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THREE

Walter Residence
Willow, Connecticut
Friday, October 6, 2006
10:12 AM

Amy could tell by the look on Taylor's face when she pulled up to the curb in a rented silver Lexus that her friend was excited to finally get the ball rolling. As they drove toward the highway, with the sounds of Taylor's pop music mix carrying throughout the inside of the vehicle, the obvious signs of thrill were further instilled. In the other girl's expression, a smile seemed permanently etched, giving way to Taylor's more animated appearance, making it seem almost as if Amy had lifted a burden from her friend's chest to free her from the weight she had been previously been carrying.

By the time the two reached Willow, Amy had gotten an ear-full of the information Taylor had been learning about in between her studying, information about exorcisms and ghost repellant and an Internet contact that only called himself A. As she listened, Amy tried to add into the conversation, only becoming lost as Taylor went over the steps to "solving a case", as she called it, that she had been filled in on by the aforementioned web-stranger. According to her, the two of them were headed to small-town Connecticut to talk to the mother of the missing child and to snoop through the bedroom Molly Walter had been taken from. Also according to her, the two of them had to come up with a convincing cover story, something that would gain them entrance into the house that was more plausible than claiming they were simply interested in helping.

"It's gotta be something cool, like cops or investigative journalists or something," Taylor grinned, tapping her fingers against the steering wheel in time with the music. "We can't just barge in and say, 'Hey, we're Yale students just looking for something to stick our noses in.' It won't work, especially if the woman is distraught."

Nodding, but not saying much else, Amy milled over possible aliases while looking out the window, suddenly wondering if that's what John had been doing with the FBI badge, as well as his sons doing the same. Amy remembered seeing similar credentials coming from Sam and Dean back when she had been trailing them on John's orders during the summer, but had immediately assumed she was caught in the middle of some sort of secret espionage rather than a couple of paranormal hunters trying to find out information for the "case" they were working. Thinking back on it, Amy supposed the guise made sense. There was hardly anyone in a police station that outranked a government official, except maybe the sergeant, and sending a call out to check for credibility seemed to be the last thing on anyone's mind whenever they were confronted with the shining white and blue FBI letters staring them in the face.

Deciding to pick something simple as Taylor pulled off of I-91, Amy glanced at her friend and filled her in on what she had chosen: newspaper reporters. Though she hated lying to someone about the real reason the two were trying to uncover facts about Susan Walter's missing daughter, Amy recalled her summer away and all the fibs she had told under the name of Kelly Taylor—a character she had summoned from one of her favorite television shows. Knowing that then wasn't much different from now, minus the fact that she never really talked to the men John had asked her to watch, Amy let out a deep breath before sharing the decision with Taylor, noticing that her friend had her focus turned elsewhere.

In front of them, the robust wooden sign welcoming them to Willow, Connecticut seemed larger than the town itself. As soon as Taylor turned onto the main road, aptly titled Main Street, the two could see nothing more than a couple of lanes surrounding a vast park that seemed to take up most of the area. Trees lined the section of town that was designated for the implanted greenery, fencing in what looked like a sloping lawn and a man-made pond that sat placidly in the dead center. Around the park, a few shops were stationed on the short stretch of Main, locally-owned businesses that appeared to be clothing boutiques and an ice cream parlor. On the three other sides of the square of foliage, houses sat in neat rows, all of them either Victorian or Colonial in design.

"Pretty sure like, twelve people live here," Amy grimaced.

"Yeah, tell me about it," Taylor sighed, pulling off of Main Street and heading for Magnolia Road on the other side of the park. "I knew it was a small town, but I didn't think it would be this small."

Pursing her lips, Amy waited for Taylor to pull up to the curb outside of a large, red Victorian home that seemed to be well-kept and recently painted. Along the front yard, rose bushes lined the rolling green grass divided by a stone walkway, reminding Amy of Yale in the spring. Getting out of the car as soon as Taylor killed the ignition, Amy suddenly felt nervous as she got to her feet. For some reason, now that she was confronted with the idea of having to question someone inside of their own house, the fear that they might be discovered as a frauds frightened her more than when she had been afraid of being unmasked by who she had been lead to believe to be two armed-and-dangerous criminals—two men she had eventual unveiled to be her… someone John had wanted to keep safe rather than arrest. Unfortunately, as the anxiety whispered in her ear, she had a feeling towns of this size held residents quicker to call the police should anything suspicious arise. Back in Northbrook, a place a little more wide-spread than Willow, Jennifer Forester was on a first-name basis with the sheriff, and even had him on speed dial, calling him whenever anyone that even looked likely to step on the grass was nearby. If Susan Walter discovered she was talking to a pair of Yale students rather than a couple of girls who worked for the Hartford Sentinel, then Amy had no doubt a cop would appear less than a minute later to haul them away.

Furrowing her brow, Amy tried to calm her nerves as she followed Taylor up to the front door, letting her friend knock as they waited. Glancing around, Amy could hear a dog barking somewhere in the back of the house, as well as see chew toys hidden in the bushes. Turning to look at Taylor as the sound of heeled shoes on hardwood came from behind the ornate wood in front of them, Amy noticed that her friend had whipped out a hand-held notepad with a pen poised over it. Biting her lip for not thinking of that, especially since she was the drama major and knew the importance of props, Amy rolled her eyes at herself before the door swung open to reveal a short, thin brunette with blotchy red skin and puffy cheeks, both obvious signs of crying.

"Can I help you with something?" Ms. Walter asked quickly, glancing up at Amy.

"Well, Ms. Walter, I was hoping so," Taylor said, stepping forward. "My name is Elizabeth Bennet and this is my friend and colleague, Charlotte Lucas. We work for the Hartford Sentinel and were hoping you would be able to grant us an interview with you about your daughter, Molly."

Frowning, Susan shook her head. "What for?"

"Well, Ms. Walter, we're hoping that by publishing an interview with you, word about your daughter would spread farther than just inside Willow. If she was taken by someone who traveled out of town, then it might be helpful to print a notification in a large publication."

"The police already put out an Amber Alert for her," Susan replied, still shaking her head. "I don't see how putting something in the paper can help any more, I'm sorry."

"Ms. Walter," Amy said, pulling Taylor back and softening her gaze, "we're not here to ask you anything too invasive or to worry you any more than you already are. I know how you must be feeling. It must really hurt not knowing where your child is. All we want to do is make more people aware of what happened in an attempt to bring Molly back home. If we ask you something too personal, you can tell us to leave and we'll pull the article. Does that sound alright?"

Pausing a moment, Susan Walter peered up at Amy behind her red-rimmed eyes for a long while, as though her stare was attempting to search the younger girl for a lie. After what felt like minutes, Susan finally nodded, stepping aside to allow the two to pass through the front door. As soon as they were inside, the dog that Amy had previous heard began to bark again, this time whining a little before growling and running away. Smirking to herself, Amy stopped in the foyer to allow Susan to lead them to where she would like to talk, holding back a second to glance at Taylor.

"I see all those acting classes paid off," Taylor whispered as they trailed behind the woman in front of them. "If I didn't know it, I would think you were channeling the softer side of Veronica Mars."

Grinning toward the floor before looking up, Amy noticed that Susan was directing them toward the kitchen, the big home surrounding them passing by with every open door. Glancing inside of each threshold as they passed, Amy could see that some of them were devoid of anything, as though the old Victorian contained too many rooms to fill. At the end of the long hallway the three were walking down, an expansive kitchen glared back at them through floor-to-ceiling windows, a staircase sitting between where the corridor ended and the kitchen began. Pointing them toward an island bar in the middle of the room, Amy and Taylor took a seat while Susan remained standing, a tumbler full of amber liquid sitting not too far from her hand. Furrowing her brow, Amy bit her lip.

"So, what questions do you want to ask me?" Susan started, taking a drink from the glass now grasped in her palm. "And I will take you up on that offer to throw you out if I don't like the questions."

Picking up on the fact that Susan wasn't fond of reporters being in her house, much less interviewing her, Amy placed a hand on Taylor's knee under the bar as though to warn her to keep her inquisitions kind rather than abrupt. Nodding in recognition of the touch, Taylor flipped back the cover of her notepad where Amy could see questions already scribbled down, almost as though she had been preparing for this during the time it took to rent a car and grab breakfast.

"You said Molly was taken from her bedroom, correct?" Taylor began, pausing to allow Susan to respond. "And you also said that you saw her disappear in a puddle of water? Is that true?"

"I didn't see her, no," Susan clarified. "Molly, my daughter, has a rather active imagination. Before I took her to bed, she was telling me a story—just like she does every night, usually some creation of her own—about a man drenched in water who grabs children from their beds. According to her, she heard it from someone at school, but that's what she claims about everything she says. When she told me, I thought it was just another tall tale, but I noticed she was acting a little different than with all of her other stories, as though she believed it instead of recognizing it was something she made up."

Frowning, Taylor scribbled down a note. "How was she acting?"

"Well, you know kids when they're scared. Pulling up the blankets, locking the windows, turning on the nightlight," Susan sighed. "I put her to bed and came down here. When I got here, I noticed the ceiling was leaking and tried to call a plumber to come check it out, and that's when I heard the screaming." Stopping a second, Susan closed her eyes. "It was Molly, and it wasn't the pretend screaming she usually yells out whenever she's playing with our dog. It was like someone was in there. I tried to help her, but the door was locked."

"Locked?" Amy piped up, furrowing her brow.

"Yeah, which is weird because Molly's door doesn't have a lock on it," Susan frowned, frustration setting in. "I kept pushing, but it wouldn't budge until it was too late. By the time the door finally opened, she was gone. But there was nothing there except for a puddle of water that trailed in from the bathroom. The windows were still shut and everything." Licking her lips as a tear threatened to fall down her cheek, Susan stopped a moment. "But that wasn't the only weird thing. My daughter's teddy bear, Mr. Bear, was torn to shreds, almost like something had eaten it."

Swallowing hard, Amy glanced at Taylor, who seemed neither bothered by the information nor shocked by the revelation. Instead, she continued to write down tidbits of the conversation into her notepad, almost as though she had expected Susan Walter to say what she had just explained. After a long minute, Taylor suddenly snapped her notebook shut to place in the purse swung over her shoulder, looking up at Susan with curious eyes that seemed to mirror how Amy felt inside.

"Do you mind if we take a look at your daughter's room?"

"I don't…" Susan trailed off, looking at Amy instead of Taylor again.

Giving the woman a small smile, Amy tried her best to be comforting. "It's okay. We promise not to do anything that would upset you. You can come up with us if you'd like, just to make sure we don't disturb any of Molly's things."

"No, no, that's okay," Susan frowned. "You can have five minutes, then I want you up and out of here, alright? And make sure no one else from your paper comes by to talk to me when you're back at your office. I understand you guys want to get the word out, but one reporter is enough."

Grinning despite the harshness of Susan's words, Amy nodded. "Okay. We will."

"Okay. Up the stairs, first door on the right."

Exchanging a glance with Taylor, Amy let her friend lead the way up the stairs, taking Susan's directions and finding Molly's flowery pink room right where the woman said it would be. Leaving the door open a crack, Amy pushed open the curtains while Taylor began to mill around, looking in and under everything in sight. Not sure what to do or how to help, Amy remained posted at the window, peering around while Taylor searched beneath the bed.

"I half-expect cartoon birds to start braiding your hair as soon as we walk outside," Taylor whispered while she opened one of the drawers of the small nightstand beside the bed. "I knew you were a softy, Aims, but I didn't think you were such an angel."

Frowning, Amy shrugged. "The woman's daughter is missing. We should be nice."

Shaking her head and smirking, Taylor turned toward the built-in bathroom, staring down at the hardwood floor as though looking for signs of the trail Susan had mentioned. Turning on a lamp to shed more light, Taylor stood back and bent in odd positions, as though trying to get a different angle on the glossy chestnut. "There's some warping here, like the water settled and no one wiped it up."

Remaining silent, Amy watched while her friend disappeared into the bathroom, only to come out a few seconds later. As she took in Taylor's practiced movements that made it seem as though she had been doing this her whole life, Amy wondered exactly what her friend had been doing in the month between the demon attack and now. So far, Amy only knew that Taylor had been looking for information online, but had the Internet contact taught her more than just where to go for a good read? Deciding to ask, Amy piped up.

"You're way too good for this to be your first time."

Laughing, Taylor glanced under the bed once again before getting to her feet. "When I was in high school, I wanted to major in criminal forensics instead of American English. I thought it would be cool to do things like on CSI or whatever."

"What changed your mind there?" Amy asked, grinning.

"It's all fun in theory," Taylor smirked. "My uncle's a police officer in Cicero, right? I guess my mom told him what I was looking to study at Yale and he took me on a ride-along with him back in like, March before I graduated. About half-way through the night, someone called in a murder and he had to go check it out. First sight of a dead body and I was so completely done. I think I threw up, too."

"That's lovely," Amy grimaced.

"Yeah, tell me about it," Taylor laughed. "Anyway, let's get out of here. I'm pretty sure Ms. Walter's waiting for us to leave."