by Sophie Davis
I had no idea what time it was, but guessed it was probably around o’dark thirty. Somehow, it didn’t seem entirely plausible that anything I’d left out here could be so important as to warrant dashing out here in the middle of the night. Especially sans shoes. Asher’s weary gaze confirmed as much as he took in my pajamas and bare toes.
“What are you doing out here?” I asked, hoping to deflect the inquisition.
“I was walking one of my friends out and I saw the light on in your car. Imagine my surprise when I saw you sitting in the backseat. Shit, Raven, it’s four a.m.”
Now that I was a little more clearheaded, I caught the whiff of alcohol on his breath. I wondered whether the friend he’d been walking out was female. And if she was getting benefits.
Stop it, Raven. It doesn’t matter, I told myself.
“Don’t change the subject,” Asher continued. “It’s seriously not safe to be out here in the middle of the night. What on earth was so important you couldn’t wait a couple more hours?”
I searched my brain for a plausible lie. In the space of several long moments, I came up with and rejected several lame excuses. Finally, I went with an amended version of the truth.
“This.” I held out my hand, palm up, to reveal the necklace. “I thought I’d lost it, and then suddenly remembered I’d hidden it in the armrest. It’s really special to me.” I was rambling and didn’t care.
Asher’s expression was unreadable, leaving me doubtful my story had been convincing. Regardless of what he believed, it was unlikely he’d guess the truth: that I’d been sleepwalking and found the butterfly pendant while doing so.
“Come on, let’s go in. Your feet are a mess.” I was about to walk past him to the steps of our building, when Asher held out a hand. He looked down at my feet once more, then scooped me up before I could protest. With one arm under my knees and the other around my waist, I was too flustered by Asher’s sudden nearness to fight it. Plus, I seriously didn’t want to walk across the street barefoot again. His skin was warm against mine, and I recalled Blake’s comforting touch from my dream. Only now, I wasn’t so certain he’d been Blake. In all of Lark’s belongings, I had yet to find a picture of her mystery boyfriend. All I had were the descriptions of him in her journal, and those definitely weren’t enough to conjure him up. Still, I had the nagging suspicion that it was supposed to be Blake, and my subconscious had just filled in the blanks.
Dreams were so weird.
Inside Asher’s apartment, at his insistence, I propped my feet on the pizza box coffee table. “They’re just boxes,” he’d argued when I tried to protest. Not only were my feet filthy, they were also bleeding a little from several scratches.
Asher retrieved first aid supplies from his bathroom. I used the brief moment alone to shove the pendant back into its pouch and tuck it into the folded waistband of my shorts. I was hoping that the whole out-of-sight, out-of-mind thing was true. Maybe at some point I’d ‘fess up and admit that it wasn’t actually mine. Just not right now.
“Lift up,” Asher said. He’d returned with wet towels, dry towels, and gauze, and was now kneeling beside the coffee table, preparing to clean my feet.
Embarrassment made my cheeks burn like hot coals. I felt ridiculous letting him play nurse. Reaching for the towel he held in his hand, eyes downcast to avoid his gaze, I said, “I’ll do it.”
While I attended to my right foot, Asher produced another towel and began on my left as if I hadn’t said anything. Unsure of the appropriate way to handle the situation with civility, I abandoned the notion and scrubbed vigorously at the dirt. The terrycloth fabric was soft and fluffy, but still made the cuts sting.
After an impossibly long five minutes of awkward silence, my feet were clean and bandaged. Asher mumbled something I didn’t catch and disappeared into his bedroom. My fingers itched to touch the butterfly again. I wanted to see it, to make sure it was real and not a figment of my imagination. Maybe I’d still been dreaming when I found it. Maybe I’d only woken up when Asher knocked on the window. I touched the waistband of my shorts. It was there. And I’d shown it to Asher. My sanity was still intact.
Despite my desire to examine the necklace, I didn’t dare to until I was alone. To distract my racing thoughts, I glanced around Asher’s living room, hoping to find something to focus on. Amazingly, my eyes landed on something that managed to pull my attention away from Lark, the pendant, and the bizarre dream. A photograph of an elegant girl lay atop a folded sheet of stationary on the end table. She had gorgeous mocha skin, twinkling caramel eyes, and a broad grin. And this wasn’t the first time I’d seen her. I cocked my head and listened for Asher. He was still rummaging around in his bedroom. Feeling only slightly intrusive, I snatched the photo and piece of paper underneath it. It was Kim, standing in front of the Eiffel Tower. I flipped it over. On the back, in small, precise letters, was, “Can’t believe I am here! Miss you.”
Interesting, I thought. Asher had told me that he was friendly with the girl I rented my apartment from. I just hadn’t realized that meant they were close enough to be pen pals. Besides, who wrote real letters anymore? Wouldn’t it have been easier to just email, like normal people?
I knew I shouldn’t read it. Maybe my vacation from reality and into Lark’s world had compromised my morals. Maybe I was just too curious for my own good. Or maybe I was the tiniest bit jealous. Whatever the real reason, I was unfolding the thick sheet of paper before I knew it. To my surprise, it wasn’t a letter at all. Kim had mailed Asher a charcoal drawing of himself. She was remarkably talented, I’d give her that. She’d captured his goofy smile and inquisitive eyes amazingly accurately.
“She’s a great artist, huh?”
I looked up to find Asher leaning in the archway between the living room and hall. Busted. I dropped the picture and drawing into my lap, opening my mouth to apologize. Asher waved it off before the words even left my lips.
“She’s amazing,” I said instead.
Silence hung in the air while I continued to stare absently at the photograph of Kim, now in my lap. Embarrassment kept me from meeting Asher’s gaze.
Asher cleared his throat loudly. “Here,” he said, moving towards the couch. “Socks. And this. I meant to give it to you at brunch.”
Finally, I glanced up and saw a pair of thick, wool socks in one of his outstretched hands. In the other, Asher held the Grisham book I’d started reading while waiting for our table at Phrases.
“Thank you,” I said, genuinely shocked by the gift.
“It’s nothing. You seemed pretty into it at the bookstore, and I figured you might need a break from playing Nancy Drew.”
“Yeah, I probably do,” I admitted reluctantly. After the sleepwalking and the bizarre dream, I really did agree with him. I’d become too engrossed in Lark’s life. Maybe tomorrow night – tonight? – I’d swap the journal for the courtroom drama.
Slipping the socks on to my feet, I found that they were just as warm and comfortable as they looked. My feet were surrounded in fuzzy heaven.
“Want something to drink?” Asher asked, at the same time I said, “I should go.”
“It’s late. I don’t want to bother you anymore.” I was standing and headed for the door in the next instant. Only when I reached for the doorknob did I realize I was still holding the photograph and Kim’s drawing. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m not usually so rude. She really is an incredible artist.”
“Raven–” Asher began, but I just kept talking.
“Thanks for the book. And the socks. And the nursemaid act.”
I searched for somewhere to set Asher’s mail. Ultimately, I settled on a rickety table with a wicker basket, where he set his keys and wallet every time he entered the apartment.
He called my name a second time, but I already had one foot in the hallway and the door halfway closed. The lock clicked when I pulled it shut completely. I took a moment to collect my thoughts before hurrying upstairs to my own apartment. It was hard to decide whether
I was relieved or dismayed that Asher didn’t follow.
The moment I was safely inside my apartment, door locked behind me, I retrieved the pouch from my waistband. That’s ironic, I thought. I’d only noticed the picture and drawing because I’d been looking for something to divert my attention from the pendant. Now, I was using the necklace as a distraction from thoughts of Asher and Kim and the true nature of their relationship.
And distract me it did. The butterfly was even more beautiful in the light. Gilded wings of opal branched off from the butterfly’s glittering body. Two thin spikes of gold poked up from its head. The chain was a thick golden rope. It was gorgeous, no doubt. I just couldn’t help but think that the necklace wasn’t worthy of the heiress to a diamond fortune. Don’t get me wrong, it probably cost more than I could afford even when I was gainfully employed. It was just that, with flawless, priceless gems at her disposal, I’d have expected Lark Kingsley to have jewelry worthy of her last name.
What really got me about the pendant, what bothered me more than the ending of The Village, was that the snowy wings and gold detailing were identical to those on the living butterfly from my dream. It was too weird for words.
I turned the charm over in my hands. It was heavier than it looked; the body was probably solid gold. On the back, two interlocking circles had been carved into the metal. Odd. The design was too simple to be decorative, yet I couldn’t fathom that it was functional, either.
The necklace and the circles just added to the growing list of stuff I needed to figure out. Then again, maybe it wasn’t Lark’s. I mean, she’d never owned the car. She couldn’t have – she always talked about cabs and her father’s drivers in her diary. Just because I’d found her journal in the car, that didn’t mean every random item in it belonged to her.
Right, and poodles can fly.
My temples throbbed. Tomorrow. No, I amended, today – much later today – I’d attack the clues with fresh eyes. Now I needed to sleep.
Sleep didn’t come easily, though. Fear of waking up somewhere other than my bedroom had me tossing and turning until well after sunrise.
Asher knocked on my door around noon. Lark’s journal, the crossword clues, the receipt I’d found in her desk, and a pad of paper containing my own chicken scratch notes were still spread out on the floor of the living room. I was once again seated in front of them. The butterfly necklace was safely tucked away inside its velvet pouch, since I wasn’t sure whether it had belonged to Lark. Even if it had, I couldn’t be certain that it was a clue. The first thing I’d done after dragging my exhausted body from bed after three hours of fitful sleep, was to write down the details of the previous night’s dream. Unfortunately, I couldn’t seem to remember most of it. Only the butterfly really stuck out in my memory.
“I’m coming,” I called on my way to the door.
Asher, two cups of steaming coffee in his hands, greeted me with a smile.
“I thought you might need this.” He held out one of the coffees towards me.
“Thank you,” I said as I took the cup. “And thank you again for last night.”
Asher shrugged like it was no big deal. With a sweep of my hand, I opened the door for him to come inside.
“Any major developments?” Asher asked, pointing to the collection of Lark’s belongings on the floor.
I shook my head and let out a frustrated sigh. “No. I still don’t get the two journal entry thing. And the crossword clues? I figured them out, but what am I supposed to do now? If whistleblower is a password, what is it for?”
Asher settled on my couch. He sipped his coffee as he thought about my somewhat rhetorical questions. We’d already been over all of this. I sipped my coffee. A mocha, I realized, delighted that he’d remembered.
“Maybe it doesn’t mean anything,” he said finally.
“No way.” I shook my head. “It has to mean something.”
“Come on, Raven, you said yourself that she was disturbed. Maybe this is all just a big game for her.”
I’d actually considered this possibility several times. And rejected it every one of them. Lark Kingsley had been terrified when she vanished. Hell, she’d been scared for a long time, even before her disappearance. She’d left these clues so someone would figure out what had happened to her. So she wouldn’t fade away into obscurity, just another runaway teen.
“No. Not a game. She was disturbed, but not cruel. She wasn’t the kind of person to do all of this just for attention. I’ve read this girl’s innermost thoughts. If Lark was paranoid, it was for good reason. I really believe that all of these clues lead somewhere. That there’s an answer. And she wants – no, she needs – for us to find it, to find her.”
“Okay, okay.” Asher held up his free hand in a placating gesture. “Why don’t I take a look at her journal? I might see something you missed.”
I’d become oddly protective of Lark and wasn’t ready to share her personal musings just yet. Telling him what she wrote seemed like less of a betrayal than actually showing him. Yet, he had a point. Obviously I was getting nowhere. I’d undoubtedly overlooked hints, and maybe he would recognize them.
With some doubts still lingering, I nonetheless retrieved Lark’s journal from the floor. I flipped it open to the second journal entry about meeting Blake and handed it to Asher. While he read, I sipped more of my mocha. The caffeine was already starting to sharpen my senses.
The awkwardness from the night before was still lingering. I sat down on the floor again, instead of on the couch with Asher. Of course while I felt self-conscious, he seemed perfectly at ease. I wondered if it was because he felt at home in Kim’s apartment. Actually, no. That wasn’t it. It was just Asher’s way. He was so easygoing, nothing fazed him.
“I think this might be some sort of cipher – is that the right word? I don’t know. But you see how she capitalizes certain words that don’t seem like they should be capitalized?” Asher held the journal out, pointing to several examples to demonstrate his point.
“I noticed that,” I admitted.
“She doesn’t appear do it in her other entries. So, just guessing here, but I bet she did it in this one on purpose. It’s probably another clue.”
“To what?”
“No idea. Maybe a password?” he suggested.
“How many passwords does one girl need?” I groaned.
“Depends how many secrets she’s hiding.”
Asher had reading to do for his classes, so I sent him back downstairs to be responsible. In turn, he promised to text as soon as he was done to check on my progress.
Before I delved into something that could easily take me all day, I decided I needed a change of venue. Taking my laptop, the journal, and what I’d unoriginally dubbed “The Lark File,” I set off for The Pines. Besides reading the journal, there was no better way to get to know Lark than by spending time in her sanctuary. And maybe being surrounded by her things would give me divine inspiration, or something.
Darrell was back on duty today. He smiled and waved aside my attempt to sign the visitor’s log.
“No need for that. You’re essentially a resident for the time being.”
I smiled at his not-so-subtle reminder that my status was temporary.
“I’m just dropping off some things. Won’t be up there too long,” I said needlessly.
“Of course, miss,” Darrell replied.
I hurried towards the elevator before I continued rambling on, giving answers to questions no one asked.
The apartment was just as cool and quiet as it had been the last time I was here. I retrieved Lark’s iPod from my messenger bag, and popped in the ear buds. Music, her music, helped ease the tension I always felt while delving into her life.
In the living room, I spread out the clues I’d collected on the coffee table. In my ears, Vampire Weekend’s lead singer crooned about punctuation. I wasn’t sure exactly what I was looking for. I figured, like with porn, I’d know it when I saw it.
“
Who gives a fuck about an Oxford comma?” I sang loudly. And off-key.
Grammar had not been my strongest subject in school. In fact, it was actually my worst. I knew the basics. Capitalize proper nouns. A sentence needs a verb and a noun. Separate items in a series with commas. Don’t starts sentences with “but” or “and.” But things like semicolons, “I” versus “me,” and what the fuck an Oxford comma actually was – those were things I had to look up.
Like I’d told Asher, I did notice some randomly capitalized words. Except, with Lark’s elegant penmanship, it was hard to be sure which letters were definitively capitals. Add to that the fact that I sucked at stuff like this, and it was easy to understand why I was reluctant to tackle the code.
You can do this, I told myself. Correction, you have to do this. A girl’s life may depend on it.
I took a deep breath. I could do this. Seriously, how hard could it really be? Unless Lark was worried about an NSA code breaker finding her journal, this cipher or whatever had to be one a layperson could figure out.
Reaching for a pad of paper and a pen, I once again started at the beginning of the passage. I wrote down every word that she’d capitalized, including the ones I was pretty sure were supposed to be. I made an exception for “I.” In length, the list I compiled rivaled a suburban family of four’s weekly grocery order.
Okay, I thought, time to put my public school education to the test.
I began crossing off the words that I knew were correct, like Manhattan and London. The ones that started a sentence were eliminated next. After this, I was left with a much more manageable list of thirteen words: Morning, Run, Champagne, Breath, Footing, Electric, Mine, All, For, Beautiful, Important, To, Decadent. I tried forming a sentence with the words. Important beautiful champagne for decadent electric morning run to footing, all breath mine. Yep, sounded about right.
After numerous failed attempts, which produced a pile of crumpled and discarded notebook pages on the floor, I came to a conclusion. No matter how I arranged them, the thirteen words only made nonsensical sentences. I tapped the pen on the coffee table and tried to come up with other possibilities.