It took several days to drive to where I'd hidden the files in a safety deposit box at a small town bank in the middle of nowhere. After I got the files, I kept driving west, away from Edgar and the baby and everything that Keller had touched. I drove until I ran out of gas in another small town, and rented a room at the motel with a faded sign and free cable movies. The drive gave me time to think. The room gave me the anonymity to grieve.
I cried for what felt like a week straight, reading the files. Remembering. Mourning who and what I'd lost. Trying to come up with the best way to honor the memories of those who died and everyone else who still lived. Or tried to live. Living was the hard part.
The more I thought, the more I remembered and raged at the unfairness of it all, the more I knew I didn't want to be alone anymore. What happened would never be okay, would never go away entirely, but life would be better with people in it. People who loved me, cared for me, wanted to help me. Life would be better with Edgar. A family. Being alone was too heavy a burden to bear. I couldn't do it anymore.
And so I drove east again, and each mile that passed lightened the weight on my shoulders until I could breathe. I knew Edgar would be waiting, and Natalia, and Ruby, and the others. Even the baby. That tiny, breathing reminder of Jake.
When I reached the city, I didn't go the mansion. I drove downtown, through the neat grid of streets to a tall building I'd visited only once. The elevator was lonely without Edgar. The receptionist didn't recognize me, so when I asked for Smith, she called back to the office to let him know Ivy wanted to see him. Smith appeared almost immediately, his eyebrows raised in surprise as he shook my hand. He at least waited until we were in his office to speak, though he looked at the box I carried. "I'm glad to see you but a little surprised you're here. Edgar said you'd taken a trip?"
"Something like that." I didn't sit, though I nodded at the box. "I had to get the files. I thought you'd want to go over them."
"Of course." He looked around the cluttered office, over-flowing with boxes and folders and other evidence from Keller's business, then gestured at a small conference room across the hall. "This will be more comfortable, no doubt. Please, make yourself comfortable. Coffee? Tea?"
I shook my head. "I just want to get through this." Because I didn't know how long my courage would last, and I wanted to be home with Edgar before dinner.
"I have to make a quick call to one of my associates. Make yourself comfortable next door and I'll be in directly." Smith patted an accordion file on his desk. "Hopefully we can reconcile a lot of the questions we still have."
The conference room felt sterile and unwelcoming, like most doctors' offices, but I concentrated on the files. The box occupied one of the chairs next to me and I pulled off the lid, trying to decide where to start. Smith walked in, carrying his own pile of paperwork and a massive scrapbook, and sat down across from me. Before he even opened his mouth, the receptionist brought bottles of water, a couple of coffee cups, and some sodas. She closed the door when she left, and left Smith and I looking at each other in silence.
I gnawed my lower lip, then swallowed whatever trepidation remained. "Before I get into this, I have a question. I'd like to know the answer, but if you can't, I understand."
"Ask away, young lady."
"What are you?" I leaned forward on the table, trying to inhale more of him to figure out what the hell he was. "I thought you might be fae, but I just don't know."
His white eyebrows rose and he smiled a little as he drank one of the coffees. "You're the first person to ask me that in a very long time. Yes, Ivy, I'm fae. Which one, of course, I can't tell you."
"Sure." I rubbed my jaw, then attempted a smile. "My mother studied the fae myths a great deal. She'd always wanted to meet some of the old ones."
"I would have been honored to meet her," he said, solemn and grave. "Truly."
I took a shaky breath, then pulled a chunk of the files out of the box. Rested them in my lap. "How do you want to do this? I don't know all of their names. Some of them just have numbers."
"I have all the kids who've been declared missing in the last twenty years here," he said, patting the scrapbook. "I can start with these names, we can match them to any files you have, and then if there are files leftover, we can add those to the list. Does that work?"
"Sure." I nodded, tried to sound confident, but my hands shook as I reached for a bottle of water to clear the cotton and regret from my mouth.
He pretended not to notice, opening the scrapbook. "And if you need to take a break, tell me. We have plenty of time to get the details right, Ivy."
"I'll be fine. And, please — call me Isobel."
He smiled, kindly for someone whose teeth were a little too pointy. But he opened the scrapbook to the first page, turning the book so I could see the photo of a gawky teenage boy. "He disappeared from football practice in rural Illinois about fifteen years ago. His name was ..."
"Daniel Kinsella," I said, a bare whisper. I remembered him, the shock of dark hair and bright blue eyes, a dirty sense of humor and a propensity for making fart noises any time the doctors bent over or sat down or moved. I took a deep breath. "He was there when they first brought me in. But he died a year later. I don't have his file. They said they buried him on the grounds of the facility. He had the flu, something wrong in his chest, and they couldn't make him better."
"Thank you." Smith made a note on a pad of paper as I stared at the boy's picture — him grinning at the camera as he knelt next to a football helmet, less gangly in bulky football gear. He turned the page. Another boy, younger. "This young man was from Michigan, near the thumb."
"Eric," I said, and dug through the box. I fumbled the papers, almost dropped them, as my fingers trembled. I slid the folder across the table. "He disappeared. They said they took him back to his family, but since he's in your book, I'm guessing they didn't."
My heart ached more each time he turned the page. I remembered more and more with each name and picture. Stories we told each other through the bars, pranks we pulled on the doctors and each other, the names of family we whispered in case someone managed to get out. I cried but kept talking through the tears, even when Smith grew a little choked up himself and recommended we take a break. If I stopped, I'd never start again.
But it helped. After the initial agony of remembering, as I shared their memories with him and passed the files over for his safekeeping, the weight on my shoulders lightened a little more. I was no longer the sole keeper of their names, I wasn't the only one responsible for remembering them. For avenging them. From the way Smith's eyes sparked silver, he was only too glad to take part of that burden from me.
We were only halfway through the book when the door to the conference room opened and Edgar, wild-eyed and hair askew, walked in. He looked like he'd gotten dressed in a hurry and ran the whole way from the mansion. My heart filled to see him, and the rest of the tension faded from me. I dredged up a smile for him. "Hi."
"Hi," he said, and his voice went all rusty and broken. He cleared his throat and scowled as he shook Smith's hand, pretending not to see as the investigator dabbed at his eyes "Smith. Good to see you."
"Chase," Smith said, gruff.
Edgar eased into the chair next to me, and when he saw the stack of files, he deflated. "So many."
"Yes," Smith said. He nodded at the book. "Isobel and I have worked through about half of them. Do we have time to go through the rest?"
"We have time for whatever she wants," Edgar said, and caught my hand. Squeezed it so tight I thought my bones might bend, but I squeezed back.
It wasn't easier with Edgar there, the memories still painful, but I didn't get quite as bogged down in the bad memories. I wanted to remember the happy times, such as they were, and tried to find a funny story about each name. Even the ones that ended with a question mark.
Some of the faces in the book I didn't recognize, though that didn't mean they hadn't been in the facility before me, and some of the files I had in the box didn't match up to anyone he'd heard from. Smith took careful notes, and Edgar held my hand, and I did my best to keep my shit together until we finished. By the time we'd emptied my box, the sky outside was dark and the moon rose in the distance.
Smith leaned back in the chair and stretched. "Thank you, Isobel. You've done more to solve these missing persons cases than anyone I've ever worked with. I'm sorry you were in that position, but please take comfort knowing you've helped a lot of families find closure."
It helped a little. Not as much as I'd hoped. I leaned toward Edgar unconsciously, wanting to be warm and safe and held. He reached for me, as if he'd been waiting all day, and dragged me into his lap so he could wrap his arms around me. I didn't even mind that Smith witnessed as Edgar pressed his face against my back and took deep, shaky breaths. I cleared my throat and wiped my eyes once more on the hem of my t-shirt. "If any of the families want to talk about the kids, the ones I knew... If it would help, I could talk to them. If they want to know what happened."
"Thank you," Smith said. He nodded and patted the scrapbook, now fat with additional notes and papers stuffed between the pages. "I will make that offer when we start to notify the families. I don't know if many will take you up on that, but I appreciate you being willing to see them."
I gnawed my lip until I tasted blood, and gripped Edgar's wrist until my hand shook. "If you find Jake's family... The Rushes. You should tell them why he was taken. That he was my mate. And — and tell them we had a baby. Sort of. There's a baby that is both Jake's and mine. If they want to meet us."
Smith cleared his throat, his own words a little hoarse. "Of course. I'm sure they will want to meet you, Isobel. And certainly they will want to meet the baby as well."
"Her name is Ella Rose. If they ask." I hiccuped, took a shaky breath, and Edgar's arms tightened around me. "After my mother."
The investigator got up and came around the table to give me a half-hug, despite Edgar refusing to release me, and squeezed my shoulder. "Your parents would be very proud of you, Isobel."
He carried the files into his office, except for one, and closed the door to the conference room. Edgar and I sat there in silence for a long time, and I turned so I would link my arms around his neck and hide my face from the world. The steady beating of his heart kept me anchored, gave me something to focus on when I wanted to drown in the sorrow.
He kissed my forehead and tried to cuddle me closer in the awkward office chair. "I wasn't sure you'd come back."
"I just needed a little time to think about everything." I felt tired all the way to my bones, and imagined curling up next to him in that giant bed so we could sleep for a week.
"And what did you decide?"
"My life is better with you in it," I said. "I want to go home."
"I love you," he said, standing and taking me with him. Almost carrying me. Taking the burdens for me as he picked up Sophia's file and tucked it into his jacket.
His arm around my waist kept me upright and moving as we wandered down the hall and to the elevators. When we were inside, I caught his face and went up on my toes to kiss him. I murmured, "I love you, too," against his lips, and then I drowned in his kiss and all the possibilities of our future together.