by A B Whelan
I can’t run home due to my lack of sleep. My muscles are weaker than usual, and my stomach feels weird, the side effect of crappy junk food mixed with adrenalin. Strangely, I think of Skyler again. The horrors she must have experienced. The cruelty she must have faced. I can’t shake the thought that there is more I can do to find her. It’s my duty to find her, my social obligation.
The long walk home gives me enough time to come up with a few ideas. I scribble them down on a sticky note I keep in the junk drawer of my kitchen.
Find out where Johns pick up girls in Temecula and LA. Show Skyler’s picture around to see if anyone recognizes her.
Check anonymous drug addict meetings to see if anybody has seen her.
Find local junkie hangout spots to look for her.
Check the local hospitals.
Considering that I only had one session with Skyler, which I handled very unprofessionally, I don’t have a lot to go on. Olivia obtained a few leads yesterday from Maddie, Skyler’s younger sister. The girl offered a condensed version of her only sister’s escape. Though she resented Skyler for leaving her behind, alone and unprotected, she did keep in touch with her using a prepaid phone Skyler had given her. It was the sisters’ secret.
The story was that Skyler met a charming and seemingly successful businessman at the shopping mall in Temecula who had offered to take her photo and help her put together a portfolio. The man was in a wheelchair accompanied by a bodyguard. “He seemed innocent. Sky had no reason not to trust a cripple,” Maddie said. The man came through with his promise, as he arranged a few commercial jobs and hostess gigs for Skyler. But when Skyler’s parents found the money in her room, all hell broke loose in the O’Neill house.
Skyler, who at the time believed she could stand on her own two feet, ran away from home with not much but a bag of clothes and an old picture of her and Maddie from happier times.
The emancipation process was relatively quick, considering the living conditions the O’Neills provided their children. The trustable handicapped businessman helped the naïve girl at every step of the way to smooth the transition process.
One thing led to another. Hostess gigs turned into escort jobs. Escort jobs turned into prostitution and distribution of drugs. Drugs led to addiction and disconnection from reality. At last, Skyler found herself sliding down a slippery slope with no hope of redemption.
When Skyler initially moved out of the family home, the sisters spoke daily. Then the number of phone calls slowly reduced to a once a month and consisted only of superficial niceties.
Skyler visited her sister once. It was a day after Maddie’s fourteenth birthday this past fall. Skyler showed up in the middle of the night and climbed through the bedroom window. Maddie was heartbroken by her sister’s appearance, her malnourished body, her tangled mess of hair, her swollen and pimpled face, but she was too scared to say anything.
That night, Skyler pretended as though she had never left, as though they were still young sisters sharing a bedroom, talking of boys and dreams. She slipped into bed with her little sister and told her stories about how one day she’d have enough money to buy a nice house with a big backyard and green lawn. They would plant pretty flowers together and berries, lots of berries. They dreamed about making homemade jewelry and selling it on Etsy.
She promised to come back for Maddie and take her to the dream house to live with her.
Tangled in each other’s arms and wrapped in their pink bubble of dreams, the girls fell asleep.
In the morning, Skyler was gone. Maddie never heard from her again. The only tangible fact Maddie had that proved she didn’t dream about her time with her sister was a silver necklace with a heart-shaped opal pendant—her birthstone—that Skyler left on her nightstand.
When Olivia asked Maddie if Skyler had ever mentioned the name of the man who pimped her out or any specific locations she had worked, Maddie said that Skyler never admitted to using or selling drugs, nor did she say anything about sleeping with men for money. She only told stories about the other girls she knew.
My heart is a mess, and my head is spinning with pain, so I finish my to-do list to find my lost patient. I’ll come back to it when I’m able to think more clearly.
There are so many sob stories out there. Every time I turn on the news, check out an entertainment website, or log in to my social media accounts, I’m instantly bombarded with tragedies. I should be desensitized by now from all the gore and heartache. I don’t know how Skyler’s story managed to grip me, but it does. I send a text to Betty: Do you think you could find out from Brad where guys pick up prostitutes in Temecula? Thx.
Then I send a follow-up message: I didn’t mean to imply that Brad picks up prostitutes, but he is a cop, so I assume he knows about these things. I add a smiley-face emoji.
I’m in the shower when my phone rings, and I rush to pick it up so mindlessly that I slip and bump the glass door with my head. I leave the floor soaking wet in my wake; my mother would freak out.
I answer the phone and toss myself onto the bed, wrapping my wet body in blankets, my forehead throbbing. From here, I have a perfect view of the eccentric round clock on my wall. It’s 5:49 a.m.
“Betty? Is everything all right?” A wave of panic washes over me. Brad found out about our little field trip yesterday. No, he found out about Betty cheating on him in Vegas. Or worse. She was in an accident. Or Brad got shot on duty—
“Did I wake you?”
“No. I was just getting up. What is it? You’re freaking me out.”
“Brad called. They found a body. At Lake Hodges in Escondido, north of Hernandez Cove. It’s a young woman…with a shaved head.”
When I was in high school, I had a boyfriend whose favorite toy was a Kawasaki ZZR motorbike, the “green monster.” One morning, I was in the cafeteria when I overheard two girls talking about a guy who hit a car with his motorcycle and died instantly from a broken rib that punctured a hole in his lung. They didn’t say the victim’s name, but I knew it was Scott. It could have been a dozen of other guys, but I had this feeling inside my chest, a deep heaviness, as if something had sucked the air out of my lungs, as if all happiness vanished from my heart. With trembling hands, I dialed his parents’ house phone. His mother answered with three words: “He’s gone, Ashley.” That was the extent of our conversation.
My mind wasn’t ready to compute such a horror. It didn’t seem real that someone so young, so full of life, someone I knew intimately, someone I loved, had died. At that immature age, when life seemed infinite to me, grasping something so definite was more than I could handle.
I feel that same hopelessness now.
“Ashley. Are you there?” Betty’s voice becomes distorted, as if I’m listening to her from underwater and trying to swim back to the surface, but it’s out of my reach. I see the light beams breaking through the surface, but I can’t reach them.
“Ashley?”
“Is it Skyler?” I manage to force the words out of my mouth.
“The body hasn’t been identified yet. But I thought you should know. I’ll call you when I hear more, okay?”
“Thank you.” A tsunami of thoughts crashes into my head. Skyler is dead because of me. I pushed her too hard to go to the police. She wasn’t ready to talk about what happened to her with authorities, but I ignored the signs. She was my patient, and I failed her. Why didn’t I offer her to stay with me for a few weeks? Why did I let her face her demons alone? Why did I let that monster find her before I could? I should have done more. I should have…
“Could be someone else, you know,” I hear Betty say, but my mind is too overwhelmed with rage to focus. “Don’t give up hope yet. Maybe I jumped the gun. I shouldn’t have worried you without hard evidence.”
“No, I’m glad you called. Do you know how the victim died?”
“I don’t know yet. The medical examiner was called, but the last time I talked to Brad, the cause of death hadn’t been established yet. The only t
hing I know is that she was washed up on the shore.”
I take my time to regulate and settle my breathing. My head feels like it’s about to split open from the rush of blood. “Betty, I don’t want to get you in trouble with Brad, but I’m coming down. I can leave in five minutes. You think you could get Brad to stall the police until I get there?”
Olivia
THURSDAY
From the corner of my eye, I notice my iPhone’s screen light up. Richard’s warm breath on my naked neck makes my hairs stand on end. Clenching my teeth, I gently slip out from underneath his arm, take my phone, and tiptoe to the hallway to call back Ashley.
“I’m so sorry to bother you this early, but Betty just called. The police found a body at Lake Hodges.” Her words are heavy, as if talking pained her.
“Is it Skyler?” I whisper.
“The body hasn’t been identified yet, but I’m driving to Escondido right now. I know it’s freaking early, and it’s a lot to ask, but I really need you to come with me.”
I cup my mouth over the phone to muffle my voice. “I don’t think I can, Ashley. My husband can’t go to work today—I mean, neither of us can go to work today,” I say, correcting myself as a drop of sweat rolls down the side of my forehead. “Richard has plans to spend the day with me.”
“I really need you. Please tell me you can get away.”
“Even if I could break away, I can’t leave the property. A huge tree fell across our driveway last night in the storm, and we’re stuck in the house for who knows how long.”
“Please, Olivia. I don’t think I can do this alone. Tell your husband that if he lets you go, I’ll treat him to a nice dinner or something.”
That’s my weakness; I always give in when people I care about play at my heartstrings. Besides, I can’t let Ashley think that I live under Richard’s rule. “All right, I’ll go. But you need to pick me up by our main gate.”
“Thank you, Olivia. I really appreciate it. Text me your address, and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Scratching my head, I send her a text. Nothing good will come of this, I know.
To get to my walk-in closet, I need to creep across the bedroom. Leaving a note in the kitchen would be easier than explaining myself to snappy Richard when he’s roused from his sleep.
I slip into a pair of joggers and a shirt and pull a hooded sweatshirt over my head. I plan to wash my face in one of the downstairs bathrooms and use the mouthwash I carry in my purse. With a pair of my favorite Merrell hiking shoes in hand, which I never get to wear, I head to the door looking like the woman I used to be. It feels great to be reminded of who I really am.
“Where are you going?” Richard’s powerful voice breaks the silence and makes me drop one of my shoes.
“I didn’t mean to wake you. I’m sorry.” I sit down on the bed next to him and lean in for a kiss, but his hand on my shoulder prevents me.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Ashley called. She needs my help with something. I’ll be back soon.”
“What kind of help could she need at six in the morning? You are not going anywhere.” He props himself up on a pillow. His eyes are dark olives.
“I already told her I’m going. She’ll be here any minute to pick me up.” I’m on my feet, backing toward the door, my escape route.
“What is this nonsense? I told you I wasn’t going to the office today. I thought we were spending the day together?”
I slip into my shoes, ready to sprint. “Yeah, me too, but something came up. I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay?”
“Call your friend back right now and tell her that you aren’t available. We’re spending the day together as we planned.”
A text comes in from Ashley: 5 min.
“Was that her? Tell her you aren’t going.”
I back to the door, putting enough distance between us to give me a head start if needed. As insane as it sounds, I have a feeling that Richard won’t let me go. The root of this fear doesn’t originate from our history together. Richard has never tried to dominate me so blatantly before, but I know this game by heart. When my mother first stood up to my father, that’s when the first slap flew.
“You’re being unreasonable. She’s my friend, and she needs me.” I don’t understand why I bother reasoning with him. I’m a thirty-six-year-old adult woman, not a teenager who needs permission from her parents to go out.
He springs to his feet, his fingers rolled into fists. “For what? To hunt down some stupid white-trash whore in the rain?”
“I thought your foundation was about helping those in need? Or was I mistaken? Or maybe you can’t accept the fact that this poor girl needs my help and not yours? Or is it that I finally found something that matters to me that bothers you so much?” I talk with venom. I’m showing my fangs.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffs. “Tell your friend to come by my office on Monday, and I promise she’ll get the assistance she needs from us. You, playing detective, it doesn’t suit you. You have to let the professionals handle her case. All your sniffing around will do more harm than good.” He stretches his arm toward me. “Now come back to bed before I lose my patience.”
And there and then, I remember my mother cowering from my drunken father, always submitting, always scared. I see my younger self hiding behind the door, too scared to do anything to help her. I step closer to Richard with my chest bulging and head held high. “Why? What will happen if you lose your patience?”
He slaps his hand across my face. “Who do you think you’re talking to? I will not tolerate such insolence.”
From his swift and unexpected strike, it takes me a moment to realize what the hell just happened. But I quickly recover—because after all, it wasn’t all that unexpected—and start running down the stairs, holding the part of my face that’s burning with pain.
“I’m sorry, Livi. I didn’t mean to hit you.” Richard’s words follow me as I dash across the hall and burst through the front door. At the porch, I slip on a wet stone, yet somehow—by miracle—I save myself from rolling down the stairs. My shoes sink into damp soil as I run toward the gate, a quarter-mile run on a dark and slippery path. My mind blocks out any ambient sounds; only my heart’s beating remains audible. The cold, wet air hits my lungs, and every breath I take is like a knife thrust into my chest. What the hell happened to sunny California?
The sight of headlights gives me relief. I slow down because I don’t want Ashley to see me running in a panic. From the gate, I look back at the house and see Richard standing in our bedroom window. I press the button to open the gate, jump in the car, and drive away with Ashley, leaving the gate wide open.
Betty
THURSDAY
A small group of bystanders in hiking gear stands near the lakeshore, kept back by yellow police tape, talking to two police officers. Judging by the officers’ vehement scribbling onto notepads, I assume they are taking statements from the hikers who found the body. There is nothing more I can see, as a sea of black umbrellas conceals the crime scene, a desperate attempt to preserve any evidence that hasn’t been washed away by the rain. The cool air, heavy with the smell of rotting plants and longstanding dirt, nips at my face.
As I make my way closer to the crime scene, I catch nauseating whiffs of decomposing flesh. I pull my scarf over my nose and mouth.
Brad notices me, and with giant, thumping steps, he starts toward me, ducking under the yellow tape and lifting his hand at a female officer in a beige uniform.
“It’s okay, Maria. She’s with me.”
He puts his hand on my shoulder and turns me toward the road, giving me a gentle nudge. “What the hell are you doing here, Betty? I told you not to drive out here.”
I look back at the pretty young officer, taking in her exotic features, her svelte figure wrapped in a crisp uniform, and her perfect dark bun peeking from underneath her hat. “Who is she?”
Brad follows my eyes. “Who, Maria? She’s CH
P. Why?”
“You seem to know her well.” I’m not jealous, but I need an ace in my hand to win over Brad. I promised Ashley I’d be here waiting for her. If I get upset and jealous enough, Brad will accentuate his innocence with a genuine, kind gesture, like—in this case—allowing me to stay.
His first reaction to my accusations is always aggressive denial, so I’m not surprised when he begins pushing me with force toward my parked car. “Don’t be ridiculous. I work for San Diego PD, and she’s with highway patrol. We only meet when our jurisdictions cross.”
I set my feet firmly on the ground. “Why are you so defensive? You like her, don’t you.”
He looks back at the group of people by the lakeshore, but nobody is watching our marital squabbling; they are too busy processing the crime scene.
“Stop this utter nonsense and go home, Betty. You’re messing with my job now, and that’s not okay with me.”
I disobey his orders and instead fold my arms over my chest. “She’s gorgeous. I can’t say I blame you.”
Stage two, the vehement explanation. “What are you talking about? There is nothing between that woman and me. I barely know her. Both we and CHP responded to the 911 call, but neither of us even want to be here. We literally read the GPS coordinates over the body to determine who had jurisdiction here.”
“And?”
“It’s us. Woohoo! An hour from now these CHP guys will be sipping hot coffee at the doughnut shop while we’ll be freezing our asses off in this fucking rain.”
“I bet you’d rather nurse a hot coffee with her at that doughnut shop, right?”
He leans closer to me. “Are you fucking kidding me right now? It was a figure of speech.” He lifts his hat and smooths back his hair underneath it. “Nobody wants to be here. GPS coordinates don’t lie. Now we have to stay behind and wait for the medical examiner and those creepy body-snatcher guys.” He checks the time on his watch. “Who knows when they’ll get here? It’s too early. Nobody’s eager to get out of a warm bed in this god-awful weather.” He scratches his stubble, then sighs. “Then those arrogant forensic guys have to get their asses out here too. I’ll have to stay and babysit those freaking narcissist baboons. Since Hollywood made them look so cool”—he puts cool in air quotes—“they think they’re celebrities. So, the last thing on my mind is some chick in a uniform.”