They extracted her carefully, lifting her through the trap door and into the waiting ambulance.

Sarah followed, watching as the paramedics started an IV and checked her vital signs.

“Can she speak?” Sarah asked.

“She hasn’t said a word,” the paramedic replied.

But physically there’s no reason she couldn’t.

This seems psychological.

David had stayed back during the extraction.

But now he approached the ambulance looking at the woman with a mixture of pity and confusion.

Do you know who she is? He asked Sarah.

Not yet.

We’ll run her fingerprints.

Check missing person’s databases.

But David, if she’s been in Nathan’s basement all this time and Gregory is still alive out there somewhere.

There could be others, David finished.

Other people still being held.

Sarah’s phone rang.

It was Officer Webb calling from the station where Nathan Voss was still being held.

Detective, we showed Nathan a photo of the woman we found.

He identified her immediately.

Says her name is Patricia Voss.

She’s Gregory’s ex-wife.

Sarah felt a chill run through her.

Gregory’s ex-wife.

The one Nathan said left him and took their son.

The same.

According to Nathan, Gregory tracked her down in 1998 and kidnapped her.

He’s been keeping her prisoner for 20 years.

And Nathan knew about this the entire time.

He says Gregory threatened to kill Patricia if Nathan didn’t help him.

Says he was protecting her by keeping her locked in a basement for two decades.

Sarah’s voice was sharp with anger.

What about her son? the child she supposedly took when she left Gregory.

There was a pause.

Nathan says the son died in a car accident in 1995.

That’s what sent Gregory over the edge.

Made him start tracking Patricia down.

He blamed her for taking his son then getting him killed.

Sarah closed her eyes, processing this new information.

The pattern was becoming clearer now, darker, more twisted than she’d initially understood.

Gregory Voss hadn’t just been killing families.

He’d been trying to build his own, taking captives and forcing them into roles they never asked for.

When they didn’t comply, when they couldn’t become the family he wanted, he killed them.

Except for Patricia.

Patricia he’d kept alive, punishing her endlessly for the crime of leaving him and for the death of their son.

We need to find Gregory, Sarah said.

right now.

He knows we’ve discovered everything.

He’s going to run or worse, he’s going to strike again.

She turned to David.

I need you to go to the hospital with Patricia.

The doctors will want a medical history.

Any information that might help them treat her, and there’s a chance she might try to communicate.

If she does, I need to know immediately.

David nodded.

What about you? I’m going to find Gregory Voss and end this.

While David accompanied Patricia to the hospital, Sarah returned to the station and pulled Nathan from his cell one final time.

He shuffled into the interrogation room, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

“Where would Gregory go?” Sarah demanded without preamble.

“If he knew we were closing in, where would he run?” “I don’t know,” Nathan said.

“We haven’t spoken in months.

After I saw the news about the rest stop, I tried calling him, but he wouldn’t answer.

That’s when I knew he disappeared.

You must have some idea.

Properties he owns, friends he might contact, places he talked about.

Nathan thought for a long moment.

There’s a cabin near Nalam Bay.

Our father left it to both of us when he died.

Gregory used to go there sometimes when he needed to think.

It’s remote, off the grid, no electricity, no running water.

Give me the exact location.

Nathan provided coordinates and detailed directions.

Sarah immediately dispatched units to the area while she and a tactical team prepared to move in.

[clears throat] The cabin was 3 hours north, deep in the coastal forest.

They approached on foot as darkness fell, moving through the trees with tactical precision.

The structure was small, maybe 600 square ft, with boarded windows and a chimney that showed no signs of recent smoke.

Sarah signaled her team to take positions.

Two officers moved to the back entrance while she and Officer Webb approached the front door.

“Gregory Voss, this is the Oregon State Police,” Sarah called out.

“The building is surrounded.

Come out with your hands up.

” Silence answered her.

She tried again, her voice echoing through the forest.

Still nothing.

Webb used a battering ram on the door, which splintered inward easily.

They entered with weapons drawn, clearing each room methodically.

The cabin was empty, but it had been occupied recently.

Food wrappers on the counter, a sleeping bag on the floor, ashes in the fireplace that were still warm to the touch.

He was here, Webb said recently, maybe within the last few hours.

Sarah examined the space more carefully.

On a small table near the window, she found a map of Oregon with several locations circled in red marker.

Most of them corresponded to places where Gregory had worked, where victims had disappeared.

But one location, circled multiple times and marked with a star, was in Portland.

The address meant nothing to Sarah initially, but when she ran it through her database, her blood ran cold.

It was David Hartley’s home address.

She grabbed her phone and dialed David’s number.

It rang once, twice, three times before going to voicemail.

David, it’s Sarah.

Do not go home.

Gregory Voss has your address.

I repeat, do not go home.

Call me immediately.

She tried again.

voicemail.

Get me a unit to the hospital, Sarah ordered.

Web now, and I need every available officer converging on David Hartley’s residence in Portland.

They ran back to their vehicles.

Sarah’s mind racing.

David had gone to the hospital with Patricia Voss.

He should be safe there, surrounded by people, security cameras, hospital staff.

But if Gregory had been watching them, if he knew David was part of the investigation.

Her phone rang.

It was a nurse from the hospital.

Detective Kovatch, this is Sacred Heart Hospital.

We’re calling about Patricia Voss.

She’s started speaking.

What did she say? She keeps repeating the same thing.

He’s going to kill the man who found us.

He’s going to kill David.

Sarah’s foot pressed harder on the accelerator.

Where is David Hartley? right now.

He left about 20 minutes ago, said he needed to go home and rest, that he’d come back in the morning.

Sarah swore and ended the call, immediately trying David’s number again.

Still no answer.

Traffic was heavy, heading into Portland, and every minute felt like an eternity.

Sarah coordinated with local police, who confirmed they were on route to David’s address.

When they finally arrived at David’s modest house in northeast Portland, she saw his car in the driveway, the front door standing slightly a jar.

Approach with caution, Sarah instructed her team.

Voss is armed and extremely dangerous.

They moved toward the house.

Weapons ready.

Sarah reached the front door first and pushed it open fully.

David, she called out.

David, are you here? A sound from deeper in the house.

Movement or struggle.

Sarah moved through the living room, past the photograph of Elena and Ben, still in its silver frame, toward the hallway that led to the bedrooms.

She found David in what appeared to be Ben’s old room, the one he’d kept exactly as his son had left it.

He was on his knees, hands zip tied behind his back.

Standing behind him, a gun pressed to the back of David’s head, was a man Sarah recognized from the old employment photos.

Gregory Voss looked older now in his late 60s, but his eyes held the same cold calculation visible even in those decades old pictures.

He was thin, almost skeletal, with wispy gray hair and a weak chin.

He wore dark clothing and latex gloves.

“Detective Kovatch,” he said, his voice surprisingly calm.

“Right on time.

I was hoping you’d make it for the finale.

” Sarah kept her weapon trained on him.

Let him go, Gregory.

It’s over.

We found Nathan.

We found Patricia.

We know everything.

Do you? Gregory smiled.

And there was nothing human in the expression.

Do you really know everything? Did Nathan tell you about the ones we let go? The families we released after a few months, traumatized but alive, too scared to ever report what happened to them? Sarah felt her stomach drop.

How many does it matter? They’re out there living their lives, carrying our secrets.

Some of them probably have children of their own by now, maybe even grandchildren.

All of them knowing that if they ever speak up, we’ll come back for them.

Nathan’s in custody.

Sarah said he’s confessed to everything.

There’s no we anymore.

It’s just you and you’re not walking out of here.

I don’t intend to, Gregory replied.

But neither is Mr.

Hartley here.

You see, he’s the one who started all this.

If he hadn’t kept searching, hadn’t kept pushing, hadn’t kept that case in the public eye year after year, we’d have been fine.

But no, he had to be the devoted husband, the grieving father, the man who never gave up.

You took his family, Sarah said.

What did you expect him to do? I expected him to move on, to accept it, to fade away like all the other survivors did.

Gregory pressed the gun harder against David’s head, making him wse.

But he couldn’t let it go.

And now he gets to join them.

If you pull that trigger, you die, Sarah said.

My team has you surrounded.

There’s no escape.

I know.

Gregory’s smile widened.

I’ve been dead since the day my son died.

This is just making it official.

David’s eyes met Sarah’s and she saw the resignation there.

He’d spent 26 years searching for his family and now he was about to join them.

But Sarah had made him a promise.

She’d promised to catch whoever did this to bring them to justice.

And she kept her promises.

You want to know the real reason you kept killing? Sarah said, her voice sharp, cutting.

It wasn’t about your son.

It wasn’t about Patricia.

It was because you’re weak.

You’re a coward who could only feel powerful by hurting people who couldn’t fight back.

Gregory’s expression darkened.

Shut up.

Your son would be ashamed of you.

Patricia left you because she saw what you really were.

And every family you took, every person you hurt, it just proved that you were exactly the pathetic failure she always knew you were.

I said, “Shut up.

” Gregory’s hand moved, the gun swinging away from David’s head toward Sarah.

It was the opening she needed.

Sarah fired twice, both shots catching Gregory center mass.

He staggered backward, his gun falling from his hand as he collapsed against Ben’s bookshelf, sliding to the floor.

Officers rushed into the room, securing the weapon and calling for paramedics.

Sarah moved to David, cutting his zip ties and helping him to his feet.

Are you hurt?” she asked.

David shook his head, unable to speak, his whole body trembling with adrenaline.

Gregory Voss lay on the floor, blood spreading across his chest.

His breathing was shallow, labored.

Sarah knelt beside him.

“How many others?” she demanded.

“How many families did you let go?” Gregory’s lips curved into one final smile.

“You’ll never know,” he whispered.

They’ll never tell, and they’ll spend the rest of their lives looking over their shoulders, wondering if today is the day I come back.

” His eyes went vacant, the smile freezing on his face as his last breath rattled out.

Sarah stood, looking down at the man who had caused so much suffering, who had stolen so many lives and destroyed so many families.

It was over.

Gregory Voss was dead.

Nathan was in custody.

The families would finally have answers.

But Gregory’s final words echoed in her mind.

How many others were out there? Survivors who had never reported what happened to them, living in fear that their capttors might return.

That was a question that might never be answered.

The weeks following Gregory Voss’s death were consumed by the grim work of recovery and documentation.

Sarah’s team excavated six burial sites based on Nathan’s information, finding the remains of 14 victims spanning 13 years.

Each discovery brought closure to a family that had spent years wondering, searching, hoping against hope.

David attended every notification, sitting quietly in the corner while Sarah delivered the news to fathers, mothers, siblings, children who had grown up without answers.

He recognized their expressions, their grief, their terrible relief at finally knowing.

He’d worn that same expression when Sarah told him about Elellena and Ben.

Patricia Voss remained hospitalized, her physical recovery progressing faster than her psychological healing.

The years of captivity had damaged her profoundly, leaving her with severe PTSD and dissociative episodes.

But gradually with therapy and medication, she began to speak about her ordeal.

Sarah visited her regularly, gathering details that helped fill in the gaps in the case.

Patricia sat in her hospital room, gazing out the window at the world she’d been separated from for 20 years, her voice flat and emotionless as she recounted her nightmare.

Gregory never accepted the divorce.

Patricia explained during one session.

Even after the papers were finalized, even after I moved three states away and changed my name, he kept finding me, kept calling, kept showing up at my work.

I finally got a restraining order in 1994.

What happened to your son? Sarah asked gently.

Patricia’s hands tightened on the bed sheet.

Michael? His name was Michael.

He was 17 when he died.

A drunk driver hit him while he was walking home from basketball practice.

Her voice cracked.

Gregory blamed me.

Said if I hadn’t taken Michael away from him, if we’d still been a family, Michael would have been safe at home instead of walking alone.

[clears throat] That wasn’t your fault.

I know that now.

But Gregory convinced himself it was.

He started stalking me more intensely after Michael died.

I moved to Seattle, changed my name again.

I thought I’d finally escaped.

Patricia closed her eyes.

Then one night in 1998, I left work and someone grabbed me from behind.

When I woke up, I was in that basement.

20 years, Sarah said quietly.

You survived 20 years in captivity.

I don’t know if survived is the right word.

I existed.

Gregory would come down every few days with food and water.

He’d talk to me like we were still married, like nothing had changed.

He’d tell me about the families he took, about how he was building his own version of what we’d had.

When they didn’t work out, when they fought too much or tried to escape, he’d kill them and start over.

Did he ever tell you where he buried them? Patricia nodded.

He kept a journal, detailed records of every family, every location.

He used to read it to me like bedtime stories.

I think he’s hidden it somewhere, somewhere.

or Nathan wouldn’t have found it.

Somewhere only Gregory knew about.

Sarah leaned forward.

Do you have any idea where that might be? He mentioned a storage unit once.

Said he kept his important things there.

Things Nathan wasn’t allowed to see.

Patricia frowned, concentrating.

He said it was near where it all began.

I think he meant near the Tidewater Inn, where he worked when he took his first family.

Sarah immediately dispatched officers to search for storage facilities near the Tidewater Inn’s former location.

Within hours, they’d identified three possibilities.

The third facility’s records showed a unit rented under the name M.

Voss, Michael Voss, Gregory’s dead son.

The storage unit was small, climate controlled, and had been paid for years in advance.

When Sarah opened it, she found exactly what Patricia had described.

a journal, leather bound and filled with Gregory’s meticulous handwriting.

Reading it made Sarah’s blood run cold.

Gregory had documented everything, dates, locations, names, descriptions of his victims and what he’d done to them.

But more disturbing were the entries about families he’d released, just as he’d told Sarah before he died.

11 families over the years.

People he’d held for weeks or months, terrorizing them, then releasing them with explicit threats.

Tell anyone and we’ll come back for you.

We know where you live.

We know where your children go to school.

We’re always watching.

The journal included names, addresses, photographs.

Sarah recognized some of them.

families who had filed missing persons reports that were later withdrawn, claiming the family members had simply decided to take an unannounced trip.

Cases that had been closed without investigation because the victims themselves insisted nothing had happened.

“We need to contact all of them,” Sarah told her team.

“They need to know it’s over, that the men who hurt them are dead or in custody.

They need to know they’re finally safe.

” The notifications took weeks.

Some of the families had moved, changed their names, tried to disappear.

Others broke down in tears when officers arrived at their doors.

The relief of finally being free from fear overwhelming them.

One family, the Mitchells from Sacramento, had been taken in 1997.

They’d spent 3 months in a room similar to the one at Whispering Pines before Gregory abruptly released them, shoving them out of a van on a rural highway with instructions never to speak of what had happened.

Mrs.

Mitchell, now in her 60s, wept openly when Sarah visited her.

“We wanted to report it,” she said, but he had pictures of our grandchildren.

He knew where they went to school, what time they got on the bus.

We couldn’t risk it.

For 21 years, we’ve lived in fear that every knock on the door might be him coming back.

He can’t hurt you anymore, Sarah assured her.

And you’re not responsible for what happened to the other families.

You did what you had to do to protect your own.

But Sarah could see the guilt in Mrs.

Mitchell’s eyes, the terrible knowledge that perhaps if they’d reported it, some of the later victims might have been saved.

David accompanied Sarah on some of these notifications.

His presence a reminder that the Voss brothers crimes had rippled outward, touching dozens of lives across multiple states.

He found an unexpected kinship with these other survivors.

People who understood the particular horror of being taken, being controlled, being powerless.

Nathan Voss’s trial proceeded swiftly.

With his full confession and the overwhelming physical evidence, his public defender advised him to plead guilty in exchange for a life sentence without possibility of parole.

Nathan accepted, expressing remorse that rang hollow to everyone who had heard him describe his crimes.

During the sentencing hearing, David was given the opportunity to speak.

He stood before the court looking at the man who had helped destroy his family.

You talk about being afraid of your brother, David said, his voice steady.

About being weak.

But you had 26 years to do the right thing.

26 years to come forward to save Patricia, to prevent other families from suffering.

You chose not to.

That wasn’t weakness.

That was cowardice.

That was evil.

Nathan looked down at his hands, saying nothing.

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