-Nobody Important
Nancy stared at it for a long time. How was she supposed to answer a letter from someone who didn’t want her advice? Sound familiar, Nance? She groaned and searched for a pen in her pocket.
Dear Nobody Important, she began, but then crossed out nobody and changed it to somebody.
Dear Somebody Important,
Boy, did you get the right person to answer this. I feel just like you do, well, I don’t feel like I’m not important, but I definitely understand wanting to be left alone.
I guess the first thing I would say to you, if we were sitting across from each other, is to stop calling yourself nobody. Nobodies don’t exist. Everyone is somebody, and so, you are somebody important.
If you think negative thoughts about yourself, then you might begin to believe them, and if you believe them, then you won’t see yourself for who you are—incredible. We all are, you know—incredible.
So, I guess, just start with that. Look yourself in the mirror and say, “I am somebody important.”
And wanting you to reach out to someone you don’t know, like me? Well, I guess I see how that could help, even if it’s from a total stranger. It’s funny, I don’t even know you, but I find myself caring about you. Maybe that’s the reason they want you to reach out—to discover that many people would be there to help . . . if you’d just let them.
She reread her own words aloud. “Many people would be there to help, if you’d just let them.” Astonished, she glanced about, but still hidden by the massive willow tree, no one had witnessed her reaction—the strong tingling going throughout her body, or the tears that had quickly followed.
After regaining her composure, she again stared at her letter, wondering how to sign it. After some thought, she decided to use a pen name—something that would show she was a caring person.
She thought it clever enough, so she signed her letter:
Love, Karin
Sealing it, she wrote Nobody Somebody Important on the envelope. She didn’t disturb anyone’s writing, just slipped the sealed envelope in with the others on the white table, and left the inner courtyard, feeling delightfully empowered.
Twenty-Five
Kiltegan, Ireland
Sally stared up at the ceiling, trembling from the nightmare that had shocked her awake. Her eyes went to the calendar hanging on the wall. Large X’s crossed out the days, showing how much time Nancy had been gone. Three days left, she thought. She rolled over and sat up. A heavy sigh left her lips.
Scary dreams were one thing, but what about that weirdo in the white van? Maybe she was being overdramatic. After all, couldn’t he simply have been asking for directions? Still, there was something strange about him—some eerie look in his eyes. Cut it out, Sally. She groaned, and fell back against the pillow.
She clutched the sheets between her fingers. There was that, but what really was eating at her were the nightmares. They’d returned—the dreams about that monster she used to call Father. In her latest dream, his eyes had morphed into flaming red fire, and his wicked laugh had seared her soul. She shivered, and took to violent trembling. Stop, now, Sally.
It wasn’t anything new. The violent, uncontrollable tremors had started early in her life and usually had to run their course. At times, the tremors were so painful that in the quiet of the night, only the soft movement of the others in adjoining rooms had comforted her—knowing that there was something else happening, other than the horrific dreams that had caused her fears.
Most times, the cresting of the rising sun had calmed her mind and eased her back into sleep. But today, as the sun rose, so did her fears.
Her anxieties were almost as vicious as the monster that had caused them. “Mother,” she breathed out, her voice trembling. “Mother,” she called out.
A rustling of footsteps in the hallway, brought Elle to her door. “Sally, what’s wrong?”
“I . . . I, um,” she stuttered.
Elle sat down on the bed and took her hand. “You’re shaking.”
Sally pulled her hand away and sat up. She leaned into her mother’s side. “It’s just, it’s just, a bad dream.”
Elle nodded. “I figured as much, sweetie, but what was it about? You seem terribly frightened.”
Sally drew in a deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut. “He invades my dreams.” If she didn’t open her eyes, it’d be like she was talking aloud to herself, and not to someone she was sure didn’t want to listen—to that, at least. Elle had Sam to quiet her fears, but Sally didn’t have anyone, well, except for Breccan. He would totally understand. He’d seen the white van—but wait, this wasn’t about the man in the white van, was it? He did seem vaguely familiar.
Her stomach was in knots. “Mom, I think I’ve seen him before.” She opened her eyes.
Elle looked at her curiously. “Seen who?”
“The man in the white van.” She hadn’t seen Elle the night before, but surely Sam had mentioned him.
“Oh, you mean that guy who asked for directions?”
“Yeah, him. I think I remember him from somewhere.”
Elle shrugged. “Maybe you saw him at the grocery store or something?”
“No, I don’t think so. It feels like an old memory.”
“An old memory?” Elle seemed concerned.
She closed her eyes again. “Yeah, like from before Ireland.” Her eyes popped open.
Elle stood. “Oh, boy,’ she said, shaking her head. “I think your imagination has gone a little too far this time.”
And that’s why she couldn’t talk to Elle, and why she was super glad she hadn’t mentioned Merrick terrorizing her in her dreams. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” She had to get off the topic as quick as possible.
Elle gave quick nod. “Yes, I’m sure I am.”
Sally blinked. “Of course, you are,” she mumbled under her breath.
“What was that?” Elle asked, seeming to not hear Sally’s last words.
“Oh, nothing,” Sally said. “Just glad I have you to talk to.” It was sarcasm at its best, but Elle didn’t get that, either.
Elle grinned and gave her a warm hug, which Sally didn’t mind. She suspected that Elle had to dance around anything to do with the past. She imagined Elle’s demons were as bad as hers. The scars Elle had to have received from Merrick were probably unbelievable.
She hugged her back. “Thanks, Mom.”
Elle was probably right anyhow. Her active imagination could wreak havoc on her sometimes and definitely could’ve found their way into her dreams. Gah. It was hard enough being thirteen years old—try being thirteen with a huge secret, a secret you agreed to keep for a very long time.
After breakfast dishes, Sally excused herself. “I’m going for a walk.” She was really meeting Breccan at the park but didn’t want to have to explain herself to Sam or Elle. She was a little nervous about the white van, knowing if it followed her today, her fears would be validated. She’d rather they weren’t. Still, she moved with caution from street to street until she got to the park. Breccan was waiting.
He patted the bench beside him. “My dad ran the plates.”
“Really?” She was ready with whatever horrid thing he was about to reveal.
“They belong to an old man in Dublin.”
“What?”
“Yeah, my dad called him, and the man confirmed it.”
Shocking. Elle and Sam were both right. She felt so ridiculous, but relieved. “Okay,” she said with a sigh, “that’s a relief.”
“Yeah, but, um . . .”
“What? There’s more?” She knew it. She knew she was right. She sat forward.
“Don’t get mad, okay?”
That was not a good way to start a conversation. She pulled back and stared at him. “Why?”
“Please, don’t get mad at me, and don’t move away.”
She started trembling, afraid of his proclamation. There was only one reason why her family would leave Ireland. She pressed
her eyes tight, tears slipping past her eyelashes.
He knew.
Breccan knew her secret.
His voice softened. “I looked up the name, Sam Hancock.”
Her eyes flew open, and she jumped off the bench. “You what?”
He looked truly frightened. “I swear, I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”
She paced the area in front of the bench, moaning. “You won’t, but your dad will.”
He made a face. “What? Why would my dad tell anybody anything? I didn’t tell him what I know. I looked it up in old newspapers at the library.”
She clapped her hands together and jumped up and down. “Oh!” Elated, she threw her arms around his neck. Embarrassed, she pulled them down just as quickly, and wiped her eyes. “You didn’t? No one?”
“No, not a single person,” he said. “Sally, I am amazed with how well you are holding up, after what happened to your family.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. You’re one of the strongest girls I know.”
“Uh . . . thanks.” Apparently, he didn’t know many girls, but that was okay. In fact, having Breccan to talk to, about everything now, was the best thing ever. There was just one thing bothering her, but she almost didn’t want to bring it up again.
“Breccan?”
“Yes?”
“The man in the white van wasn’t old.”
“Yeah, well, that’s the other part. He rented it out to someone from the states.”
“That would explain why he didn’t know his way around, right?” Even as she said it, her mind raced. The states, and anything to do with the states, were exactly what they were trying to avoid.
“Yep. But we’ll still be careful.” He stood and pointed up the path. “Ready?”
Trembling, she followed the stony path beside her new best friend, glad that she finally had someone she could confide in.
Twenty-Six
Night Dance
Back at her cabin, Nancy opened the back wall and drew in the beauty and tranquility of the lake. So unlike her captive cave life, so much like who she really was. Maybe it was time to branch out on her own in Ireland, find her own place. Sally could come and go between the two. If she could find a secluded cabin like this, she would so buy it. After his upcoming execution, they could even come back to the states. One of the things the FBI did was to confiscate Merrick’s bank accounts, well, the ones they knew about. Nancy was set for life.
She breathed in deeply and stepped out on the deck. It was late afternoon. Her mind kept returning to the letter she had just written to Somebody Important—was it really that simple? Could one lose their own sorrows while tending to the needs of another? It was an amazing epiphany—a self-realization.
She sank down in the hammock stretched across the corner of the deck, and let it swing back and forth, as she closed her eyes, and relished in the moment. Of course, she knew it wouldn’t last forever, but she suspected it was the beginning of true healing. Serving others. Who would’ve known?
After a few minutes, she opened her eyes and pulled herself up. Down the way, Millie was sitting on her deck, reading, and Sofia appeared to be painting something. She smiled.
Her eyes fell upon her bag with the edges of Elle’s manuscript sticking out. Hesitating, she bit at her lower lip. You can do this Nance, in fact, you must. She pulled it open and leaned back into the hammock, as the pages of My Life, My Mess unfolded before her.
She didn’t mean to cry, but she couldn’t help it. So many times, she almost put it down, but she was caught up in it, enthralled by another perspective of the story—it was her story, too.
Elle had told her a few things, but Nancy had no idea the magnitude of her suffering at the hands of Merrick Snyder. She was so wrapped up in the story that she didn’t hear the footsteps coming up behind her. She swung around.
Sofia seemed surprised at her abrupt action. Her eyes fell to the manuscript. “It is a good story, no?” She reached for it. “May I?” She took the manuscript from her hands.
Nancy was too much of an emotional wreck to say no, so she simply nodded. Sofia sat down in a chair on the blue cabin’s deck and began to read.
Millie had followed her over, too, and beckoned Nancy to walk with her, leading her down the steps and away from Sofia. “I don’t know what to say, Nancy. I’m sure Sofia means no harm, but that was rather an intrusion.”
Nancy nodded, still shook up by Elle’s words. She should have known better than to read them.
“I can’t believe her nerve. Taking your personal manuscript. I mean, this is too much, even for Sofia.”
“What?” Until then, Nancy had hardly noticed that Sofia had taken the manuscript. “Oh. That.”
Perplexed, Millie made a face. “You don’t care?”
“Of course, I do, Millie, but—” There was just something about Sofia—something different. No one could do the things that Sofia could and get away with them, because she was so . . . commanding, so . . . just right there, like she was supposed to do the things she did. Nancy couldn’t put her finger on it, but for some reason, it was okay for Sofia to read Elle’s story.
Millie stopped halfway between the lodge and Nancy’s cabin. “Shall we go back and get the manuscript?”
Nancy looked toward the blue cabin and then toward the lodge. “I’m okay with her reading it. She already knows who I am.” She walked on quietly for a moment. “She’s the one that wrote that cryptic note, right?”
Millie cocked her head. “You think so?”
She nodded. “She seems the obvious choice.” She pointed toward the lodge. “Let’s go there.” A puff of air escaped her throat. “I don’t mind Sofia knowing more of the story, and, um, she might want some privacy.” She wasn’t sure how Sofia would react to the story, but she knew she’d shed some tears. Of course, her tears were a bit more bitter than she imagined Sofia’s would be.
“Okay, then, it’s off to the lodge.” Mille looped her arm through Nancy’s. “Ready?”
Nancy breathed in slow. “Yes.” A tingling swept through her—a sensation she’d balled up tight inside her for years. She was ready. She pulled her arm away, stopped waking, and faced her friend. She could do this—the very thing she swore she’d never do—talk to someone other than her therapist.
Swallowing, she spewed out. “Hi, Millie, my name’s Nancy McKechnie Snyder. My husband Malcolm was murdered by his twin brother, Merrick. I didn’t know that Malcolm had a twin brother, he didn’t either. After Merrick killed his brother, he assumed his identity. When I started to question his sudden change of personality, he locked me in the caves under our house, for five years,” her voice broke, “and he led me to believe that my infant daughter had died.”
Nancy held her hand up to stop Millie from interrupting. “I was rescued by Professor Hancock, Elle’s husband.” Her voice became solemn. “Merrick is on death row right now and his execution is in the spring.” Her eyes moistened. “And, my daughter isn’t dead. Sally’s thirteen.” She grinned. There. She’d said it, and it felt good.
Millie’s jaw dropped. “Wow.”
Nancy nodded and took Millie’s arm. “Let’s go get something to eat.”
At dinner, Nancy laughed and chatted with anyone that looked her way. It was as if she was coming out of the cave again, only this time, all of her—heart, soul, and mind.
The evening passed, and what a delightful evening it was. Millie and she played cards with some of the other girls. She couldn’t remember a time when she’d had so much fun, but now, it was time to retire for the night. Wendy drove them to their cabins, and Nancy got ready for bed.
She hadn’t thought any more about Elle’s manuscript, until after she’d showered and had her pajamas on. She imagined that Sofia had left it on the deck and went outside to check.
The deck was quiet. Sofia had probably left hours ago. When she didn’t find the manuscript, Nancy assumed that Sofia had taken it back to her cabin to read. It was okay, when she
believed Sofia was reading it on her deck, but with it gone, she felt panic rise in her chest. It was the only copy of Elle’s story—anywhere.
Calm down, Nance. It’s in good hands.
She glanced down at the yellow cabin and was dismayed to find all the lights off. Sofia must’ve already retired to bed. Wrapping her arms around her shoulders, she breathed in deep. Everything was alright. Sofia would return the manuscript in the morning.
Late that night, in the early hours of the morning, a strange, lyrical sound crept into her dreams, soft at first, but louder with each second. It awoke her. Not a dream, the odd music wafted through the night air. Nancy opened the back wall and stepped out on the deck. Farther down, from the dim light of a candle on the yellow cabin’s deck, Sofia swayed to the doleful sounds that came from her lips, her wild hair flying about, caught in the sudden breezes that swept past the cabins. Around and around she danced faster and faster, until she collapsed on the deck, laughing madly.
Wendy appeared out of nowhere and helped her to her feet. With the care of a loving parent, she led her back inside the yellow cabin.
It was the last that Nancy saw of her, because in the morning, she was gone—gone to that place she went to when, in her own words, the “idiocy” came.
Nancy’s heart wrenched within her for her new friend. Sofia had said that her situation could never compare to Nancy’s, but she was wrong. Nancy sunk down on the deck and wept.
Moments later, she arose from the cold, deck floor. It was time for her to leave, too. Gathering her belongs, she began to pack, when a surge of panic gripped her heart. The manuscript. She gasped. Elle’s manuscript. She dropped everything and raced out the door, rushing toward the yellow cabin.
The door was unlocked, and she stepped inside. Wendy was busily cleaning, though the cabin appeared already spotless.
“Good morning, Nancy.”
Nancy was unsure of what to say. She had seen everything. She had not been able to sleep, and had seen Wendy escort Sofia into a limousine, earlier that morning. She had seen Sofia’s maniacal dancing, and heard her crazed laughter. But, she’d also seen the tender care that Wendy had showed Sofia.
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