Limbo

ASHLEY:

Within just a few minutes, the road and driveway are packed with police cars, fire trucks, and some sort of van that I'm assuming is from the coroner's office, or whatever their system is around here. Whitworth and a couple of other guys are standing around peering into the well with flashlights, while one of the firetrucks is attempting to back up to it without taking out a tree.

I'm sitting on the top of the porch steps, hoping I don't get sick again, when I hear, "Here, Ashley, take this. It should help settle your stomach." I look up, and see Susan standing next to me, holding a can of Seven-Up, and actually not glaring at me for the first time in days.

"Thanks," I reply, accepting the can and taking a drink. "Well, it looks like I've made another mess of things, doesn't it?"

"No, it absolutely does not!" she says emphatically, which is kind of surprising. "You've kept your promise, that's what you've done. Granted, I don't think this is how any of us actually expected it to happen, but at least now maybe she can go on and be at peace."

"Yeah, hopefully so. But this... This is just so... wrong! Who the hell kills their own flesh and blood and dumps them in a well right in front of their own fucking house? Right where they'll have to look at the place day in and day out!"

"A narcissistic control freak like Victor Berridge, that's who," another voice proclaims from the bottom of the stairs. I turn my head, and see Whitworth moving up toward me, followed by the guy who came with him when we found the gun. "This is exactly the sort of thing I would have expected from him, just another way for him to try to prove he was in control. The girl tried to leave, so he made sure she'd never do it again."

"Oh, man, if you only knew how right you were," I think when I hear his words.

"And you have to admit that it made a certain amount of sense, considering that he wasn't counting on having to run," he adds. "Having them there would have guaranteed that he could keep tabs on the bodies, and not have to wonder if anyone might find them. I'll tell you right now, if I'd had any idea when I took over the department that this cistern was there, my first order of business would have been to order it searched."

He pauses, giving me sort of a once-over, then says, "I'm sorry you had to see that, Mr. Purdy, that's never an easy thing. But I need to know exactly what happened here, so do you think you're up to answering some questions?"

"Yeah, I guess so. What do you want to know, exactly?"

His first question is why I was messing with the planter in the first place, and I explain about everyone helping Charlie with the yardwork. After a minute, he holds up a hand and interrupts, asking, "All right, just to make sure I have everything straight, who precisely is this 'Jinxx' you're referring to?"

Pointing toward the other end of the porch, I reply, "That's Jinxx in the gray shirt, right over there."

He taps a couple of times on the tablet he's carrying, looks over at the other guys again, then says, "Ah, yes, Mr. Ferguson. Jurgens, would you mind going over there and taking his statement, while I finish up with Mr. Purdy?"

The other officer goes to talk with Jinxx, while I go over everything with Whitworth, and try to ignore the noises coming from across the yard as they lower somebody down into the well, presumably to figure out how to get the bodies out. He asks a few questions, apparently to clarify certain parts of my statement, then goes over to talk to Charlie, while Andy and CC walk over and sit down next to me on the step. Andy sort of pats me on the shoulder, and CC questions, "Hey, you gonna be okay, bro?"

"Yeah, I think so. I think this probably takes care of my chances of sleeping tonight, though."

"I think that probably applies to all of us, Ash," Andy informs me. "I sure as hell doubt that I'll be able to close my eyes for awhile without seeing that again, and I didn't even get as good of a look as you did."

I close my eyes, and take another sip of the soda, trying to keep my stomach still, "Dude, please, don't remind me."

"Sorry, man."

"Well, the only good thing about this is that it happened now," CC observes. "Could you imagine how bad things would have been if we'd waited to do this after the girls got here?"

Right. Until he said this, I'd forgotten that all of their chicks were coming up to visit for the weekend. That probably would have been pretty bad, now that I think of it, especially if one of them had actually looked into the well.

There's a loud screeching noise, and without thinking we turn to look toward the well, just in time to see them bring one of the bundles of plastic up in some sort of harness and lower it onto the grass. Several of the firefighters remove it from the contraption, then a cop starts taking pictures as a guy in regular clothes starts fooling with the plastic.

I sit here and watch them, unable to make myself turn away, no matter how much I actually want to. The guy slowly unwraps the plastic, then moves aside a bit to let the other guy get more pictures, before reaching into the pile and picking something up. He holds whatever it is in his hand, having several shots taken of the object, then puts it down and picks up something much smaller, and even from this distance I have no trouble understanding what this is: a bullet. This one must be Sawyer, since Rachel said that she wasn't shot.

Jake and Jinxx join us a couple of minutes later, and we all just sit here and watch them pull up the second bundle, and go through their process again. Susan tries to convince us to go inside, but Jinxx just looks at her and quietly says, "No, you go ahead if you want, but we'll stay. We owe her that much, at least."

She sort of blinks at him for a second, then says, "Yes, you're right, of course," and sits down next to Andy. After a couple of seconds, Charlie and Bob come over and stand behind us, and we all wait for them to finish opening the plastic. But when that finally happens, things start to get a little confusing.

The guy who's been pulling everything apart pauses, gets up and walks around the body, then says something to one of the cops, who goes dashing off toward the patrol cars. She comes back pretty quickly, with Whitworth right on her heels, and he engages in a short conversation with the other guy before starting to scroll through his tablet. He seems to find what he's looking for, because he scans the screen for a few seconds before crouching down to take a closer look, then scrolls a bit more before standing up and walking rather purposefully in our direction.

He stops at the foot of the stairs, and says, "All right, folks, it seems that we may have a bit of an... issue, and I was hoping that you might be able to help sort it out. According to the original reports, and what you've previously stated, you fellas actually met the Monroe's and their friends at your show that they attended, is that correct?"

"Yeah, that's right," Andy responds. "We talked to them for a few, and even let them get a couple of pictures on their phones."

"Good. Now, is there any chance that any of you can actually remember how Rachel Monroe looked that night? What she was wearing, stuff like that?"

Everyone automatically turns to look at me, and I say, "Yeah, I can tell you exactly what she was wearing."

He raises his eyebrows when I tell him this. "After all this time, with the number of people you meet at these shows? She must have made quite an impression."

I feel myself flushing, but admit, "Yeah, she did. The girl was fucking spectacular, and I was kind of hoping to get to know her a little better, until I found out she was married. She was wearing a tank top from our merch booth, black with our logo in white on the front, and the tour dates on the back. Cut-off denim shorts, black western boots, kind of similar to mine, but with steel caps. And a small purse, sort of a bronze-ish metallic color."

He's glancing back and forth from me to the tablet as I'm talking, and then he asks, "And what about her hair, and her height? What do you remember about that?"

"Beautiful, long, red-gold colored hair, past her waist. And I couldn't swear to it, but I'm fairly sure it was real, not dyed. And she was maybe two or three inches shorter than me, so five-eight or so."

He nods, and tells me, "Sounds like you're right on the money. That's basically identical to the description on record from the little Weston girl when she was on her way to the hospital that night."

"Then why did you need to ask Ash, if you already knew?" Jake inquires.

"I needed to be absolutely certain," Whitworth replies. "Because our medical examiner over there, Dr. Hall, is also familiar with the facts of the case, and just had me go over there and view a female body that's at least three inches shorter than what's on record for Rachel Monroe, with short, lighter blonde hair. The other victim was carrying Sawyer Monroe's wallet, but this is definitely not his wife."

We all just gape at each other, speechless for what seems like an eternity, until Susan jumps up from the step and says, "The mother! It has to be her mother!" Whitworth gives her a confused look, and she explains, "When we bought the house, and everyone was whispering about it, Charlie went to the library and copied some news articles, so we'd know what they were talking about. One of them mentioned that Rachel Monroe's mother had supposedly run off some time earlier, so unless you have anyone else missing from the area, that has to be it."

One of the firefighters happens to be walking by, and stops, saying, "She may have something there, Chief. I remember Beverly Sloane, and the body does fit her general description. Plus, her sister in California did file a missing-persons report on her. The other daughter was undergoing cancer treatments there, and the sister was adamant that she wouldn't have just deserted the girl."

"Then it seems like we need to find some means of identification for Ms. Sloane if we want to prove it. As soon as we finish up here, I'll go back to the office and find contact information for the sister, see if she can get us access to dental records, or something of that nature."

He marches off as quickly as he came, and when they go to work finishing off the other planter, checking for another well, it becomes evident that they're finished with us for now. We wait a couple of minutes more, then everyone gets up and starts filing inside, not making it further than the living room before we just slump onto the sofas and chairs there.

No one says anything for awhile, but then Bob mumbles, "Well, at least we know she was right about that."

"Huh?" Jake responds. "Who was right about what?"

"Rachel. She was sure that her mother wouldn't have left her little sister if she'd had any choice in the matter, and I guess this proves it."

"But there's something that still doesn't make sense," Jinxx announces. "From what she told us, her mom went missing before Rachel ran off to get married, which was something like two, maybe two-and-a-half years before the shooting, right?"

"Yeah, something like that," CC answers. "What about it?"

"So that indicates that she's most likely been in there for at least that long, but that he was put there just a little over a year ago. Do you follow me now?"

Suddenly, I understand exactly what he's trying to say. "Yeah, I follow. For whatever reason, he felt the need to keep his wife and Sawyer here, where he apparently thought no one would find them, but not Rachel, even though she was the one he actually wanted to keep. So where did he hide her body?"

We all look around at each other, alarm showing on everyone's face as we apparently all have the same thought. Was she stuck here, in this house, because she's actually still in the house?

Notes