And Then She Was Gone

by Noonan, Rosalind

  “I fought him more in the beginning,” she said, telling Wynonna about the way he had threatened to use the stun gun to keep her in line. “I learned the hard way, but I learned. If I didn’t obey him, I would get a shock that would make me feel terrible for a very long time.”

  “And how do you feel about him now?” Wynonna asked.

  “When I think of Kevin, I get all cold inside.” She lowered her head. She knew he’d been mean to her, even cruel. But she still felt the need to protect him. “There are some things I miss. The compound—I hated that place, but it was home. I knew my way around. When he left for long stretches, I could take care of myself and Mac there. Part of me wants to go back, but then I remember how lonely it was. Just me and Mac, talking to the squirrels and birds. I’m not sure what to think. My feelings are a big, tangled mess.”

  “It will take a while to sort everything out; that’s just the way it is. But in the meantime, we’ll start focusing on you, dear girl. Helping you reconnect to your family and to the everyday parts of life that you’re not accustomed to. Therapy and healing. And I’ve found that healing happens faster when you work with horses. They have a way of bringing issues out faster.”

  Sis twisted in the swing. “I want to work with the horses, but I don’t want to lie back on a couch and talk to the ceiling.”

  Wynonna rose, grabbed the chains of her swing and pulled her legs up so that she was kneeling on the seat. “Is that what you imagine therapy to be?” When Sis nodded, Wynonna smiled. “Don’t worry. I don’t have an office, and you won’t be stuck inside. If you’re staring up at anything, it’ll be blue sky.” She motioned overhead, and Sis leaned back and breathed in the thin white wisps that crossed the field of blue. In that moment, she wished she could rise up to the sky and float there, free from Kevin and her family, from the reporters who wanted a picture of her.

  This was a game she had learned to play in the years with Kevin . . . floating away on a cloud. It used to make him mad when he caught her daydreaming with her face to the sky, but in the past few years, he wasn’t paying attention enough to notice.

  Paula’s voice pulled her from the open sky. “Come on in, ladies. I just got a call from the police chief, and we need to talk.”

  Back in the little living room with the comfortable chairs, Paula told them that the police chief had spent the morning at the prison, trying to get information about Mac. “It would really help if we knew what hospital he took her to, or where he disposed of her body. But Kevin was uncooperative, with a new twist. He denied ever knowing a child named Mac.” She tilted her head down and looked at Sis over her black glasses. “Kevin is saying that you did not have a baby while in captivity.”

  “What?” Sis felt her face screw up in disbelief. “He can’t do that! He loved Mac. Why would he pretend that . . . that she never existed?”

  “He probably realizes that the DA will charge him with murder or at least negligent homicide if they find Mac’s remains.” Paula shrugged. “He’s trying to save himself from some serious jail time.”

  “He can’t do that. He can’t just erase her like that. He can’t just say she didn’t ever live.” Tears were streaming down her cheeks, but she swiped them away with her tight-fisted hands. Fury burned inside her. “How can he do that?”

  Neither Paula nor Wynonna seemed surprised by Kevin’s lies, but Sis couldn’t believe he would deny Mac.

  “How can he do that? To pretend that sweet little Mac never lived?” Sis paced to the window and back to the couch. “That’s so wrong!”

  “That’s who Kevin Hawkins is. He manipulates people and steals from them and tortures them and then lies about it.” Paula’s voice was soft, but the underlying truth made Sis quiver inside. “That’s how he treated you, Lauren. It’s no surprise that he’s lying about Mac.”

  “But to say she didn’t even exist?” Sis pushed off the couch and paced back to the window. “He’s acting like it’s all a lie. He’s going to make people think that I’m lying, because that’s what he does. Kevin is good at twisting things around and making people see things his way. Everyone is going to think that I’m lying and that Mac never, ever lived.”

  “We know Mac was real,” Wynonna said quietly. “Even if it can’t be proven in court, we believe you. And I’m grateful for your artistic gift, because we have a dozen wonderful sketches of your little girl. Sketches so good that the police are using them in their investigation.”

  Sis’s chin was quivering as she turned from the window. “It’s so unfair! How can he do this to me?”

  “Kevin Hawkins does not have the power to turn people against you,” Paula said. “But you are the only one with the power to turn away from him. That’s your choice.”

  Sis sniffed, but in the muddled tears and confusion, she knew what Paula meant. She couldn’t count on Kevin anymore . . . never again. And she had to give up thinking that he was going to protect her in any way. He never really had; he never would.

  “I’m finished with him,” Sis said quietly. “I hope I never see him again.”

  “I’m with you on that,” Paula said. “And I know this is a confusing time, but I promise you, you’ll never regret crossing him out of your life. So, for the record, would you tell us your name?”

  Sis bristled. It was hard to shed her comfortable skin, but Paula was right. It was time to let the past go. And that meant losing the name he had forced her to use. “My name is Lauren. Lauren O’Neil.” Saying it out loud, she felt something shift. Just a flicker of movement. Sort of like when the moon seems to move before your eyes, rising through the dark tree branches.

  Lauren O’Neil. It still didn’t seem to fit her, but there was a ring of truth to it.

  “That’s a very nice name,” Wynonna said, “for a beautiful girl.”

  “Okay, then. Lauren O’Neil, I am very happy to make your acquaintance.” With a wry smile, Paula extended her hand. “Welcome back to the free world.”

  Lauren uncurled her fingers and gave Paula her hand. “It’s a scary world.”

  “I know that, and you’ve seen way too much of the dark side. But it is going to get better. That I promise you.”

  Chapter 26

  Rachel could not stop her hands from shaking as the inquisition began. It was ludicrous; a meeting to decide the future of their daughter. As if they were not fit to care for her. All these years, missing her daughter, centering their lives on searches for her, Rachel never expected to be rejected when Lauren was finally found. Rejected by Lauren herself. Rachel pulled her hands under the table and shoved them between her thighs and the chair, feeling spent and hollow. She hated being the mother on trial.

  “This is just an informational meeting,” said Kate Engle, a facilitator from the Department of Child Welfare. “We’re here to share information. No final decisions will be made today.”

  But they should be, Rachel thought. Lauren should be coming home with us. We’re her parents.

  Paula Winkler spoke up from across the table, thanking everyone for attending on this “beautiful summer day.” Staring blandly, Rachel thought the woman had fabulous skin for a woman in her sixties. The sparkle in that thick, silver hair was enviable, and Rachel wondered if it was enhanced with color. After her fact-finding mission, that might have been one of the few things she did not know about Paula Winkler.

  It had been the last straw for Rachel when Paula had blithely offered to stay on with Lauren in the lake house. A casual suggestion, as if they were sorority sisters on spring break. That had put Rachel in a witch-hunt mentality, looking for anything that could undo Paula’s authority over Lauren’s case. Against Dan’s advice to “keep her cool,” she had Googled the social worker, canvased Paula’s neighbors, hooked up with a friend of a friend, talked with her boss—just about everything short of becoming her friend on social networks. It hadn’t taken much digging to hit pay dirt. A neighbor had mentioned the terrible tragedy of her husband’s death, and a book club friend had tipped her
off that Paula no longer indulged in wine at their monthly meetings.

  She’d soon learned that Paula attended a very different kind of meeting, nearly every day. Or at least she had until her life had been interrupted by Lauren’s 24/7 emergency. Some ten years ago, Paula’s husband had committed suicide. A Vietnam vet, he had struggled with post-traumatic stress disorder and fallen into alcohol and drug addiction. Paula had been the one who’d found him, and the grief from his death had cracked her resolve and started her drinking.

  Having probed that tragic sore spot, Rachel had stopped her investigation. She didn’t know the whole story, but clearly Paula Winkler was sober now—sober and optimistic and supportive of Lauren. And dammit, Dan had been right. Rachel had been hell-bent on finding some skeleton to prove that this woman was not fit to care for Lauren; instead, Paula’s life crises had made Rachel utterly sympathetic.

  Paula Winkler was a saint. If anyone was a vindictive bitch . . . well, Rachel wasn’t spending too much time in front of the mirror these days. She didn’t know what to do with these feelings of anger and helplessness. Fury with a system that kept her daughter away from her, coupled with the knowledge that it was Lauren herself who wanted to be kept at bay.

  Dan tried to tell her that this was a temporary obstacle; he believed that Lauren had bonded with Paula, the first female who had come to her aid. As time and therapy began to heal the wounds wrought by Kevin Hawkins, Lauren would open up to other relationships.

  I hope he’s right, Rachel thought. For now, Rachel was supposed to stand by and wait for her daughter to come around—a role she struggled with every day.

  “You and your husband are doing a great job, giving Lauren the space she needs,” Wynonna had told her during their brief meeting.

  “It doesn’t feel like a good job. It feels like we’re not taking care of our daughter.”

  “This is a confusing time for her, but we’ve already started her therapy, and she works well with the horses. I’m sure you’re sick of hearing it, but right now the best thing you can do for her is to continue giving her breathing room.”

  Here in the conference room of the Children’s Center, Rachel wondered if Lauren would ever accept them. She would turn eighteen in May; then she could tell her parents to get lost, cut them off for good. Glancing over at Paula, she didn’t think the social worker would lead her daughter in that direction, but Lauren did have a stubborn streak. At least, the old Lauren had.

  Looking around the table, Rachel saw genuine concern and thoughtfulness in the people assembled. Seated beside Paula, Lauren kept her eyes on the table most of the time, reminding Rachel of how hard it had been for her eleven-year-old daughter to look people in the eye. That slight social awkwardness, along with Lauren’s obsession with her drawings, had raised a few red flags. Back then, the possibility of an Asperger’s diagnosis—or even being “on the autism spectrum”—had been so devastating that Rachel and Dan had chosen to avoid testing and address the problems as they arose. Now, the notion of dealing with autism seemed a welcome relief from the torture their family had endured these past six years. The devil you know, she thought.

  Wynonna Eagleson introduced herself as the owner and founder of Spirit Ranch. “Lauren and I are doing daily sessions, and we would like to start family therapy this week, if possible.” She mentioned that Lauren had chosen equine-assisted therapy, which dated back to the ancient Greeks. “For patients with physical disabilities, horseback riding provides neuromuscular stimulation; that rhythmic motion that mimics human walking does wonders. For a client like Lauren, this therapy gives us a way to unblock obstacles to healing, build her confidence, and establish a relationship of trust between horse and rider. We have found that therapy with the horses tends to illuminate issues more quickly. It’s the great accelerator.”

  Lauren lifted her chin to give Wynonna a meek smile. It was a hopeful moment, albeit fleeting.

  Wynonna talked about the course of therapy that Lauren would be pursuing on her own, and then added that family therapy was vital to reunification.

  Rachel glanced beside her at Dan. He gave a helpless shrug, indicating that he would participate, despite his aversion to the therapist’s couch. She touched his thigh under the table, and he covered her cold, shaky hand with his. Thank God for Dan.

  As the therapist talked about the goals of reunification therapy, Rachel tried to enumerate her own list of things that showed progress. Lauren wanted help. She had eagerly begun her sessions at the ranch. Lauren was honest. There was no masking her feelings, no manipulative backstabbing. This young woman was so true to the little girl who had sometimes offended people with her honesty. Mommy, what are those lines beside your eyes? Daddy, why is hair growing in your nose? Or the classic moment Rachel and Dan had laughed about for years, when four-year-old Lauren pointed to a gentleman sporting an obvious toupee as they waited in line at the bank.

  “Mommy, what’s that furry thing on his head?” Lauren had asked at full volume, causing most of the customers to turn and look.

  Head down over her daughter, Rachel had answered: “It’s anything he wants it to be.”

  Rachel was drawn back to the meeting when Wynonna deferred to Hank, who gave an update on the media encampment outside the O’Neil home. The crowd of reporters had diminished since the press conference and the agreement that new photographs of Lauren were not to be published without written consent. An alleged rape victim and a minor, Lauren was supposed to be protected from exploitation in the media, as least as far as her image went. Of course, that didn’t temper the voracious appetite for information, but for now, the media did not know the location of the safe house.

  “There’s also the matter of the accused’s recent statements about Mackenzie Hawkins, namely, his categorical denial that the child ever existed.” Hank nodded toward Rachel. “The O’Neils are eager to launch a search for the little girl, but we cannot make that search public without revealing Hawkins’s statements, and the prosecutor isn’t ready to do that. We’re in the middle of building a case, and for a multitude of reasons, we want to withhold this information from the public as long as possible. So I’m asking you to sit tight for now, Rachel.”

  Rachel nodded. She was itching to do something about it. Finding the little girl’s body would help give Lauren closure. She had half a mind to start her own campaign and search, but she wouldn’t dare cross the prosecutor and take a chance of messing up the case against Kevin Hawkins. Still, it would be so nice to be a hero in her daughter’s eyes. She so wanted her daughter to like her . . . to love her. How pathetic was that?

  “We’re still searching the compound,” the police chief went on, “and though we haven’t found the child’s remains, we’ve collected other evidence that might be helpful.”

  “Like what?” Dan asked. “Can you prove that Mac existed?”

  “Not ready to go into detail on that yet, but I can tell you the labs are on overtime processing crime scene evidence, and I’m working with detectives to pursue alternate theories.”

  Under the table, Rachel picked at the cuticle of one thumb until it stung. What was taking these investigators so long? Lauren needed to know what had happened to her little girl. She deserved validation that Mac had even existed, but still, the investigation was hush-hush. Well, Rachel was going to do something about that. What, she wasn’t sure. But she wasn’t going to sit around and watch her daughter suffer anymore.

  “I’m sure the press will have all kinds of speculation, but I know this team will keep private information confidential.” Kate turned a page in her folder. “Let’s visit the issue of Lauren’s living situation. How’s it going at the lake house?”

  Another timid smile from Lauren. “It’s fine.”

  “The house is a wonderful transition spot,” Paula said. “The owner has waived rent as a donation. Our friends at NCMEC are footing the bill for groceries, and it certainly helps to have Agent Wilson on the premises.”

  The lake cabin wa
s the stuff of a dream vacation. Rachel had been in grander houses on Mirror Lake, as well as small cottages like the home Dan’s parents still owned on East Bay, but the safe house struck just the right note between comfort and luxury. No wonder Lauren didn’t want to come home.

  “I understand we’re working toward getting you home, Lauren.” The facilitator made the statement sound so feasible, so doable, Rachel wanted to hug her. “Aside from getting the media and satellite trucks off your front lawn, are there any preparations we need to help you with so that Lauren can move home?” Kate asked Dan and Rachel.

  “I think we’re good to go.” Dan turned those earnest golden eyes on their daughter. “Whenever you’re ready, Lauren, we’re looking forward to having you home.”

  They had decided Dan would make that pitch; Rachel had worried that she might slip into her psycho mom persona, complete with weeping and begging.

  “Working at the firehouse, my schedule is flexible, and Rachel’s about to go on summer break from school. At least one of us will always be around to help you adjust. But till then, we wanted you to have this.”

  Rachel watched Dan open up the laptop in front of him, and click it onto the FIND LAUREN O’NEIL Web site, where the opening page was a field of those bright pink balloons surrounding an old photo of a smiling Lauren with a banner that said: FOUND! Rachel had forgotten about the Web site, but of course, Dan had updated it in his neat, efficient way.

  “You can keep this laptop. Right now, it’s on the Web site we made when you went missing. See all those pink balloons? That used to be your favorite color. We launched them just two weeks ago, on the anniversary of the day you went missing. And all those people in the field there? They came out to help search for you.”

  Lauren’s face opened like a lens as she followed Dan’s instructions, clicking the mouse and typing in words. She seemed mesmerized by the screen.

  “Your mom and I, we realized you’ve missed all this technology, and figured you might want to start playing and exploring.” Dan glanced around the table. “I don’t want to take up everyone’s time with this, but I’ll show you more after the meeting. We’ll get you navigating the Web in no time.”