by Webb, Debra
“The stalactites for one thing. There are broken and shattered ones in the area where rock and dirt hit rock and dirt, but the ones nearby are solid. An explosion would have sent energy outward around wherever the charge was placed. Everything around it would have been affected to some degree. On top of that, we have the opening that’s left behind. I doubt we would have had an opening at all if explosives had been utilized. We know heavy equipment hasn’t been up here. The formation of that opening is natural from the slow shift and slide of the earth. And based on the vegetation and trees in the area, I estimate that collapse occurred fifteen to twenty years ago.”
“I appreciate you explaining it to me.” Letty stops. We’ve reached the ATVs we’ll use for the trip down to the road. She thrusts out her hand. “No one can know what we’ve found just yet. Not until we’re ready to issue statements.”
Tanner clasps her hand in his and gives it a shake. “I won’t speak to anyone about this without your permission.”
Letty thanks him again and suggests that he go on ahead. At the road, the deputies will escort him to his vehicle.
When Tanner is gone, she turns to me. “I’ll call Chief Claiborne, the ABI and the FBI, let them know what we found. The feds or the state will likely take lead on the case from here.”
I’m surprised. Somehow I expected she would be lead and that I would help her. “Okay.”
When Letty turns to move on, I touch her arm. She hesitates but doesn’t look at me. This is eating her up and I can’t bear it.
“I could spend the night at your place. We can talk or get shitfaced. Whatever you need.”
She shakes her head. “I appreciate the offer, I really do, but I need to be alone. To think.” A shrug lifts her shoulder. “And I have this other case—two little girls I’m hoping won’t be found this way.”
“I understand.”
In silence we climb onto the ATVs and make the final leg of the journey back to the road. Dusk has settled but the eight—no nine—vehicles lining the opposite side of the road light up the night with their spotlights. Four police cruisers as well as Letty’s SUV are on this side of the road.
The reporters rush toward the faded centerline of the pavement and the deputies meet them with arms extended and firm warnings being issued.
Questions are shouted at Letty and at me. We ignore them and climb into her vehicle. As we drive away, the weight of knowing presses down on me. The mystery of what-if is gone. No more wondering.
Natalie is dead. The only question now is who killed her.
I glance at Letty. I refuse to believe it was her father.
The headlights cut through the darkness, lighting the black road and sending shadows over the woods on either side of us. Finally my sister is found…but along with her precious remains we discovered a whole new nightmare. But we also confirmed another element of this never-ending saga.
There really has been a monster in our midst all this time.
15
I stare at the faucet, watch the drop of water swell and swell until it falls free of the spout and plops into the steaming water. I have pulled the stopper chain loose twice already, let the tub drain part way and then tucked the stopper back in and turned on the hot water again—all with my toes because I’m too exhausted to move any other part of my body.
I need the hot water and the steam to soak the dirt from that damned cave out of my pores and off my skin…to expel the dank odor from my lungs. But there is nothing I can do to scour the images out of my brain. Those precious bones…the fractures and depressions in the skulls. The pink sneakers.
I blink, the movement strangely sluggish. I feel as if the world around me has abruptly slowed to an odd crawl in the wrong direction. Like the secondhand on a clock moving backward. Sound—even the droplets of water—are abnormally loud. Another bead swells, breaks free and then slaps the water like the belly flop of an awkward, inexperienced swimmer.
I flinch.
When I came home tonight Mother stood in the middle of the kitchen. For a moment she only watched as I tugged off my hiking boots and rolled off the socks. Finally, she asked if I was hungry. After another half minute elapsed and she wanted to know if I was okay. If I was injured in any way. I suppose I looked as if I might be hurt. My clothes were filthy, dirt stuck to my skin. I felt as if I had been on the losing end of a wrestling match. I think I said no. Not sure I answered at all.
She didn’t ask what Letty and I found. I chugged a bottle of water. She watched without saying more. To break the thickening quiet that appeared to have enveloped her, I told her I needed a bath and I walked out of the room.
Denial. I am well acquainted with the strategy. If you pretend it’s not happening, maybe it will go away…won’t be real. I have practiced this method of coping a million times. It works only temporarily.
The trouble always comes back.
My sister is dead. Her friend is dead.
This revelation is no surprise. They’ve been missing for most of my life and still it has stunned me. Wounded me. There was always a strong possibility that Natalie and Stacy had been murdered. Always. I know this. I have known this all along. Still, I am shattered anew. My brain does not want to accept this conclusion. I do not want to know this thing that I cannot tell my mother.
She knows. I am certain. This is why she didn’t ask. In her heart, she knows. But, like me, she doesn’t want to know. She doesn’t want to think it or to say it out loud or to hear me say it. She wants Natalie’s disappearance to remain a mystery. To continue clinging to that tiny fragile thread of hope that she is alive. That she will one day come back. That she is out there somewhere…
Natalie is dead.
I suck in a breath, abruptly aware that I’d gone too long without one. Clearly, I was ill prepared for today. I admit this now because I have no choice. My muscles ache. I am sadly out of shape. I haven’t run in months. Haven’t worked out at all in nearly as long. Mentally, I’m a wreck. Today isn’t likely to help.
I drop my head back against the rim of the claw foot tub and close my eyes. Vaguely I’m aware that the water has grown cool once more. I’ve scrubbed my skin and hair, soaked my aching muscles. There is little else I can do to avoid what comes next. I should dress, go downstairs and eat something no matter that I have no appetite. Letty will need me tomorrow. We agreed to meet at her house to develop a plan. She has a task force briefing at seven so as soon as she’s free we rendezvous.
There’s something I need to do first so I should get moving by seven.
I sit up, water sloshes around me. I want to curl up into a ball and cry some more. I want to moan and curse God. I want to go to sleep and wake up tomorrow with no memory of this day.
Enough wallowing in self-pity. I drain the tub and step out onto the fuzzy rug with its yellow daisies. I dry my hair as best I can with the towel. I refuse to bother with a hair dryer. When I’ve dried my skin, I toss the towel over the shower curtain bar and go in search of clothes. I didn’t bring a lot but I do have one pair of sweat pants. A tee and a clip for my damp hair and I’m good.
Downstairs Mother sits at the kitchen table cradling a cup of tea in her hands. I inhale the aroma of fresh brewed coffee and my mouth waters. But coffee isn’t what I need. The caffeine will only rob me of badly needed sleep—assuming I can sleep at all. I walk past the coffeemaker and the table and into the pantry. Though my mother has never been much of a wine drinker, she maintains a nice variety for visitors. I select a Chateauneuf-du-Pape red and locate the opener. Once the cork is free I pour a nice big glass. I tuck the bottle under my arm and grab a second glass just in case Helen decides to indulge.
I place the bottle and extra glass on the table, curl up in a chair and down a hefty swallow. A fruity, licorice taste with a hint of smoke and cracked pepper rouses my lethargic taste buds. At the moment I really don’t care how it tastes, I only want it to work. That the flavor is pleasant is a bonus. I need to relax and the hot water just didn’t do
the trick to the degree desired.
How could a tub of hot water ever warm the cold that is deep within my bones, in my very soul?
“You should eat something with that.”
At first I don’t answer. But then I think of her heart and how this news could cause another heart attack. Stress, grief, anger are all triggers of the chemical reaction that can create the perfect environment for cardiac events. So, rather than argue with her assessment I nod and somehow dredge up a ghost of a smile. Obviously grateful for something to do, she scurries around and gathers cheese and crackers, then places them on a plate. When she settles it before me I eat no matter that it tastes like cardboard.
Helen reclaims her seat and continues watching me.
I nibble at the cheese, the crackers, down more wine. She alternately stares into her cup and at me.
She says nothing.
I say nothing.
“The two missing cavers were found,” I announce as if this is the only news I have to share. As if this is the announcement for which she waits. I couldn’t bear the silence any longer.
Playing along, Helen nods. “I saw it on the news. That reporter, Lila Lawson of WHNT, interviewed them.”
Lila Lawson. I now know the name of the wart on my ass currently bugging the shit out of me.
More wine slides down my throat. I am grateful for the warm, relaxed feeling that begins to settle in my brain, forcing my mind to clear and my muscles to loosen. “They were delirious. Probably drank cave water.”
“They’re alive, that’s what matters.”
“For sure.”
Her gaze locks with mine and I know the question I cannot answer is coming.
“They said there were bones in the cave. Is that why Letty needed your help?”
This question I can answer but I am aware the unhurried, seemingly offhanded interrogation will not stop there. “Yes.”
The soft hum of the heating system fills the hush. Forced air rises from the floor vent near the bank of windows that overlook the backyard, shifting the lacy curtains. I suddenly want to share with her all that I learned today. It burgeons in my throat, crushes against my heart.
She deserves to know.
Pounding reverberates through the house. I jump. What the hell?
Frowning, Mother turns toward the sound and rises from her chair. It’s not until that moment that I realize she’s still wearing her church clothes. The burgundy dress is wrinkled. Her feet are bare, the shoes abandoned by the back door. I remember seeing them as I came in tonight. More tendrils of hair have fallen around her neck. Her lipstick has long since worn off.
Maybe she called Howard to come over and help with an intervention or to provide moral support while she questions me with a bit more force. This quiet, tentative Helen is unfamiliar to me.
I doubt it’s Letty. She would call and let me know what’s happening before showing up at the door. Could be the reporter. I open my mouth to warn Mother but I’m too late. I hear raised voices in the entry hall. One sounds deep, male I think. Maybe the cameraman who follows Lila Lawson around.
With a fast gulp I down the last of the wine in my glass and hurry to Mother’s aid. This reporter will not get away with harassing my family. She’s gone too far this time.
My brain fails to identify the brusque voice before I reach the entry hall. My eyes work a little more quickly. I stall as if the hardwood has turned to quicksand. The air grows too thick to draw in and out of my lungs.
Delbert Yarbrough.
His gray hair stands up in tufts, his face is beet red. He, too, still wears church clothes. Though I didn’t see him today, I recognize the lightweight wool trousers and button down shirt as well as the leather oxfords that personifies the typical Sunday best in the small town south.
“You need to go home, Delbert,” Helen tells him. “It’s late and you’re upset.”
Yarbrough spots me and pushes past her, bullying his way into our home. “Letty won’t tell me what the two of you found in that cave.”
His voice is raw, the words wrapped in decades of misery. My soul aches for him. Nothing I can say will provide the relief he seeks. We have all spent twenty-five years believing that if we only knew what really happened, we could move on. We could let go and put that day behind us.
Not true.
Knowing has not given me one iota of closure. I still have no idea why Natalie and Stacy were taken or who took them. I ignore the flash of metal in my brain that reminds me of the dog tags we found.
Not possible.
“Mr. Yarbrough,” I fold my arms over my chest, acutely aware of the thin tee shirt and worn out sweat pants I wear, “if there was information I could share with you, Letty would have told you already.”
Mother stares at me, dark circles under her eyes, fear and uncertainty lining her face. I must tread carefully here. Both of the people standing right in front of me are just as wounded as I am. No, I amend, they are far more hurt and injured than I can possibly fathom. They want to know the truth and yet they don’t.
Part of me wishes I still didn’t know.
“Please.” He moves in toe-to-toe with me. “Please just tell me what you found in that cave. They’re saying on the news that bones were found. I need to know if it’s my Stacy.”
He’s not as tall as I remember. His back is hunched with age or despair or both. Craggy lines mar his face. But it’s the agony in his eyes that tears me apart. The not knowing, the hope has eaten at him for a quarter of a century. Stacy was his only child. He had no one else to distract him from the agony. No wife, no one.
Mother and Dad had each other…they had me.
“Yes.” I say this knowing I should keep my mouth shut but I cannot. I am not as strong as Letty, apparently. “The cavers found bones. But” I raise my hand when he opens his mouth to no doubt launch into more questions “there has to be an official identification, Mr. Yarbrough. The bones could be anyone’s.” Another lie. “They’ve already been sent to the lab in Huntsville. Letty put a priority on the analysis. We will know soon.”
His shoulders slump. “Did you find anything else that might tell us who was down there? I can tell you what my Stacy was wearing that day, in case you don’t remember.”
The hope in his voice tugs at me but I’ve already said too much. “The clothes were gone, completely decomposed. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help, Mr. Yarbrough. You have my word that Letty is doing everything possible. We will know soon.”
I hold my breath, hope against hope that he doesn’t bring up my training and start asking other questions like were the remains those of females? What age? Any visible injuries? Any other evidence?
The dog tags plaster themselves across my vision once more. I blink them away.
At last Yarbrough nods. “Thank you.” He exhales a heavy breath. “Thank you for talking to me.”
I nod. I don’t trust myself to do more.
He apologizes to Helen and leaves. As she closes the door I see the WHNT van on the street. They’re watching us. Probably snapped photos of Yarbrough at our door.
“I’m sorry, Emma. I shouldn’t have opened the door, but I couldn’t pretend he wasn’t there. I know just how he feels.”
“You did the right thing.”
She crosses the room and sits down on the third step of the staircase. She looks so tired. So uncharacteristically old. I consider going back to the kitchen and finishing off the bottle of wine. Instead, I do the daughterly thing and sit down beside her. I can always drink the wine later.
“Twenty-five years,” she says, her voice thin and fragile, so un-Helen like.
“You shouldn’t allow this to upset you the way it has Mr. Yarbrough,” I warn. “The stress could cause another heart attack. We can’t be sure of anything yet.”
The big old grandfather clock my mother’s great-grandmother brought all the way from England chimes the hour. Ten o’clock. The news is on. Mother muted both the televisions before I came downstairs. I su
ppose she couldn’t bear to hear any more. The lead story tonight will be about the bones found in the cave. Right behind that breaking story will be an update on the two missing girls. There is nothing new to report on the latter. The find in the cave is diverting resources from that search. Every step taken by the Sheriff’s Department and Jackson Falls PD will be scrutinized and dissected over and over.
I close my eyes and wish the whole thing was over. Mostly I need to sleep and recharge my drained emotions. I suppose I should have brought the sleeping pills I stopped taking days ago. Enough of the wine should have basically the same effect.
“Did you find Natalie?”
My eyes open but I do not look at my mother. Honestly, I’m surprised she waited this long to ask. “The lab will do an official identification. Dental records. That’s the way it works. Then we’ll know.”
My words sound hollow even to me. Robotic and emotionless.
“I don’t care about the lab analysis and the official ID.” Her frail voice rises, the hurt evolving into anger. “Did you find Natalie?”
She looks at me now. I feel the weight of her gaze, the misery radiating from her anguished being.
“Yes.” My breath catches on the word.
Her gaze drifts away from me, she stares forward as I do. “Thank you.”
Half a minute, maybe more lapses before she speaks again.
“Is there anything else you can tell me?”
I’ll have to text Letty and let her know that I told Mother. How could I not? If I hadn’t been so damned tired and emotionally drained I would have pointed out that detail when Letty first mentioned not telling our mothers.
“We can’t talk about the rest yet.”
Helen nods her understanding.
We sit in silence for a long time. A piece of our lives—the not knowing—has suddenly been extracted from our existence, leaving yet another gaping hole. Though the previous hole is now filled with this new knowledge, there is undeniably another void. Like screening the dirt at a dig. The scoops of displaced soil that go into the screen sift down and refill the space left behind. The items removed—a rock or piece of bone or another item from the past—leave an empty place.