The drive was a blur of torrential rain and terror. Margaret’s old Ford truck hydroplaned twice, but she didn’t lift her foot off the gas. Emily, her sweet, twenty-four-year-old daughter, had married into the Gable family three years ago. The Gables were ‘old money’—the kind of people who owned half the town and acted like they owned the people in it too. Margaret had always hated them, hated the way Brad Gable looked at Emily like she was an accessory to his lifestyle rather than a partner. But Emily loved him. Or at least, she was too afraid to leave him.

When Margaret saw the flashing red and blue lights cutting through the pre-dawn gloom, she slammed on the brakes.

The bus stop was nothing more than a concrete slab with a metal shelter, located miles from the nearest house. It was a place for ghosts and drifters, not for a young woman from a wealthy estate.

Margaret jumped out of the truck. The rain soaked her instantly.

“Ma’am! Stay back!” an officer shouted.

She ignored him. She ducked under the yellow tape.

And then she saw her.

Emily was curled in a fetal position on the muddy concrete. She looked like a discarded doll. Her beautiful blonde hair was matted with blood and mud. Her face… Margaret brought a hand to her mouth to stifle a scream that threatened to tear her throat apart. Emily’s face was swollen, purple and black, her left eye completely shut. Her leg was bent at a sickening angle beneath her.