“Mission”? What was their mission, what was their purpose? She called it the moment of balance, but what was that? It was the elephant in the room that was rarely discussed, because Annie said it needn’t be—more shall be revealed. The only thing that was required to know, she said, was that they all had one, a mission and a purpose, and it was “very, very special.” And as long as Annie was calm and confident, well, they were too. She made each of them feel like teacher’s pets.
At the end of the Meeting, they stood in a circle and held hands for the Lord’s Prayer. After Amen, the group shouted, “More shall be revealed!”—their favorite part. To top things off, the Meeting’s goofiest, most senior citizen (Maya’s favorite) would exultantly crow “Yabba Dabba Doo!,” sending the room into paroxysms of laughter that Annie seemed to delight in as well.
* * *
• • •
One night Daniel finally came.
He was late, just as Lydia had been her first time. He smiled at her and went straight to his chair. Annie paused and introduced him to the others, addressing him by the name she’d written on his Guide.
Ten minutes before the Meeting ended, Maya felt Troy’s hand touch hers. At the moment of contact, they briefly glanced at each other, then kept watery eyes on the Porter while struggling to retain composure; intellectually, it was all still a puzzle to them. Annie was in the middle of responding to a guest when she glanced over—nothing escaped her—and her voice broke with emotion. She quickly looked away.
The presence of siblings in a Meeting was another anomaly, another omen, because such a thing had never happened, at least not on Annie’s watch. (And why hadn’t it? It wasn’t as if a brother and sister had never been murdered before.) The Porter had the feeling they’d been killed by the same person and at the same time; that they’d died together was almost too much for Annie to bear, and the emotions that washed over her were new as well. How was it possible she was feeling such anguish, such despair? That puzzled her because she would never have survived the last sixteen years if she had felt the way she did now.
She took it as another sign that her sacred hours with the basement children were coming to a close.
2.
It was a strange time—a strange time within manifest strangeness.
Daniel had moved into Lydia’s home because neither one of them wanted to be alone. But now, something much more than human need drove them. More had been revealed . . .
Brother and sister were unembarrassed by the initial sex play that occurred between them when they first inhabited their landlords. It seemed “natural” enough. But as they grew into who they were, or once were—sibling children—they stopped all that without too much fuss. Meanwhile, they employed Annie’s stratagem of keeping the wolves at bay by no longer bothering to quash innuendo or refute their “relationship” among coworkers and peers. They cagily didn’t flaunt it either, their coyness sealing the deal for those who were still unconvinced that they were lovers. Touching hands at the Meeting, they received spontaneous transmission of who and what they were—Maya and Troy—and if they knew nothing else, the secret knowledge was more than enough for now. They came to perceive the design of their return as being “perfect,” even though the concept and meaning of that return still drew a blank. The maturity and animal strength of Lydia and Daniel (Troy and Maya called the landlords their “sleepover friends”) protected them like a nautilus shell or even a parent. There seemed to be just enough of the right ingredients that the recipe appeared to be flawless. But the nature of the meal—its mission and purpose—was unknown and still marinating.
Where did that leave them?
In other words, what had happened? What were they doing here? What were they doing anywhere? Annie cautioned that such questions were too large, and irrelevant to the moment. But smaller ones abounded, presenting themselves as swatches of entangled memory. All those unicorns! They made sense to Daniel now—just as the taste he’d developed for mixing black licorice and popcorn made sense to Lydia.
It was early enough in Maya and Troy’s arrival that the minds of their landlords still dominated, struggling to make sense of their fractured beings. Lydia and Daniel chased down surreal theories, informed by pop culture, film and television (though surreal came up short in describing the impossibly outlandish circumstances), like having been in an accident together as kids and emerging from double comas years later to find themselves partnered as cops. Which really did sound like some god-awful show from the eighties that never made it past the pilot episode. Like cosplay fans at a convention, they obsessed over Annie and everyone else at the Meeting, especially the scholarly, barefooted Dabba Doo. Daniel, being the resident sci-fi nerd, blurted out, “What if we’re just characters in a new Netflix series?” Lydia laughed so hard she almost peed. They knew that the ingredients of the perfect recipe were there (trusting Chef Annie unconditionally) but at this stage, while they could smell the aroma of what was being cooked, they were clueless to the whereabouts of the kitchen.
They still called each other Daniel and Lydia, unwilling or unready to take that next step of spooky ratification. So much hadn’t been revealed—they knew they couldn’t see the forest for the trees—but the little spiders spun their little theories, usually while lying next to each other in their PJs at bedtime. Sometimes they used a flashlight to read the Guide together before sleep, covering themselves with a blanket.
Welcome to orientation! You are not expected to know anything—this is not a test or an exam, so you can relax. (Easier said than done!) It is not an audition either—if you’re here, you’ve already won the part! So take a deep breath and know—TRUST!—that more shall be revealed. I know it’s all a bit overwhelming (to put it mildly!) but in time you will understand your purpose here. So WELCOME HOME, everyone, and GOD BLESS every one of you!
If they weren’t too drowsy, Daniel kept reading aloud until Lydia drifted away . . .
Rule Number One: Be GOOD to your NEW BODY!!! Treat it with RESPECT and it will RETURN the favor!!!
Rule Number Two: It is perfectly normal for the “old” you to occasionally feel sadness. These feelings WILL diminish as you get closer to your Moment of Balance. But if you DO feel sad (you sometimes will) it is TO BE EXPECTED. Remember: take a deep breath and TRUST!!!
Rule Number Three: As time goes by, you will find that you are becoming more “yourself.” But remember—while ADULTS are PLAYFUL, and CHILDLIKE qualities are usually tolerated and enjoyed, do NOT call ATTENTION to yourself with too much CRAZY HORSEPLAY! Listen to your Landlord!!!!
The Guide would fall from his hands as he tumbled into his sister’s dream. It was always the same. They dreamed that their moment of balance had been achieved and their work here was done. Lost in a city, they asked random strangers for directions back to the train station. The people they approached didn’t have faces, but that didn’t frighten them. Each time Troy and Maya moved on to the next bystander, the one before suddenly grew eyes and ears and a mouth and a nose, like a flower blooming in time-lapse. In the dream, they stopped worrying where the station was, because they knew they would find it again when they had to.
But that time was not now.
3.
Owen Caplan has been a career cop since the mid-eighties. His education began modestly, at community college, and he was a decorated vet in the Marine Corps. A lifetime resident of Macomb County, he lives ten miles northwest of Saggerty Falls, in Armada. He’s an active weekend hiker on the Orchard Trail.
Originally a station on the GT Railroad, the Falls was incorporated as a village in 1869. It never grew large enough to become a township. In 1991, its sleepy police department boasted four full-time officers, one of whom—the childless bachelor Owen—was the “designated detective” because he had a B.S. in criminal justice from Wayne State University. (Willow Wylde became his partner in ’93 and then moved to Manhattan to work narcotics five year
s later.) In 1999, eighteen months before the disappearance of Troy and Maya, Owen was upgraded by the local governing body and made chief. It was an ill-fated incumbency; the Rummer case effectively broke the back of the Saggerty Falls PD.
The abductions received so much press and political attention that the village was forced to dismantle its overwhelmed, undertrained police department and contract out to the Macomb County Sheriff’s Office. With its eighteen jurisdictions and multiple municipalities, Owen couldn’t argue against the Sheriff’s superior manpower, resources and skill sets. “Hell, it’s not a competition,” he said publicly, when asked how he felt about being subsumed. But for many years, in the privacy of his own thoughts, he found himself gloating over the Sheriff’s failure to find the killer. He was actually ashamed by such pettiness—made worse by what seemed like a passive-aggressive investment in their not finding those who were responsible—but couldn’t help himself. It was personal. Those kids were like family. He felt stymied that he couldn’t be the one to personally bring the murderer to justice.
The transition period for the deposed chief was rocky but his ambition to achieve something large, something of greatness, remained undimmed. He was a soldier. He went back to school with a fury, acquiring an M.S. in administration from Central Michigan University. Attended the FBI National Academy in Quantico. Graduated from the Macomb County Public Service Institute Center for Police Management and Leadership Studies. Top of his class in the Northwestern University School of Police Staff and Command. Joined the Sheriff’s Office. Was quickly promoted to sergeant and assigned to the Detective Bureau. Promoted to lieutenant. Promoted to chief of staff, in charge of jail operations.
He was a natural leader and a people person. He dabbled in local politics, building a loyal fan base. Did lots of speaking at schools, hospitals and charity events. Became a Democrat and ate as many rubber chickens as the fund-raisers could throw at him. Buddied up with the lieutenant governor. There was still a lot of goodwill toward the former chief, not just in Macomb but in surrounding counties, even after all those years. Folks never forgot the elegance and compassion he brought to the impossible task of the nightmare in Saggerty Falls. There was a case back in the seventies, the Oakland County Murders. Four schoolkids were abducted and their bodies found posed, in different clothing. To this day it remained unsolved, but those who were old enough to remember wished there’d been a competent, avuncular figurehead like Lieutenant Caplan to soothe the collective nerve. Macomb wasn’t nearly as high-end as the westerly Oakland County, yet with his warm and easy blue-collar charm, Owen would have fit the bill. He fit it for Saggerty Falls, best he could—until they took the job away from him three months into the investigation.
Twelve years after the abduction of the Rummer children, Owen Caplan was elected Macomb County sheriff; four years later, he was voted in for another term. It wasn’t even close.
Now he presides over an undersheriff, four captains, thirteen lieutenants, a handful of corporals and twenty-five sergeants. Some of those he appointed and others floated to the top, or near it, in accordance with the arcane mysteries of civil service. Under him are 225 sworn deputies, with another 250 at the Macomb County Jail in Mount Clemens (thirteen hundred prisoners strong), where Deputies Daniel Doheny and Lydia Molloy began their careers. The sheriff is responsible for maintaining that institution.
He insisted on being directly involved in the hiring of his deputies and had the heart and energy to do that. He felt responsible for their successes and failures, which made him an exemplary sheriff, an exemplary man. Owen trusted his instincts, even when he didn’t fully understand where they were heading—such as now, with Daniel and Lydia sitting across from him.
Deputy Doheny wasn’t exactly a loose cannon, but certainly had his moments. As a fellow veteran, Owen could see that he was wrapped too tight; the kid went through some bad hoodoo in Afghanistan. And Owen knew all about the major melodrama that occasionally flared between Daniel and his eternally soon-to-be-ex-wife. Still, there was something about him that made the sheriff want to give him a shot.
Lydia was actually a bigger question mark, but Owen absolutely knew she had heart—the Tim Hortons shooting proved it. When a lightbulb went off in his head to throw them together in a squad car at the substation in Saggerty Falls, his gut said, Hell, absolutely. Either it’d work or it wouldn’t, like anything else in this world. (But it’d sure be fun to watch.) He enjoyed creating micro-labs where his deputies could flourish, learning both from their mistakes and gold-star actions. Instinct told him that Molloy would be a good complement to Doheny, providing the balance that seemed to be MIA in his Special Ops problem child. She was no pushover either. In a way, the sheriff was glad it was Molloy who had pulled the trigger on the nutjob. That it went down like that made it easier for him to enlist them in tandem for his new enterprise.
“I might have a special assignment for you two,” he said. The sheriff had summoned them to his office on Elizabeth Road in Mount Clemens. The deputies nervously glanced at each other. They liked and respected their boss but had no idea what he was up to. “How would you feel about that?”
They thought he was being sarcastic and prepped themselves for some kind of demotion.
“If you’re going to put me on a desk because of the shooting,” said Lydia, “there’s no reason to punish Daniel too.”
“I’m not putting either one of you on a desk.”
“You want us to go to middle schools and talk about gangs and the perils of medical marijuana?” said Daniel, smiling.
“Not even close.”
“I know!” said Lydia, as if she’d solved a riddle. “You want us to play ourselves in a movie.”
Owen grinned and sat back, letting them have their fun.
“The only role I’d consider,” said Daniel, “would be the sequel to Space Jam. Funniest movie ever!” His laugh was strident and too young. “Michael Jordan and the Looney Tunes characters? Are you kidding me? Fucking best movie ever!”
Lydia looked at him sideways, rolling her eyes and trying to laser-beam the “crazy horseplay” caveat of Rule Number Three into his head. Time to deflect. “What do you have in mind?” she asked.
“I’ll let you know. What I guess I want to hear is that you both won’t mind a change. And a challenge.”
Daniel looked at Lydia and grinned. “You up for a change?”
“Life would be boring without it.”
“Good,” said Owen. “Okay, we’re done.”
He wasn’t sure why but decided not to go further. But in that moment, he understood the real purpose of seeing them: putting them in a room together so he could read their energy. He smiled to himself because “reading energy” was a strange, tried-and-true technique that he’d put to effective use over the years, having picked it up from his gifted former partner, Willow Wylde.
As they stood to leave, Owen said, “Oh—there’s just one more thing.” They knew what was coming: the sheriff’s signature way of ending all his meetings. “Get the fuck out of my office.”
* * *
• • •
After work that night, they changed into civilian clothes and went to a coffee shop off the beaten path. Whenever they wanted to dish about Annie and the Meeting but were too amped to go home, they enjoyed having dinner at an anonymous, unfamiliar place.
“Space Jam?” said Lydia. “That was awkward. You are such a spaz.”
“You could at least have brought up Harriet the Spy.”
“Oh my God,” she giggled. “Harriet the Spy! We need to rent it, Daniel, like, we need to rent it tonight.”
“So what do you think Owen’s cooking up?”
“Haven’t got a clue.”
“Maybe The First 48’s gonna do Macomb and he wants us to star. Wouldn’t that be cool?”
“We’re not homicide detectives, Dumbo. In case you haven’t noticed.”
“There’s lots of those kind of shows that follow regular cops around.”
“I don’t think Annie would approve.” She took a bite out of her tuna melt and got serious. “I saw the shrink today for the last time.”
“How’d it go?”
“She was a little . . . concerned. You know—that putting a bullet in Crazypants didn’t seem to ‘bother’ me. She said I had what’s called ‘flattened affect.’ Thinks I’m gonna have PTSD.”
“Those people just want return visits. It’s all about billable hours.”
“She’s probably on salary, don’t you think? But it was kinda helpful, overall. Kinda sorta. I guess. And I did have this realization . . . that the first thing that went through my head when I shot him—I mean the very first thing, Daniel, that went through my head was, I’m not here for this. It was like hearing a really loud voice.”
A Guide for Murdered Children Page 9