Cry For Help

by Wendy Dranfield

“No need to be a smartass,” she says. “I thought you were a man of God. Shouldn’t you show more patience to people?”

  He laughs bitterly. He’s sick of people using his religious background to hold him to a higher standard.

  She’s angry now. “The way you’re acting, I can imagine you’re a killer. I think they got it wrong letting you out of prison. You stay away from me.” She gathers her damp clothes from the dryer and leaves, letting the door slam shut behind her.

  Brody looks up at him questioningly.

  “Bet you didn’t know I was a celebrity, did you, boy?” He strokes the dog’s head and leans back against the wall, wondering how he’ll ever stop his past affecting his present.

  8

  Mike sits in his car and inspects the mobile home Nikki Jackson lived in. It’s in a run-down trailer park on the wrong side of town, but this is the only home with a vegetable garden out front. It surprises him. The lawn is cut too. Someone obviously takes pride in this plot. A rusty bike with a flat tire is propped up against the steps, and there are various garden ornaments dotted around. The trailer itself is clean on the outside and there’s an American flag stretched across one of the windows from the inside.

  Detective Douglas pulls up next to him. “You ready?” he asks, getting out.

  Mike nods as he slams his door shut. “Any calls since the news report earlier?”

  Douglas shakes his head. “No one’s noticed they’re missing a daughter yet.”

  Mike wonders what kind of parents wouldn’t notice that. “You can deliver the bad news.”

  Douglas doesn’t react. He’s a man of few words. Mike can’t stand the guy, but he keeps the peace because they have to work together. He’s betting Douglas didn’t celebrate Independence Day yesterday, unlike the rest of them. He doubts the guy has ever touched a drop of alcohol. He’s probably too afraid of loosening up in case the stick falls out of his ass.

  They climb the steps and Douglas knocks on the closed door.

  Mike’s dreading how hot it’s going to be inside, as all the windows are closed. The trailer is in the full glare of the midday sun, so he can’t understand the residents’ logic. He spots some fresh tomatoes growing on their vines by the door and wonders if he could get away with eating a couple, since he skipped lunch. Then he spots a pile of empty liquor bottles crushing a cucumber plant and his expectations immediately lower.

  A woman opens the door. She doesn’t look how he was expecting. She’s well dressed and healthy-looking. Clearly worried, she says, “Yes?”

  “Afternoon, ma’am. I’m Detective Don Douglas and this is Detective Mike Bowers. We’re from Lost Creek PD. Can we come in?”

  Surprise makes her open the door to them. Inside, a man is lying on the couch. He’s already drinking a beer, and it makes Mike crave one. The place reeks of stale food and cigarettes, but there’s something else lurking under that aroma, something familiar. It isn’t untidy in here, but the furnishings are well worn.

  Mike has to loosen his tie to deal with the heat.

  Douglas asks, “Are you the parents of Nikki Jackson?”

  The man stands up but keeps his beer in his hand. “She in trouble?” he asks. “She didn’t come home last night so I assume she shacked up with some boy and now she’s too afraid to face the music.”

  He’s skinny and pale, with hollow eyes. By this stage of summer most people are sporting either a golden tan or scorched red skin, but not Mr. Jackson. Mike can spot a meth user when he sees one. But his wife appears to be his complete opposite, clearly taking some pride in her appearance and with no obvious signs of addiction. He wouldn’t have put these two together in a million years. He glances at Nikki’s mother, who is strangely emotionless and quiet.

  “Have you seen the news yet today?” asks Douglas. “About what happened at Fantasy World last night?”

  “We don’t watch the news in this house,” says Nikki’s father. “It’s full of propaganda and liberals telling me which way I should vote. I like to make up my own mind.”

  “What happened?” asks her mom.

  Douglas takes a deep breath. “I’m afraid I have to give you some bad news.” He pauses. “Your daughter was found dead this morning.” There’s a softness to his voice Mike doesn’t hear often.

  Mrs. Jackson takes a seat on the worn couch. “Oh God, no.”

  Surprise crosses the father’s face, quickly replaced with a hardness. “Let me guess. She killed herself?”

  Mike shares a look with Douglas but they manage to keep the contempt off their faces. He glances around the trailer while Douglas explains.

  “Her injuries would suggest she cut her wrists. She was found on the Ferris wheel at Fantasy World. I understand she was working there?”

  “You sure it wasn’t a mechanical accident?” asks Mr. Jackson. “Because I could sue the bastards for that.”

  Nikki’s mother remains silent, but her eyes are fixed on the ground and her tears are falling steadily.

  “Sir? Do I have to remind you of what’s important here?” says Douglas, his tone changing. “Your daughter felt the need to take her own life. Do you know what might have caused her to do that?”

  Her father doesn’t answer the question. Instead, he sits down and lights a cigarette. His hands are shaking. Mike knows it takes some people longer to react to bad news than others.

  “I was just thinking out loud, that’s all,” Mr. Jackson says quietly.

  Mike spots a recent photo of Nikki on the fridge and leans in. She’s smiling as she poses outside her school. She has books in her arms and she looks a little bashful, as if she doesn’t like having her photo taken. Her clothes are too big for her and he wonders if she has an older sister whose cast-offs get handed down. Judging by the furnishings in their home, it’s clear this couple don’t have much money.

  “Mrs. Jackson?” says Douglas, turning to her. “Is there anything you can tell us about your daughter that could help explain what’s happened?”

  She struggles to speak. “No.”

  “Does she have siblings? A boyfriend? Has she fallen out with anyone recently?”

  “No to all of those.” She pulls a tissue out of a pocket.

  Mike tries to get her to open up. “Are those vegetable plants outside your work? You must have green fingers to produce such great tomatoes.” He smiles.

  She looks up at him. “Nikki likes to grow things from scratch. She uses the seeds from our groceries. Says it’ll save us money.”

  He wasn’t expecting that. “She was obviously smart and resourceful.” He pauses. “Did she ever mention a guy called Ricky to you?”

  They look at each other but there’s no recognition of the name.

  “No,” says her dad. “Why?”

  “No reason. I just had to ask.”

  Mrs. Jackson looks away. “I’m sorry. I’m going to need time to process this. Could you leave us for a while? Maybe come back tomorrow?”

  Mike’s surprised. He’s never had parents of a dead child react this way before. Normally they want answers and information. And normally they want to see the body immediately.

  “Sure, we’ll leave you to digest everything,” says Douglas. “One of us can come back to answer any questions you have, but I’ll leave you with our contact details in the meantime.” As neither of them offers to take the card from him, he slides it onto the small dining table. “And I’m sorry, but we’ll need one of you to identify Nikki. She’s currently with the medical examiner. It can wait until tomorrow if necessary, but no longer than that. If you feel you’re not up to it, please ask a trusted family member to go in your place.”

  Mrs. Jackson looks horrified, but eventually she nods.

  “Thanks for your time. We’ll be in touch.”

  They let themselves out and walk to their cars. Mike wants to ask Douglas his opinion of the parents, but it’ll have to wait until they get back to the station, because Mr. Jackson is watching them from the front window. Mike nods at him a
s he pulls away, but the guy doesn’t respond.

  He has to resist the urge to shake his head in disgust as he thinks about the kind of life Nikki must have had with those two as her parents.

  9

  Independence Day

  Nikki Jackson is sitting in the stifling hot ticket booth of the Wonder Wheel, anxiously chewing gum and taking money off overexcited kids. It’s not even lunchtime yet and she’s already tired and hungry. Fantasy World is starting to get busy and tonight is just going to be worse, thanks to the planned firework displays. Although if she’s honest, she’s kind of looking forward to them. Not much happens around here normally so the Fourth of July is always special.

  Her stomach rumbles loudly. It’s hard working around the constant smell of meat and sugar. Temptations are all around. Luckily she can’t afford to indulge too often. This is the second summer she’s worked at the amusement park and she’s enjoying it far more than last year. The heat isn’t bothering her since she bought a portable fan. And for once, even the messy kids aren’t annoying her with their sticky hands and tendency to vomit at a second’s notice.

  “That’s twenty-four bucks, please,” she tells the next person in line for the wheel.

  The park used to run on token machines but the last one gave up over the spring. The maintenance guy, Ricky, said it couldn’t be fixed and they’d all need replacing, so Trevor sold them for scrap metal. He hates running the place with cash as he suspects the staff are stealing from him, but he can’t afford to replace the machines. He’s right, of course, most of the staff are stealing from him. It’s pretty easy to do. Although Nikki’s never stolen a dime, despite the enormous temptation some days.

  “Can I get three for the price of two?” asks the mom holding the Chanel purse. “They’re too young to go on the ride alone.” She nods to her two children.

  “Do you have a coupon?” asks Nikki. They sometimes offer coupons in the local paper during quiet periods.

  “No, but you could give me a break. I mean, it’s just a piece of paper.”

  Nikki stops chewing her gum. She glances at the woman’s young children who, as well as looking sunburnt, appear unhappy and a little embarrassed. They’re not carrying any toys won on the games, or any kind of candy. Looks like their mom prefers to spend her money on herself. Sensing the kids won’t get a ride unless she relents, she nods and takes the woman’s money.

  “Here you go, kids.” She hands them each a stick of candy and their eyes light up. The woman doesn’t even say thanks.

  Next in line is a balding guy with no kids in tow. “Can I get one adult ticket and your number?” He licks his lips as he smiles.

  She has to hold back her disgust because she doesn’t want to cause trouble, but can he seriously not see she’s only sixteen? Forcing a smile, she pushes a ticket his way. “Next!”

  The man shakes his head at her. “Ugly bitch. I wouldn’t touch you if you were begging for it.”

  Tears spring to her eyes and she could kick herself for taking it personally. How come he gets to say what he wants to her yet she has to hold her tongue? She turns away from the booth’s window to glance at the small mirror nailed to the wall. Her face is a little greasy from the heat and her red hair needs coloring again. It fades faster than any other color she’s tried, plus she had to buy the cheapest brand so it barely worked in the first place. She knows she’s ugly. She doesn’t need creepy old men like him pointing it out to her.

  “Come on, lady. I don’t have all day,” says the next jackass in line.

  Her boyfriend, Mason, turns up with Emma, her relief, just as she’s ready to run away from the line of people.

  “Is it your break time yet?” he asks her.

  She nods, stands, and tries to hold back the tears. Emma slips into her seat and confidently yells, “Next!”

  Mason takes her hand and leads her out of the tiny ticket booth. She worries that she didn’t get a chance to reapply her makeup or brush her hair, but when she looks at Mason, she feels ten times better about herself. He’s gorgeous and could probably have any girl he wanted. He wouldn’t be with her if he thought she was ugly, would he?

  She pushes the thought from her mind and looks around. Between shifts, they become customers, not workers. Normally that means they can finally enjoy the atmosphere of the park and forget about the long shifts they still have to work. But Nikki has had a bad couple of days and she’s struggling to get something out of her mind. She has a devastating secret. Something she can’t tell anyone. Not even Mason. When she thinks about it, a feeling of dread runs through her body. Her breathing starts quickening now and she has to try hard not to panic. To calm herself down, she focuses on something else, like her therapist taught her to do when she’s feeling overwhelmed.

  She looks at all the American flags she helped pin up everywhere and notices that a lot of the younger children are clutching the small plastic flags Trevor is selling at the entrance. Everyone looks so happy, but she feels detached from it all. She doesn’t know if it’s because she works here and seeing behind the scenes makes the park less enchanting, or because of what happened two days ago.

  She checks her cell phone. They have forty-five minutes of freedom before starting the afternoon shift.

  As Mason leads her along the boardwalk, she jumps in front of him and kisses him on the lips. If she focuses all of her attention on him, she can pretend everything is normal. For the time being at least.

  “What was that for?” He smiles, slipping his arm around her waist.

  She likes the feel of his strong arm around her. “Just because.”

  He’s been a little distant these last couple of days. They’ve only been dating for eight weeks, since meeting in her therapist’s waiting room, but she’d seen him around town before. Turns out he doesn’t go to her school because he’s home-schooled. Since he started working here at the beginning of summer, they’ve spent a lot of time together. He’s a year older than her, but he’s smart and more mature than the boys at school.

  He stops to try to win her a soft toy at the shooting gallery. It takes him numerous attempts and costs him more in tickets than the toy is worth, but she loves him for it.

  “Which one do you want?” he grins.

  She points to the unicorn she’s had her eye on for weeks and then clutches it to her chest with her free hand. Mason leads her away by her other hand. She suddenly feels like she’s living someone else’s life. That of a rich, popular girl.

  He buys them Cokes and hot dogs for lunch, and they find a quiet spot on the grass next to Lake Providence. Nikki sits close to him, their thighs touching, and they both remove their sneakers to rest their feet in the cool, clear water. It feels refreshing and she leans against him as she eats, licking the mustard off her lips and the onions off her fingers. She has to slap away the ravenous flies.

  “Holy shit,” says Mason through a mouthful of bun. “Derek sure knows how to make good dogs.”

  She laughs. “Yeah, but that’s where all my money goes.”

  They watch the sun’s reflection glistening in the water and the birds and bugs hovering over it. The air is filled with the delighted screams of kids enjoying the rides behind them.

  Nikki thinks this might be the best summer she’s ever had. Or it would have been. That’s when she remembers her secret and the doubt creeps back in.

  She should know by now not to trust happiness.

  10

  Madison manages to go unrecognized during her first afternoon back in town. They’re even able to eat dinner in a bar without any trouble. As evening advances, she tries to relax as Nate drives them away from the town center. The temperature isn’t cooling any but there are rain clouds gathering overhead, increasing the humidity. She glances over her shoulder to check on Brody, who’s happily looking out of the rear window at the passing landscape. She likes having him around. Like Nate, he’s a good judge of character.

  “All I want is a shower, a beer and a good night’s
sleep without a dog pinned to my chest,” says Nate with a smile.

  “I hear you.”

  “Where are we staying tonight?” he asks, before frowning. “Actually, I never asked. What happened to your house while you were in prison?”

  “It was just a rental me and Owen moved into after Steph and I split. I lost it after my arrest, but Stephanie agreed to store some of my things at her place. I’m guessing the larger items—furniture, my car and so on—were sold or dumped.”

  “I know that feeling,’ he says. ‘I came out of prison owning nothing but Stacey’s rosary beads, and I only got them because the officer who booked me assumed they were mine because I happened to be wearing them. I’m guessing there’s a hotel or guest house we can book into?”

  “Actually, it looks like we’ll be staying at Stephanie’s place.”

  He raises his eyebrows. “Really? You still have a key after all this time?”

  “No, but Mike Bowers has left her house and car keys for me to find.” She looks down at her cell phone. “He messaged me to say they found a copy of her will.” Tears take her by surprise, but she manages to stop them from falling. “Apparently she left the house to me, or to Owen in the event of my death.”

  Nate looks surprised. “You okay?” he asks.

  She nods, touched at his concern. “I just can’t believe she had no one better than me to leave them to. While I was in prison feeling sorry for myself, Steph was down here all alone. I guess I just assumed she’d be with someone else by now, or maybe even have reconciled with her family.”

  “Some people like living alone. Families can be trouble.” He goes quiet and Madison knows he’s thinking of his own family. He hasn’t told her much about them yet, but he’s alone in the world so they clearly aren’t close. All she knows is that his parents are dead and his siblings live back home in Kansas, where they pretend Nate doesn’t exist.

  “We’ll be comfortable at Steph’s place,” she says. “It’s a small farm with three bedrooms, a couple of barns out back and lots of open space for Brody to roam.”