A young girl, a defenseless girl, when they go missing, it cuts you a little deeper. Moreso now that there was a real possibility that I could be that young, defenseless girl's aunt. 

The realization that this could be true had been playing on my mind for that past hour. For nineteen years, I've believed that my sister is dead; she was taken, killed and never found. But what if the truth is worse than that? What if she was kidnapped, kept, tortured, raped, murdered? If my hunch that Carina is Ivy's biological mother is right, what happened to her during those three years? How did Ivy come to be? Is there the slightest chance that Carina is still alive today?

My stomach churned as I processed all this information. My whole purpose in life since Carina was taken is to make sure that no one has to go through what my family went through. This town took so much from me and I was never going to allow someone else to feel as helpless, as lost, as empty as I had. That was worse than knowing the truth. There is closure when a body is found but for those of us who aren't so lucky, for lack of a better word, we're in permanent limbo. It didn't help that Carina was declared dead in absentia a decade after she disappeared. In absentia. 

When I received the letter from my father to tell me that my sister was 'legally' pronounced dead, my heart broke. I'm not stupid, I knew that it would happen one day but when you're confronted with it, that it's really happening, it just doesn't seem real at all. How could a person that's never met my bright, bubbly, beautiful sister declare her dead? 

"After we interview Wiley Preston, I think it might be a good idea for us to talk, Darby," Tommy's gruff voice broke into my thoughts. Slowly, I turned to face him, letting him see the vulnerability for the first time. I always prided myself on being cool, calm, collected; right now, under Tommy's intense gaze, I was anything but my usual self. He looked over his shoulder before he entered my temporary office and closed the door behind him. He reached over and drew the blinds, cutting us off from the rest of the station. I watched as he crouched down in front of me, placing his hands on my knees to steady himself. His jade eyes focused on me. "We need to find Ivy. She's going to be the key to finding all the answers about Carina and what happened to her. Do you think you can keep it together long enough to sit in with me?"

I nod. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, composing myself. When I opened my eyes, there'd been a shift in my demeanor. Tommy could sense it. I wasn't the sister of a victim any longer; I was SSA Darby Charleston and I was going to do everything in my power to find Ivy Carmichael. "I'm ready."

We walked to the interview room with the eyes of the entire station on us. For a moment, I thought that maybe they knew of my very personal connection to the case but the only person who knew was Tommy and I know he wouldn't mention anything about Carina to the others. The focus of this investigation is Ivy. She's the only person that matters right now. 

Wiley Preston was our next hope of finding her. Back when I was in high school, Wiley Preston was the mid-thirties biology teacher that wanted to inspire kids to do well in school. He was passionate about his subject and that made the students want to be better at it. I knew I never wanted to let him down, that's why, before any test, I would stay up late every night for weeks, studying the material. He was so good at his job that everyone passed their tests and quizzes. But having head Tommy relay the events surrounding his arrest and incarceration, I wasn't so sure about his abilities as a teacher any longer, nor was I convinced of his credentials for being a stand-up member of this community. This man sounded like a Jekyll and Hyde character; he was one person to the many, and another person to the few.  

Just knowing what he did to my sister, I wanted to make him rue the day he was born. My interview techniques are usually by the book but as I prepared to go into this interview, something felt different. With Wiley Preston, I wanted to provoke a confrontation, a confession. 

Tommy and I stepped into the observation room first. Tommy thought it would be a good idea for me to see the man that hurt my sister all those years ago before I stepped into the interview room. I was glad of those few minutes. 

The man that was sitting on the other side of the glass was nothing like the man I knew him to be almost twenty years ago. Back then, he was tall, had a slim build, with handsome features. He was well-dressed, always in black pants and fitted Oxford shirts, his ash-blond hair made him look like a boy-bander, just a decade older. In the late nineties, all the girls in school thought he was a Brad Pitt lookalike. If only they could see him now. 

He was older, as you'd expect, but he hadn't aged well. He was still tall, of course, only now he was thick around the middle, clinically obese. He was unkempt. His hair was white, dirty, and oily like it hadn't been washed in weeks. His clothes were shabby, faded, and loose-fitting. He has a beard now, as well as a mustache. The eyes are hollow, his eyelids are droopy, and his cheeks were no longer pronounced, hidden beneath layers of fat. As he spoke to his lawyer, I noticed that under his thin lips, his teeth were either crooked or decaying.

"Look at his arms," Tommy instructed. I looked at Wiley Preston's forearms and frowned. "They're scratched. He could be the guy that took Ivy. We know she fought back. Let's go in there and start questioning this son of a bitch."

I followed Tommy's lead. Just as we'd done with Brady Danvers, he was going to do the questioning, I was to observe, read the suspect's body language, get a feel of whether or not he was the guy we were looking for. Given his history, he certainly could be the perpetrator but my gut wasn't convinced. This guy is shady, there's no doubt about that, but given what we know about Ivy Carmichael, I can't see how Wiley Preston could have overpowered her, even with his stature and the weight difference.

Tommy gets the interview underway while I keep my gaze fixed on Wiley Preston. He turned to me, those eyes sending a shiver down my spine, and just then, I see it. He registers. He knows who I am and the words uh-oh flash through his eyes. 

"No, Detective Redmond," Wiley Preston insisted when he turns back to look at Tommy. "This interview will not be conducted by yourself. I want her to do it. Darby Charleston was, after all, one of my best students. No offense to you, Thomas, of course. Let's have Darby do the honors. After all, I'm sure she has a thousand burning questions for me. Shall we begin?"

Tommy concedes, motioning with his hand for me to begin my questioning. I had a choice to make: be professional or be an attack dog. I knew that I couldn't screw this up. "You like young girls, don't you, Mr. Preston?"

"Everyone has a secret sin, one that only God knows about," he shamelessly announces, almost like he's proud of this fact. His lawyer pinches his eyes closed and shook his head as he dropped his pen and leaned back in his chair. However, it seemed as if once Wiley Preston had started, he wasn't about to stop. "I don't like young girls, Darby, I love them. It's something that you wouldn't understand. That primal desire to see them, to have them, to take ownership of them, it's indescribable. Oh, my, the way they smelled, the way they felt, the way they tasted on my lips, they are simply perfection. The girls, the many, many girls, that gave themselves to me, I love them all. Naturally, there were some I loved more than others and sharing them was heartbreaking but I know they loved me, too. They always came back. Even your sister."

"You're just chatty, aren't you?" I say, leaning forward in my chair, feigning interest, all the while, forcing the sick in my throat back into my stomach. I hated the way he dragged Carina into this. Wiley Preston puffed out his chest and grinned, the repugnant smell of his breath hitting me like a freight train. I try not to show just how offensive it really was. Instead, I tilt my head to the side and say, "Who did you share your girls with?"

Wiley Preston wrinkled up his nose in disgust. "The ones that helped bring me down. They were disloyal to me and one day they are going to pay for it. They all will. I protected them because I thought they would protect me." By now, he was indignant, like he would throw anyone under the bus if the time came. "I'll make them pay, though."

"I want to make them pay, as well, Mr. Preston," I tell him, nodding my head to gain his approval. "I want to help make them pay for what they did to you. I think the people that betrayed you continued to hurt your girls after you went to prison. I think they took Ivy Carmichael, too. It's not fair that they get to have her, Mr. Preston, when you don't. Tell me, so I can make them pay, who are they? Write their names down and I will make sure they get what they deserve. After everything they did to you, you want justice, don't you?"

That's all it took for him to give up the names of everyone involved in the abuse of the girls in this town. He wrote out fifteen names, some very prominent not just in this town, but in this county and in this state. These were men and women in power, that have a duty of care, who failed at being decent human beings. This used to be a great town. Now it's a cesspool.

"I have to ask you, Mr. Preston, are you in any way involved in the kidnapping of Ivy Carmichael?" I asked outright. Wiley Preston shook his head. He seemed the type to relish in abusing girls and would shout it from the rooftops so to see him deny it, that was enough for me to count him out. I stood up from my chair as I turned the tape recorder off. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Preston. You're free to go."

I left the room before Tommy, rushing straight to the nearest bathroom. I threw up. I was used to manipulating suspects and drawing them into confessions but I never liked the role I played in getting those confessions. Pretending to want justice for someone like Wiley Preston was unforgivable; I wanted justice for the girls he abused and the girls all the others had abused. 

As I exited the bathroom stall, I came face to face with Tommy, his eyes fixed on the ground as I approached him. He waited until I washed and dried my hands before casting his eyes over towards me. "Okay?"

"Define 'okay'," I challenge him. With a prolonged sigh, I lean against the sink and fold my arms over my chest, shaking my head. "This case, Tommy, it's unlike anything I've worked before. If you look at the elements individually, yes, I've worked them before but this one is different. I don't know if I can do this any longer. I work damn hard at what I do. Too damned hard. It's just, I don't know if I have it in me to carry on."

"Your emotions are playing a role in this investigation," Tommy comments. His words are true but they sting nonetheless. I hear Tommy grunt as he pushes himself away from the sink and comes to stand before me, tugging his tie loose and forcing his hands into the pockets of his pants. "It's what's driving you. Just don't let it be the thing that destroys you, too. Don't let it consume you and become your obsession. The job can break you if you let it. So, my advice is this, take a step back. Don't think about this as a sister or as an aunt. Think about this as the Supervisory Special Agent that you are. You're good at your job, Darby. And I need you on this one."

Despite feeling utterly defeated, I nod. "She matters to someone, so she matters to me." I felt Tommy's eyes linger, wondering if I was going to be able to pull myself together or not. "Okay, I'm in. Total focus. So, what are we going to do with that list of names, now that we have it?"