Nantes isn’t saying a word, but I’m impressed with his impassive expression, like none of this affects him at all. Must be the trauma doctor in him hiding his true feelings.
Once the three of us are outside, I nod in the direction of our car. “You can’t get in without us. We can drive if you want.”
“Yeah, sure,” Fetterman says, not even slightly suspicious.
He doesn’t seem to have any inkling that something is wrong. These types run in circles where you have to trust someone toget what you want, unless you can source your own victims, and Fetterman here is no longer in a position to do that.
Nantes offers Fetterman the passenger seat and slides into the back. I hadn’t thought of that, but it’s pretty smart, giving our target a sense of comfort with us. I start the car and set the navigation back to the highway. As I drive, I glance over at Fetterman, who is scrolling on his phone. A few seconds later, he turns his screen to me, showing a picture of a young blond girl who doesn’t look like she could be more than ten or eleven.
“My favorite,” Fetterman says. “Her name is Ruthie. I met her when she was six years old.”
A ball of tension starts to build in my chest. “Yeah? Where’d you meet her?”
“At my church. She was in my son’s youth group.”
“Oh, you have a son?”
“Yeah.” His tone immediately cools. “Fucking ass. Tried to get me in trouble over some shit.” He laughs darkly. “They couldn’t find enough on me to stick, but I did get fired from my job.”
“Too bad. Where did you work?” Like I don’t know.
“At a church. I was the Youth Leader.”
“That must have been a treasure trove.”
“You know it.” He chuckles again. “Fresh faces all the time. I taught for years, you know. Even though I haven’t believed in religion for ages, it was too abundant of a hunting spot to walk away.”
I glance at Nantes in the rearview mirror, whose expression is tight. I’m sure he has to bite his tongue right now to keep from saying something. Now he’s learning what I go through, only I don’t walk away from creeps like this.
“How many?” Nantes asks, his voice sounding smooth and calm in spite of his expression.
“Who knows?” Fetterman answers with a bragging tone. “Most of them are quick and meaningless, but I still remember Ruthie. She was such a sweet girl. She’d stay with my family sometimes while her parents traveled for missionary work. Ruthie would get scared during the night, so I’d sit with her on the couch and watch cartoons until she fell asleep.”
Fetterman sounds wistful, like someone recalling the time they met the love of their life.
“Her skin was so soft I couldn’t get enough. The older she got, the more trusting she was. She talked to me about her problems and fears, and I was a source of comfort her own parents couldn’t be.”
“What happened with her?” Nantes asks.
“They took her away from me when she was fourteen. Her father got a job out in Colorado. Never saw her again, and she doesn’t seem to have social media. I’ve tried to find her. I want to know what she looks like now.”
“Would you still like her as an adult?” I ask.
Fetterman shrugs, dragging his finger over the picture on his screen. “Probably not. Just curious to see how she changed.”
“What about your kids?” Nantes asks. “Ever?—”
“No,” Fetterman says abruptly. “I never saw my own kids that way. I knew too much about them. I saw them when they were sick and dirty and bratty.” He shivers with the disgust I already feel. “Yeah, no. Not them.”
Small mercies.
“Here it is.” I point off the highway at the warehouse structure we picked for our outing.
It probably won’t take Fetterman long to notice the lack of other cars here, so I reach over to touch the stun gun still in the car door’s pocket, feeling for the power button so it has time to charge.
Alex is still distracted by the picture on his phone as I exit the highway and navigate the cracked road covered with weeds that leads to the building. It’s dark now, thankfully, so it’ll be a minute before he notices the silence.
When he finally looks up, his brow creases. “It looks so empty,” he says.
