers. “Five forty a.m.”
Her stomach lurched as if the entire room was an elevator dropping downward. Given the time zone difference, the woman claiming to be Shanna was found at almost the exact same moment Clare had woken from her nightmare the day before.
“You okay?” Hughes asked.
“Yeah. Fine.”
“After some deputies arrived they called an ambulance, and you know the rest.”
“What’s your plan going forward?”
“First establish her identity, then see if we can’t ascertain where this shack is she was being held at.”
“You haven’t found it yet?”
“No. We had men out searching last two days, a K-9 unit too. Even flew a small plane low over the area. Nothing. We thought maybe we could retrace her tracks through a blood trail, but her wounds had partially clotted by the time she made it to the house where she was found. We’re hoping she can lead us to the place when she feels up to it.” Hughes fidgeted with a pen. “As far as Rainier goes, his record is mostly clean. One charge of breaking and entering when he was eighteen, which he served community service for. A drunk and disorderly that got dropped at twenty. Then he’s off the radar. His parents passed away almost twenty years ago, no other known family.”
“The cult was his family.”
Hughes grunted. “If it is him, and he survived the fire somehow, do you have any insight as to where he might’ve gone?”
She thought of the man who had been completely subservient to her father, in awe of him. She recalled how his eyes had followed her after a certain point, right around the time she became a teenager, and repressed a shudder. “He was devoted to my father’s vision, a true believer. If he somehow made it out of the fire he would’ve shunned authorities. If he had no home to go back to, chances are he either joined or started another cult.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“No. Most cult members see the outside world as a threat, a place without answers for them. If they’re excommunicated or the cult breaks apart, many seek out another haven to be accepted in. I don’t see Rainier being any different. Are you aware of any other sects springing up after the fire?”
Hughes’s expression darkened. “The only thing I can think of is a little community outside of town. But we didn’t catch wind of them until maybe ten years ago.”
“Tell me.”
“Not much to tell. Quasi-Christian-hippie-free-love kind of setup. A few cabins and some conversion vans. Call themselves Free Spirit Disciples.”
“It doesn’t ring a bell. How many people?”
“Maybe twenty or so. Had but one complaint about them years back. Disturbing the peace or something. A deputy visited them and everything was fine after that.”
“You should check with them if you haven’t yet. Rainier might be living there.”
“I’ve met the man who’s in charge. Harmless as they come.”
“My father was calm and reserved unless he was in the grips of a hallucination.”
Hughes was quiet for a beat. “Point taken.” He shifted in his seat. “But like I said, they showed up around a decade ago—way after what happened at the Refuge.”
“You became aware of them a decade ago. There’s no telling how long they’d been gathering before that.”
Hughes seemed to digest this. “Okay, I’ve got nothing against going out and speaking with them.”
“I’d like to come with if possible.”
“I’m not sure that’s the best idea.”
“Do you have another person with a doctorate in sociology with an emphasis on cult studies hanging around?”
For the first time Hughes smiled. “I guess I don’t.”
“When do we leave?”
He mulled it over. “I’d like at least one other deputy to accompany us just in case we do stumble upon Mr. Rainier and he’s unwilling to come quietly, so let’s say this afternoon around one. That’s our shift change and I’ll have a free man.”
She nodded, thoughts spooling out in a dozen different directions. “How long until the cheek swab analysis comes back?”
“Normally a week, but I called in a favor with the technician who does all our work down in Minneapolis. We should have results as soon as tomorrow morning.” Clare let out a long sigh and Hughes frowned. “I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you. You know you don’t have to do all this.”
“I know.”
“That being said, I do really appreciate your assistance. And be assured, if she is just running some scam or prank she’ll be prosecuted to the full extent of the law.”
As they both stood and Clare began to leave the office, her gaze snagged again on the file bearing her former name. “Could I borrow that?” she asked, gesturing at the folder.
Hughes hesitated for only a second before pulling it free of the pile and handing it to her. “Almost all of it is public record anyhow, and the rest is mostly your own statements. What do you want it for?”
“I’m not sure yet,” Clare said. The folder seemed warm and slightly clammy in her hand, as if it were some nocturnal thing drawn from beneath a rock. She resisted the urge to set it back down. “I guess I’ll know when I see it.”
Chapter Sixteen
The day had warmed since she’d entered the building and a wind blew steadily from the south.
Traffic murmured past on Main Street, a woman called out to someone walking their dog in the next parking lot over, a gaggle of kids flew past on bikes—all of them sporting new backpacks. Small-town life emerging on an average weekday in the Midwest.
Clare observed it all from inside the rental. She glanced down at the passenger seat to where the folder lay. She couldn’t say exactly why she’d taken it; call it a calculated impulse. It had just seemed like the right thing to do. Her hand went out to open it and she drew it back. She wasn’t ready yet, didn’t know if she’d ever be.
It was still a bit early to call Eric. Ditto that for visiting hours at the hospital. The thought of going back and speaking to the woman calling herself Shanna sent the same swooping sensation through her as she’d felt during her flight’s turbulence. What if? What if it really is her?