I Hope You're Listening

by Tom Ryan

  I glance at her, worried that I might be sounding a bit unhinged, but she’s smiling at me as if I’ve just said something totally normal.

  “I think I get the picture,” she says. “You don’t care what people think of you.”

  “Except for this,” I say. “Except when it comes to Sibby. That’s the place where I think everyone is right. I should have done something.”

  “Dee,” she says. She begins to lean across the table, but when I flinch, she stops and withdraws. “Nobody thinks that. Literally nobody.”

  “Well, they all think I have something to say,” I tell her.

  “Sure, of course they do,” she says. “It’s a good story. I mean, I don’t think it’s good; I think it’s awful, but it’s the kind of story that people want to talk about. Why do you think people listen to that podcast I told you about? Because they’re drawn to these stories. They want to help, and maybe people want to help you.” Her eyes widen, as if she’s just realized something. “You should contact them, tell them about Sibby. Explain the connection to Layla. I bet you anything that this is the kind of case the Seeker would want to investigate.”

  The podcast, again. I want, so badly, to tell her. To talk to someone other than Burke. Someone who understands. Who cares. Who listens.

  I think about the night I started the podcast, how all I wanted to do was help. I glance up and allow myself to look her in the eye for the first time since I finished telling my story. We hold each other’s gaze, and I realize that I wasn’t telling the truth. Maybe I do care what some people think about me. What she thinks about me.

  This could be the perfect moment, and Sarah could be the perfect person to explain everything to. Someone who isn’t Burke, who wasn’t part of it.

  Instead, I sigh and drop my eyes again. I reach for my phone to check the time and see that I have a DM from Carla Garcia. I want to read it now, but I don’t want to be rude. It can wait until I get home, which I realize is exactly where I want to be.

  “Can we get out of here?” I ask. “I’m kind of exhausted. It’s been an intense day.”

  “Of course.” She nods, as if nothing weird has happened, as if I haven’t just told her the most messed-up story she’s heard all year. “Let’s go.”

  We stand, pulling on our gloves and hats, shrugging into our jackets. She leaves cash on the table and then I follow her out of the truck stop into the glaring January sunshine.

  I brace myself as we turn onto our street, preparing myself to face the throng of aggressive reporters, but they’re gone.

  “Too bad,” says Sarah. “I was kind of looking forward to pissing them off with the horn again. I guess it worked the first time.”

  I nod vaguely, but I have an uneasy feeling it’s not that simple. I’m happy that they’re gone, but I’m worried about why they’re gone. Has something more interesting happened to draw their attention?

  “Thanks for getting me out of there,” I say as I step out of her car.

  She smiles at me from across the roof. “It was good to hang out with someone. I was worried I was going to have to become friends with Brianna. Do it again soon?”

  “That would be great,” I say. I wonder how she means it. Are we friends or something more than that? I’d be happy with either option, but I know which one I’d prefer given the choice. I hesitate. “It was really good to have someone to talk to,” I say.

  Sarah reaches out and puts her hand on my shoulder. “Dee,” she says, and her stare is direct and sincere, “I am literally always here if you need to talk. Always.”

  I smile and turn to get out of the car.

  When I get to my front door, I turn to glance back at her. She’s looking back at me, and I blush, happy that she’s far enough away that she can’t see me. We wave, and I step inside.

  I pull off my coat and boots, and then walk in my socked feet into the kitchen. My dad has left a sandwich in the fridge for me, and I pull it out and peel off the plastic wrap. I sit at the counter to eat, and open Carla’s chat window on my phone.

  hi there, wondering if we can get online to chat as soon as you have a minute? I’ve learned something…

  I message her back, intrigued.

  Definitely. I just got home and going to eat quickly. Can we do it in 10 minutes?

  Carla responds almost right away.

  Yep, I’ll be here.

  The doorbell rings, and I’m jerked away from my phone. I go to the front door and look through the window. To my surprise, Burke is on the porch, fidgeting. He’s about to press the doorbell again when I open the door.

  “Hey,” I say, confused.

  “Can I come in?”

  “Sure.” He follows me to the kitchen, and I push the plate with half a sandwich across to him. “You want some of this?”

  He just shakes his head, impatient. “Have you heard the news?”

  “No,” I say. “Did something happen with Layla?”

  “It’s Uncle Terry,” he says in a rush. “They came and took him away today, right after we got home from the search. My parents are a total mess.”

  “Wait, what?” I ask.

  “They think he took Layla. They found some stuff in the empty house next to your old place. They think he was using it to spy on the Gerrards.”

  “You mean the DaQuinzios’ house?” I ask. “I heard the cops were interested in it.”

  “Who told you that?” he asks, frantic.

  “Mrs. Rose,” I say.

  He looks at me blankly, trying to process.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I say. “What did they find?”

  “They’re calling it his den,” he says. “There was an armchair in there, and some old magazines and an ashtray full of butts. Some empty liquor bottles. The bedroom had a full view of the Gerrard house. From the window, you could look directly into Layla’s room.” He runs his hand through his hair. “It sounds bad, Dee.”

  “Are they sure it was him?” I ask.

  “He’s denying it, but they found a notebook,” he says. “His handwriting was all over it, and…and newspaper clippings.”

  “What kind of clippings?”

  Burke’s face looks even more miserable. “They were old. A bunch of stories about Sibby’s disappearance, follow-up stories from months and even years later.”

  “What the hell?” I ask. “What does that even mean? Why would he have those?”

  Burke just shakes his head. “I have no idea, but that’s not even the worst of it. Apparently, they’ve found evidence that Layla was in the room too. It’s got to be some kind of awful coincidence. I mean, I don’t like Terry, but he wouldn’t do something like this!”

  “This is messed up,” I say.

  “You’re telling me. I had to get out of there, Dee. I’m not even allowed in my room because there are cops in the basement, searching through Terry’s shit.” He rubs his hands through his hair. “I can’t believe this. I mean, I can’t stand Uncle Terry, he’s such a loser, but I don’t want him to go to jail. I know he didn’t do anything to that girl. Dee, you need to do a podcast about this. You need to help find out who really did it.”

  “Burke, I can’t,” I say. “I wouldn’t be any help.”

  “What do you mean?” he asks, obviously frustrated. “That stupid podcast has already helped find a bunch of people. Why won’t you help?”

  “It’s too close to home!” I say, ignoring his “stupid” comment but letting my own frustration getting the better of me. “Do you know how difficult it is to live through all of that again? Quinlee Ellacott was waiting on the front steps for me when I got home this afternoon. Besides, I’m right in the middle of another case. I can’t just drop that and start another one.”

  “You can do whatever you want!” he says. “It’s your podcast!”

  “It’s not like that,” I say.

  “Fine,” he says. “Don’t help. Listen, I’ve got to go.” He turns abruptly and marches back down the hallway to the front door.

&
nbsp; I follow behind him. “Don’t be like that,” I say. “Please, Burke.”

  He angrily shoves his feet back into his beat-up, old sneakers, then turns to look at me.

  “Maybe you think the cops are just doing their job,” he snaps. “Just keep in mind that cops screw stuff up all the time. They blew it with Sibby, and they’re going to blow it with this.”

  “Burke, I’m really sorry you’re going through this. I’ll help, I promise. I just can’t use the podcast.”

  He scoffs and turns away from me, grabbing the door handle. “Don’t worry, Dee. I won’t reveal your secret identity.” With that, he shoves out the door, letting it slam behind him.

  I stand and stare at the door, trying to break down what just happened. I’m reeling from what I just learned—did Terry really take Layla?—but I’m also angry. I know Burke is in a bad spot, but it’s not fair of him to take it out on me.

  I remember that Carla is waiting for me and run upstairs to my room, guiltily relieved that I have something else to focus on that isn’t happening in Redfields.

  I’m back! Sorry, got caught up in something.

  A message appears immediately.

  Okay, so you’re not going to believe this.

  I wait, holding my breath, watching the dots that tell me she’s typing a new message.

  I learned about another missing woman today, and I think there’s a really good chance that she’s connected to Vanessa.

  21.

  Transcript of RADIO SILENT

  Episode 43

  HOST (intro): Imagine this: A neighborhood like many others. Families hustle to get their kids to school. People run to catch the bus or hurry to get out the door in time to walk to work. Elderly folks stop to talk to neighbors as they make their way to the local grocery store. Dogs are walked. Library books are borrowed. And in the middle of this normal, everyday activity, a woman goes missing, and it isn’t until almost three days later that someone notices, the police are brought in, and a search begins.

  As I told you on my last episode, that’s what happened to Vanessa Rodriguez, in a neighborhood like the one I just described. Maybe it was a one-in-a-million occurrence.

  But what if it wasn’t? What if I told you that another woman had disappeared under very similar circumstances, in exactly the same neighborhood, about two months before Vanessa?

  Almost a million people are reported missing across North America every year. If we pay attention, if we work together, maybe we can help bring some of them home. I am the Seeker, and this is Radio Silent.

  RECORDING: (voice of Danetta Bryce) Nia Williams is my cousin. She’s a fun girl, likes to have a good time. Loves music. Loves her family. She’s a chartered accountant, and she works hard, but she always finds time for the people in her life. She’s always got a million things on the go: hanging out with her nieces and nephews, volunteering, making spur-of-the-moment weekend road trips with some of her girlfriends. It isn’t unusual to not hear from her for a while because she’s just so busy.

  That’s probably why it was a couple of days before anyone noticed she was missing.

  HOST (intro): The woman you just heard is Danetta Bryce. After learning from a friend about Radio Silent’s series on Vanessa Rodriguez, she contacted Carla Garcia and told her about her cousin, Nia Williams, who disappeared just over two months before Vanessa went missing. The two missing women didn’t live in the same neighborhood, but they lived close enough that they frequented some of the same spots.

  Notably, Nia was a semiregular at the Impact Café, which astute listeners might recognize as the very same restaurant where Vanessa Rodriguez worked full-time as a server. The same restaurant she didn’t show up to on the same day that her friends, family, and presumably police believe she went missing.

  Is this a coincidence? Or is there more to it than this?

  So far, nothing is known about the whereabouts of either woman, and police have not publicly speculated on whether or not they believe the cases are connected, but there are a couple of notable coincidences. The first, and most obvious, is the connection both women had to the Impact Café. But it’s worth noting that both women are in their mid to late twenties, both described by friends and family as attractive, personable, and outgoing.

  It’s also very important to mention that according to Vanessa’s acquaintances and coworkers, she often chose to avoid the busy stretch of road between the café and her apartment building, preferring instead to take a slightly longer, but much quieter route of back streets, through a residential area and past a couple of small parks.

  With the help of Nia’s cousin Danetta, we were able to confirm that Nia’s home, the second floor of an old house, fell along this very same route that Vanessa would often take on her way home from a late shift, meaning it was highly likely that both women would have taken this same unconventional and quieter route when walking to or from the Impact Café.

  I’d like to highlight one more important detail.

  Both women are visible minorities: Nia is black; Vanessa is Latina. This is worth noting because statistically, women of color are significantly more likely to have their disappearances underreported and underinvestigated by authorities.

  These cases were different enough to not have raised too many suspicions—in fact, we don’t even know if police have examined any connections between the women—but as I’ve pointed out, there are obvious similarities.

  Is there a connection? Possibly, although as I’ve mentioned, the police haven’t indicated as such. The reality is, it’s hard to find a lot of information about any of these cases, other than the basic one- or two-paragraph stories on local news websites. Facebook groups have been set up for each of them, but the information there is light on details as well. It’s more or less impossible to figure out how much has been done by police.

  We need to do better. And Carla and Danetta are making an effort. They’ll be hosting an LDA meetup for their local area this coming Saturday. They want people to help: putting up posters, knocking on doors, reaching out to potential witnesses through social media, you name it.

  I want Radio Silent to help them, so please, think hard. Do you live in the area? Are you a regular at the Impact Café? Details of the meetup are on all of the Radio Silent social media pages, and as always, you can reach out to us through any of them or through email.

  Is there something you can do to help?

  Listen up.

  Let’s try.

  Once I’ve edited and uploaded the new episode, I lean back into my chair and close my eyes. It feels like the Houston case is building toward something. Bits and pieces of information collecting and shifting and clustering together, and if I put them together just right, the story will start to come into focus.

  So why don’t I feel the same way about what’s happening right here in Redfields?

  Sibby. Layla. Burke and Terry. Quinlee Ellacott. Even Sarah. I feel as if everyone and everything is conspiring to bring me back into the center when that’s literally the last place I want to be.

  Am I a completely different person in real life than I am online? Is there any of Dee Skinner in the Seeker? More importantly, is there really any of the Seeker in Dee Skinner? Should I listen to Burke and let the lines blur?

  I sigh and sit forward, reaching to wake up my computer. I send Carla a quick message to tell her that the new episode is live, then quickly check my feeds. Word is already spreading, and people are discussing the new developments.

  Downstairs, the front door slams, and I can hear laughter and chatter as my family arrives home. I’m about to slam my laptop shut and head down to join them when a new message appears in my inbox, and my mouth goes dry as I read the subject line.

  SIBBY CARMICHAEL STILL ALIVE?

  Dear Radio Silent,

  I just read online that connections are being drawn between Layla Gerrard, the missing girl in Redfields, and the older case of Sibby Carmichael who also went missing in Redfields ten years ago
. I have held on to this information for years because I was never sure if I was right or not, but this has never left me and I can’t keep it to myself anymore under the circumstances. I am almost certain that I met Sibby Carmichael about five years ago. I can’t go into details because I fear for my personal safety, but I can say with almost complete certainty that it was her. I don’t know the state of the investigation into Sibby’s disappearance, but it is my belief that she is still out there and alive. I can’t approach the police about this for personal reasons. I recently began listening to your podcast, and it occurred to me the Seeker might be able to help.

  The email stops there. No specific information. No signature, just a random Gmail address: PrettyInInk_1988.

  I write back, asking for more details, and then reread the email a dozen times. There’s every reason to believe that this came from another crackpot, one of the hundreds of people who send me false information or useless leads every single month, but still…The message stares back at me from my screen like a beacon, a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, I could be reconnected with Sibby after all.

  22.

  In the morning, there’s a reply from PrettyInInk_1988, but the terse message is not very encouraging.

  I’m sorry to waste your time. Maybe I shouldn’t have written. I do think I saw Sibyl Carmichael, but it was years ago, and I can’t give you any details or help you more than this. I just needed to say that I believe she’s still alive and maybe you can look into it with your podcast. Don’t bother writing me back. That’s really all I’ve got for you.

  I chew my lip in frustration. There’s no way to trace a Gmail address…or is there?

  I texted Burke before bed to see how he’s doing, but he still hasn’t responded. I send him another one, asking how things are going, telling him we need to talk. I know he’s mad at me, but I need his help.

  When I get to school, there’s no sign of him at the entrance. I wait for him until it’s almost time for class, but he doesn’t show, so I hurry inside to my first class.

  I walk into English class just as the bell rings, and see that everyone is huddled around a laptop on Denny Pike’s desk, Ms. Grisham included.