Next Day Gone

by J C Wing

  She slipped, caught herself with her hand. Kept going.

  She’d almost made it to the falls. She’d lost count of how many times her feet had slid on the path, but now she felt a little more sure footed. Willow kept moving forward. She didn’t know how she was going to get away. She knew she couldn’t fight whoever was behind her, but she couldn’t just stop and let him have his way with her, either. Keep moving. She said it to herself, repeated it like a mantra. Keep moving.

  Willow limped as quickly as she could. Her eyes had adjusted a little, and the beam of the pen light gave her hints as to where she was. She was out of breath, both from exertion and fear, and her head had never hurt so badly before.

  “Stop.”

  She heard the voice from behind her, but the sound of her heartbeat was filling her ears and his voice sounded far away.

  “Hell, no,” she replied, her feet moving a little faster.

  “I said stop.”

  Willow felt something hit the tip of her nose, then scrape down her mouth and chin before it pulled tight and she was almost yanked off her feet. She reached up, her fingertips finding the length of thin rope he’d tossed around her throat. She dug hard, trying to pry her fingers underneath it, but it was too tight.

  He spun her around, twisting the rope with his fingers and tightening it even more as he brought her up to face him. The penlight stood upright in one of his coat pockets, sending the beam upwards over his face.

  Willow gasped for air, her hands clutching at the rope, then the man’s sleeves, pulling and struggling to get herself free. He’d lifted her so high that the toes of her boots barely touched the ground. She couldn’t help but stare up into the man’s face as she fought against him, and when she did her eyes widened. This was the monster, the Sleeping Beauty Strangler who had all of western North Carolina checking their locks and hiding their young women away. Willow never thought in a million years he’d have a face that she recognized.

  “No …” she rasped. There was no air. It felt like her head was going to explode. “How?” she asked. She felt her heart breaking even as he squeezed the life out of her. “Why?”

  If he answered, Willow didn’t hear it. When she finally stopped fighting, he lowered her down onto the rocks and the icy water rushed over her body. Her wide, blue eyes were open, but she couldn’t see the falls she’d always loved so much.

  PART TWO

  DREW

  2016

  GRANDE DAME

  Paige Riley Barlow lived on Montford Avenue in a house that was referred to as a Grande Dame, restored twice since it was built in 1900, and handed down through six generations of Riley females. Back in 1948, the old Highland Hospital sat on the northern end of Paige’s street before a deadly fire took place there. Among the victims of the blaze was Zelda Fitzgerald who was married to F. Scott Fitzgerald. The neighborhood in which the Riley house stood was designated as a Historic District and listed in the National Register of Historic places back in 1977. In 1981, the Asheville City Council designated the Montford Historic District a local historic district, as well.

  While all of that was a point of pride for the Riley family, Paige didn’t seem all that interested in the history of her house. She’d never lived anywhere else, and the stone and shingle exterior of the house was just home. While Drew also came from money, the house he’d grown up in was nothing like the Riley residence. He loved the Italian marble in the kitchen, and the glass cupola over the main staircase inside the house. The front porch was enormous and draped in pink roses, and there were many patios on the property, all of them with outdoor furniture and surrounded by well-tended gardens.

  The Rileys lived in what was called a Victorian neighborhood; most of the houses and buildings built between 1890 and 1920. It was well known for the number of bed and breakfasts nestled among its streets, and the historic Riverside Cemetery, made of up eighty-seven acres of blooming gardens and hills that overlooked the French Broad River. Visitors picked up self-guided tour packets and took pictures of headstones belonging to author Thomas Wolfe, James H. Posey, who was one of Abraham Lincoln’s bodyguards, and many of Asheville’s most prominent citizens. The Rileys were one of a dozen residents who had a family mausoleum in the cemetery, but Paige didn’t care or think too much about that, either.

  Drew drove down Cullowhee Street and turned into the expansive driveway at the back of Paige’s house. He parked near the detached two car garage, making sure not to block the stall on the far left. Both doors were closed on this glorious summer morning, indicating the lack of parental presence at the house. He made sure to park in front of Norah’s side, knowing her car was safely tucked in the garage until she came back from her latest assignment.

  Landon and Norah Barlow were happily married, as far as Drew could tell, and had been for almost twenty years. They moved into a nice house in Lakeview Park, located in north Asheville, after their wedding, and both worked in the medical field. Norah held a Master’s degree in nursing, and Landon was an orthopedic surgeon specializing in sports medicine. When Paige was born, Norah decided to work part time until Paige was old enough to go to preschool. She loved being a mom, but she was a restless soul. She’d done a lot of traveling as a young woman and staying at home had been a difficult task for her. When the idea of becoming a traveling nurse was introduced to her by someone at St. John’s, Norah brought the idea to her husband.

  Over dinner at the Riley house, a somewhat reluctant Landon and an enthusiastic Norah discussed their potential plans with Anna Riley, Norah’s mother. Three months later, the house in Lakeview Park had been sold, and the Barlow’s had moved into the spacious Riley House. Norah had her first assignment, and Anna stepped in as a second caregiver for Paige.

  Over the years, Norah’s job had taken her all over the U.S., her assignments lasting anywhere from four weeks to three months. When she was at home, she’d often pack her family up and take them on vacations abroad. Anna had often assumed it had been on one of these family adventures that Abigail, the youngest of the Barlow’s had been conceived. Theirs wasn’t a typical family with a typical lifestyle, but for the most part, it seemed to work for them.

  Drew climbed out of the car and saw Paige’s grandmother walk through the back gate and peer out at him as he crossed the pavement.

  “Well, if it isn’t Mr. Andrew Larsen comin’ to court my granddaughter,” Anna Riley said offering Drew a smile. Her hands were covered in a pair of gardening gloves and between them she carried a large cluster of deep purple bell flowers, the roots dangling beneath her fingers. “I heard a car pull up and wondered if it was someone interested in having a cold drink with an old woman.”

  “Old woman?” Drew said, making a show of looking around. “I’m not exactly sure what you’re talking about, Grananna. The only two people I see here are you and me.”

  Anna was seventy, but Drew wondered if she’d aged a day over the last twenty years. Her hair was still a deep mahogany brown, and her skin was wrinkled but soft; the most prominent signs of age the laugh lines that she put to use on an ongoing basis. Her eyes were a dark blue, and she stood tall, proud of her five tall stature. She laughed and said she was padded by years of good cooking, but Drew always thought of her as athletic and in no way overweight. She and her daughter, Norah, looked more like sisters, and her sense of humor bordered on inappropriate. Drew had loved her immediately upon meeting her, and everything indicated that she felt the same way about him.

  “I was quite the catch in my day. I had a lot of men chasing after me. I let an awful lot of ‘em catch me, too.”

  Drew had heard this before, and he believed every single word. “I don’t doubt that you kicked up a lot of interest.” He’d seen photographs of a younger Anna, and Drew thought she’d been beautiful, much like Paige. “You’re still hot,” he told her, the dimple in his left cheek showing.

  “You’re damn right I am,” Anna laughed. “You are one smart boy. Don’t let anyone ever tell you any different
, ya hear?”

  “If they do, I’ll send ‘em to you.”

  “That’s a solid plan. I loathe those spinning classes I go to. Kicking someone’s ass would be exercise I could really get excited about.”

  Drew laughed then reached up to wipe the sweat that had collected on the top of his nose. “It’s a hot one today. I’m thinking ice cream is in order.”

  “Now you’re talkin’.”

  “Is Abigail at home?”

  “No,” Anna shook her head. “And she’ll be heartbroken when she finds out you came for Paige and she missed out.”

  “I hate breaking girls’ hearts.”

  “Some boys just can’t help themselves,” Anna said with a playful grin. “And you’re one of ‘em. I’m afraid as long as you and her older sister are an item, you’ll continually break Abbigirl’s heart.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Well, I’ll let you in on a little secret. She’ll always pine for what Paige has. It’s a bad flaw us females seem to be born with. Every single one of us. Some of us outgrow it, thank God, but Abigail is only four. There are many years left before she knows better.”

  The gate squeaked and Paige walked through. She caught Drew’s gaze and immediately smiled.

  “I didn’t know you were coming over,” she said.

  “Didn’t you mention havin’ a cravin’ for ice cream earlier?” Anna asked.

  “I did,” Paige nodded.

  “Boy’s been readin’ your mind again.”

  Paige moved around her grandmother and slipped beside Drew. He felt the palm of her hand slide against his, then their fingers laced together.

  “He does that a lot.”

  “Would you like to come with us?” Drew asked as Paige leaned the side of her head against his shoulder.

  “What a temptin’ offer, but I think I’ll pass this time around. Remember that drink I was talkin’ about? I think I’ll go stick these in some dirt, then take care of this thirst.”

  “I just made some fresh lemonade,” Paige told her.

  Anna scrunched her nose and made a tsking sound. “I’m not sure lemonade’s what I’m after.”

  Paige grinned. “I’m sure the liquor cabinet is stocked.”

  Anna smiled. “Damn straight. You two have some ice cream for me, too. But make it count,” she said, disappearing behind the gate. “If it doesn’t have enough of the good stuff on it to make you have to find some sort of fun activity to burn off the extra calories, it ain’t worth it.”

  Construction of the railroad in the mid-1800s was what made the Riley family rich. By the time Anna was born a hundred years later, the house on Montfort Avenue had gone through its first restoration. Eighteen years after that, Anna moved to New York and began classes at Columbia University. Once she earned her bachelor’s degree, she attended three years of law school, also at Columbia. When she came back home to Asheville at the age of twenty-five, she spent less than six months studying for the bar exam, which she passed on the first try. Three months after that, she was admitted to the bar. She spent the following thirty years practicing as a public interest lawyer from behind her desk in the legal aid offices in downtown Asheville working for nonprofits and governmental agencies. As far as financial compensation went, going a different direction in her chosen profession would have been more lucrative, but when she retired at the age of fifty-five, she had no regrets about her chosen career path.

  At the age of twenty-seven, Anna moved back into the Riley house to take care of her ailing mother. She was an only child, and she’d lost her father to lung cancer before she’d left for college. When her mother died and was interred in Riverside Cemetery, Anna felt tiny and all alone in that 4,000 square feet that made up her home. It was too quiet. The silence of all that space around her nearly drove her insane, so she hired a slew of contractors and paid them to come in, raise a ruckus and restore the far too tranquil Grande Dame.

  The restoration took some time because of the rules and regulations attached to a home located in the Historic District. Anna didn’t mind. She’d been dating, seeing a few different men since settling back in Asheville. She’d kept things casual, uninterested in getting too caught up in something serious.

  She and her mama didn’t talk much in the last year of the eldest Riley’s life. The old woman was tired. She’d talked a lot in her lifetime and had grown tired of the sound of her own voice. Anna had promised her that she could die at peace in her own home. She and Anna had gone toe to toe on many occasions. The girl was spirited, loud, obnoxious, much too wild at heart with a foul mouth and a hot temper. She was also honest and driven, responsible and trustworthy.

  One afternoon the day before the elder Riley passed away, she looked up at her daughter. Anna had come in to feed her a lunch of minestrone soup and freshly baked bread, but all she wanted was the still warm peach pie and vanilla ice cream she saw on the tray.

  “It’s clear that you aren’t gonna be givin’ me any grandchildren,” Mrs. Riley said. “I’ve come to terms with that. But this house ain’t never gonna forgive you if you don’t give it an heir.”

  That was the last thing old Mrs. Riley said to her daughter.

  Two weeks after the funeral, Anna had grown tired of people showing up at her door with casseroles and flowers, cakes hidden beneath aluminum foil and cards with sickly sweet sentiments written inside them. She dressed herself in the most colorful dress she could find and took herself on a lunch date at the Biltmore Estate. She ate crab cakes, shrimp cocktail and grilled ribeye. She couldn’t decide between the brownie a la mode or the raspberry cheesecake for dessert, so she ordered them both, then had the waiter wrap up all the leftovers so she could take it all home with her.

  “There, Mama,” she said drinking the last of her sangria. “I know how you hate a mope. You always said this world had no room for people walkin’ around gloomy faced and weepy, so I’m officially done.” She left an extra-large tip when she signed her check, then took the long way back to the parking lot and her pale yellow Mercedes 450SL.

  She looked in the mirror hidden away in the sun visor and reapplied her lipstick. She nearly pushed the tube up her nose when the car was hit from behind. Fuming, Anna climbed out of her convertible and stomped toward the back of the car.

  The woman who had hit Anna had her door open, and Anna could hear a child crying in the backseat. She moved to the side, squinted through the back window and saw another one, perhaps a bit older, peering at her through the glass. The driver was trying her best to calm the baby down, and Anna put her fists on her hips, waiting for the confrontation ahead of her.

  “I’m so sorry,” the driver said when she came to the back of the car just a few moments later. Anna had built up a good head of steam but forced herself to choke back the not so nice words that were poised on the tip of her tongue when she got a good a look at the other woman. Anna guessed she was her age, if not a few years younger. She was dressed well, and her black hair was pulled back in a stylish French twist. She wore a set of beautiful pearl combs that gleamed against the darkness of the strands, and a pair of round sunglasses sat perched on the top of her head. Her eyes were a deep brown, and one of them was ringed by a very prominent bruise. It looked to Anna that she’d been hit a few days ago, because the woman’s makeup softened the injury, but couldn’t cover the deep black and purple that spread beneath her lower lashes.

  “I’m not sure what happened,” she said apologetically. “I think I hit the gas when I meant to hit the brake—”

  “Penelope, are you hurt?”

  Anna turned to see a man hurrying across the parking lot. He may have started the day wearing a suit, but he’d lost his jacket and tie somewhere, and the collar of his white dress shirt was loose at the collar.

  Suddenly, Anna felt protective of the woman. She saw a lot of abuse in all different forms parade through the Legal Aid office. Sometimes there were things she could do to help. Too many times, there was nothing at all she could do to
help anyone.

  “I’m fine, Jordan,” Penelope answered, looking flustered.

  The child, Anna could see now that it was a little boy and probably not much more than a year old, had become even more agitated. She dropped her fists from her hips and reached up to push her hair behind her ear.

  “Penelope, is it?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the woman answered. She vacillated between shaking Anna’s hand and gathering her son from the back seat.

  “Please,” Anna told her. “He needs you.”

  Penelope opened the door and her son climbed into her arms, his face nuzzling into his mother’s neck. “Shhhh …” she told him. “Mama’s here. You’re okay.”

  Jordan had moved quickly around the front of Penelope’s car and was surveying the damage to Anna’s Mercedes.

  “So, Jordan,” Anna said, catching the man’s attention. “Tell me. Is that your handiwork?” She waited until the man’s gaze caught her own before tipping her head toward Penelope. “She looks a lot more banged up than either one of these cars.”

  The man straightened, his eyes still on Anna. “Penelope is my sister, and, no,” he added, frustration pouring from his voice. “I had nothing to do with that.”

  Penelope opened her mouth to speak but Anna raised her hand to stop her.

  “Don’t tell me you fell,” she said softly. “Or ran into a cupboard door, or that you got hit in the face by a foul ball at your kid’s baseball game.” Penelope closed her mouth. “I’m sorry,” Anna told her. “I see this a lot. Too much. I ain’t in the mood to pretend I don’t see it, and I’m not the kind of person to act like it doesn’t piss me off.”

  The man reached over and offered Anna his hand. Anna watched his face for another moment, trying to decide whether or not to believe his claim that Penelope was his sister.

  “I’m Jordan Steele,” he said when Anna finally slipped her palm against his. The name rang a bell somewhere in the back of her mind and she tilted her head ever so slightly. She read the newspaper. She paid attention to current events.