The Last to Vanish(64)

“Don’t you want to know what happened to them? It may have been twenty-five years ago, but it happened right here,” I said.

He threw up his hands, so unlike the Cory leading tours, or the Cory in the tavern, happy to indulge someone’s theories. “They got lost, Abby. They got lost, and they died, and animals took care of the rest.” I opened my mouth, and he put out a hand. “Or, they didn’t. Or, they made it to the next town, or the one after that, and something happened to them there. Or, they were involved in some sort of criminal activity, and they needed to disappear, and they did it.”

Those were rumors that we’d all heard over the years. And what was so wrong with believing them?

“Knowing,” he said, “isn’t going to change anything now.”

“Except Alice. And Farrah. And Landon.”

“I think,” he started, “that you should be careful who you show this to.”

I already knew that. All of our names were in there. We were all implicated.

“Whatever you’re hoping to find in there, you won’t find it,” he said.

“How do you know?”

“What would be a good answer, Abby? Really now. Tell me what you hope it will be.”

I shook my head, not understanding.

“If the answer’s in this town, it’s not going to be a stranger.”

“I know that,” I said.

These men—these Fraternity Four—they had walked by people who were still here. There were people who remembered. Their names were in Landon’s journal. A sheriff who was once a young deputy. A couple with a small child, who had just taken over the family tavern. The owners of an inn just finding its footing, getting itself on the map.

And all of the people my age—Jack, Rochelle, Harris, and Cory—had peered out from the background while the police came to the front door to talk to their parents or grandparents. Had felt the silent tension after they left, and watched as those who remained looked at one another with a different understanding.

That’s what I had missed, not growing up here. It wasn’t a deliberate exclusion, it was a lack of full understanding. The event was in their collective consciousness, a foundation in their bones. They knew what could happen if it rattled. They knew how quickly a crack could spread, and crumble.

Insiders and outsiders, it was a line I’d been desperate to cross for so long, and I’d finally done it: Cory saw me as a part of their world. It only took ten years. Ten years, in which I had grown to love everything about this place, and myself within it. And now I was in possession of something that threatened the very core of its existence.

The truth is, none of us wanted this journal out there. None of us were safe. All of the stories were tangled together. If you were tied to one case, you would be dragged in to all the rest.

This was the implicit contract in Cutter’s Pass, whether we were aware or not: You could be protected, as long as you protected in return. You could live here and love here, be loved in return. Just as long as you promised not to look too closely.

“I have to go,” he said, and I didn’t ask any more questions. “Do me a favor.” He tapped the cover of the journal sitting on the kitchen counter. “Tell me before you do anything with that.”

“I will,” I said, but that was a lie. There hadn’t been a clue in ten years, and suddenly, everything was in my possession. Ten years, and now it was mine.

I wanted to call those numbers, listen to who picked up on the other end. Ask what Landon West was looking for.

He must’ve gotten too close.

The truth is—he’d written, frustratingly unfinished.

The truth is, I wanted to finish that sentence for him now.

The truth is, you can’t make too much noise when you come to Cutter’s Pass. You can’t let it know what you’re looking for. What you know.

Cory took my chin in his hand. His dark eyes searched mine, and I was searching his in return, wondering what he knew, what he wanted to protect: himself, yes—and the secret he was keeping about Alice. But maybe not just that. I had to trust him. There was no other option.

He kissed me, hard and fast, as if it were the last time, and it probably was. And I remembered that I had loved him, once. As much as I loved this place, and myself within it.



* * *



HERE WAS SOMETHING THAT no one knew, not even Cory. According to Trey, Landon West used his phone to record his notes. And now, I had it.

As soon as Cory was gone, I plugged his phone into my charger and waited. When it finally came back to life, a password code popped up on the screen, and I stared at it, stuck. Until remembering what Trey had told me when we’d opened the file on the flash drive. The pass code he’d used for everything since he was little. I tried it now—9-8-7-6—and, suddenly, I was in.



* * *



IN THE VOICE MEMO app, there had been a folder marked CP. And in it was a list of five saved recordings. They were labeled automatically by date, and the first was recorded the day after his arrival at the inn.

Okay, I’m ready, Georgia’s voice echoed through the apartment as soon I pressed “play” on the memo labeled Interview 1. I scrambled to turn down the volume.

No name, right? she added after a brief pause.

I promise I won’t use it. Landon’s voice caused the goose bumps to rise across my arms, the back of my neck. Like he was right here with me.