The Walls

by Hollie Overton

  Kristy hated that Ryan gave Lance credit for that. She wanted to argue back, tell Ryan people loved him because he was a wonderful kid, but that wasn’t what Pops and Ryan wanted to hear right now. A silence had fallen over the table and Kristy realized they were waiting for her to take her turn. Listening to their stories, Kristy wanted their Lance to be her Lance. She wanted to join in with the tributes, but so many of her memories were shaded with violence.

  “Remember last year when I was honored with the Excellence in Public Relations Award? Lance was so proud he filled my whole office with flowers …”

  Kristy left out the part about what happened in the parking lot, how he’d shoved her in the car and grabbed her by the chin.

  “Tell me, Kristy, why did you even invite me here? You basically ignored me the whole goddamn night. Why make me get all dressed up and come along if you weren’t going to say a single goddamn word to me? I want you to look in the mirror and ask yourself, was that behavior appropriate? Ask yourself … did I show my husband the respect he deserves tonight?”

  Those were Kristy’s memories, but they needed to hear from her, so Kristy rambled on about the “good times.”

  A little drunk, Pops excused himself, optimistically mumbling that Lance would be back by morning. Ryan stood, shifting his feet, searching Kristy’s expression for reassurance. Worried he’d see through her lies, she stood and gave him a quick hug.

  “I’m going back out to search in the morning. Should I wake you?” Ryan asked when she pulled away, eyes downcast, fighting back tears.

  “We’ll go together,” Kristy said. This was her penance, as she was forced to reconcile what she’d done. What could possibly be worse than searching, with your son, for a man you murdered? A man you hoped stayed missing forever.

  The next morning, Kristy woke before Ryan, a long list of tasks she had to complete. She phoned Gus first. He answered on the first ring, his voice gruff, his annoyance on full display.

  “Jesus, Kristy, it’s barely seven o’clock. It had better be important,” Gus said.

  “Lance is missing,” Kristy replied, and she heard the stunned inhalation of air. For once, Gus Fisher had been silenced.

  “Did you hear me, Gus?”

  “I heard. What the hell happened?”

  Kristy recited her story, the details etched into her brain. “Lance went hunting on Friday and no one has heard from him since. We filed a police report and they have search teams looking …”

  “But you’re worried about him?”

  “My husband hasn’t come home, texted, or called in two days. Yes, I’m worried,” Kristy said, not needing to feign annoyance.

  “Right. So I guess you won’t be in today?” Gus asked.

  God, the man was a dimwit. “Yes, Gus, that’s what I’m calling to tell you. I’m not coming to work today because my husband is missing.”

  “Okay. Okay. Let Carmen know what’s going on and she can handle what needs to be handled. Look, Kristy, he’s only been gone a couple of days. He’s probably up to no good in some whorehouse or something. I mean, that’s what men do sometimes. He’ll be back tonight, repentant as hell.”

  Gus had a real way with words, Kristy thought. She called Carmen, who assured Kristy that everything at work would be handled.

  “Whatever you need, Kris. I’m here.”

  She hung up, wishing that she could tell Carmen about Clifton, that she could check on him. Kristy hated that Clifton might feel forgotten. That was the loneliest feeling in the world. But there was no way to see Clifton, not while all of this was going on. Kristy’s head was pounding, but she had one more call to make.

  “Hey, Kristy, everything okay?”

  Kristy rarely phoned Mac; all of their communication since she had married Lance was done via text.

  She sat at the kitchen table, gripping the phone.

  “It’s about Lance.”

  Kristy launched into her story, repeating everything that had happened at the campsite with Ryan and Pops.

  “I’m heading over now. I’m on my way,” Mac said.

  “Mac, you don’t have to …”

  “I know I don’t, but I want to be there for you guys. Jesus, I can’t believe this is happening. Lance is one of the good ones.”

  Kristy hung up. The last thing she wanted was Mac coming over and joining in the Lance is amazing chorus. But there was no way to stop him. Mac showed up half an hour later, laden down with groceries, filling the house with his overly enthusiastic responses. Kristy left Mac behind to keep Pops company and she returned to the campsite with Ryan.

  The search continued. So did the constant onslaught of visitors and phone calls and reporters calling.

  Day two.

  Day three.

  Day four.

  Day five.

  On the sixth day of the search for Lance Dobson, Kristy and Ryan returned from the woods dripping wet from the relentless thunderstorms, their feet aching and numb from walking through miles and miles of woods and wilderness. Ryan’s exhaustion and the emotional toll this was taking were unbearable. She reached out and patted Ryan on the shoulder, as if somehow that might take away his pain.

  “I’m gonna heat up some soup,” she said. Ryan shrugged.

  “I’m not really hungry.”

  “You’ve got to eat, Ry. We have to …”

  Kristy’s cell rang.

  “Answer it, Mom. It could be Lance,” Ryan said hopefully.

  “Hello,” Kristy said.

  “Hi, I’m Detective Joanna Davenport from the Huntsville PD. Can I speak to Mrs. Dobson?”

  “Speaking,” Kristy answered, her palms already beginning to sweat.

  “Mrs. Dobson, I’ve just been assigned to your husband’s missing persons case. Would you by any chance have time to come by this evening and speak with me?” she asked.

  “Yes. I can be there.”

  “Thank you,” she said and then hung up.

  Kristy tossed her phone into her handbag and plastered on a half smile as she returned to the kitchen.

  “You okay, Mom?” Ryan said, camped out at the kitchen table.

  Kristy didn’t want to burden Ryan. Not yet.

  “I have to duck out for just a few minutes. Need anything?” Kristy asked.

  “No, I’m good. Drive safe,” he said, returning his attention to his laptop and the missing persons message boards he had discovered, connecting with people from all over the country who were trying to find their loved ones.

  Kristy left the house, her mind spinning, spinning, one dizzying thought after another. Was it normal for the spouse to be called to the police station? Had they uncovered the body? What if they poked holes in her story? What if Kristy fell apart? Stop. That wasn’t an option. She had survived too much. She had to keep going.

  Kristy sat in the drab gray waiting room, nervously rubbing her palms on her jeans, hoping to wipe away the sweat.

  “Mrs. Dobson?” Detective Davenport asked.

  “Yes, that’s me,” Kristy replied. She stood up and the detective thrust her hand out. Her grip was surprisingly strong. Detective Davenport was tiny, early thirties, with dark hair and sharp, blunt features. She had severe cheekbones and wore giant oversized tortoiseshell glasses. She wore jeans, a white blouse, and a tailored navy blazer. Her look screamed college professor, not police officer. An interesting tactic. Present yourself as completely unassuming so someone might let their guard down. She had to remember that the most unsuspecting people were often the most dangerous. She had Lance Dobson to thank for that lesson.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting, Mrs. Dobson. We had a child go missing yesterday, so it’s been all hands on deck. Please, follow me.”

  Kristy followed the woman down a long fluorescent-lit corridor, her legs unsteady beneath her. Detective Davenport opened the gray door to an interview room and motioned for Kristy to follow her inside. She took a seat at the faux wood table, staring down at her hands. Her nails were uneven, she thought. I
t had been ages since she had a manicure.

  How stupid. What a stupid thing to think. She shook away the inane thought and watched as Detective Davenport eased into the opposite chair, her brows furrowed.

  “I’m so sorry for what you’re going through. Our resources are stretched pretty thin, but rest assured we’re doing everything we can to locate your husband.”

  “Thank you,” Kristy said softly.

  “Has Lance ever given you any reason not to trust him?”

  Yes … no … I’m not sure. All of the above?

  “Not at all,” Kristy replied.

  “Then I have to warn you that some of what I’m going to tell you may be difficult to hear. I should also point out that sometimes people disappear on their own accord. Maybe it’s bad money decisions, or tangling with the wrong people, or maybe they want to start over. I’m not saying that’s what happened here. I’m just trying to give context to what might have occurred. We dug into Mr. Dobson’s past. Credit history, previous addresses, relatives, previous jobs and relationships.”

  “Okay,” Kristy said, bracing herself for whatever news was coming her way.

  “Did Lance ever mention financial issues in the past?” Detective Davenport asked, her gaze boring into Kristy’s eyes, searching for answers.

  “Lance and I didn’t spend too much time talking about the past. We were focused on building a future together,” Kristy said, hoping her face wasn’t as pinched as it felt.

  “Did you know that Mr. Dobson was previously married and that his first wife killed herself?” Detective Davenport asked.

  “Yes, but he didn’t like to discuss it. It was a painful time in his life.”

  Kristy figured it was better to be honest about her knowledge of Hannah than to play dumb. She sat listening to the detective run through everything Kristy already knew. As the meeting went on, Kristy’s hands stopped clenching; her knees stopped knocking together. This wasn’t about Kristy. It seemed like it was more about Lance and what could have gotten him killed. It was clear they didn’t know he was dead, or that Kristy had killed him. At least not yet.

  Kristy wasn’t a suspect, but the more time she spent here, the better her chances were of screwing up, getting trapped in some kind of lie.

  “Thank you for sharing this information with me, Detective,” Kristy said as she folded her hands in her lap. “I should probably go. My family is waiting.”

  Davenport gauged Kristy once more. “The search and rescue parties will continue for now, but there are limitations to what we can do if our investigation doesn’t turn up any sign of him.”

  “You’re going to stop looking?” Kristy asked. That’s what she wanted. For them to simply stop.

  “No. We’re not giving up just yet. You should brace yourself though. There comes a time when we’ll have no choice but to call off the search.”

  Detective Davenport held open the door and ushered Kristy back into the lobby, shaking her hand again with that crushing grip.

  “We’ll be in touch, Mrs. Dobson,” she said.

  Kristy wasn’t going to tell Ryan and Pops about any of the things she’d “learned” about Lance. No reason to sully their idol for them just yet. She’d keep up the facade. Lance was a loving, doting husband, Kristy his devoted wife.

  Kristy’s nerves were ripped and skewered like someone had been scraping at her insides with a potato peeler. But there were no more calls to return to the station, no more discussions about her life with Lance. She hoped the search would be called off and they could move on. But when she returned home, it was Ryan who turned the tables. He greeted her the second she stepped in the door.

  “You know all the press in town, right?” he asked excitedly.

  “I guess,” Kristy replied.

  “C’mon, Mom, you know lots of reporters, don’t you?”

  “Yes. I do.”

  “I read online that press conferences can turn the tide on a missing person’s case. Can you make some calls? We have to get the word out. More people need to know Lance is missing.”

  Kristy wanted to say, No. We will just wait. Let’s enjoy each other’s company before they lock me up forever. But she didn’t. Instead Kristy sat down and composed an e-mail and sent it out to the almost three hundred reporters in her address book. If she had any doubts about how well liked she was, in less than twenty-four hours she had her answer. Every single reporter in her contacts reached out, and then the news did what it did best. It made Kristy’s life a spectacle.

  Frenzy was the best word to describe it. Reporters descended, filling Kristy’s front yard, news vans and SUVs parked on every bit of surface, others spilling onto the road. Standing on her front porch with Ryan and Pops behind her, Kristy gazed out at reporters from Houston, Huntsville, and Conroe, correspondents from all the local TV affiliates, people she’d known for years, all of them staring back at her. She’d written and rewritten her speech half a dozen times. This was never part of her plan, but at this point, Kristy was improvising. She’d spent the entire morning obsessing about what to wear. Women were judged on their appearance. If she were too made up they’d say she looked whorish, the type of woman that couldn’t be trusted. If she didn’t wear enough makeup, if she looked too unkempt, it might look like she didn’t care about herself or anyone else. She took a deep breath and began to speak.

  “My husband, Lance Dobson, has been missing for nine days. He has not called or texted. He has not used his credit card. We have not heard anything from him and we are very concerned. If you have any information about him, please contact the Montgomery County Sheriff’s Office. His family … We miss him and want him home.”

  The reporters lobbed questions and Kristy answered, doing her best to convey grief and concern. She was exhausted and terrified that she might slip up. Lance’s disappearance was a top story that night, but the next day the missing kid Detective Davenport mentioned was found murdered, which sent Lance’s case to the bottom of the pile.

  As the days ticked by, eleven, twelve, thirteen, the energy of the volunteers began to wane as well. Enthusiasm gave way to hopelessness. Maybe Lance wasn’t coming back. Maybe there was nothing that could be done. The hardest part about it all was watching Ryan, the Ryan she knew, slowly vanish. What was left behind was an angry, sullen teen. He grunted his answers to her questions, disappearing into his room for hours. He’d slink off to Ella’s, the shock of what happened drawing them back together.

  “I can’t leave him now, Mrs. Dobson,” Ella said when she came to pick Ryan up. “He’s hurting too bad.”

  They’d head out for the night and she would hear Ryan returning in the early-morning hours, then he would sleep all day. Kristy wanted to tell him that it was unacceptable, that he was still a kid, her kid, and he couldn’t stay out all night, but she’d taken so much from him, she simply let it go.

  Pops was struggling too. Some days he didn’t even come out of his room. He stopped doing his breathing exercises and refused to attend his appointments for the clinical trial. She longed to shake some sense into him, into both of them.

  Stop it, she wanted to shout at them. Just stop! Lance was killing me. He tried to kill me. Every day. He might have killed you. Don’t shed another goddamn tear for that man. But all she could do was endure their pain in silence.

  On Sunday, fourteen days after Lance went “missing,” Kristy knocked on Ryan’s door. He was hunched over his laptop, the lights off, still wearing his faded tracksuit pants and last year’s debate sweatshirt.

  “Hey, Ry, I think it’s time you go back to school.”

  Ryan stood up, eyes flashing, clenching his fists and staring back at Kristy like she was a total lunatic.

  “Jesus, Mom, I think my teachers will fucking understand if I’m not in class considering my stepfather is missing and may be …”

  She flinched. Ryan’s harsh tone startled Kristy and she stepped back, holding up her hand to shield herself. Confusion flashed across Ryan’s face.


  “God, Mom, did you think I was gonna hit you?”

  “No, I just … I’m on edge. I didn’t …” But Kristy did. For a fraction of a second, she was terrified.

  Ryan isn’t Lance, she reminded herself.

  “I’m all messed up, but I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m just not ready to go back to school yet. Not with Lance gone. We can’t give up hope.”

  “I’m not giving up hope, Ry, but I still have bills to pay, and Gus is expecting me back in the office tomorrow. I can give you a few more days, but then you have to go back too. We don’t have a choice.”

  Ryan’s silence spoke volumes. He sank down onto the bed, returned to his laptop, and resumed sending e-mails to news stations, doing everything he could to bring more attention to Lance’s disappearance. He turned his back on her, and Kristy had no choice but to leave, closing the door behind her.

  Gus hadn’t insisted that Kristy return to work. That was her decision. But she couldn’t stand spending another day in this house with Ryan and Pops and their all-consuming grief.

  That wasn’t the only reason though. Tomorrow was Clifton’s execution. Kristy couldn’t abandon him. She had to be there for his final day. She owed him that.

  She asked Carmen to check if Clifton had written her any new letters, but there was nothing. Had news about Lance’s disappearance reached death row? Did Clifton suspect Kristy? What would he say? Would he be disappointed? Or would he sympathize, knowing what happens when dangerous people go unpunished?

  Tomorrow would test Kristy in every way possible, her sense of justice, right and wrong, and her ability to do a job she hated. Despite her exhaustion, Kristy fought sleep, hating the moment her eyes flickered closed and Lance claimed her dreams, his voice low and sinister, calling out a warning Kristy could not escape.

  “I’m coming for you, Kristy. I’m coming for all of you.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  It was dawn when Kristy woke, drenched in sweat. She showered and dressed, donning black pants and a gray sweater, muted colors. She sat at the kitchen table, sipping coffee, staring down at the newspaper. On the front page of the Houston Chronicle was Clifton’s mug shot. “Death at Last,” the headline read. A smaller photo in the right-hand corner was of Lance: “Local Man Still Missing.”