Hey, this is Leah. I'm sorry I missed your call, but please leave a message and I will get back to you as soon as I can.

Thank you.

At the tone, please record your message.

Hello, Leah. I'm sorry for calling so late. I just wanted to let you know that tomorrow I will be wearing a green hat, and I will be sitting at the picnic table to the right of the baseball field.

You can call me Winona. Winona isn't my name, but...

Ten years of silence was not a mistake. It was a choice.

So when you ask yourself why would someone hide from the world for so long?

Imagine an answer, any answer, and try to imagine the cost.

Again, green hat, picnic table right of the baseball field. I apologize for the hour.

My name is Leah Haddock, and I'm an investigative reporter with EPR.

The following interaction is the first documented conversation with a survivor, or citizen as Winona calls herself, of the Lime Town tragedy, the known details of which we covered in Part 1 of the series.

If you missed Part 1, I would recommend going back to it now, because Winona's words take us into the unknown, and urge new questioning.

Since the release of Part 1, I have been working with Winona through a series of frustratingly circular interactions, something you'll get a sense of very quickly, which eventually led to me driving halfway across the country, alone to a small hotel that seemed very surprised anyone actually wanted to stay there.

I received that voicemail from Winona at 3.51am, on the same day I was to meet her.

Okay, so I'm driving up to the park now. I don't see her.

I sat at the park bench for over an hour, and there were no signs of Winona.

This is not unusual with subjects who are sharing information they deemed personal, or perhaps even incriminating.

If you're not careful, it's exactly when a story can fall apart. So why gave her a call?

Hello.

Hi, is this Winona?

Who is this?

Oh, of course I'm sorry. This is Leah Haddock. We were supposed to meet at *** Park around an hour ago.

...