The Longest Silence. Debra Webb

her coffee but curled her shaking hand into a fist rather than risk picking up the mug.

      She wasn’t supposed to come back here. Ever. In fact, she hadn’t set foot in the state of Georgia since she left eighteen years ago. Never coming back. Never, never coming back. She shouldn’t be here now. Deep breath. No choice.

      Keep your head on straight, Jo.

      From what she could see last night not that much had changed other than the old asylum had closed down. She’d read about the closure a few years ago.

      Not soon enough.

      Images flickered through her brain. She pushed them away. Don’t look. Don’t look. Have to look.

      They should burn the whole place down. Every decaying building.

      A complete contrast to the old asylum, Milledgeville was a quaint place that exuded small-town charm and promised parents of potential students that it was a safe and wholesome setting. In truth, it was, for the most part, despite the college campus and endless assortment of official and unofficial sorority and frat houses. Bars, clubs, restaurants, boutiques. All the things every college student needed handy for the launch into adulthood.

      Jo went for her coffee again. This time she managed to lift the mug without the risk of spilling the hot brew. She downed a couple of swallows as she stared out the window toward Hancock Street. The first day of her freshman year she’d been so excited. No one in her family had ever gone to college. She was the first. Her parents had been so proud. Even her brother—a man who was far more contented with his head under a hood than in a book—seemed genuinely happy for her.

      She’d arrived with big dreams and fully determined to prove she deserved the opportunity. She hadn’t bothered with friends the first semester. Her academic work had been her singular focus. Christmas had arrived and she’d stayed on campus to volunteer with local Christmas charities and to earn some extra cash. She’d gotten a job through the holiday season so she could afford a couple of new outfits and presents to send back home.

      Every day had been a new adventure. She was so happy. Then winter started to fade and the promise of spring in the air had her hoping for more.

      Her first mistake.

      Ray had come to Milledgeville to help with the search on the ninth of March eighteen years ago. Her mother hadn’t been able to come. Their father had been too ill to travel. Cancer. He’d died a year later. She doubted her brother or her mother would ever forgive her for not coming to the funeral.

      They didn’t understand.

      How could they? She had never told anyone what really happened. She and Ellen had made a pact never to tell. Would it have changed anything if they had told the truth? Would Ellen and the others be alive? Probably not.

      Jo shouldn’t have come back here. Had to. Two weeks, one day and six hours had been required for her to work up her nerve to begin the journey from Texas to Georgia. She’d rolled into town in the middle of the night last night. Slept in her twelve-year-old Celica. Nothing like traveling in style.

      She was here. That alone was a freaking miracle. Eighteen years. Seventeen years, ten months and twenty-five days to be exact since she left this place.

      Jo watched the cars on Hancock Street cruise by. This time of year prospective students were visiting the campus with their parents. Two young girls sat on the bench outside the Blackbird right now. Faces all smiles. Hearts full of excitement. Probably freshmen with that first awkward year nearly behind them or high school seniors hoping to start in the fall. Their futures were just beginning. Others rushed along the sidewalk. Most of the students lived on campus or in one of the sorority or frat houses and used bicycles to get around. Milledgeville was that sort of town. She’d had a bike eighteen years ago. But then she’d sold it when she decided to leave. A single backpack with a couple of changes of clothes was all she’d carried with her when she boarded that bus to anywhere but here.

      At the front of the café the door opened and new voices filled the coffee shop. Jo scrutinized the group. So young. They had no idea how important the decisions they made today would be to their futures.

      She’d made the wrong decisions and she’d paid the price. Every single night of her life she woke up at least once with her heart racing and her skin clammy with fear that someone was coming for her—that someone knew what she had done, that they would show up at her door.

      No one ever came. After nearly eighteen years it was obvious that the only evil she or Ellen or any of the others had to face was their own reflections—the fear, the secrets. The truth. And the years of silence.

      Jo started to push the memories away but stopped. She had come back to this place to confront the past. No more pushing it away. No more running. She picked up her cell phone and studied the screen. On the drive here she’d considered calling her mom. She’d only spoken to her once or twice since she left, but she did send her a card on her birthday every year. Disappearing without letting her mother know from time to time that she was okay had been something she couldn’t do.

      Her hometown of Madison was less than an hour north of here. She turned her phone screen down on the table. Not yet. She had to take care of this first. When this was done, she would call her mother and maybe even drop by for a short visit. Ray probably wouldn’t speak to her and certainly wouldn’t want to see her. He was married now and had two kids. She didn’t know Tracey, the woman he married. According to Facebook, she was a nurse. Ray was still a mechanic at the same garage he’d worked at when Jo was in high school and then in college, only he owned the place now.

      Sometimes she felt like a stalker following his wife’s social media activities but it made her feel better knowing they were all okay. Her mom had wanted grandchildren. She looked happy in the photos Tracey posted. Jo didn’t have any social media accounts of her own. Instead she used her neighbor’s. Wherever she lived there was always at least one neighbor who was careless. Leaving a door unlocked, drinking or drugging too much. Using the apps on their phones was easy. She could look at whatever she wanted, and then delete the history.

      “You sure you don’t want something to eat, hon?”

      Jo looked up at the server who’d asked that question about half an hour ago. She’d been here too long. Time to move. “No, thanks. I’m good.”

      The server—Regina—frowned. “All right then.” She placed the check for the coffee facedown on the table.

      Grabbing the check, Jo stood and headed for the register. She made it a point to avoid eye contact with those she passed. Not meeting people’s gazes had become automatic, like dressing nondescriptly and keeping her hair short so she didn’t call attention to herself.

      Two customers were in front of her at the register so she waited.

      “No,” a girl behind her insisted, “I’m telling you this is for real. I heard my father talking to the chief of police this morning. That girl is missing. She left class on Friday and never came back. I think,” she added in an attempt at a whisper that failed miserably, “there might be two missing.”

      Jo pulled her compact from her bag and pretended to check her teeth. She scrutinized the girl seated in the booth across the aisle directly behind her. Young. Likely a student. She was huddled in the booth with a guy, maybe her boyfriend or a study partner.

      The guy said, “Well, your dad’s the sheriff. I guess he would know.”

      The girl looked around again before saying, “It’ll be all over the news by this afternoon. It’s cray cray. The one who’s for sure missing is a freshman so I don’t know her. Poor thing, she probably went home with the wrong guy. It happens, you know.”

      “You’re gonna have to hand me that check, hon, if you want me to ring you up.”

      Jo jerked her attention forward and passed the check to the server behind the register. “Sorry.” She dug for a bill from her purse and handed it to the woman. “Keep the change.”

      “Are you sure?”

      Jo