Cellar Door

Makenna

I’m pressed against the cellar door, a document clutched in my tender hand. This is the one place in this dungeon that I feel like I can take an unobstr

ucted breath. There’s a faint current of air that drifts in from the slimmest crack. And I need air.

Pages of my research blanket the cellar floor.

All it took was one uttered phrase that belonged to Hudson, and I became a wild, feral animal, tearing through witness statements and bank ledgers.

Against my reasoning, I did what Easton said to do; I compared my notes to his outrageous theories. I tried to make sense of his board, but there are gaps. For one, he has Jack Keller as a shareholder for MKE. Keller is some kind of silent partner. Then, there’s the weak connection between Keller and Myer associated with an entertainment company. But there are no records. No money transactions. Just a signature. A shell company, presumably, and that’s not surprising. I traced illegal and shady dealings to Myer’s company beforehand.

But what stopped me from digging any further was the discovery of one name.

Laura Sanders.

Luke has a copy of her medical record. The form is dated as the same night and time I interviewed her in the ER. But this record is different than the one I have on file. There’s a nurse statement attached that I’ve never seen before.

My hand shakes as I read the statement again. I’ve read each line twice already. I’m trying to imprint her statement into my brain, make the connection, make sense of it.

Laura mentions the name “Phiser” in relation to where she was being kept during her disappearance. Why didn’t she mention this during my interview? Why wasn’t this document given to me?

More disturbing: how did Luke Easton obtain it?

I scoured the forms, searching for Phiser in relation to any transaction made through MKE, and my heart leapt as I came across the shell LLC. It’s the name of the entertainment company.

Once I made this connection, I sprang to my feet despite every ache and pain, and pounded on the door, the bandage only muffling the discomfort some. I shouted for Easton. I screamed until my throat became raw, but he never came.

So I slumped down along the door and pulled my knees to my chest. The storm died out at some point. I no longer feel vibrations of the distant rumble. They say lightning never strikes the same place twice.

But Luke Easton struck my life twice.

He swept in with the storms, then disappeared just as quickly. There’s a chance that he’s left me here to die. Gone with the storm…

I tap the back of my head against the door in rhythmic beats. I try not to think about the reason Luke has Hudson’s name amid his research. It appears only in one reference, but that mention is repeated over and over in conjecture with four other names.

Watchdog.

What does that mean? What does it mean to Luke?

I roll the back of my head along the door, straining to look at the board. A family tree of sorts takes up the center. Branches of names stemming outward. Except it’s not a family tree, it’s some sordid hierarchy.

His board doesn’t work like the murder boards I use on the job. There’s always a crime middle and center. The crime, the crux, is missing from Luke’s board, but I’ve deduced what he believes—the crime he’s made himself judge, jury, and executioner over.

Phiser is an underground trade company specializing in young women. Specifically, underage girls. Bought from other countries, and delivered to Phiser’s clients in the US.

Which, I can believe. My own investigation circled heavily around Milton Myer and an illicit sex trafficking operation. I didn’t uncover Phiser. I didn’t connect Laura to Myer or any shell company. And I didn’t actually uncover any illegal activity.

I didn’t have access.

She was a local girl with a business card. She could’ve picked that card up anywhere. As Hudson pointed out many times.

I was going on a feeling. A hunch. Gut instinct.

That’s why I had to find a legal way inside Myer’s company. I needed to be closer to the man himself.

If I take a step back and look at the case as a whole, I can see the fissures. The flaws. The weak areas that need to be sealed to make a solid case. Luke was not hired by Myer or anyone associated with him to put a stop to my investigation as I first theorized. Luke is acting alone, going after these people as part of his own agenda. Revenge for a murdered sister.

If stared at too closely under a microscope, that sounds ludicrous. But pull back far enough, and I can see how Luke found his way to that theory. He’s hurt. Angry. Full of hate for these people. After reading Jules Easton’s autopsy report on his board, I can sympathize and understand.