But no Roy.
Anita didn’t know what to do. Did he get lost? Possibly, but Roy had a map and her cell phone number. A more troubling thought emerged: Did he simply take off?
Roy did seem to be losing interest in the search. He was quiet throughout the day, probably feeling awkward and dejected about the kiss the prior night. Earlier, he had muttered that if they didn’t make any progress, this would be his last day. He was edgy. He was probably low on money. He didn’t look well, probably hungover. And he had been fairly cynical from the start.
Maybe he blew me off, she thought. Maybe he went to a bar. Or maybe he ran into trouble.
That last thought sent a chill through her. What could she do?
Nothing. Except wait.
After an hour had passed, she took a cab back to the hotel. At the hotel, she checked his room. No answer. Maybe he went back to California? Anita checked with the front desk, but they told her he had not checked out.
Unless he blew out of town without paying his bill, Anita thought.
Anita sat in the silence of her hotel room, watching night descend over the city. The phone did not ring. She ordered a room service salad, but couldn’t finish it. There were new knots in her stomach. She tried his room several more times. She left messages.
“Roy, it’s Anita, I’m worried, call me. I’m in my hotel room.”
She returned to his door several times to knock on it, loud, in case he was asleep or passed out. When Dennis drank, it took an earthquake to wake him.
Dennis. His name brought relief to her thoughts. Dennis would be arriving tomorrow afternoon. Dennis would help sort through this mess. Dennis would know what to do.
She needed him now more than ever.
Anita awoke with a jolt the next morning. She immediately called Roy’s room. No response. Again.
Great, she said to herself. Now I have two missing persons.
Anita’s head swam. Two nights ago, she was afraid Roy was out to kill her. Now she was worried for him.
Anita debated whether or not to call the police. Wasn’t there some kind of rule about waiting twenty-four hours before reporting a missing person? She decided to call Ford anyway, even though she could predict his weary, exasperated response: “Now you lost somebody else?”
But Ford wasn’t there. She left a message, babbling a bit, and realized after she hung up that it would be a while before Ford called back. If he did call back.
There were probably more rapes and murders last night to keep him busy. She was just some kook from California who kept seeing her dead son in buses and on playgrounds.
Anita grew antsy. She could not sit in the hotel all day. She studied her map of the Lakeview neighborhood. She knew she could probably pinpoint within a few blocks where Roy was located late yesterday.
She decided to trace his footsteps.
The skies were gray, threatening but not delivering rain.
Anita walked the Lakeview streets, covering block after block, stopping now and then to dial Roy’s hotel room on her cell phone.
This is madness, she told herself. Now what do I do, create a missing poster for Roy?
As the hours advanced toward noon, her legs ached from days of hitting the pavement. Anita chose to return to the hotel and wait for Dennis to arrive from Orlando.
She needed a fresh mind to tackle this. She was positively fatigued.
On her way to Belmont Avenue to grab a cab, Anita passed an alley between two apartment buildings. Tucked about fifty feet in, she caught sight of a parked, open U-Haul van. Several items were placed in the gravel near the vehicle, including an ironing board, a couple of chairs, and a child’s bicycle.
Anita paused. It was a boy’s bike.
She stepped into the alley to get a better look. She hung to one side, near a series of winding back stairways that led up to apartments. The gravel crunched under her feet. Flies buzzed from nearby dumpsters. She kept her eyes fixed on the back of the van.
Suddenly the tall blonde woman entered Anita’s sight. Anita froze. She felt shockwaves. It was the woman from the playground. She was carrying a large cardboard box of clothes. She added the box to the rear of the truck, among other boxes and plastic bins. She did not see Anita.
Anita ducked into the shadows beneath a back stairwell. Her mind raced. It’s her. I found her. She’s skipping town.
Then Anita saw Tim. She thought her heart would explode. Walking evenly across the gravel like a young man, he joined the blonde woman. He held a cookie. He exchanged words with the woman, but Anita couldn’t hear them.
Anita felt her throat tighten. She wanted to sob. She had to clamp a hand over her mouth to stop from shouting out his name. More than anything in the entire world, she wanted to run at him, scoop him up…
But she was under better control this time. She would handle it right. She would not blow it again. She had waited too long for this…
Anita reached into her purse and took out her cell phone.
Don’t panic, she told herself. Don’t scare them off. They won’t even know I’m here. I’ll call the police. Read them the license plate number off the truck. The police will be here in minutes. I will save my son.
Hands trembling, Anita turned on the phone. She kept her eye on Tim and the woman. The woman was rearranging items in the back of the van while Tim stood at her side, watching.
Anita shook so much that her fingers could barely connect with the tiny buttons. With great focus, she dialed 9-1-1. She waited for the call to go through.
Abruptly, an arm shot out from behind her. It snatched the phone from her grasp.
Anita gasped and spun around. She opened her mouth to scream—
—and then didn’t.
Instead, Anita broke out into a smile, her shock immediately replaced by relief.
“Dennis!”
“You don’t have to call the police,” he said. “I already did.” He hung up the phone with a jab of his thumb.
Dennis had a beard and he was missing his glasses, but it was still him, the familiar face, the greatest thing she could have hoped for at this time.
Anita grabbed his arm. “Thank God you’re here. Dennis…that woman has Tim—” She was trying to keep her voice low, but hysteria pushed it higher.
“I know, I know,” said Dennis calmly. “Settle down. Look at me.”
She nodded, took a deep breath, heart still racing. She looked into his eyes.
“We have to be very quiet,” said Dennis. “The police are on their way. I took care of that.”
“How did you know?”
“I have a real estate contact in Chicago who knows the landlord to this building, and he called me with this tip. I came out as fast as I could. I tried to reach you at the hotel.”
“I’ve been out every day, looking for him. Dennis, I can’t believe you’re here. How did—”
He held a finger up to his lips to quiet her. “We’ll talk about it later. We have a lot of catching up to do. But first…”
Dennis gestured to a narrow space nearby, an area behind the dumpsters, against a wall of the brick building. It was dark and hidden. “We need to stay out of sight, until the police get here.”
Anita nodded. “Right. OK.”
“Don’t make a sound.” Dennis beckoned her to follow.
Anita looked at the U-Haul and the blonde woman and Tim.
“Come on,” said Dennis. “They’re not going anywhere.”
“I know,” said Anita, and she started to turn, but then glanced back at the truck. Something had caught her eye.
There was a flash of something familiar inside the U-Haul. She strained to get a better look.
The blonde woman was rearranging the contents. She moved a box and stepped to the side, giving Anita a complete view of the item she had glimpsed. Anita gasped. Terror seized her entire body.
The San Francisco Giants golf bag.
“Come on, come on,” urged Dennis. “What are you waiting for?”
Not Dennis. Oh my God, no, no, no…
“Anita…”
She turned to face him. “I…think…I’ll go wait…at the curb…for the police to arrive…”
“No,” said Dennis firmly. “She might see you.”
Anita took a step backward. “I’d really…rather…do that…Dennis.” Her voice shook. She couldn’t keep it even.
Dennis knew something was wrong.
Anita saw Dennis remove his gaze from her. His eyes lifted, looking over her shoulder.
Dennis saw the golf bag. Then his stare returned to Anita.
In a horrific instant, his eyes changed to evil slits and his mouth twisted into a frown. He dashed the cell phone to the ground where it exploded into pieces of plastic. He took a big step toward her…
Anita turned to run.
Dennis caught her by the wrist. He yanked her back and spun her around.
“Dennis!” She pulled violently, but his grasp was iron.
She saw him reach into his waist. She saw the butt of a pistol. He pulled out the gun. He began to raise it.
Anita frantically dug her free hand into her purse.
Dennis aimed the gun between her eyes.
“It’s over, Anita,” he growled.
“NO!”
Anita shot Dennis full in the face with the pepper spray.
Dennis yelled and let go. He flung himself backward, out of the stream of the spray. He let loose with a string of profanity, waving the gun blindly.
Anita kicked him hard in the groin.
Dennis dropped to the ground.
Anita ran.
XX
The pain sucked him to the ground.
The burning clamped his eyes shut. His chest tightened, squeezing his breath, causing him to cough and drool. His balls screamed.
Helpless and on all fours, Dennis clutched the dirt, enraged. Anita had attacked and gotten away.
“Dennis?”
He couldn’t see her, but knew the voice. Cary was standing over him.
Her hands took ahold under his arms. She helped him to his feet. He still couldn’t open his eyes.
“What happened?”
“I got maced. It was Anita.”
“Anita?” said Cary, under her breath.
“Did you see which way she went?”
“No. We were packing the van. I heard you shout, we came running.”
“Is Tim OK?” he asked.
“Jeffrey is fine,” she replied. “He’s right here with me.”
“I can’t see a thing,” Dennis growled, his face hot and tingling.
“Are you OK, Daddy?” asked Tim.
“I’m fine, Jeffrey, fine. A bad lady…sprayed something in my eyes…and ran away…but I’m…” He was out of breath. He couldn’t continue the sentence.
“You dropped your G-U-N,” said Cary. “I put it in my purse.”
“Jesus Christ,” muttered Dennis.
“She’s probably getting the P-O-L-I-C-E,” said Cary.
“Well, I can’t fucking see!” snapped Dennis. He sucked in air. “You’re going to have to drive. We’ve gotta get out of here now.”
“The stuff in the apartment…” started Cary.
“We’ve got what’s important, right?”
“I think so.”
“Then let’s hit the road.”
Tim asked, “Are we going to our new house?”
“Yes, dear,” said Cary.
“It’s only our new house for a little while,” said Dennis.
“It’s not our new house?” said Tim, sounding disappointed.
“Not forever,” replied Dennis. He stuck out his hand. “Now get me to the van and let’s get out of here.”
Cary guided him to the front of the truck. He waited as she placed Tim in the center of the seat, securing him with a lap belt. Then she helped Dennis to sit alongside Tim, by the window. Once they were situated, she went to the back of the van.
Dennis heard Cary retract the loading ramp, roll the cargo door shut and lock it. Then he heard her climb behind the wheel.
As Cary started up the engine, Dennis managed to open his eyes a little bit to allow some light. His eyes and nose watered profusely. Air returned to his lungs. He felt dizzy. His balls ached. He loathed Anita…loathed her.
“If I ever see that bitch again—” he started.
“Jeffrey,” reminded Cary, cutting Dennis off before he went into a profanity-filled, murderous rant.
The U-Haul van left the alley and turned onto the main road.
“Just get us to the highway,” muttered Dennis. He knew that Anita was probably rallying the police at this very minute.
“Rest your eyes,” said Cary. “We’ll be across the state border before you know it. Nobody’s gonna find us.”
“We’re going to need new names, new IDs, new looks,” said Dennis, “all over again.”
“That’s cool with me,” replied Cary. She thought about it for a moment, then declared, “You know, I’ve always wanted to be a redhead.”
Deep darkness.
Rumbling.
Occasional bumps and jolts.
Anita’s hands roamed her surroundings. She could feel plastic bins to her left, rolled-up carpet behind her, a child’s boxspring and mattress to the right, and cardboard boxes directly in front. By the sound the boxes made when they jiggled, they probably contained dishes.
If she listened real hard, she could occasionally hear the muffled murmurs of Dennis and the woman he called “Cary.”
Anita didn’t know where they were going. But she was along for the ride.
After spraying Dennis, she had quickly circled to the other side of the U-Haul, out of the view of Cary and Tim. When Cary and Tim reached Dennis, she slipped into the back of the van. She hid deep in the back, behind the piles and stacks.
It was a mad impulse, but she had to do it. There was no way she was going to let them drive off and escape. No way she would allow them to begin new lives of anonymity somewhere else. Not with Tim.
There would be no more searches. She would not lose him again.
Now she understood why Dennis didn’t want her to begin her search until he got there—because he was planning on never showing up. He was buying time to leave Chicago. He had been under her nose this whole time, while telling her he lived in Orlando.
Anita tried to piece it all together in her mind. How could Dennis be behind all this? Somehow he faked Tim’s death so he could leave her…but not lose Tim.
The whole thing was so convoluted that no one would ever think to make the connection. Pam provided an easy, vulnerable scapegoat.
What did they do to her?
The truck hit a bump and Anita quickly stuck out her hands to prevent a stack of boxes from toppling on her. Dennis’s golf bag leaned into her and she shoved it back.
The space was cramped, forcing her into uncomfortable positions, and she adjusted continually. Her muscles ached. The air was stale and hot, and her clothes stuck with perspiration. She moved about in the darkness. As she stretched, her hand landed on…
…another hand.
It was all she could do to stop herself from screaming.
She pulled back. The hand didn’t move. Anita regained her composure, swallowed hard, and touched the hand again.
It was cold.
She placed her thumb on the wrist and pressed for a pulse…there was none.
Dead.
Holding her breath, she ran her fingers up the arm…following it into what felt like a down comforter. Then she touched a zipper and realized it was a sleeping bag. A dead body in a sleeping bag.
Her fingers reached a shirt. It was crusted and damp with…blood?
She wanted to yank her hand back, but continued to trace the body in the darkness, searching for its throat.
When she reached the throat, she found the thin chain around the neck. She followed the chain with her finger
tips until she felt the small gold cross.
“Oh my God,” she said very quietly.
Roy.
She held back the crying, stifled it into small hiccups. Anita knew that the man and woman in the front seat would stop at nothing to keep their secret alive. Roy had been murdered. Dennis had been prepared to shoot her in the alley.
This was no longer the man she once married, the charming frat boy from Berkeley. Somewhere along the way, he had succumbed to insanity. The glimpses of the violent man she witnessed during drunken rages were not another person created by alcohol. The alcohol simply stripped away the mask and revealed the true man.
Anita’s hands searched in the dark until she felt Dennis’s golf bag. She felt the various clubs and picked one with a thick, heavy base. A driver. She slipped it out of the bag.
Anita held the golf club tightly. If she needed to, she would crush it into Dennis’s skull, into Cary’s skull. If it was kill or be killed, there would be no time to hesitate.
Anything goes in the fight for Tim, Anita realized. It was an all-out war. There were no rules. Only winners and losers.
XXI
Anita’s mind raced in the dark, running through countless scenarios, but the truth was, she didn’t know what was going to happen. She didn’t know where they were going. She didn’t know how long it would take. She didn’t know what would happen when they arrived. She just knew that she was along for the ride. She could not escape if she wanted to. The van was locked from the outside. She was like a caged animal, coiled for the moment of release.
The wait was agonizing. It continued for hours. The worst moments came when she heard Tim. His delicate, high-pitched voice, speaking in articulate sentences, unlike the Tim she had last known. He was growing up and she was missing it all. At one point, she heard him crying and it brought silent tears to her own face. He cried for a full five minutes about something. She could hear the blonde woman, Cary, yelling at him to shut up already.
The truck made three stops. Each time, Anita scurried to hide herself deeper behind the cargo, clutching the golf club. But the rear door did not open. For the first two stops, the various clunks and hisses told her that the gas tank was being refilled.
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