My head had been filled with thoughts of Jeremiah and Tiffany these past couple of days. I hated every second of it.

The man pissed me off to no extent. With his annoying charm. His wicked smile. And his condescending tone. I was going to have to bear with all of that again later. It hadn't taken long for us to agree on meeting terms for our interview. The next day, after I left their home, I received a call from him. It was awful.

My skin shriveled under his voice. It felt as though he'd been patronizing me.

My hand clenched around the pencil I used to scribble across the canvas. "Who does that jerk think he is? Pitiful coward," I spat under my breath.

"Um, Angie are you okay?" Evelyn's voice caused me to stop.

"Huh?" I snapped out of my daze, looking at her through my lashes.

She held a sheepish smile, glancing between me, my pencil, and the other few ladies that caught sight of what I was doing. One of them, Bishop Iverson, had an eyebrow quirked. Her thin glossy lips pulled at the corners in a smirk as if she could feel me fuming. She obviously thought it was amusing.

"Oh shit." I chuckled nervously and threw my pencil to the side. "Excuse my profanity ladies. Sorry about that."

"It's okay. We thought something might've been wrong. You've been mumbling under your breath for the past few minutes now and you look tense," Evelyn said.

I let loose a groan, folding my hands over my shoulders. "Do I?"

"You do," Bishop butted in. "You should take your own advice some time, Angie: release your stress onto your canvas board, not your baby!" Hums of agreement went around the room.

I laughed and rolled my eyes. A playful smile pulled at my lips. "Thanks, girls. Since when did you all become therapists? I think that's enough for today anyway. Let's call it a day, yeah ladies?"

There were over a few yeses across the room, exchanged with laughter. The heavy feeling in my chest settled as I inhaled. Wow, I hadn't realized how much I needed that deep breath. It felt as though I'd just released loads of pent-up stress.

"Hey, Evelyn! Can I speak with you?" I caught her just before she exited the room. She paused and glanced back over her shoulder, eyebrows knitted together.

"Yes, Angie?" she asked.

I stood from my seat, jogging towards her with a flyer in hand. "I hear the yoga classes will be starting back up on the second floor sometime this week. If you're up for it, I thought I'd invite you along. We can grab a bite to eat after."

She tore the flier from my hands, her eyes scanning the words. "Really? You want to hang out with me!? Is it okay? Are you sure you don't want to take John? You know, because he's your husband and all." Her words practically vomited from her mouth. When she saw my hand raise, her rambling ended.

"Evelyn, I wouldn't have invited you if I didn't want to."

She released a bubble of laughter. "I guess you're right. Well then, yes! You can count me in! Wait, can we go after my doctor's appointment though? I won't be able to make it to the morning session." She frowned.

"Oh? You have an appointment with your obstetrician? Is everything alright? Or is this just a checkup?"

"No"—she shook her head—"it's neither of those. It's a different appointment. Darn. I forgot what it's called. But! My grandfather's going to take me, then I'll ask him to drop me here. Is that alright?"

I was stuck on the fact her grandfather was attending her appointments with her. What kind of appointment could this have been that she needed him there? I could have been overthinking it. Perhaps he was just her ride back and forth. Last time I checked; Evelyn didn't own a car. She mostly took the bus here and there if her grandparents, or Ivan hadn't been driving her.

I swallowed down my gut feeling and spoke, "Sure! That's fine by me."

* * *

Listening to Jeremiah was like swallowing a mouthful of poison. Only, the toxins were making my ears bleed and not my mouth. I nibbled at my bottom lip and flicked my pen against the notepad. Each tap put me under a hypnosis as I nearly tuned him out.

His next set of words brought me back to reality. "Those were quite the interesting questions, Angie. It's been a while since I could share my passion with someone that in depth. Will that be enough for your class?" He folded his arms, smiling.

I straightened and cleared my throat. "I'm sure this'll be perfect. Thanks!"

I skimmed over my notes again. He had spent the past hour running me through all the basics. I had enough information to write a NY Times bestseller on New Jersey's housing history. If that was even a thing.

"Great! I'm glad I could be of help. I wish your class the best of luck with this project!" He flashed me a grin. Pearly white teeth, easy on the eyes, but a personality heavy on the soul with a hint of cockiness—that was the type of smile he was able to give.

I nodded and said, "Yeah, you've helped a lot. Thank you, again."

The room went quiet. I was left to my own thoughts again. All I could do was study Jeremiah's figure. He seemed like he was capable of killing a man. Not in a gore, messy fashion but it would still count as murder.

It was hard to tell if he was capable of killing a child though. There's a saying—expect the unexpected—he was the definition of that quote. He moved on his own time, abided by his own actions, and took the responsibility of keeping himself perfect.

I'd been thinking about how he could've possibly had anything to do with the children's kidnapping. Surely, he wouldn't have sabotaged his own project, by burying some of their remains in the park. He needed that park to start the houses they planned on building. Hmm, but what if someone else had gone out of their way to sabotage him?

I glanced at Tiffany. She was zoned the hell out, probably half-way drunk by now. I wouldn't have put murder past her. She was too quiet. Too in her own world. It could've been payback for the damage he'd done to her over the years. She seemed like the petty type.

I couldn't blame her either. I was surprised she hadn't killed him in his sleep or something. What if she hadn't cared about Holly? What if she never wanted a child in the first place? These were just theories. But none of them concluded how the other girls could have ended up in this scandal.

The same few picture frames I saw the other day huddled together on the bookshelf. In a singular line, they stood. I couldn't pry my eyes away from little Holly Adams and Helena Byers side by side in their class photo. It was so sweet. So gut-wrenching. I could puke. As soon as the thought crossed my mind, my stomach gurgled.

Not now, Rosemary, I begged in my head.

"Does something interest you over there?" Jeremiah interjected. He followed my wandering eyes to the picture frames.

I shook my head, readying myself for a response. The words were at the tip of my tongue when I spotted it. It hid in the far-left corner of the shelf, blocked by the books behind the other pictures. But I could still make out the rough edge of the frame and half of a little girl, poking out. Even without seeing her full figure, I recognized her.

"Oh, um, no"—I cleared my throat—"I just recognized that little girl again. I'm sorry, it threw me off."

He twisted around to get a better look. "What are you looking at?"

I didn't get a chance to reply because he had already gotten out of his seat. When he got closer to the bookshelf, he pointed to the frame. "Are you staring at this picture?" He yanked the frame from its hiding spot. "Ah, of course. You must recognize her from the news and all those missing posters, right?"

I'd finally found my voice. "Yes. I could never forget the faces of thirteen children who'd been broadcasted all over television networks and radio stations and newspapers. It's awful."

A dark chuckle dripped from his tone. "That's right. It's been three years, and they just now have a lead. All it took was a few bodies to show up, well . . . bones."

"Jeremiah!" Tiffany hissed. It was the first time I'd heard her voice since I got here.

I glanced between the two and folded my hands across my lap. The tension was unbearable. The picture he held in his hand was none other than Helena Byers. But she was with Holly again. Though, they weren't in a school environment. They were together at a birthday party. Just like best friends.

"What? Do you want me to lie and act like everything is okay with the system? You know better than that, Tiffany. They couldn't even find our fucking daughter for Christ Sake! First, William's daughter, then Carmen's daughter, and now our daughter!

"And then Harrold's daughter! And now the missing children are showing up back-to-back? Oh, please. Give me a break! If the police would do their Goddamn job, this wouldn't be a problem!" He growled.

I couldn't help but tense up again. They'd forgotten about my existence.

Cory was on this case. He spent so much time trying to figure it out. He'd never slack when it came to work. I wanted so badly to shout that at the top of my lungs. But I couldn't risk revealing that kind of information. If they found out I was the twin sister of an officer who failed in finding their daughter, all hell could have broken loose.

It was clear this wasn't the first time this topic had been brought up. And I was sure as many times as it'd been discussed, that was how many times her opinion had been shut down, just as it had been now.

That wasn't what bothered me most though. Why had Tiffany lied to me? She told me she didn't know Carmen Byers. Jeremiah said otherwise. They knew the Williams family on a personal level too, apparently.

"They tried to find her the best they could. . ." Tiffany clenched her right fist at her side. She struggled not to choke on her words. I met her teary gaze for a second, before she tore her eyes away.

"Yeah, you keep telling yourself that. You should know better than anyone how it feels. After all, we can't get her back. And there'll be no more chances for another one." Jeremiah's teeth gritted so hard, I thought they'd crack. His eyes shifted to my widened ones and he cleared his throat, rolling his shoulders back.

"I'm sorry, Angie. That must have been embarrassing to watch. I do apologize sincerely, that you had to sit through that. It's just, these are hard times. And that picture brings up such sensitive topics. But I guess they can't always be avoided," he said.

I couldn't find the right words. So many thoughts, such little time to say them. What had he meant by there'll be no more chances for another one? Was Mrs. Adams incapable of having any more children? Surely, it couldn't have been because of her age. She appeared younger than most. Looks could be deceiving though.

None of this made sense to me. I always thought a man who beat on his wife and child wouldn't care about their well-being. But Jeremiah Adams was weird. He was the opposite of any abuser I'd ever imagined.

Whenever he talked about Holly and the police, raw emotions surfaced. He seemed so hell-bent about her disappearance. Had he loved his daughter? No, but we're not supposed to harm the ones we love. Not purposely, at least.

Could it all have been a show because I was here?

There were too many things wrong with this dysfunctional family setting, my head was spinning. My lips parted. Rather than words, a noise fell out.

"Sorry"—I laughed awkwardly—"her kicking surprised me. She must be excited or frustrated over something. . ."

Jeremiah's eyes dropped then lifted again, a small smile easing the mood. "Don't worry about it. I'm sorry, we're probably stressing her out. Would you like another glass of water?" He side-eyed his wife, then me again.

Tiffany hadn't spoken anymore. She stood quietly in the corner, eyes averted on her shoes, like a child on punishment. Another wine glass filled her palms. This time it was pink. She was on her second glass of the evening. My guess was that the locked cabinet in the far-left side of the living room contained more than one variety.

"Oh, um, no. That's fine. I won't be taking up either of your time any longer—"

"We're not rushing you out, if that's what you're worried about," he cut me off.

"She must be tired from all the fussing and the interview, though," Tiffany interrupted.

As soon as Jeremiah's head whipped around, she shut up. That was the fastest I'd ever seen someone's eyes narrowed. The smile on Jeremiah's face tightened. It was like a movie playing out in front of me—the story of a king who looked down on a peasant. Her lips pursed together as she bowed her head again, mumbling an apology.

She obeyed him and he hadn't even said a word. . .

"I'm sorry, that was rude. I didn't mean it like that. I'm just a little worried we're tiring her out. If she's anything like I was when I had . . . Holly . . . then, I'm sure we are tiring her. Stress isn't good for her child," she corrected herself.

"That's true. Come on, Angie. We'll walk you out," Jeremiah agreed.

I hummed and sent Tiffany a smile. The look we shared was painful. I was sure as soon as I stepped foot outside, he'd lay hands on her. She knew I was aware of that. I didn't want to leave. I wanted to take her with me so bad. So, fucking bad.