by Jo Treggiari
“You mean a psychiatrist?” Her lips felt numb. There was a tremor in one of her hands. She tucked it under her leg. Maybe she should see someone. If you were crazy, you probably didn’t know you were crazy, right?
“Someone who has experience dealing with PTSD. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. It could help with the confusion you’re feeling, these memories. Like Stroud.” Her mother stroked her hair, and then, lightly, her face. Her fingers were cool on Ari’s cheek. Ari could remember her mother caressing her just like this when she’d been four years old and had chicken pox. Then it had been soothing; now it made her skin prickle unpleasantly, as if her nerve endings were too close to the surface. Sensory memories were so much stronger than others. She sat up a little straighter and put a couple of imperceptible inches between herself and her mother. Stroud’s face had been cool to the touch. Her fingertips remembered the sensation acutely.
“I had Stroud’s phone though. Doesn’t that prove he was there?”
Her mother said, “The police didn’t think it was his phone, Ari. It was a burner and probably belonged to Sorkin.”
“Oh yeah…but I took it out of his jacket,” Ari couldn’t help saying.
Her mother stiffened. “I believe you think that, Ari, but Captain Rourke called. They reached Stroud’s grandmother. He’s been out at the lake fishing and camping this weekend.”
All figments of her imagination? What about the feeling of those hands pushing against her chest, the blow to her head, the muffled voice speaking to her? What about the certainty in the pit of her stomach that something was still seriously wrong?
“Mom? The doctor said I might have some short-term memory loss, right?”
“She said your recollection might be fragmented and the loss might be temporary.”
Ari thought about this now as she eased her bedroom door closed and stepped into the hall, carrying her shoes by the laces. Fragmented? That meant patchy, not that her brain would make things up. If she just backtracked she might be able to unearth the rest of the stuff she had forgotten. But she couldn’t share this with her parents.
She went downstairs, careful to skip the one step that squeaked. Despite the argument they’d had, she had to talk to Lynn. Lynn had been the one to point out the evil things people did, how the world was not always a safe or particularly nice place, how small towns harbored bad people as much as big cities did. Not that Ari had listened at the time, and she probably owed her a huge apology. Yes, Lynn was a realist, verging on a cynic, but she was always, always in Ari’s corner. She could go to Lynn with her half-baked suspicions and her cracked brain and she could say, Something is wrong. Somewhere, buried deep in my memory, I know something. Lynn would accept it and together they would figure it out.
Slipping past the kitchen where she could hear her mother clattering pans, she went out the door, grabbing a knit cap to cover her bandaged head.
* * *
Half a block, three hundred steps, five houses, all with pretty gardens and painted fences. One small dog chained in the shade of a tree. It started barking when it saw her and Ari shushed it before walking up Lynn’s front path. She entered and went straight to the sunny sitting room like she always did. Neither she nor Lynn bothered with door knocking or bell ringing. The whole mi casa es su casa thing held true for them, and in this bright, familiar room smelling of toast and tomato sauce, the scene of so many cushion fights and marathon movie sessions, she felt the tightness in her throat ease a little.
“Lynn,” she yelled. “Lynn!”
Her friend didn’t appear but a whole gaggle of grimy kids did. The Shits and the rest of them.
“Hey you, where’s Lynn?” she asked the gaggle, not bothering to identify a specific individual.
As a pack they shrugged their shoulders and managed to communicate wedontknow without enunciating any one word clearly. She felt a flash of irritation.
“What do you mean you don’t know where your sister is?”
“She’s gone,” said one of the Shits. Nelly.
“When did she leave?” Ari asked, resisting the urge to slap her.
“Days and days ago. She’s been gone Finidee time.”
Finidee. Infinity. Translated into kid speak that could mean anything from an hour to a week. Where the hell was she?
Ari wanted to scream. There were no straight answers. The kids couldn’t seem to care less though; a couple of them peeled off and disappeared deeper into the house.
“Did she take her cell phone?” Ari asked Nelly, who shook her head.
“I dunno. I don’t care.”
Ari looked around the room. Cushions were thrown about the floor and blankets were draped on the furniture. Chairs were stacked in precarious towers. Forts. Paper plates with half-eaten sandwiches were strewn everywhere and juice boxes leaked onto the carpet. “Who’s looking after you Sh—” She broke off before she cussed in front of them.
“Babysitter,” said Nelly.
Ari stared at her. This was odd. Lynn always looked after her siblings. It was one of the unfairnesses she ranted about most.
“Well, where is she?”
“I dunno.”
Sounds of water running came from the kitchen, the clatter of dishes, tuneless whistling. Ari hurried into the room. A college-aged girl with dark hair looped into knots was standing by the sink.
“Hey, I’m Ari,” she said. “I’m looking for Lynn.”
“Colette. She’s out, I think,” the girl said, stripping off a soapy pair of yellow rubber gloves. “I’ve lost track of the time, to tell you the truth. I stayed over yesterday and I’m here until 7:30, 8:00 tonight.” She grinned. “If I make it that long.”
“Was Lynn here when you arrived?”
“Nope. Mrs. Lubnick was here for about half a second. She left me written instructions. Three pages’ worth. Want to leave a note for Lynn? I’m sure she’ll be back soon.” She held out a scratch pad. There were markers everywhere. Ari scooped one up and scrawled a quick message. Where are you? I need to talk. Xx Ari.
“Can you see that she gets this as soon as she comes in?” she asked Colette.
“Sure. Just leave it on the table.”
Ari looked at the papers and craft supplies spread all over the surface. One of the kids had been painting. Portraits of Tallulah mostly. Ari’s heart squeezed. She cleared a space and put her note down where it would be visible.
“Thanks,” she said.
“Sure, no problem.”
“Can you tell Lynn I came by?” Ari asked Mark on her way out. She wanted to double up on the messages just in case her note was lost. He looked like he was old enough to pass it along.
“If you give me a dollar.”
“I don’t have a dollar on me. I’ll owe it to you.”
“Well then, give me ten dollars.”
“What?! Why?”
“For secret information.” He smirked horribly, showing gaps where he’d recently lost a couple of teeth. “About Lynn.”
“Tell me.”
“What about the money? You gonna pay?”
“Yes. Yes. Just tell me.”
“She got a phone call yesterday. She said she was going to go see you.”
“From who?”
“Dunno. She didn’t say a name. Except yours.” He sniggered. “Are you her girlfriend?”
Ari ignored this. “How do you know about the call?”
“I was hiding under her bed. Listening. I do that all the time.”
Ari contemplated what he’d said.
“Are you sure she said she was going to meet me?” she snapped, resisting the urge to grab the Shit by his dirty collar.
“She said your name a bunch of times.”
Yesterday Ari had been dragging her exhausted body out of the well and then sitting at the hospital and the police station. At that time no one besides Sourmash and maybe Rocky had known where she was. Had either one of them called Lynn? How did they get her number? Or had they used Ari’s own phone to
make the call? She never bothered with the lock or the password or anything. Lynn’s number was right there at the top of a very short list.
Where was she now? Hurt? Ari couldn’t bear the thought of it.
“No!” she said out loud, ignoring Mark, who stared at her open-mouthed. There was no way Lynn would take a call from those men and no way she’d agree to meet them.
She felt the beginning of a pounding headache pulse at her temples.
Perhaps Lynn had left something in her room that might tell Ari where she was. She ran down the hallway and threw open the door, ignoring the signs that warned of dire consequences to her siblings. Lynn’s room was usually neat to the point of OCD—her books alphabetized and grouped according to genre, her posters of Ada Lovelace and Pythagoras framed and aligned, her bed made and her closet arranged by color—but today her covers were bundled at the end of her bed, her closet was open and her nightshirt and slippers lay where they’d been thrown. Lynn had obviously left in a hurry. She flipped open her laptop: 1 new message from Ari. Unread.
Ari raced back into the kitchen. “Mrs. Lubnick wasn’t here last night?” she asked Colette, breathlessly.
“All-day seminar, and a dinner. She wasn’t sure how long it was going to run so she had me stay over. I think she got in about eleven.”
“Where is she now?” she asked.
The babysitter looked up from the magazine she was reading. “She said she had a bunch of errands. She left early.”
Shit. “Can I call her?”
“Sure, her cell number’s right here.” She moved some papers. “Or it was right here.”
Ari stifled her impatience while Colette searched through the mess.
“Here it is.” She handed Ari a bundle of papers stapled together. The number was at the top of the first page of instructions.
Ari went to the kitchen phone and dialed the number. Voicemail. Goddamn it, did no one answer their phone anymore?
“Mrs. Lubnick, it’s Ari. I think something has happened to Lynn. I’m going to the police.”
Ignoring Colette’s stunned face, she hung up and ran out of the house.
It was only about ten blocks to the station but before she’d gone two, she had to slow to a crawl. She walked with one hand pressed against the cramp in her side, trying to breathe it out. It was a mild, sunny day and tons of people were out on the streets, shopping, running errands. She was having a hard time keeping a straight trajectory and she kept bumping into people. Finally, keeping an eye out for Lynn’s mom, she abandoned the sidewalk and took to the street. She wished she had a pair of sunglasses. The glare off the shop windows was doing a number on her eyes. The anonymity might have been a good thing too. People were staring. She wondered if it was because she was moving like a drunk person. Her vision was blurring and a couple of times she stumbled on the curb. She pulled her hat down further.
She walked past the chain-link fence and the park. A bunch of teens were playing basketball on the court, hooting and yelling insults at one another. She scanned the group for Stroud, just in case, but he wasn’t there. She recognized Jack Rourke and a couple of others from school. Miranda was sitting courtside and she turned to look at Ari. Ari raised a hand in greeting but Miranda didn’t acknowledge the gesture and turned her shoulder to her. That wasn’t unusual. They were mutually contemptuous even though they’d been classmates since kindergarten. She wondered how much the group knew. Everything probably. Jack was a conduit straight from his police chief father. A tall figure peeled off from the group and kept pace with her alongside the fence. Speak of the devil. Jack Rourke. Ari sped up a little. He sped up too. She slowed down, ducked her head. From under her hair she could see him glaring at her. He had slowed his pace to match hers.
“Hey, Sullivan, I want to talk to you!” he yelled. Suddenly he threw himself at the fence like a chimpanzee in a zoo, slamming into it with his chest. She skipped backward. It was foolish, just a prank, but there was such an air of menace in it. She bolted, relieved when a turn in the fence forced him to stop.
Her thoughts were racing. What would she tell the police? How would she convince them to take her seriously? Where was Lynn? Every second felt like an eternity. She was waiting impatiently at a red light when someone gently touched her shoulder.
“Ari,” a soft voice said.
It was Miss Byroade, the librarian’s assistant. For a moment Ari stared at her, confused to see her outside her domain. She was wearing a purple plaid tweedy skirt, sensibly knee-length, with an emerald-green cardigan and a yellow-flowered shirt. A red tartan cap balanced on her head like a fried egg, and she carried a bag mostly filled with books. She was such a strong good reminder of the past, the nice things about Dempsey Hollow.
She flashed a quick smile. “Miss Byroade. Sorry, I was somewhere else.”
“Wool-gathering. Such a happy term.” Her expression grew concerned. “You are very pale, dear. Are you sure you should be out?”
The librarian blinked at her, her soft gaze drifting over Ari’s face and then to the bandage just visible under the knit hat. Miss Byroade’s hand went up to the side of her own head as if she had a wound there as well, and she winced.
“I’m fine,” Ari said. “Thank you.” This must be the longest light in creation. She appreciated the caring note in Miss Byroade’s voice but it made her want to cry.
“Ari, I have to tell you. People are saying the most awful things.” She drew Ari aside and her voice dropped to a hush. “About the cabin, that terrible man, the things he was up to.”
Ari managed a nod. The words made her throat close up.
The librarian leaned in close and looked into her eyes.
“They’re saying that you were there. That you’re the teenager who was injured.” Again her eyes went to the bandage.
“Who’s saying? How do they know?” Ari blurted out. Maybe that’s why people were staring. It wasn’t her imagination. She wished more than ever that she could be invisible.
Miss Byroade sighed. “It’s Debbie, who owns the Dollar Store. Her cousin Morrie cleans at the police station. He’s a gossip. She’s even worse. I heard them talking when I went to pick up my birdseed. It’s the downside of living in a small town. Idle talk, rumors, no one can have secrets here.”
But that wasn’t true. Sourmash had kept his secrets.
The librarian reached out and took Ari’s hand, frowning at the roughness and stroking the ruined pads of Ari’s fingers. “Poor girl,” she said. “You look so ill.”
Ari was touched, but she felt odd having her hand caressed. As soon as was polite, she extricated herself.
“Listen, thanks,” she said, “but I have to go now.” It was blunt but she couldn’t afford to waste any more time.
Miss Byroade looked a little hurt. She removed her hand and stood there rubbing her arms as if she was cold.
“I just have to go,” Ari said again.
“Of course. But, Ari, just promise me you’ll be more careful.”
Ari nodded and broke into a shambling run, gritting her teeth against the excruciating soreness in her leg muscles. Two blocks down, one block over. The station was just ahead. She saw the cop cars parked before the blocky, ivy-covered brick building and crossed the street diagonally, remembering that the last time she’d jaywalked she’d been holding hands with Lynn. And Sourmash had almost run them down. She crashed through the door and headed straight for the first uniform she saw.
“I need to talk to Captain Rourke,” she gasped, leaning against the counter and trying to catch her breath. The front desk officer looked up from his computer screen. He was heavyset with black hair buzzed down to his scalp. He took in her disheveled appearance.
“Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”
“It’s important. Please, can I just talk to him?”
The officer—Rojas, according to his badge—said nothing, just narrowed his eyes. They were very black, the iris indistinguishable from the pupil. She took his silence a
s a negative.
Ari felt tears of frustration surge. “Captain Rourke knows me. I’m the girl who was in the well.”
“That investigation is ongoing.” He sounded like a robot.
“I know. God. I’m trying to report another kidnapping. My friend, Lynn Lubnick. Please.”
His eyes softened. “Slow down and tell me. How long has she been missing?”
“Since last night, I think. I’m not exactly sure.”
He put down his pen and notebook. “Miss, we don’t file missing persons reports until they’ve been gone for more than twenty-four hours. Most of them turn out to be runaways.”
“She would never run away,” Ari said vehemently. “You don’t understand. I was kidnapped and I think the same person took Lynn.”
“We have a suspect in custody for the murder of the person who kidnapped you. He’s been sitting in a jail cell since yesterday morning.”
“I’m not saying it was Rocky or Sourmash, I mean, Sorkin Sigurson, who took Lynn.”
“Well, it couldn’t be Sigurson because he’s dead,” the officer said, sighing heavily. “You’re saying that there’s another kidnapper out there? In Dempsey Hollow?” He muttered something under his breath. She heard “Holy Mother” and “God” and then some Spanish words. “Listen, you understand that you can’t mislead a police officer. It’s a crime.”
“No. Yes. I mean…” Her head whirled. “Can I just sit down?” She was sweating but her skin felt clammy. Officer Rojas came out from behind the desk. He took her by the elbow and helped her into a chair.
Ari stared up at him. “I’m not explaining this right. Can I speak to Captain Rourke?” She felt like she was hyperventilating. She closed her eyes, trying to gather her thoughts.
“Captain Rourke isn’t here.”
“How about Officer Tremblay? Please.” Officer Tremblay was the one at the hospital who’d taken her clothes for evidence. She’d seemed more sympathetic.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “I cautioned you, right? Don’t go wasting her time.”