It was the same necklace Calvin was wearing.
“Shit.” I knew what that meant.
I was wrong. That dove didn’t belong to Melanie. It was her mother’s and he must have been wearing it as a keepsake. Maybe Melanie only used the dove for her branding. I put the photo back, closed the container, and put it back in place.
“Samira.” Roland was standing by the bedroom door when I pushed to a stand. “We need to go.”
“Yeah.” I sighed. “I didn’t find anything. No signs of Melanie.”
Roland stuck his hand out and I took it. He guided me through the narrow hallway and back to the back door where Dylan was standing by the fence.
“If Pauline died in 2012, then why did Calvin give me her number? He had to have known she was dead, right? Certainly, he looked for her after he got out and discovered she was no longer alive.”
“I don’t know, Samira. None of this shit adds up.” Roland sighed.
“But one of them is still out there—Miley or Melanie. I don’t know which, but they have to be if one body was found and the other disappeared.”
My eyes ventured over to the shed. That’s when I noticed there was a lock on it. “Why would he lock a tool shed?”
“Samira,” Roland groaned. “Let’s just go. It’s getting dark.”
“Just let me check it really quick.” I went up to the shed and there was a small window on the side of it. I looked inside, at the shelves on the wooden walls, and tools either stacked or hanging from them. My gaze lowered to a white object beneath one of the shelves. There was a green light flashing on it.
“What is that?”
I went around to the lock and yanked on it. It didn’t budge.
“There’s something in there.”
“It’s just a tool shed, Samira. Let’s go,” Roland hissed at me.
I shook my head and went back to the side of the shed. There was a stack of bricks and I picked one up, lifting my arm and smashing the window in.
“What the fuck!” Dylan shouted.
“Samira! What the hell are you doing?” Roland barked.
I didn’t answer him. I brushed the rest of the glass away with the brick and then climbed on the edge of the shed to get inside. The window was wide enough for me, but neither Roland nor Dylan would fit, I was sure.
I lowered my upper half in after grabbing the closest shelf, doing my best to avoid the glass on the floor. When one of my feet made it through the window, I set it down on the ground and balanced myself enough to stand upright.
The shed was small and tight. Just like the inside of Calvin’s house, it was neat and organized. I looked down and the blinking light was coming from what looked like deep freezer, but a shelf was on top of it. On the shelf was a black camera bag. I opened the bag to find a camcorder inside it. It looked old. I opened the screen, and the camera had battery, so I went to the images to flip through them. He had to have been hiding something. Why would he keep a camera locked in a shed? I kept flipping and there were hundreds of photos. There were some of him, some of hardware. But then the images transitioned. There were half-naked women on display, some in lingerie. Some not even aware they were being recorded. In one image, it looked as if he was in a store and was recording a woman wearing leggings, without her permission. A chill ran down my spine.
I kept clicking through, passing all the random women, until I came across an image that made my heart jump to my throat.
It was video of Melanie. I pressed play and she was in a car, the side of her head pressed to a window as the camera recorded her.
“You’ll be back home in no time,” a man said. That man was Calvin. I pushed rewind on the video and locked on her face. There was a bruise on her cheek. Her hair was frizzy. She appeared unconscious. Another chill struck me.
I clicked over and there was another video of her. The freeze frame had her mouth wide open, her eyes wide and in shock. My heart pumped rapidly as I pressed play.
“TELL EVERYONE THAT YOU FUCKING LIED!” Calvin’s voice came through the camera like an alarm.
“I—I’m sorry!” Melanie’s voice was high-pitched as he pointed the camera in her face. He panned out and moved the camera left, and there was someone sitting at a table. Her mouth was duct taped, her hands behind her back in the chair.
“I don’t want your apologies, little Melanie. I want you to confess what you did. I want it on camera so I can show the world what a lyin’ little bitch you are.” He moved quickly toward the bound woman at the table; it was Miley. He put the focus on the table, at a needle and a silver spoon, and something in a foil packet. I gasped, my hands shaking as I clung to the camera.