“Stacy reported that another woman in the basement with her was Carissa Brooks,” Hudson explains. My expression is a mix of sadness and shock. I add in a lip quiver. “Was? What do you mean ‘was’? Is she okay?” They exchange another look. “We can’t locate her at this time,” he says. And they never will, I think to myself as I conjure up more tears, pushing them out as fast as I can produce them.
