“ISABELLA,” AVA SAYS, “four other people have gone missing under similar circumstances. Three of them have been gone so long that it’s unlikely they’re still alive. But one might be alive. You can help her.”
Isabella lowers her head. If she remembers, the only way to get her to talk might be making her realize she can help someone else.
“Are you sure that you don’t remember anything that happened to you?” Ava asks, staring at Isabella’s lowered head.
She’s going to tell me, Ava thinks.
Instead, Isabella raises her head and says defensively, “How do you know the cases are linked?” Isabella doesn’t give Ava time to think. “They all went missing from their homes, didn’t they? They all had an eagle feather left behind. What happened to me is not the same at all.”
“What did happen to you?” Ava says. “I want to know. I want to help you.”
Isabella makes a pfft sound with her lips. “You want to help me? It’s a little late for that. Where were you four years ago?”
Ava feels the opportunity slipping away.
“I’m here now,” Ava says.
Isabella opens her mouth to speak, but then stands abruptly.
“Excuse me a minute,” she says, visibly quaking.
Isabella disappears into the hallway. Ava lets her go. Maybe a moment alone is what she needs.
A minute goes by. Then two. As she waits, Ava flips through the old articles about Isabella’s disappearance. The coverage was extensive, probably because she went missing from such a public place. It occurs to Ava that the news coverage of Fiona Martinez, the latest victim, has been minimal by comparison.
Ava’s heartbeat accelerates as she thinks of something Isabella said.
They all went missing from their homes, didn’t they? They all had an eagle feather left behind. What happened to me is not the same at all.
She and Rory and Carlos never told her the women had gone missing from their homes. And while they had asked her about eagle feathers, she doesn’t think they mentioned why. Because the press doesn’t know there was any connection between these years-apart cases, those details have never been in the newspaper or on TV.
She knows something, Ava thinks. And it’s time she comes clean.
She steps into the hallway, where she finds three doorways, two of which are open. One of the open doors leads to a bathroom. Another to an office. The third, the closed door, must be her bedroom.
Ava raises her hand to knock, but something in the office catches her eye.
On the desk sits a photograph. As Ava approaches, she sees it’s a picture of five girls. All Native. All wearing traditional regalia. All smiling and happy.
All holding small dreamcatchers, with five eagle feathers on each and the words ORDER OF THE GOLDEN EAGLE stenciled in the centerpieces.
They are all younger than their more recent photos, but Ava easily recognizes each of the girls.
Fiona Martinez.
Rebecca Trujillo.
Chipeta Tavaci.
Tina White Wolf.
And there with the other eagle feather victims, smiling like she’s among friends, is Isabella Luna.
Ava spins around to look for Isabella, but something else catches her attention. In the corner, to the left of the door in a place that was out of her sight when she first walked into the room, a feathered dreamcatcher hangs from the ceiling, the same as the ones in the photograph, except this dreamcatcher has only one feather.
The other four—identical to the feathers left at the victims’ homes—are missing.