"Are you sure you didn't touch anything on the radio?" John asked again.

I scoffed at him and crossed my arms. "Yes! It just came on by itself while I was driving home from work. I'm not making this up!"

"Okay, okay. Calm down. We'll take it back to Tony this weekend to get it looked at. Just don't mess with it," John replied.

I threaded my fingers through my curls, sighing in frustration. First, I had to deal with my car breaking down. Now, I had to deal with a broken radio. I'd only bought this car last year. Could it have been time for a new one already? Seriously? Damnit, we weren't made of money.

"Okay fine, I won't. . . Sorry for yelling at you."

"Try to relax, please? At least until I get off work," John pleaded.

"I will, I will. I promise. I'll try and keep myself busy until then."

"Good. I'll be home soon. I promise," he said.

"Okay," I mumbled. The call ended as soon as I spoke. My shoulders sagged as I slouched back, my body sinking into the couch cushions.

 Cory's case folder taunted me. It was as if the files could sense my annoyance with the universe. They sat on the coffee table along with his journal for the case, untouched, waiting to be opened. I wasn't going to cave in. I wasn't. I'd promised myself. But I couldn't relax either.

I huffed and crossed my arms again, turning my head away from the coffee table.

Lately, thoughts of Cory were affecting me worse than usual. His laughter, his personality, my mourning for him—it all reminded me too much of how I was missing him. If not for finding that little girl's remains, I could've rid myself of Cory's image, at least for a little while. But now, his presence was stronger than ever, eating at my brain.

I shouldn't have thought about that. Oh, who was I kidding? I had no choice but to reopen that folder. It may not have been my investigation to solve, but it was Cory's. So, in a way, it felt like mine. Not only because I found what he spent years searching for, but because I finished what he started. Or so that's what I told myself. I knew discovering Mary Drake was only the beginning. 

Nipping at the skin on my bottom lip, I slid my way onto the carpet with my legs crisscrossed. I then shoved everything to the side, opening the folder and scattering the papers across the table.

Knowing Mary Drake was the first child of all thirteen children to go missing helped me understand why Cory decided to put her picture first. Now that I got a better look at her, it was obvious she was of Filipino descent. Her skin wasn't fair, but it wasn't as dark as mine either. Straight, long, black hair ran down her back. And her cheeks were chunky like chipmunks.

I smiled, tracing my fingers along the outline of her picture. The smile slowly faltered when I reached the bottom. I clenched my fist and took a deep breath.

Her picture made me think about death and all the possibilities that could've been. All the possibilities that John and I would have to keep Rosemary safe from for as long as possible. I didn't want to think down that negative road, but I had to because this was reality.

Mary was the youngest of all the children. I couldn't think of a motive. Honestly, I didn't want to think of a motive. After all, the perpetrator obviously had a specific profile feature-wise when it came to these kids. But they were each a different skin tone and height. One similarity that struck me the most was that all the victims were girls.

"Holly Adams, eight years old, reported missing by her father September 1st, 2016," I read the information under the next picture. Blonde hair, blue eyes, fair skin, and a freckled face stared back at me.

"Tina Williams, eight years old as well, reported missing by her aunt April 30th, 2016." This little girl had brown hair, brown eyes, my skin complexion, and a freckled face as well.

I read the other names in silence. The more I read, the harder it was to keep myself from shivering. The ages grew higher until the last child. Then, the age range stopped. The last child to go missing was Regina Carpenter, a thirteen-year-old girl who'd just moved here from Texas with her grandparents and was reported missing by them too.

By now, I was sure Mary Drake was all over the news. I hadn't bothered to turn on the TV to check because I didn't have the guts. But it wasn't doubtful. I wondered how the other parents and relatives who lost their children felt about this. After all, if Mary Drake was buried here the entire time, that meant all the other children were possibly still here too.

John told me he and his team had orders to do a full sweep of the area for more remains. They were going to start tomorrow afternoon. Part of me couldn't wait, while the other part didn't want to know anything else.

"West Greenbush Park." I flipped open Cory's journal to the first page, teary eyes wandering over the words.

I remembered West Greenbush Park being the next and final location on Cory's map. An arrow was pointing to it from the circled location I found Mary. He probably didn't have a chance to finish investigating. At first, I thought it might've been just an old map he carried around because we were from West Greenbush.

West Greenbush Park, however, wasn't too far from where I stumbled upon Mary Drake. It was only about a ten-minute drive. Plus, it was a big, well-known park in our hometown. Cory, John, and I used to hang out there often when we were teens. But what could have possibly been there that he found so important to record in his notes? My guess was more bones.

I flipped to the next page, my eyebrows slanting inward.

For the most part, Cory wrote down other locations and theories he thought of. It all just looked like a bunch of cryptic messages to me. But it must have been important since they led me this far. Everything in his notes counted.

I flipped the page once again.

If anyone had asked me why I was doing this to myself, I wouldn't have an answer. Looking over Cory's notes, reading bits from his work life, and torturing myself with these memories. Yet here I was, sitting in my living room, piecing together things that had nothing to do with me.

Suddenly, Gerald Johanssen's voice cut through the silence and I nearly peed myself.

An episode of Hey Arnold played on the TV screen as I bit down on my tongue. It took a few moments for me to adjust. And when I did, I couldn't help but look around frantically. Had I accidentally hit the TV remote? Sometimes, I was clumsy without realizing it. But no, the TV remote wasn't anywhere near me. Well, to my knowledge, it wasn't.

"A-Ah!" I winced and folded my ears closed.

The familiar sound of static filled the room. My bones shook under my skin. The panic I felt from the strange car incident earlier was pumping to my head like adrenaline. I thought it'd just been my radio, but apparently, technology wasn't on my side today. Unlike earlier, the static didn't stop. Forcing myself up, I marched towards the television. 

I pressed the power button numerous times, but the TV wouldn't go off. It was as if I was stuck in the twilight zone. "Why is nothing working!?" I grunted, flinging my hands in the air. I continued to play around with the buttons and wires until teal blue caught my attention. There was a halt in my movements. My head turned, facing in the direction of the window.

I remembered the color because it was the same shade as John's eyes. And the same shade as the butterfly that led me to Mary. Though, this butterfly looked exactly the same as that one, with black outlining its wings.

The butterfly landed on the windowsill.

I could see it from right beside the TV because the blinds were raised. Its wings flapped once before it settled down beside the windowpane. I stared for a few seconds. Then, I rubbed my eyes. I must have been dreaming. It had to be a different butterfly. No insect or bug would follow me home. Not to mention, we were in the middle of October. This wasn't even butterfly season.

Slowly, I neared the glass pane. As if the butterfly could sense me getting closer, it flew closer to the windowpane. 

"Shoo." I gently tapped my finger against the glass.

There was no reaction. In fact, there was no more movement.

"Help!" another voice blared from the TV.

I jumped back. The channels on the TV switched. On the screen, an episode of Spongebob played. It was an image of him crying for help.

"Find!" The channel switched again. This time, it was an episode of Scooby-Doo Mystery Incorporated. I backed away from the window and the TV, my eyes widening slightly.

"Them!" Courage the Cowardly Dog was the last cartoon to show. Those same lines played over and over from each show as the channels circled back and forth.

"Help find them. . ." I repeated.

What the hell did that mean?

Though the cartoons were random, what they said perfectly made sense. I hid behind the couch. My eyes loomed over the top of the cushions, and my heart continued to race. If it weren't for the rush of adrenaline, my teeth would have been chattering. Who were they supposed to be?

The doorknob to the backdoor moved slightly. Quickly, my head spun. I waited for the movement to stop, but the jiggles became much more violent. Then, a loud thud on the knob caused me to flinch.

"John?" I whispered under my breath.

That couldn't have been him. John and I had a one-story house, so there was nothing back there but a backyard. Only, John never used the backdoor unless an emergency called for it. Even if it was him, John never used that much pressure to open a door. At that point, it didn't sound like pressure either. It sounded as if someone was trying to break in.

I needed to call John.

As I lifted myself from behind the couch, I stumbled back, my eyes focused on the backdoor. Something hard pressed against my back, refraining me from moving anymore. Using my hand, I touched the hard, flat surface, appearing to be one of the pillars. I turned to the kitchen, measuring how far I was from the knives or any possible weapon.

The kitchen's entrance opened in a wide space directly behind the living room. Could I make it with my swollen stomach? There was a huge risk I'd fall onto my face. Then again, running into the kitchen meant getting closer to the backdoor. That was a huge no for me.

I soon turned to the front door, measuring my distance. I had a better chance of reaching the front door than the kitchen. All I needed to do was run through the pillars, into the hallway, and grab the knob to the front door, twisting it open.

The aggressive shaking on the doorknob ceased. I waited for a few heartbeats, watching the door like a hawk. Nothing happened. Keeping my eyes on the door, I slowly walked to the side until I reached the coffee table. Then, I quickly gathered Cory's notes, placing them back into the folder. Just when I'd found comfort, static blared through the silence again.

"John!" I cried out this time. My body flailed back, falling on the couch. I ignored the tremble in my fingertips and hugged myself tightly, curling my legs against my chest. My bottom lip quivered as tears pricked at my eyes. Even though he wasn't here, I called out to him again.

Where was my phone? Shit, I couldn't think straight.

"Help . . . find . . . them," in between the static, a crinkly, soft voice spoke.

I diverted my widened eyes off the floor and onto the blank TV screen. I knew the sound of a little girl's voice when I heard one. The message was clear. But who it was coming from wasn't clear. I've lost my damn mind. That was the only other explanation.

"Help . . . find . . . them." The front door then burst open with a gush of wind.

"Eek!" I screamed.

"Angie?" John's voice sent relief down my spine. I bounced off the couch and threw myself into his arms, burying my face in the crook of his neck.

"What? Are you crying!? What's wrong?" He squeezed me in his arms. I'd been so scared; I didn't realize tears were streaming down my face. He rubbed circles in my lower back as I cried. My words got caught in my throat while I choked on my sniffles.

"T-the TV came on and then . . . and then . . ." I could barely form a sentence. 

"Jesus, Angie. You're shivering. What the hell is going on?" he persisted.

"I-I don't know. . ." I whimpered.

After all, I truly didn't.