Chapter 4 - The Night Josephine Disappeared
I spent the next twelve hours searching every place Josephine might go.
Friends.
Former coworkers.
Churches.
Motels.
Bus stations.
Nothing.
The problem was that I no longer knew her life.
That truth hurt more than I expected.
Once, I knew how Josephine took her coffee.
I knew she hated thunderstorms but loved watching rain from the porch.
I knew she called her aunt every Sunday.
I knew she slept with one foot outside the blanket, even in winter.
Now I didn't know where she went when she was afraid.
Because I had become someone she learned not to trust.
Winston worked beside me.
By evening, he discovered that Josephine had purchased two bus tickets using cash.
“Destination?”
“St. Louis.”
“When?”
“Yesterday afternoon.”
“Then she's there.”
“Maybe.”
“What does that mean?”
“She never boarded.”
I stared at him.
“She bought tickets as a diversion.”
“Looks that way.”
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
Josephine had always been smarter than people assumed.
Felicity had made the same mistake.
At 8:15 that night, someone knocked on my front door.
Rebecca Collins stood outside.
My former assistant.
She looked thinner than I remembered.
Terrified.
“Can I come in?”
I let her enter.
She began crying before she reached the living room.
“I'm sorry.”
I said nothing.
“I didn't know how far she'd go.”
“You helped her.”
“I know.”
“You deleted messages from my pregnant wife.”
Her face collapsed.
“I know.”
“You intercepted letters telling me I had children.”
“I know.”
My anger rose.
“What exactly did you think would happen?”
“My husband needed surgery.”
“So you sold Josephine?”
“No.”
“That is exactly what you did.”
Rebecca covered her face.
For several seconds, I wanted to throw her out.
Then she whispered, “I came because Felicity is scared.”
I stopped.
“What?”
“She's losing control.”
“How do you know?”
“She called me.”
“When?”
“An hour ago.”
“Why?”
“She wants me to tell police Josephine threatened her.”
I stared at Rebecca.
“Did Josephine?”
“No.”
“Will you lie?”
Rebecca looked up.
“No.”
“Then help me.”
She swallowed.
“There’s something I never told Winston.”
My pulse increased.
“What?”
“The night Josephine came to the gate…”
I stiffened.
“Felicity recorded it.”
“What?”
“She had one of the security cameras repositioned.”
“Why?”
“I think she wanted proof Josephine came.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Unless she planned to use it later.”
Rebecca opened her purse.
She removed a small flash drive.
“I copied files before I quit.”
I stared at it.
“What's on there?”
“Watch.”
We inserted the drive into my laptop.
The footage began.
The date appeared in the corner.
Three weeks before Elias and Noah were born.
Josephine stood outside my gate.
Pregnant.
Very pregnant.
Her hair was wet from rain.
She pressed the intercom button repeatedly.
Then Felicity appeared on the inside of the gate.
No sound at first.
Then Rebecca explained that she'd recovered audio from another camera.
Josephine's voice filled the room.
“Please tell him I'm here.”
Felicity folded her arms.
“He doesn't want to see you.”
“Please. Just five minutes.”
“He knows about the babies.”
Josephine froze.
My chest tightened.
“He knows?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
Felicity smiled.
“He said they're your problem.”
I looked away.
Rebecca paused the video.
“You weren't even home yet.”
“What?”
“You arrived twenty minutes later.”
I stared at her.
Josephine had thought she saw me.
But it couldn't have been me.
“Who was upstairs?”
“Cameron.”
Felicity's brother.
I looked back at the screen.
The video resumed.
Josephine started crying.
“Please tell Bennett they're his sons.”
My heart broke.
Felicity leaned closer to the gate.
Then she said, “He doesn't care.”
Josephine wiped her face.
“He will.”
Felicity laughed.
“You still don't understand.”
“Understand what?”
“He chose me.”
Silence.
Then Josephine placed one hand over her stomach.
“No.”
Felicity's expression became colder.
“You should disappear before those babies are born. It'll be easier for everyone.”
My fists clenched.
The video ended.
I stood abruptly.
“I'm taking this to the police.”
Rebecca nodded.
“There’s more.”
I turned.
“What?”
“Felicity has been watching Josephine.”
My blood went cold.
“How?”
“She hired someone.”
“Who?”
“I don't know his real name. She called him Cole.”
Winston immediately began searching.
Within an hour, he identified a man named Colton Reese, former private security contractor.
Then we found something worse.
His vehicle had been captured on traffic cameras near the shelter the night Josephine disappeared.
“She wasn't running from me,” I said.
Winston looked at the images.
“She was running from him.”
I called every number associated with Josephine again.
Nothing.
Then at 11:43 p.m., my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then a small sound.
A baby crying.
I stood.
“Josephine?”
Her voice came barely above a whisper.
“Bennett?”
My knees nearly gave out.
“Where are you?”
“I can't tell you.”
“Are you safe?”
“I don't know.”
One of the babies cried louder.
“Josephine, listen to me. Felicity has someone following you.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“I saw the SUV.”
My heart hammered.
“Where?”
“Near the shelter.”
“That's why you left.”
“Yes.”
“Let me help.”
Silence.
“Please.”
“I don't know if I can trust anyone connected to you.”
The sentence hurt.
“I understand.”
“No, you don't.”
“You're right.”
I forced myself to breathe.
“But I know Felicity framed you. I know everything.”
“No one knows everything.”
Something in her tone stopped me.
“What does that mean?”
She hesitated.
“There's something I never told you.”
“What?”
“About why Felicity hated me.”
My stomach tightened.
“Josephine?”
Years ago, before Josephine and I married, she had worked briefly for the Danforth family's charitable foundation.
I'd known that.
But I'd never thought it mattered.
Josephine whispered, “I found financial records.”
“What records?”
“Money missing from the foundation.”
“How much?”
“Millions.”
My mouth went dry.
“Felicity?”
“And Cameron.”
“Did you report it?”
“I tried.”
“What happened?”
“Someone threatened me.”
I closed my eyes.
“Felicity?”
“I couldn't prove it.”
Suddenly the motive became much larger.
Josephine hadn't just been in Felicity's way romantically.
She knew something.
“Where are those records?”
A pause.
“I kept copies.”
“Where?”
Another pause.
Then a loud noise came through the phone.
Josephine gasped.
“What happened?”
“There's a car.”
“Josephine?”
“I have to go.”
“No. Stay on the phone.”
“They found us.”
My blood froze.
“Where are you?”
The call ended.
“Josephine!”
Nothing.
I called back.
Disconnected.
Winston was already moving.
“Can we trace it?”
“Maybe.”
“Do it.”
Minutes felt like hours.
Finally he looked up.
“Tower hit east of Springfield.”
“How far?”
“Twenty-five miles.”
We drove.
Fast.
Winston contacted law enforcement on the way.
The signal narrowed to an abandoned service station near an old county highway.
When we arrived, the parking lot was empty.
Then I saw something on the ground.
A pale blue-gray knitted blanket.
The twins' blanket.
I ran toward it.
“Josephine!”
No answer.
There were tire tracks in the dirt.
Fresh.
Winston crouched beside them.
Then headlights appeared farther down the road.
A vehicle approached.
I stepped into the road.
It stopped twenty yards away.
The driver's door opened.
A woman stumbled out.
Josephine.
She held Elias.
Noah was crying in a car seat inside.
I ran toward her.
She nearly collapsed.
I caught her.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“What happened?”
“He followed me.”
“Cole?”
“I don't know.”
“Where is he?”
She looked back toward the road.
“I lost him.”
Police arrived minutes later.
For the first time in a year, Josephine allowed me to hold one of our children.
Noah.
My son.
He stared at me suspiciously.
Then wrapped his tiny fingers around mine.
I couldn't stop crying.
Josephine watched.
Her expression softened.
Not forgiveness.
Not yet.
But something had changed.
Then one officer approached.
“Mr. Carter?”
“Yes?”
“We found the vehicle that followed her.”
“Where?”
“Abandoned three miles away.”
“And the driver?”
“Gone.”
My stomach tightened.
The officer continued.
“But there was something inside.”
“What?”
He held up an evidence bag.
Inside was a photograph.
Of Josephine.
Pregnant.
Standing outside my old house.
On the back, written in black ink, were four words.
SHE SHOULD HAVE DISAPPEARED.
I looked at Josephine.
She had gone white.
And suddenly this was no longer only about lies.
May you like
Someone had wanted her gone.
Maybe permanently.
