Winter Flower

by Charles Sheehan-Miles

  “I’ve seen him.” My voice came out in a squeak.

  Stan and Melody simultaneously said, “What?”

  “He was at The Knights Club this afternoon. I spoke with him. I gave him a flyer and asked if he’d seen her.” As I spoke, the pitch of my voice rose higher and higher. I was nauseous. He must have known who I was. He was laughing at me.

  The detective and the FBI agent looked at each other, both of them shocked. Then Melody said, “You’re certain?”

  I nodded.

  She turned to the captain, who had been standing silently against the wall. “What are the odds we can get a warrant to dust the place?”

  The captain said, “Probably not that good, at least not to do a broad search. But we might be able to get a warrant limited to checking the security cameras and finding out where he sat and moved and dust just those places. It’s worth a try. We’ll have to move quick though, that place starts getting busy in the late afternoon. Once a couple hundred guys have been in there, there’ll be no chance of getting usable prints.”

  Melody nodded. “Okay. We’ll try to get an ID on the pimp that way.”

  Wilcox said, “This is the final piece of information we have. It’s from the security cameras at Dave’s Diner here in Portland—where we had breakfast the other day.”

  He pulled up another photo.

  I let out a long sigh. In a corner booth was that man. He had tattoos all over his arms. Muscular arms and legs. His expression was hard. On either side of him were Brenna and the other girl, Laura.

  I wanted to cry. I took a sip of the hideous coffee in hopes of wetting my throat. “What do we do now? Since we know they’re here.”

  “You are not going to do anything,” Stan said. “Neither of your kids will be helped if you end up getting killed. We’re going to collect a small joint task force and set up an appointment with her. It’ll be tomorrow night, and—”

  I interrupted. “Why tomorrow? Why not tonight?”

  He shook his head. “We tried to set one up for tonight, but they’re booked up. And we can’t afford to rattle this guy … first, because he might leave town suddenly, and second, because we can’t take any chance that he’s going to hurt the girls. Do you understand? We will want you close by, so you can come immediately once we have her.”

  I nodded. “Okay. But I want to be really close. Put me in the same hotel a few doors down? Or another floor?”

  Wilcox nodded at me then looked at the captain. “How many officers do you think you can detail for this?”

  The captain said, “If necessary I’ll get you the SWAT team.”

  Wilcox shook his head. “Once we have Brenna, we’ll get the address from her for where they are staying. We’ll need the SWAT team on standby for that. But for the initial operation, can you detail four officers? I should be able to get some assets from the field office too.”

  Stan turned to me. “I want you to stop canvassing with the flyers now. We’re getting close, and we don’t want to spook them and have them rush out of town before tomorrow night. Understood?”

  “Yes.” I said. But then I spoke the words I’d been afraid of. “What if it’s too late? If they’re running now because I talked to him?”

  “We know their phone numbers and street names and photos now. Worst case, if they leave Portland, we should be able to identify where they go pretty quickly. I don’t want you to panic about that. I’ve got a couple of agents who are calling every once in a while from different numbers to see if they can get an earlier appointment. Just in case somebody cancels or doesn’t show. Different voices each time so they won’t suspect.”

  I closed my eyes. I wanted to call that number. But I couldn’t.

  “Okay. Just tell me where to be and I’ll be there. I’ll do whatever it takes. And Stan … one favor? Are you in touch with the parents? Of Laura Felker?”

  He nodded. “We have someone from the response unit visiting them this evening to let them know what’s happening and that we believe we’ve found her.”

  “Would it be possible … I mean … I’d like to talk with her mother.”

  Wilcox gave me a long, compassionate look. Then he said, “I’ll find out if we can give you her number. But I don’t know that it will do you any good.”

  Sam

  Dad and I took turns driving from seven in the morning until eleven that night, when we finally gave in to exhaustion and stopped in Burley, Idaho. We stayed in an even grosser hotel than the night before—a tiny one floor brick building with half a dozen rooms. The word MOTEL in three-foot high block letters was mounted on the roof, and between the doors were plastic chairs.

  Dad turned up his nose when we got there. “Maybe we should try some place else?”

  “This looks cheap,” I said. “And we’re only going to be here for a few more hours.”

  “Point,” he said. “We’ve only got about nine hours left … I’m figuring if we leave early enough, we can be there mid-afternoon.”

  He went and checked in while I fumbled with getting our things together. After two long days in the van, it was starting to look like a real mess. A few minutes later he came out.

  “Well, we’re in room three,” he said.

  Once inside, we both had second thoughts. The walls looked mildewed and the two beds looked saggy.

  “It’s just for a few hours,” he said.

  So we got ready for bed. I was both wired and exhausted. The news that the police were going to try to make contact with Brenna tomorrow night had me jittery. But I needed to rest.

  First, I sent a Snapchat to Hayley. It showed half my face on one side of the picture, with our crappy hotel room in the background. I added the caption “5 Stars” to the photo.

  She messaged back: Where are u?

  Me: Idaho.

  Hayley: Basically nowhere.

  Me: We’ll get to Portland tomorrow. My mom called. The cops think they’ve identified Brenna and they’re going to try to arrange a meetup. Like … an appointment. Then snatch her away from whoever has her.

  Hayley: That’s exciting. Scary even.

  Me: What’s happening with you?

  Hayley: They can’t find Mom. She’s off doing meth somewhere.

  Me: Will they send you back to ur dad?

  Hayley: Foster home. Probably. Or stay in the emergency shelter for a while. I hope not it’s scary here

  Me: I wish u could stay with me

  Hayley: Me 2

  Me: Good night. Let me know what happens tomorrow? Text me? I’ll be on the road all day.

  Hayley: Good night

  There was a thirty-second delay, maybe even a minute, as I got situated under the covers. Then my phone beeped again.

  “Can you turn that thing off? Or silence it?” Dad sounded groggy.

  “Okay,” I answered. Then I looked at Hayley’s message.

  It said: I love you

  I answered back right away: ily2

  I didn’t know if she meant it as a friend … or what? Right now it didn’t matter. What mattered was that she was my best friend. That I had a best friend.

  “Dad?” I said once the lights were out.

  “Mmm-hmm?”

  “Do you think Mom … how will … how will she react? To me?”

  Dad was silent for a long time. Long enough that I started to think he’d fallen asleep. But it turned out he was just thinking about the question, giving it real consideration. He finally responded.

  “Your mom loves you. I think that’s more powerful than any questions or concerns she may have. We both love you.”

  With that, we both drifted off to sleep.

  Brenna

  The door closed with a loud clang when Rick stepped outside. He’d be out there smoking and talking on the phone for a while. Then he’d come in and fuck one of us and pass out snoring.

  We didn’t dare try to sneak out while he was sleeping. Rick kept his gun under his pillow when he slept.

  “Strawberry,” Nial
la whispered. “I’ve got a plan.”

  “What is it?”

  “Tomorrow night, once we get on the road. I want you to pretend you’re sick. Really sick. Start complaining in the morning about an upset stomach. We’ll make him stop at the first rest stop out of town. He’ll send us in together—once we’re in there, we’ll ask someone to call the police. We stay in the women’s room. You be loud, sick.”

  “Are you crazy?” I asked. “He’ll kill us.”

  “No way. Not if he’s got that eighth grader in the car. He’ll put the car in drive and just go. Or even better, they’ll arrest him.”

  “What about when he gets out? He’ll come for us, Nialla.”

  “We’ll be long gone. I mean it. I’ve been stashing money. I’ve got fifteen hundred dollars.”

  “Holy shit! I thought he looked in your purse! He’d kill you for sure if he knew you had that much.”

  “Fuck him. It’s under the sole of my sneakers. I cut out a square in there.”

  “Jesus,” I said. My heart was thumping. Could we really get away? For just a second the idea flashed through my mind: if I told Rick about the money he’d be grateful. Maybe he’d finally trust me. Maybe he wouldn’t hurt me anymore.

  But this was Nialla.

  “You just … be sick, okay? Can you do that?”

  “Yeah,” I whispered. “I can do it.”

  “This time tomorrow we’ll be free,” Nialla said.

  I closed my eyes and prayed she was right. But I didn’t think she was. Rick was too smart and too dangerous for that kind of trick. He’d kill us.

  That was fine. I didn’t want to live any longer. Better I die now, rather than let him hurt my family any more.

  Thirty-Two

  Erin

  “Hello? Hello?” A woman answered the phone. “Mrs. Felker? My name is Erin Roberts.”

  I heard an intake of breath at the other end of the line. Then she said, “The man from the FBI asked me if you could call. He explained everything yesterday afternoon.” She had a rich Southern Virginia accent, subtly different than what I’d grown up around in North Carolina. But there was something different about it. The same thing that was different about me. A part of her was missing. A part of her had died, and I could hear it in her voice.

  I closed my eyes. A long silence stretched out between us. Finally she said, “What can I do for you, Mrs. Roberts?”

  I didn’t know. I didn’t know why I’d wanted to call her. I didn’t know what to say. Finally I whispered, “I just … I-I thought maybe we should talk. There’s a chance we’ll get our daughters back tomorrow. And … I don’t know, I guess…”

  I trailed off. I had no idea what to say. But her response made me sit up straight.

  “Mrs. Roberts, my Laura is dead.”

  “What? I don’t understand. The police think she’s with—”

  “I don’t care what the police think. They tell me she’s been selling herself all over the Internet, all over the country. That she’s been whoring. That’s not my daughter. Not anymore.”

  I found myself standing up as I listened to her hateful words. “How can you say that?” I asked. “She was abducted. Both of our daughters were abducted.”

  In a dead, sad tone, the woman said, “She’d be better dead. She should have died instead of allowing herself to be used as a harlot. Now she’ll burn in hell.”

  I wanted to puke. Surely she didn’t mean this … was this woman mentally ill? Brainwashed? How could she say this about her child?

  “How dare you?” I spoke in a savage tone. “How dare you judge her like that? Hell is where she’s been!”

  I hung up the phone. I couldn’t bear to talk with that woman any more. Not even for a second.

  I looked at the clock. I’d been pacing in my room for hours. It was eleven in the morning, and it would still be hours and hours before the police operation mounted.

  I should sleep, I thought, but I couldn’t. Instead, I paced more.

  Brenna

  I bent over the sink in the hotel bathroom, halfway through doing my makeup. “Oh, God,” I said.

  Nialla spoke, her words coming out too quickly. “You okay, baby? Something wrong?”

  Rick gave her an annoyed look, then said to me, “The fuck is wrong with you?”

  I shook my head. “Stomach hurts.”

  He snorted. “Well, get all the shit out of your system now. Because you’re working tonight. You got a full lineup of appointments.”

  Nialla said, “Do you ever get tired of acting like an asshole?”

  Rick slapped her but not as hard as he could have. “Shut up. You’ve been gettin’ out of pocket lately. Don’t think I don’t notice. Don’t start thinking you’re anything more than a whore.”

  She cringed back from him. He walked away, lighting a cigarette. “You bitches get ready.” He let the door slam behind him.

  She gave the door a look of naked hate.

  Cole

  The approach into Portland on I-84, driving alongside the impossibly blue Columbia River, was beautiful. Driving with Sam beside me as she smiled and chattered and took a thousand selfies felt impossibly normal. The pines, swaying in the breeze, whisked past us as the miles disappeared behind us.

  Then, almost without transition, we crossed a bridge into Portland. Before the bridge, there was little more than trees, but after, the scene shifted immediately to a suburb that could have been anywhere in America. Large developments, big box stores, chain gas stations. As soon as we crossed into the city, Sam tensed up. She started tapping her fingers on the doorframe, then pulled down the visor to look at herself in the mirror.

  She started to fidget with her makeup—which she’d insisted on spending twenty minutes on before we could leave the hotel this morning. Powdering herself. Fixing her eyeshadow. The bruises were still visible on her face, but the swelling had gone away completely by now, and makeup covered the worst of it.

  “Nervous?” I asked.

  “Wouldn’t you be?”

  I smiled. “I would. But you know what? It’s going to be okay. Mom is going to see exactly the same thing I do.”

  “What’s that?”

  I took a deep breath. “She’s going to see you smile. That’s all it will take.” I got choked up before I could finish my statement.

  Sam blushed. “Have I been smiling a lot?”

  I looked almost skeptically at my son. Daughter. “Sam, you’ve smiled more in the past two days than you have in the last four years. It breaks my heart that you were so unhappy … because I’d do anything to make you and Brenna and your mom happy.”

  Now it was Sam’s turn to look skeptical. “Even Mom?”

  “Especially her,” I replied. “Whatever else happens … I want her back. I’ve loved her since the minute I laid eyes on her twenty years ago. We grew distant. I screwed up and betrayed her in the worst possible way. But I swear to God, I’m going to do everything I can to bring our family back together.”

  Sam stared at me, her blue eyes watering. A tear ran down her cheek, and another. “I love you, Dad,” she whispered.

  “I love you, Sam.”

  We merged onto I-84 as traffic became heavier. Trees on both sides of the road, pines and firs and I didn’t know what all.

  Sam took another selfie and started typing. She must be sending a Snapchat to Hayley.

  There it was. Exit 19, Division Street and Powell Boulevard. “This is our exit,” I said.

  Sam went silent. I felt anxious too. I’d thought about reuniting with Erin for days. Things had been awful between us. She’d been drinking, distant. We hadn’t slept in the same bed in weeks—truthfully, except a few times, in months.

  Would she turn me away? I couldn’t blame her if she did. Our marriage had been on the rocks for four years, since well before Brenna’s disappearance, and that was mostly my fault.

  As I turned on to Eighty-second Avenue, my phone announced, “In one thousand feet, you will reach your dest
ination.”

  I swallowed. We stopped at a red light and I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel. And then something crazy happened.

  “Dad?”

  I looked over at Sam. “Yeah?”

  “She loves you too, you know.”

  “Who?”

  “Mom. She’s always loved you. You can do it. You can win her back.”

  My eyes watered uncontrollably. I wiped at them furiously and muttered, “Jesus Christ.”

  The light turned green. I began to drive forward and said, “Thanks, Sam.”

  She shrugged and went back to looking out the window.

  One more red light, and then I was turning right into the parking lot of an awful-looking motel.

  It was dirty and old. It had bare metal poles supporting the second floor walk, and a window to one of the guest rooms was boarded up.

  I parked the car and took a deep breath.

  “At least it looks better than the place we stayed last night,” Sam said.

  “That’s … optimistic,” I replied. I got out of the van at the same time Sam did and we walked across the small parking lot.

  The door to her room opened. She must have seen us coming across the parking lot.

  I stopped for just a second and caught my breath as Erin stepped out of the darkness into the bright sunshine. The rays caught her hair, highlighted red glints. Her blue eyes were flooded with tears.

  Sam approached her slowly. She’d dressed carefully that morning in a flowered sleeveless dress. She really did look like a girl. It was hard to watch—but good at the same time. It was so confusing.

  Erin didn’t seem confused at all. She looked at Sam with wide eyes and said, “Oh, baby, you’re beautiful.”

  Then the two of them were embracing. Erin had her arms wrapped protectively around Sam, one hand on the back of her head. Sam winced—her ribs were still very painful—and Erin eased the pressure.

  I approached slowly. I didn’t want Erin to jerk away. Then … I wrapped them both with my arms. The three of us stood there, arms around each other, for a long time.

  Thirty-Three