I had officially reached the point in the investigation where I had no clue what to do next. Should I play “you show me yours and I’ll show you mine” with Lot again? Admit my B&E, tell him what I’d seen in the Larsens’ house? And what about Soren? The guy exhibited questionable behavior, but it didn’t necessarily connect him to the missing women, with the exception of Annika Kron. I couldn’t help thinking that if Soren was really such a monster, Porter would have nothing to do with him.
With the search party on hold until the threat of rain passed, I said goodbye to Porter, who was anxious to get back to the Eden Tree, got in my car, and headed back to Stone’s Throw Village. I hadn’t eaten anything (0 calories), and I could only run on adrenaline for so long.
Overnight, Stone’s Throw Village had woken from its coma, coming alive with the influx of out-of-towners. The circular main street was jammed tight with cars, sidewalks congested with a combination of twenty-somethings wearing stylish, overpriced rags, thirty-somethings wearing slightly more overpriced and slightly less stylish rags, and normcore forty-somethings in mom jeans, blazer/T-shirt combos, and sneakers, who were likely too wealthy to be bothered caring about their appearance.
I chose the least busy café and ordered my food to go. Everywhere I looked, people sat at bistro tables, eating pie and drinking coffee or wine or bottles of hard cider. I took my food and coffee and found a free bench in the courtyard in front of the October Palace. The marquee now listed a few of the headlining films that would be screened, along with the special-event screening that was by invitation only, the one to which Soren had promised me Gemma’s ticket.
While I ate, I contemplated whether or not to attend Kron’s opening-night gala. It was both inappropriate and insensitive for me to show up at a party when my sister was missing, but this might be my only opportunity to explore the Red House. To see where Annika Kron had lived briefly and where Soren had grown up.
By the time I finished my sandwich (450 calories), I’d made a decision. I would attend the party, but not with Porter. I needed to be free to explore without giving him an explanation or dealing with his naysaying every time I made a decision. I’d be wearing a mask, so hopefully no one would know who I was. But first I needed to buy a mask, along with a dress and shoes.
I wandered through Stone’s Throw Village until I found an upscale boutique. I bought the first dress and pair of shoes I tried on, even though the shopkeeper urged me to try half a dozen more cocktail dresses, all of them twice as expensive as the simple black sheath dress I’d chosen. But I did peruse the display of glittery masquerade masks that had been laid out on the glass countertop. I chose a raven mask with a prominent beak. It was the one that would give me the most coverage, and was most likely to keep my identity hidden.
* * *
Back at the Eden Tree, a few paparazzi were camped out in the parking lot, which was now nearly full to capacity. Luckily, with so many guests arriving at the Eden Tree, it was easy for me to slip inside the building unnoticed.
Once in my room, I flopped onto the bed and closed my eyes, wishing I could take a nap. But there was no time for sleep, and even if there were, every time I closed my eyes I saw images that charged me with nervous adrenaline. Desiree’s apathetic expression as she sized me up. Annika Kron, her chin dripping blood. The obscured visage of a wolf in the Larsens’ upstairs window.
Follow the white wolf. That’s what @AnnikaKron told me to do, and that’s what I had done, but all I’d found were more questions.
I dragged my body off the bed and removed the body camera from its hidden location on my jacket. I plugged it into my laptop to download the footage and charge the battery, and then set up my camera on its tripod and starting rolling, not bothering to check how I looked. If Internet trolls wanted to chastise me for being too hideous to rape, bring it on.
“My sister Gemma Hill has been missing for close to twenty-four hours now,” I said to the camera. “A search party spent the morning combing the woods for her, but found nothing to hint at her whereabouts or what happened to her. I haven’t given up hope, but considering the fate of the other women who disappeared on the Dark Road, it isn’t looking good. Please, if anyone out there has information that could help, contact me immediately. Your identity will remain private. All I want is to find my sister.”
I uploaded this brief update to social media, not bothering to edit in any of my footage from today. There was little I could share legally, or without broadcasting my illegal activities.
When my body camera footage had finished uploading, I scrubbed through it from start to finish, pausing at the moment when I’d seen the face in the Larsens’ upstairs window. But the camera hadn’t been pointed in the right direction, and the lens wasn’t wide-angle, so I couldn’t see anything above the first floor.
I minimized the footage and opened Twitter to check for significant tweets or messages in response to my plea for help, and saw the following tweet:
The Dark Road claims another victim. Bullshit Hunters join the hunt for truth ONLINE! http://www.bullshithunters.com/darkroad #unsolved #mystery #bullsh?thunters #investigation #gemmahill #darkroad
The Bullshit Hunters had uploaded their first guerrilla-style webisode.
I watched it with a sinking stomach.
The production quality blew mine out of the water. Their episode was shot better. Edited better. Had better sound. Worst of all, Sasha had positioned herself as leader of the Hunters, and she brought an energy and focus to the show that had been absent for a long time. An energy and focus that I’d never provided. Three was the perfect number for their gang. The show was better off without me.
I made one brief appearance in the episode, though. The editor had cut around my exchange with Sasha, only including the part where Sasha implied that Gemma going missing was a convenient coincidence, suggesting that it was all a publicity stunt, the way people had insinuated when Miranda disappeared. All part of the show.
The Bullsh?t Hunters online episode energized the trolls, who launched new 140-character tirades against me, accusing me of being a phony, telling me I’d played them, and, of course, letting me know that I needed to be raped, tortured, and murdered as punishment.
I was ready to throw my laptop against the wall when Twitter pinged with an alert. A direct message from @AnnikaKron.
AK: Did you follow the white wolf?
LH: Yes.
AK: Did you see me in the basement?
LH: I saw your scene. And I talked to Niklas. He says you started the fire. He says you were trying to stop the Ulv Konge.
LH: Is it true?
I waited. No response.
LH: Are the white wolf and the Ulv Konge the same?
AK: There are many wolves.
LH: What are their names?
No response.
LH: If you want to help me, then help me!
AK: Have fun at the gala. Say hi to the wolves for me.;)