Chapter 4 - THE GIRL UNDER THE FLOOR
For several seconds, Steven could not speak.
“The girl who cried under the floor?” he repeated.
Riley nodded.
“She was there before me. Aunt Marlene said she went away.”
“Did you see her?”
“Not really.” Riley’s voice trembled. “I heard her. At night. She said her name was Abby.”
Nate called in a search team before sunset.
The farmhouse became flooded with deputies, forensic technicians, and portable lights. Yellow tape went up around the property. The basement wall was photographed from every angle. The old concrete floor was scanned with ground-penetrating radar.
Steven stood in the yard, watching strangers pull apart the house he had spent half his life trying to forget.
At midnight, Nate came outside.
“They found something.”
Steven’s heart slammed against his ribs.
In the far corner of the basement, beneath a newer patch of concrete, investigators found a child’s bracelet.
Pink plastic beads.
A small silver charm shaped like a star.
No body.
No bones.
But beneath the floorboards above the concrete, they found scratch marks.
Tiny parallel lines.
Like fingernails.
The bracelet was sent for testing.
By morning, the police had a match.
Abigail “Abby” Lawson had disappeared twelve years earlier at age six.
Her mother had reported her missing after leaving Abby with a woman who ran an unofficial childcare service near Spokane.
The woman’s name had been June Merritt.
Steven felt his knees weaken when Nate told him.
“Her mother paid June cash,” Nate said. “She had to work nights. June was supposed to watch Abby for three days.”
“And then?”
“June told her Abby was picked up by a relative. The mother didn’t have proof otherwise. By the time she realized June had lied, June claimed she had never met the girl.”
Steven looked back at the farmhouse.
The walls seemed to breathe.
“Is Abby alive?”
Nate did not answer immediately.
“We don’t know.”
Then the phone rang.
It was Marlene.
Nate signaled for silence and placed the call on speaker.
“Steven,” Marlene said.
Her voice was ragged.
“Where are you?”
“You know where I am.”
“I need to talk to you.”
“Turn yourself in.”
“No.” A harsh laugh escaped her. “You always think everything is simple.”
“You chained a child to a wall.”
“Mom made me do it.”
“You’re forty years old.”
“She had pictures. Records. She said if I told anyone, she would make sure I lost everything.”
“She’s dead, Marlene.”
A long silence.
Then Marlene whispered, “You don’t understand. She’s still controlling this.”
Steven closed his eyes.
“What happened to Abby?”
Marlene began crying.
Not softly.
Not theatrically.
The sound was ugly and frightened.
“I didn’t hurt her,” she said. “I swear I didn’t.”
“What happened?”
“She got sick. Really sick. Mom wouldn’t let me call anyone.”
Steven felt ice spread through his body.
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know,” Marlene said. “Mom took her away.”
“That’s not enough.”
“She said Abby had a new family. She said it was better that way.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know their names.”
“Then what do you know?”
Marlene inhaled shakily.
“Mom had a ledger. A real one. She kept it somewhere no one would look.”
“Where?”
“The church.”
Steven went still.
June had attended the same small church in town for forty years.
She had baked casseroles for funerals. Taught Sunday school. Sat in the front pew every Easter with a smile people called humble.
“What church?” Nate asked.
Marlene heard his voice.
“Deputy Carroll?”
“Yes.”
Marlene started sobbing again.
“She made me help,” she said. “But I can show you where the ledger is.”
“Turn yourself in.”
“I will.”
“Where?”
“The old chapel on Monroe Street.”
Nate’s eyes narrowed.
“Stay where you are.”
But when deputies reached the chapel twenty minutes later, Marlene was gone.
On the altar, beneath a wooden cross, they found a small key.
Attached was a tag with three words scratched into the metal.
May you like
FORGIVE ME, STEVEN.
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