The Walls

by Hollie Overton

  “I’m so sorry, Ry.”

  “And then she’s like crying and crying and I’m like, why are you crying? You’re the one that’s breaking up with me.”

  There was so much Kristy wanted to say, but it was so goddamn trite. Relationships are hard. You’ll fall in love again. There’s someone out there for everyone. She’d heard those same things, believed in them, let them fuel her relationship with Lance. Still, Ryan was hurting. Sometimes platitudes were better than nothing.

  “I know it hurts now, but you’ll get through this. I promise you,” she said. In some way, it was a gentle warning for what lay ahead.

  “I don’t want to talk about Ella anymore. Can we just eat?”

  “Sure, Ryan, whatever you want.”

  They ordered, Kristy watching as Ryan frantically sent text messages to Ella, begging her to reconsider. When the food came, he picked at his burger, reminiscing about all the good times. Kristy sipped water and poked at a chicken Caesar salad, gnawing worry clawing at her belly. Her attention shifted from Ryan’s heartache to Lance staggering toward her, eyes bulging in surprise, the crack of the bullet as it exploded out of the gun, tossing the dirt on his body …

  Focus on Ryan. Focus on Ryan. She couldn’t allow her mind to wander. Lance was gone. Ryan was right here. Ryan was what mattered.

  “I texted Lance … just wanted to talk to him, but I didn’t hear back. Did you guys talk today?”

  It was as if Ryan had read her mind. Kristy took a sip of water, calculating her response.

  “No, we haven’t. Got so busy at work. I guess I figured he was still out hunting.”

  Ryan frowned. “That’s weird. Doesn’t Lance text you like a thousand times a day?”

  Sometimes she hated how perceptive he was. Kristy shrugged. “The service isn’t great.”

  “Just give him a call. Maybe he’ll pick up.”

  This was inevitable, that she would have to lie, but it was real now. She couldn’t escape Ryan’s probing stare, brow wrinkled as he waited.

  “Come on, Mom, I just want to say hi and see how the hunting is going,” Ryan said.

  Kristy gave in. She dialed, letting the phone ring until Lance’s voice mail clicked on. “Hey, y’all, you’ve reached Lance Dobson. I’m not in at the moment but leave a message and have a blessed day.”

  A loud beep sounded. “Hey, Lance, it’s me. Just checking to see how things are going out there. Hope you’re having a good trip. Ryan wants to talk to you, so if you get a chance, call us back. Love you.”

  She hung up, worried that she sounded forced. The reality was setting in. Kristy had been so focused on stopping Lance that she hadn’t truly taken into account how difficult lying to her son would be. Right now, Ryan’s only concern was Ella. They finished dinner and Ryan checked his messages.

  “There’s a party at Zac’s house but I won’t be home late,” he said.

  “Be safe, Ry. And if you guys drink …”

  “Mom, I don’t drink.”

  “Okay. I’m just saying if there’s alcohol at this party, and you have anything to drink, don’t drive. Call me and I’ll come get you.”

  “Yeah. Sure,” Ryan said, shoulders slumping as he climbed into his car. Kristy watched him go, waiting until his headlights disappeared around the corner.

  She sat in the parking lot where it had all started, wondering how different things might have been if they hadn’t gone to dinner that evening. If Lisette had never seen them and lost her temper, would Kristy have let her guard down? Would she have trusted Lance enough to be that vulnerable? Would she have kissed him? Or was everything that happened destined to be, no matter what? Too late for what-ifs, she told herself.

  She didn’t have time to dwell. There was still work to be done. Kristy drove to an abandoned stretch of woods twelve miles outside of town. She removed several pieces of wood from the back of her SUV and struck a match, the fire burning hot and fast. Kristy tossed her bloody clothes on top of the wood, the heat incinerating them, the hot flames dancing in the evening breeze.

  When the last ember had been extinguished, Kristy picked up a pizza for Pops and drove home. She settled in, agreeing to watch one of Pops’s programs with him, a cop drama he adored. She normally found these types of shows mindless, with the overly coiffed, unrealistic-looking police officers and excessive violence against women, but today she couldn’t look away, rooting for the young woman who had been date-raped to get away with murder and reeling when she didn’t.

  Kristy went to bed around eleven. Tomorrow was reckoning day. Lance wouldn’t return home, and Ryan and Pops would realize something had happened to him. Kristy would have to lie over and over again to the people she loved most in this world. She slept fitfully and when she woke the following morning and went into the kitchen at ten o’clock, Pops and Ryan were already awake and seated at the kitchen table.

  “Mom, did Lance call or text you?” Ryan asked, his hands nervously tapping at the kitchen table.

  “No, I haven’t heard from him since he left.”

  “When was that?” Pops asked.

  “Friday while I was at the movies. He texted me good night.”

  “It’s so weird,” Ryan said. “Lance always texts me. Always checks in. Pops too. Something is wrong.” Ryan ran his hands through his messy mop of blondish-brown hair, eyes narrowing. God, he was such a sweet kid. This was going to break his fucking heart.

  “I don’t want to jump to conclusions, Ry. There’s the cell service.”

  “Yeah, but Lance usually goes into town and at least calls you. But he didn’t, did he?”

  “No, but …”

  “Kristy girl, I agree with the boy on this. Let’s drive out to the campsite. Check things out. Better safe than sorry.”

  “Please, Mom, Lance could be sick or hurt,” Ryan pleaded.

  Kristy’s stomach churned, a wave of nausea washing over her. Time to face the music.

  “Okay, let’s go,” Kristy said.

  Pops stood up.

  “I’m coming too.”

  “Pops …”

  He ignored her, shuffling toward the hall table, where he disconnected his larger home oxygen unit for a smaller, more portable one. Kristy almost told Pops to change his clothes or brush his hair or at least put on shoes other than his ugly gray-and-white-polka-dot slippers, but this wasn’t a goddamn fashion show. What did it matter what her father wore?

  The three of them drove in silence, arriving at the campsite half an hour later. Everything appeared just as Kristy had left it. All that was missing was Lance.

  “For all we know he’s out hunting,” Kristy said. Liar. Liar.

  Ryan looked in the camper. “All his stuff is there. Including his guns.”

  “That’s not good. He wouldn’t go into the woods without his gun.”

  Kristy didn’t know what to say. She was starting to second-guess everything, wondering how she’d ever get through this with them both staring back at her, like the world was falling apart.

  “Mom, listen to me, listen. Pops is gonna stay here at camp in case Lance comes back. Let’s spread out and canvas the woods.”

  Ryan took charge. That wasn’t unusual, but she could put a stop to this, tell them they were leaving, and yet she couldn’t. She followed Ryan into the thicket of dense woods, the two of them shouting out Lance’s name over and over again for over an hour before Ryan suggested going back. When they returned, Pops took one look at Ryan’s dejected face and said, “That’s it. We need to call the cops.”

  Kristy didn’t argue. There was no point in putting on any more of a pretense than she already had.

  They drove fifteen minutes north before they found a cell signal.

  “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?” the operator’s monotone voice inquired.

  “My husband … he’s missing. I mean, I’m worried he might be missing. He went out camping and we haven’t been able to locate him.”

  “How long has he been gone?”<
br />
  “It’s been thirty-six hours since anyone has seen or heard from him,” Kristy said, Ryan and Pops hanging on to her every word. The operator took down Kristy’s name and said she’d send out an officer. They drove back to the campsite and waited in hushed silence until a highway patrolman showed up. He was young, maybe early thirties, with a military crew cut and a muscular physique, well honed in the gym.

  “Mrs. Dobson?” he said, removing his straw hat. Kristy nodded, and he shook her hand, then Pops’s and Ryan’s.

  “I’m State Trooper Matt Meyers. Dispatch said you wanted to report a missing person?”

  “My husband, Lance Dobson, came out here on Friday night and we haven’t heard from him. We found his truck and all of his stuff, but there’s no sign of Lance.”

  “And you’re all family?” he asked.

  “Ryan is my son. Lance’s stepson. And this is my father, Frank Tucker.”

  Trooper Meyers jotted down notes while Kristy talked. Pops and Ryan stood, shell-shocked, blinking back disbelief. Kristy hoped her expression matched theirs, but her insides were swirling. She surveyed the scene in the light of day. The rain had left the campsite a muddy mess, but there was always the risk of leaving behind some kind of forensics, some fiber that would ruin everything. The officer stepped into Lance’s camper, leaving the three of them all alone.

  Ryan looked over and softly whispered, “He’ll be okay, right, Mom?”

  The lies. She had told so many lies and this was just the beginning.

  “I hope so, Ry.” Damn Lance for making Ryan care. Damn him, she thought. Officer Meyers exited the camper, dusting off his hands.

  “Okay. So when was the last time all of you spoke to Lance?”

  Ryan stepped forward. “I saw Lance before I left for school on Thursday morning. He texted me Friday night around six o’clock to tell me to have fun in Galveston.” Ryan’s voice cracked.

  Kristy reached out and took Ryan’s hand. This wasn’t going to get any easier.

  Pops spoke next.

  “Lance left the house around five forty-five p.m. on Friday. He wanted to make sure I ate dinner so he whipped me up a burger on the grill. That man’s got a magic touch when it comes to the grill, don’t he, Kristy?”

  “Yes, he does, Pops.”

  “And you, Mrs. Dobson?”

  Trooper Meyers looked at Kristy. “When was the last time you spoke to your husband?”

  “I saw Lance that morning before I left for work. I’m a public information officer over in Huntsville and I was at work until around five o’clock. I went to the movies over at Lone Star Cinema. Lance and I spoke before the first show around six o’clock, but that was the last time I heard from him.”

  She showed Trooper Meyers her phone and he wrote everything down. At some point in the interview, Kristy almost believed her story, the tale of a concerned wife whose husband had gone missing.

  “Can any of you think of anyone Lance may have had issues with?” Trooper Meyers asked.

  “No one would ever want to hurt Lance. He’s a good man. He looked after all of us, didn’t he, Kristy?” Pops said.

  This time Kristy stared right at the officer. Direct eye contact mattered.

  “He did. He’s very devoted to our family.”

  That wasn’t a lie. Devotion had never been Lance’s issue.

  “And how long have you been married?”

  “Almost two years,” Kristy said. Did she imagine his hesitation before he jotted her answer down?

  “Okay. If y’all don’t mind staying right here, I’m going to notify my supervisor.”

  He inspected the place one last time and then he ambled over to his squad car. They waited. Half an hour passed and another trooper arrived, a potbellied man with a mustache. Soon he was joined by the game warden, a lanky, bug-eyed woman. Trooper Meyers made the introductions but Kristy wasn’t listening. She was bracing herself for another round of interviews.

  They walked Kristy, Ryan, and Pops through their story again and again—when they’d last seen Lance, when they’d last spoken to him. There was a sense of urgency in the supervisor’s demeanor as he inspected the hunting rifles.

  “Does your husband have any other weapons?”

  “Not as far as I know,” she said.

  There was a huddled discussion among the three officers, and as the afternoon wore on, more officers descended on the scene, along with additional game wardens. Trooper Meyers had taken it upon himself to be Kristy’s eyes and ears through all of this, giving her a play-by-play.

  “We’re concerned that your husband may be injured or perhaps lost. My supervisor has notified our volunteer search and rescue team. It’ll be a bit of tough going, because this part of the woods is so dense, but they’ve got four-wheelers and horses, which will help to cover more ground than we could just on foot. We’ll also have a department investigator out here to search the area and take pictures of the camper and the truck.”

  “We’ll help them look. We can help, right?” Ryan asked.

  Kristy wanted to scream, No! We’re going home, but there was no turning back.

  “If your son wants to join the search and rescue, that’s fine. But, Mrs. Dobson, we’d like you to phone your husband’s friends and family and see if anyone has heard from him. We also need his medical history as well as a current photo we can distribute to our rescue teams.”

  “Absolutely. Whatever you need,” Kristy said, surveying the growing scene unfolding all around her. All these people, all this time and money being spent searching for a man that was already dead. She could confess right now. She should confess. But things were moving too fast. It seemed impossible to stop what she’d set into motion.

  Kristy watched helplessly while Ryan disappeared into the thicket of woods with dozens of volunteers from the local fire department, men and women who dedicated their off-hours to searches like this, all of them focused and driven, offering Kristy pats on the shoulder and encouraging words, promises that they’d bring her husband home.

  She recognized a few of them, guards at Huntsville and Polunsky, their grim expressions fading as they shook her hand, promising her “God will protect.” That was Kristy’s issue with religion. Where was God when Lance was beating her day after day? Where was he then? But they couldn’t know what she endured. They were operating on the facts at hand: A loving husband and father was missing and they were going to do their damnedest to find him.

  Pops and Kristy sat in her SUV while she called Roy and Yoli, who were surprised to hear from her and had no information to give. She phoned Craig, the other Realtor that worked with Lance at his new office, and the small group of Lance’s acquaintances. Everyone expressed their sympathy and concern, but of course none of them had heard from Lance. Once she made all her calls, Kristy sat in the truck with Pops, staring at the compound of people. Pops eventually dozed off, the hissing of his portable oxygen tank the only sound she could hear. Through the windows, Kristy watched the officers and search teams moving in and out of the woods with purpose and diligence. The hours ticked by, and the sun began to set. Ryan returned with one of the first groups, shivering from the crisp night air. She could tell from his bloodshot eyes that exhaustion was setting in. Trooper Meyers noticed it as well.

  “Y’all should go home and get some rest,” he said. “It may be a long night.”

  “I’m fine. I want to keep looking,” Ryan said, but Kristy shook her head.

  “We need to get Pops home and you should get some sleep. We’ll come back in the morning, if that’s okay?” Kristy asked Trooper Meyers.

  “Yes, ma’am. Unless we locate Mr. Dobson before then, we’ll be here.”

  Ryan opened his mouth, then closed it, thinking better than to defy Kristy. They climbed back into the truck and Pops startled awake.

  “Any word from Lance?” Pops asked hopefully, eyes scanning the bustling campsite.

  “No,” she said softly. “Nothing yet.”

  Pops nodded
tersely and closed his eyes, as if already in mourning. Ryan sat in the backseat, staring up at the sky, trying to be brave but bracing himself for bad news. All her planning could never have prepared her for this. She hadn’t just murdered Lance, she realized; she’d killed a part of Ryan and Pops.

  I’m sorry, she longed to say. I’m sorry for all of this.

  Instead she drove, the three of them silenced by the weight of their own thoughts. All she could do, all any of them could do, was wait. Sooner or later, this would all be over.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Waiting proved harder than Kristy imagined. Once they arrived home, she was hoping for some time alone, time to reevaluate, to organize her thoughts, to prepare for more police interrogations, more inquiry. She’d expected Pops and Ryan to head straight to bed.

  Instead, Pops went straight into the kitchen and from the back of the liquor cabinet he unearthed a vintage bottle of Chivas Regal. He poured all three of them a healthy glass.

  “It’ll take the edge off. Help us all sleep,” he said.

  Kristy would never normally let Ryan drink, and hard liquor wasn’t ideal for a man so heavily medicated, but Kristy didn’t say a word. She accepted her glass and the three of them gathered around the kitchen table, sipping their drinks.

  “You know, Kristy girl, sometimes when you’d work late, Lance and I would grab a couple of beers and we’d drive over to the ballpark and just sit in the back of his truck, watching the game and shooting the shit. The man would have me laughing so hard I’d be spitting beer all over the place,” Pops said with a chuckle.

  Ryan joined in singing Lance’s praises.

  “I know Lance is fine. I know it. He can handle himself. No one is better at taking care of himself than Lance. It’s weird but I can’t stop thinking about all the things Lance taught me. Like when he’s talking about judo, he’s always using it to help me relate to life. And he’s always pushing me to work harder because he could see my potential. And the way he listens … like he really hears me. He gets what it’s like not to fit in, makes me feel like I’m not such a freak. If it weren’t for Lance, I’d still be an outsider, but now everyone knows me. They like me.”