AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Nothing but a report attached to the email. Signed by Dr. Roxanne Jennings four days ago. The day before her body had been discovered. The report compared the first two sets of remains for similarities. Gresham Schmidt and Michelle Cross. The medical examiner must’ve swabbed each body and their clothing to try to narrow down a location of death for each victim. According to this report, they’d come back with the same result. “Stachybotrys. Black mold?”
Chandler Reed wasn’t required to keep her in the loop. He worked for the unit. All information funneled through the director. But he’d made sure she’d gotten this report. Because she knew the area.
Her mind was already racing, barely taking in the passing vehicles. Black mold ranked as the most common and toxic type to grow in damp, dark areas. Given enough time, it was known to cause respiratory issues, depression, chronic sinus infections, fatigue, and a whole body-wide shut-down if not remediated professionally. Lebanon businesses and homes had seen their fair share of closures due to infestations, to the point any sighting had to be reported to the city. No matter the size.
But in order for spores to attach themselves to Gresham Schmidt’s and Michelle Cross’s remains recently, they had to have been kept someplace with a fresh infestation. Somewhere the mold had been given free rein to spread without attracting the attention of the health department. She mentally sifted through possibilities. Damp. Dark. Most likely abandoned and isolated from nosey neighbors or anyone who might hear or come across a hostage. Possibly been closed due to health concerns.
There was only one location she could think of.
Leigh stepped into the road and waved down the next vehicle, dialing Director Livingstone. She pressed the phone to her ear, and the line picked up. She didn’t waste time with a greeting. “I know where the unsub has been keeping his victims.”
TWENTY-NINE
Lebanon, New Hampshire
Tuesday, March 16
10:00 p.m.
She and Troy used to play here.
Leigh shouldered out of her rental, cringing against the bite of the Mascoma River running mere feet from the hard-packed single-lane road. She swept her flashlight beam over the snow. One wrong step and the steep incline leading down to the water would ensure she’d never make it back up. She buried deeper into her coat, but the cold only tunneled faster.
Black mold had closed the watermill long before she and Troy had dared each other to take turns by stepping inside. Rumors had circulated through school about the place being haunted, but the truth was the city had closed it down due to health issues they couldn’t remediate. It wasn’t long before a newer mill was built down the river while this one slowly deteriorated from the inside.
Two stories of brown brick held up against the crushing pressure of the Mascoma, but she noted the toll of abandonment. Boarded windows shook with the slightest brush of the wind. The weeds had been given free rein, overrunning the wooden staircase leading down onto the main floor level with the water and an air conditioning unit. The chimney had crumbled to half-mast while the nearest corner of the structure looked as though losing one more brick would send the entire place into the dark depths. “Yup. I’m going to die here.”
Moonlight reflected off the back window of a car parked up ahead. Tire treads had kept their shape with dropping temperatures, right up the short drive. She’d stared at crime scene photos from Packard Hill Bridge enough to recognize the pattern. The car, too. Whoever’d delivered Michelle Cross to her final resting place had used Chris Ellingson’s mother’s vehicle. Leigh slowed to take a photo of the license plate and treads with her phone, then sent it straight to Livingstone with her location. She’d been instructed to wait for backup, but Carter Boucher didn’t have much time left. Pocketing her device, she followed the tire tracks until they ended at the top of the staircase.
She gripped the top of the snow-covered banister, ice shooting through her hand. The mill had been left to rot, and the wood hadn’t held its own against time. Groaning protests filled the night as she set her weight on the first step. One down. Only thirty or so more to go. She took her time, each step more deteriorated than the last as she worked her way closer to the river.
A high-pitched whine reached her ears.
Her foot fell through.
Gravity jerked her downward. Leigh clamped on to the railings, letting go of the flashlight. The beam disappeared into the raging water beneath the staircase and was lost. Pain arced up her shin as wood cut into the blisters, and it took everything she had to bring herself topside. Rough exhales crystalized in front of her mouth as she stared down at what might’ve been her last few moments, her heart still lodged in her throat. She sank back against the opposite handrail and willed her pulse to slow. “That was my favorite flashlight.”
She hadn’t brought another. Stepping over the Leigh-shaped hole in the staircase, she managed to reach the landing outside the main entrance to the mill in one piece. Both glass panes in the door were missing. She tested the doorknob. The freezing metal released its hold, and she pushed through.
Nothing but darkness and dank met her on the other side.
Shapes stood out with the help of moonlight coming through a window at the back. Water rippled along a worn cement floor, but it was too dark to confirm this was where the black mold had transferred onto Gresham Schmidt’s and Michelle Cross’s bodies. Most likely Roxanne Jennings’s, too. “Not creepy at all.”
Without power or her flashlight, her memory of the place would have to be enough. She moved slower than she wanted to go, taking in the stretches of beams ready to fall at any moment. The structure itself groaned as though waking from a deep sleep, but the sound of the river had quieted in here.
Leigh narrowly avoided clocking her head on an oversized, rusted-out piece of machinery left behind by the building’s mill days. She could almost feel the exact spot where she’d collided with it on hers and Troy’s first visit inside. They’d lied to her mother about where she’d gotten the gash, wanting to keep this place their own little secret. This was where their stupid bickering disappeared. They could just be… siblings. No school psychologists. No expectations. No pretending to be too good for each other in front of their friends.
What she wouldn’t give to feel that again.
That freedom from the violence and hatred waiting outside these walls.
Her jacket scraped along one wall. Too loud. Grabbing for the fabric, she felt something wet. Slimy. Mold? Leigh rushed toward the only window allowing in light. A dark stain spread across her hand, and she wiped it down the front of her coat as thoroughly as she could. She faced the open room, trying to see through the veil of shadows closing in. “I know you were here.”
Movement registered from her left.
Her nerves rocketed into overdrive. She pressed her shoulder blade into the window frame then farther along the wall, away from any finger of moonlight. Waiting. The noise could’ve been from a branch cascading down the river and hitting the side of the building for all she knew, but past experience told her never to make assumptions.
“Leigh?” That voice. It started a flood of memory from her first day back in Lebanon, then quantum leaped to the scene where Chris Ellingson’s body had been found.
