Don't Come Home

by Bea Bledsoe

  Her roommate put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry – this is what the internet is for.” Imogen spun her chair around and plopped down in front of the desktop. “Okay, what’s the name of your local police department?” Leigh sunk onto the bed, her chest clenching at the thought of her parents being in some sort of money trouble.

  “We don’t have one.”

  Imogen’s lovely face twisted up in confusion. “What do you mean you don’t have one?”

  Leigh nervously pressed her hand into her blanket. “The nearest town with a police department is 120 miles away in Tensleep. It’s a very small force. They aren’t going to drive out there to check on my parents just because their phone is disconnected.”

  Imogen frowned. “Okay…then is there a library number?”

  Leigh almost laughed. “A library? Our house was the town library.” The Montgomery house had always been filled with books. Her dad was a Louis L’Amour fan and her mom had read almost every book written on the U.S. Presidents.

  “So, no library, no police department.” Imogen shook her head. “Schools?”

  Leigh closed her eyes. “No school. There used to be one, but that was long before my time. I was homeschooled by my parents and a few other townspeople, remember?” Leigh turned and leaned over her shoulder, her eyes on the screen. “Try searching for Loren Clayton in Blackriver.” Imogen’s fingers hit the keys.

  . “It says no search results found.”

  “Try, Elizabeth Morris and Kyle Morris.”

  “Nothing.”

  “Cecil Francis Abcock.” Leigh began running over everyone in her town.

  “There’s one in Texas, but none in Blackriver. Look.”

  “Move.” Imogen leapt out of her seat as Leigh slid in. She pointed behind her, her voice sharp and scared. “Imogen, their number is pulled up on my phone – can you try calling from your phone, just in case it’s my device?”

  Imogen nodded, her eyes wide. “On it.”

  Leigh began frantically typing the names of everyone she knew in the town. Some were listed in other states, but these were common names and no doubt had duplicates all over the country. There were none listed in Blackriver; in fact, when she typed in Blackriver, it wasn’t pulling up any websites. Leigh sat back and thought for a moment before sitting forward and typing, “Dog Hawdenfir.” That was not a common name, and Dog was not a common man: he was a hermit who lived just on the outskirts of town and mostly kept to himself. She typed in his name, and finally a result popped up: the number for his rural auto body shop on some outdated Wyoming business owner’s site. Leigh’s heart was pounding as she dialed the number.

  Please answer, please answer, please answer….

  “You have reached a number that has been disconnected…”

  Leigh slammed her phone down hard. “How can everyone in the entire town’s phone be disconnected?”

  “It’s probably an issue with the cable company,” said Imogen softly.

  “Probably.” That made concrete sense, she told herself, clinging to the idea like a life raft. “You’re right, it’s probably nothing.” But then her eyes fell on the postcard again, on her mother’s handwriting.

  Don’t Come Home.

  Her heart raced as she reached for it. This was more than the postcard or the dead phone lines. . Something wasn’t right, she could feel it in her bone marrow. Maybe there was a reason they hadn’t called. A panicked urgency was yanking at her subconscious, a whispered fear that something bad had happened. She was hot all over.

  Were they at a hospital somewhere? Had her dad had a heart attack? Her mom? It couldn’t be her mom, right? But if that were true, why was everyone else’s phones disconnected?

  Leigh couldn’t believe the words about to come out of her mouth. “Imogen, I think I have to go home.”

  Her roommate’s face reflected her alarm. “No, Leigh! Give it a day or two. Seriously. Maybe the lines will come back on. And then, if you still can’t get ahold of them, I’ll go with you. I don’t want you to go alone.”

  Leigh took a deep breath, hoping to dispel some of the anxiety coiling inside. “Imogen, its fine. Besides, you have a performance this weekend.” Not just any performance; her final recital for the spring semester. She grabbed her roommate’s hand. “I’ll be sorry to miss it, but I just feel like something isn’t right.”

  Imogen gave her a kind smile. “Please, you hear me sing all the time. But are you sure you don’t want to wait? This seems kind of rash.”

  Leigh spun the computer chair. “I know, it does but…I can’t explain it; I have to go. First, I have to check my bank account, see if I have enough for a ticket.” She groaned out loud. “You wouldn’t believe how expensive it is to fly to nowhere.”

  “Leigh.” Imogen said her name softly and she knew exactly what she was going to say next.

  “No. We have an agreement. You don’t pay for things for me.” Even as she said it, her mother’s frantic handwriting was echoing in her mind. Don’t come home.

  “Let me pay for this. It’s an emergency. This isn’t a pair of cute jeans or a third beer. This is you making sure your parents are okay.” Leigh closed her eyes. There was nothing as mortifying as having someone offer to pay for you repeatedly, and yet… As her eyes combed over the website in front of her, she felt herself deflate a little. She would have to cave this time: There was only one flight in the next three days: an eight-hundred and fifty dollars United flight from Boston to Cody. A flight that left in just under four hours. “Umm…” She began to protest, but Imogen slapped down a shiny black credit card next to her.

  “Look, Leigh, I know you are a pull-yourself-up-by-the-bootstraps kind of girl who doesn’t need help, but my parents gave me this credit card for emergencies, and so far I’ve used it for burritos, mostly. Take it. My parents would never forgive me if they knew a friend needed help and I didn’t offer.” Her tone implied there would be no arguing about this.

  Leigh tried to smile, but it felt so false that it might crack her face. “Sometimes burritos are an emergency,” she whispered, but then sadly reached for the card. “Fine. I’ll use it, this ONE time, but I’ll work extra hours at the Bean House to pay you back.” In her mind, she was doing the math. Eight hundred and fifty dollars, divided by fourteen dollars an hour…she bit her lip. It would take forever, but she couldn’t worry about that right now.

  Don’t come home.

  Like hell she wouldn’t. She hadn’t been in the habit of listening to her parents this last year, so she sure as wasn’t about to start now.

  Imogen gestured for her to move. “You pack. I’ll book. Use my suitcase.”

  Leigh began grabbing a handful of items to shove into Imogen’s Louis Vutton suitcase; underwear, long-sleeved shirts and two sweaters, her black parka; two pairs of jeans, some leggings, and a pair of sneakers. She was about to snap the suitcase shut when she remembered the present in her closet, buried under an overflowing hamper. She shoved aside her dirty clothes until she found what she was looking for: a red zip-up Harvard sweatshirt with the tags still on it. Leigh had found it on the clearance rack, and in a rare spendthrift moment, bought it for her dad. It would be too big for him, but she could already see the look on Skip Montgomery’s face when he saw it. Leigh bent her head against the fabric and inhaled the sharp tang of new cotton as she silently sent up a prayer: Please let the postcard be nothing. Please let them be okay.

  “Got it!” Imogen crowed. “You have a window seat. And I ordered you a taxi. It will meet you in the quad in ten minutes.”

  Leigh rose up from the bed, her eyes on the suitcase. “This is crazy,” she muttered out loud. She reached for the postcard. As her fingers brushed the worn edges, she felt a twist of nausea in her stomach.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Imogen whispered.

  “I’m sure.” Her roommate stood and reached out for a hug, pulling Leigh close. Leigh felt herself sink into the hug, but after a second, it began
to be uncomfortable. She wasn’t really the hugging type. She cleared her throat as she pulled away. “Can you keep trying to call? I’ll write the numbers down - maybe the phones will go back online when I’m in the air. If they do, tell my parents that I’m coming.”

  “Of course.” Imogen replied. “Text me as soon as you get into town.”

  Leigh nodded but knew it wouldn’t happen; there was no cell service in Blackriver. With a sad smile, she zipped up the suitcase and placed it on the hard wood floor. Imogen smiled, but Leigh could see the worry in her eyes. “I’m sure it will all be fine, Leigh.”

  “Yeah. I’m sure it will be.”

  Head swimming, she made her way out of the dorm. The sun was setting around Harvard Square, bathing the campus in a pleasing gold as shadows crept up from the ground. Leigh’s boots clicked on the pavement as she walked away from the home she had made and toward the home that had made her, postcard clutched firmly in her fist.

  3

  Leigh passed under a brick archway, the ivy reaching for the sky with brittle curls. Her suitcase rattled down the empty walkway, and across the street she could see a black car lingering in the parking lot: her ride. With her eyes on the car, it was easy to miss the man watching her from a dark corner, tucked back where twisted branches perfectly concealed his body. But as Leigh passed, intuition swung her eyes to the left, and she saw the shadow waiting there.

  At first, she wondered if it was a trick of the light – something shaped like a man – but when the shadow moved, she leapt back in horror as a figure melted out from the wall in front of her. Before she could even react, he had stepped forward to block her path. Attacks at this college were not unheard of, and she was a woman walking alone at night on a seldom traveled path. Stupid, stupid. Leigh made a sharp left and began walking quickly away from him, when she heard a step behind her. The man was following her so close she swore she could feel his breath on her neck. A scream escaped from her throat as adrenaline released through her veins, and time seemed to slow as he closed in on her. In the split-second Leigh had to react, she ran through everything her daddy had taught her about self-defense.

  A palm to the nose. A knee to the groin. Fight like a junkyard dog.

  It all ran together in her brain. Leigh spun around to face him, not willing to let her terror swallow her best defenses; he would see her will to live. The man - his lean shape now clearly defined by the old-fashioned gaslights behind him – moved toward her and just as they made eye contact, his hand shot out to grab her shoulder.

  “Hey!”

  His voice was oddly familiar, but Leigh didn’t have time to process it as she slashed forward with her keys, catching his outstretched hand. A guttural cry escaped from her as the metal raked over his palm, and then she clocked her palm hard into his face. She missed his nose, but made hard contact with his cheekbone, feeling the delicate bones of his face punch against her hand. He recoiled as she bolted past him, her heart thudding in her chest as adrenaline pumped through her veins like a river. Move Leigh, go, go….

  “Ow!! OW! Hey! Evelyn! What the hell?” She barely heard him as she sprinted toward the parking lot, awkwardly pulling the suitcase on its side behind her. Why was she still pulling it? “Evelyn!” That voice. The name. Leigh stopped running and slowly turned around as the shadow stepped into the light. “Did you just cut me with your keys?” The frat boy named – what was it – Harry? The boy who was maybe named Harry raised his hand, a thin line of blood dripping off his thumb. “You…” The words were like poison, dripping with accusation. She knew exactly what was coming next as he pointed at her. “Yeah, you do remember me, I can see it in your face. My name is Henry Champney?”

  Oh right, Henry. He took a step closer to her, his eyes narrowing. “You look different, Evelyn, but it’s you.” He pressed his other hand over the cut she had given him before looking up with fury in his eyes. “You stole from me.”

  Oh. SHIT, her brain screamed as she kept walking swiftly towards the car waiting for her. Just keep moving. This could not happen now. Here it was, the moment she had dreaded since that first time she had stolen cash out of Bryce’s wallet, and the timing couldn’t be worse. She should have known better; the devil always got his due.

  “Evelyn! Wait! You stole from me. She stole from me!” Henry was jogging slowly after her now, talking very loudly. There were more people around now, students making their way back to the dorms from night classes. Leigh opened her mouth, but no sound came. She couldn’t very well scream; that would bring the police and the police were the last people she wanted to talk to Henry. “Hey! Stop!” Henry was coming up behind her now, she could hear his boots clicking on the ground behind her. “Seriously, Evelyn, wait! I just want to talk to you! Are you running from me?” He was close to her now, and Leigh braced her body for impact. She was almost to the car when she spun around to face him, hands raised in defense.

  “I usually run when men are chasing me in the dark,” She snapped, her body coiled and ready to strike.

  “Oh.” Understanding dawned on his face. “Oh crap. Oh my God. I didn’t mean to scare you like that. Sorry! You were just moving so fast that I reached out to stop you and…” He paused, pressing his fingers to his lips before raising his hands in surrender and stepping backwards.

  “I can see now how that must have felt.” He said, his face apologetic. “Truly. Sorry for scaring you. I wasn’t planning on hurting you, promise.”

  “What a relief,” Leigh said sarcastically, though it was. She jerked the door to the car open. From the driver’s seat, a bored looking taxi driver looked over at her. She turned back to Henry. “Look, it doesn’t matter now. I have to go.”

  Henry rocked back on his heels. “See, yeah no, it does matter. I can’t let you leave, Evelyn. We have a couple of things to talk about. Mainly the fact that you stole two thousand dollars from me.” Leigh took a deep breath, weighing her words carefully as her fingers rested on the damp roof of the car. She needed to reassure Henry. Make him an ally, make him feel safe. In her mind, she stepped into Evelyn’s skin, lowering her voice to the soft purr she had used to seduce him in the first place.

  “Okay, Henry. We’ll talk, I promise – when I come back, we can have lunch. But it can’t be now. This car is taking me to the airport – you can even ask the driver.”

  Henry’s eyes narrowed, grey brown and prettier than she remembered, and then he started laughing before tapping the roof of the car with his fist. “Honestly, do you think I’m that big of an idiot? I’m going to let you go to the airport now? If you are fleeing the country, then I’ll never get my money back.”

  Leigh tilted her head, her face incredulous. “What? No.” Did he think she was some sort of international thief? “I’m not leaving forever, I’m just visiting home. There’s an issue with my parents. Seriously, you’re making me quite late.” The trunk of the car popped open, and without her permission, Henry scooped up her suitcase and plopped it inside.

  “And you, Evelyn, have seriously have made me quite broke.” Henry leaned over and looked her straight in the face as he slammed the trunk shut. “You stole from me and one way or another, it will be returned. Shall we ride?” Leigh’s eyes met the driver’s in the rearview mirror. He raised his phone and wiggled it back and forth. Leigh shook her head and mouthed, No. No police. The driver Shrugged. Finally, she surrendered and slid across the backseat, her heart pounding loudly in her chest. Did her chickens have to come home to roost this exact moment?

  “Okay.” She snapped. “Get in – you can ride with me there. But you’ll have to take the taxi back from the airport and you’re paying for it.”

  Henry nodded and eased in beside her, throwing his backpack onto the seat before jokingly slapping the driver’s shoulder, who looked like he wanted to kill him in return.

  “I’m sure this jolly fellow here can take me back just fine.” Leigh, uncomfortable with his presence, pressed herself against the far side of the backseat. The car pulled a
way from the stillness of Harvard Yard, leaving the glowing campus behind them as the driver merged onto I-90 East. She could feel Henry’s eyes simmering on her form in the dark.

  In the pocket of her coat, she curled her hand around the postcard. Once the car had gained momentum and the driver had turned up the radio to some classic rock, Henry leaned toward her, his eyes full of interest. Leigh could smell him then, a combination of ivory soap and a hint of wheat beer. It wasn’t a bad smell.

  “Have you had a drink tonight, Henry? To make you this bold?” She asked with a raised eyebrow.

  He returned her inquiry with a cool smile.

  “Just one, Evelyn.” When she didn’t blink, he leaned back from her and rested against the seat. “Ah. That’s not even your real name, is it? Evelyn? I know because not only have I combed the internet looking for you, but now that I’m seeing you again you don’t really seem like an Evelyn. In fact, I’m guessing that’s just a name you use for your dark enterprise.”

  “My dark enterprise?”

  “Stealing from intoxicated frat boys.” He smiled meanly as he inched closer to her. “You know, I asked around to a few other frats on my row and a couple of guys told me some of their members have had cash go missing, starting around October.” Leigh felt her blood pressure rise and there was a deafening roar in her ears. He had told other people. She leaned her forehead against the window, the world spinning out from underneath her. Outside, a cold, popping rain bounced off the windshield.

  “Did you tell them who I was?” It was a struggle to control her voice, to keep it steady. She wouldn’t cry, not in front of him, and so she straightened her spine instead, making herself taller than him in the back. Henry’s stare was unnerving.

  “Actually, I didn’t.” She looked over at him with surprise.“I told them that it was one of my frat brothers and that it was probably the same for them. Honestly, they didn’t seem to care too much about it.” His face was infuriatingly smug. “So, here’s the thing NOT-Evelyn: I’m not going to tell anybody, for two reasons: one, I am much too busy to file a police report and go to trial, etc. That sounds absolutely exhausting. And two…” He paused. “I think my curiosity is far too hungry to follow that path.”