by S C Jones
“Come over here,” Kay squealed excitedly pulling her into a hug. Kay had called Lane her sister more times than she could count, and they always had each other's backs when needed. They switched shifts if the other couldn’t make it, even joked around at the other waitress’s expense. Everyone needed someone on their side especially working in a place like this, and Kay was her someone.
“What’s up? What are you doing here?” She turned placing her hands together on the bar.
Lane did the same, taking the stool next to her. “Not much, was actually in the neighborhood. How’s this place treating you?”
With a cocked brow she said, “you know this place doesn’t evolve.”
“I do, which is why I needed a change.”
“Oh, yeah how is the new digs. There must be rich, hot corporate guys crawling all over that place just waiting to get some of that hot Lane ass,” she joked nudging her shoulder.
Lane laughed shaking her head. “No way am I hitting that topic.”
“So, you’re not going to tell me? Not even a little bit?”
“Not even a—”
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite ex-waitress,” John said coming in from the back carrying a crate of beer. He dumped it on the floor behind the bar and started packing them into the fridge. John was a young guy, around thirty-two, thirty-three. He was thin and wore glasses and baseball hats all the time.
“Hey, I thought I was your favorite,” Kay said pouting.
“No, you’re my loudest, which isn’t a good thing in my case,” he said stopping and giving her a deadpan look before moving in and pecking Kay's lips. Pulling away she rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue trying to pretend the kiss meant nothing, but the truth was, they’ve been engaged for almost two years, and she still acts like it was a fling. She didn't even wear the four carat engagement ring that Lane found literally stuck by a piece of masking tape to the bottom of her underwear draw.
“Hey, John, how’s my favorite ex-boss?”
“Busy and annoyed that this one won’t pick a date.” Kay snickered ignoring his remark, making John chuckle as he slammed the fridge door. “And with that, I got more beer to unload before tonight. Kay tables don’t clear themselves,” he said trying to sound in charge when it really only sounded playful.
Once he was gone Lane asked, “okay, when exactly are you going to put him out of his misery? Is it before or after he takes the ring back and gives it to someone else?”
She shrugged carelessly. “That’ll never happen and if it does then he wasn’t right to begin with. So, moving on from that never ending topic, why are you here?”
“I was actually looking for Adrian. Is she here?”
Kay’s brows sunk in confusion. “Who’s Adrian?”
“The new waitress John hired the week before I left,” she explained.
Kay’s face remained the same. “Ah, Lane honey, what are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the girl I kept running into almost every night. About yea high.” She moved her hand to show Adrian’s height. “Dark hair, always in uniform and smiles a lot.”
“Okay, I’m lost here. If John had hired a new waitress, I would have been the first to know, and besides we haven’t even filled your position yet let alone one that didn’t exist when you were still here. Are you sure you saw what you think you saw?” It was hard to forget someone especially when they made it your business to be noticed. The last week Lane was here Adrian had worked all night shifts on all the busy nights. They didn’t talk much since the first time in the back room, mostly because they were always too busy to stand and have a conversation while trying to serve rowdy customers, but Adrian always stopped, whether she was across the room or right in front of her, and smiled and waved. Yes, it was sort of creepy, but Lane was polite and always waved back thinking she was being friendly. “Lane.”
“Yeah, sorry. I was confused there for a minute.”
“Understandable, this place has the tendency of driving the sane, crazy.” She patted her arm grabbing her tray off the counter top. “Sorry I couldn’t help. Why are you looking for this girl anyway?” Because she was the name she had found in that email. Because maybe she knew Garrett and what he was really after.
“Because I lent her my favorite pair of earrings and she hadn’t returned it,” she lied.
“They weren’t expensive, were they?”
“No, just my favorite.”
“Sorry to hear that, whoever she was, she’s long gone and so are your earrings. I gotta get back before John fires my ass.”
Lane snorted. “Yeah, right.”
“It could happen. Anyway, it was good seeing you. Stop by more often we’ll have a drink next time.” She touched her shoulder before heading off to the back tables. Lane watched as she left not quite understanding why Kay continued doing this job seeing as she was the boss’s fiancé and could have any position she wanted. Yet the girl was happy cleaning tables and making tips off of horny college boys, and touchy old men like it was the best job in the world.
Turning and leaning against the bar, Lane pondered on what to do next. The only lead she had, had disappeared out of thin air with no way of finding her. It was weird. How could someone she had seen so many times be gone without anyone else knowing she was really here? Someone must have seen her, talked to her, hell she saw her talking to customers more times than any, so she had to be real. She was real. Just then, her cell phone rang from inside of her purse. Placing her bag on the bar she quickly retrieved it, surprised to see the hospital’s name across the screen.
“Hello.”
“Lane,” Martha’s grief-stricken voice followed. “Lane, honey I’m so sorry.”
Twenty-Two
How many people can say they remember every single time they were scared and helpless. How many times they sat in the same spot for hours, praying that this wasn’t happening, that this wasn’t real, that this reality was one hell of a fucked up dream they wished they could wake up from, only to realize that it wasn’t a dream, but a very real nightmare.
“Lane,” Martha’s voice pulled her back from the blind spot over her shoulder. “Are you okay?”
“He has to be around here somewhere, right? How far could he possibly get?” she cried leaning forward and placing her face in her hands. She couldn’t think straight or stop her hands from shaking at the thought of him being hurt or possibly dead.
“Not far, we have nurses checking all the rooms and security out checking the area. We’ll find him,” she assured her, while moving her hand up and down Lane’s back in comfort and walking her over to a sitting area on the opposite side of the hall. He’s been missing for two hours.
After he woke up this morning, had breakfast and talked in the social room, he complained about a headache and wanted to rest for a bit. He went to his room and laid down for about an hour with the nurse coming in to check on him every thirty minutes like they always did. Thirty minutes later he was gone. There were small droplets of blood on his white pillow case that was crumpled into a ball in the corner of his room. The nurse in charge said there was a small incident right before she noticed he was gone. Another patient who sat in the social room started screaming and thrashing around causing her and two others to rush to his aid, until he was calm enough to be left alone. By the time she went back to check on him, he was gone.
“I don’t understand, this place is supposed to be secured. He was supposed to be safe here. You promised me he would be safe, Martha.”
“I did and it is, Lane, but there is only so much we can do for someone who doesn’t want to be here, who doesn’t accept the fact that their sick. Eventually they either do one of two things, end it or find a way out. Your father’s been fighting this from day one, probably been planning this escape for weeks—”
She turned gaping at her. “So, you’re saying this was my fault? For wanting to keep him here, for wanting to protect him from himself?”
Martha sighed.
“I’m saying, there was nothing any of us could do.”
“Martha, Lane.” They both stood as Michael one of the security guys approached them.
“Did you find him?” Lane asked hopefully her eyes searching his face for any sign of good news.
He glanced at his feet briefly before looking back at them shaking his head. “No, but we did find how he got out. The back fence on the north wing was dug out from the ground. It’s a small opening, but big enough for anyone of us to fit through. There was also a bit of blood and pieces of his t-shirt on some of the spokes sticking out. I’m sorry Lane,” he said sympathetically while Martha touched her hand letting her know she’d be right back before she and Michael stepped off to the side in hush hush tones.
With their backs turned away she bolted for the stairs running as quickly as her legs would take her. She couldn’t breathe, found it hard to feel what she wanted because she didn’t know who deserved it more, him or herself.
Almost to the second floor landing she heard a door opening before it slammed shut, but she didn’t look back, didn’t want to hear what Scott had to say. “Lane, wait,” he called, his footsteps not too far behind. “Lane, please stop,” he pleaded continuing his chase. Stopping beyond the first floor landing she grabbed the railing before turning to look at him. He stopped, and they both stared off. It didn’t take long before she turned away ready to run again. “Lane—”
“What!” she snapped harshly looking at him once more. “What do you want from me?”
“I just…I heard what happened—”
“You heard that he’s gone… because of you.”
He frowned. “Lane, I didn’t mean for this to happen. You have to know that,” he pleaded.
“The thing is…You never do,” she said harshly
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Just what I said. You didn’t mean to make that hole, just like you didn’t mean to leave me alone at your house knowing the kind of man your father was,” she said in a low voice. “Just like you didn’t mean for me to fall for you, knowing that there was never an actual chance for us to be together. Tell me you didn’t mean any of it? Explain to me how you never meant for any of it to happen.”
His jaw clamped shut as he looked at her defeated. “Lane—”
“Nothing left to say.”
“You have to understand he didn’t want to be here. He would have found a way out eventually, whether I had put that hole there or not—”
“Right, maybe I should have hoped he’d be more like you, well-adjusted to the white walls and straight jackets,” she said defeated turning again to leave.
He reached out and grabbed her arm. “Lane—”
“Don’t,” she blurted snatching her arm away. Turning to face him she wanted to hurt him, punch him, something to make the anger and hurt go away. “Couldn’t you have just left well enough alone?” she asked tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Lane—”
“No.” She shook her head stepping away from him.
“Lane.”
“Please," she pleaded, arms up in defense.
“I’m selfish okay,” he said harshly. “I saw you and I couldn’t ignore the fact that here was the girl I loved, that I never thought I had a chance of seeing again. I never had the guts to tell you and then you were gone. I never imagined I’d see you again.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she mumbled wiping her eyes. “I’m seeing someone else, so it doesn’t matter anymore.”
His once careful features suddenly turned angry by her words. She wouldn’t look at him because she knew what she would see. “So, what’s that… we are over, it’s done,” he said angrily.
She gazed at him wanting him to understand what she was about to say. “That’s it, there was nothing here for me to begin with. It was stupid of me to fall for a guy in a mental hospital and think something would come out of it besides heartache. You pushed and you pushed until I knew you, liked you, hell I love you. And you didn’t expect what? For me to care about the first guy that’s showed me any affection? The guy I first loved in the first place… What was the point of this whole game?” she yelled.
“It wasn’t a game,” he gritted out in anger, feeling as if he’d been slapped in the face.
“All men say that, but somehow it always turns into one when the girl gets hurt.”
“What do you expect me to do?”
“Disappear, just like you did before, just like I’m about to do now.” With that, she turned and took the final four steps down, exiting through the doors.
***
Returning to her apartment almost five hours later, she sat in the hazy emptiness staring at the muted TV. She had made it home, no idea how or when. Lane had never felt so angry, but not at him anymore, more at herself for blaming him when it wasn’t his fault. Scott and Martha were right. She was forcing her father and maybe deep down she knew all along that someday he would find a way out. That it was either that, or she would get a call saying he was dead. She had hoped he would give in, and at least try to get better, but as the months wore on with no progress, there really was no point anymore in trying to save someone that didn’t want to be saved. Deep down she was happy that he was out there somewhere and she’d find him again, because he didn't have any money or means to get around.
Turning off the TV, she figured this was as good a time as any time to call K.C, since she hadn’t spoken to her since she left a week ago. K.C was just the upbeat voice of reason she needed to give her a new perspective on this whole situation.
Picking up her phone off the arm rest next to her, she scanned through the contacts finding K.C’s name and pressed call. The line was quiet at first and a few seconds later the automated voice informed her that the number was not in service. Pulling the phone from her ear she looked at the number again as the recording continued playing. Hanging up she dialed again, this time entering the numbers manually, only the exact same thing happened again. That was strange she thought, staring down at the phone in her hand. The number had worked fine when K.C was here, why would it not be in service since she used it for her job? Maybe she had it changed, or was using a different phone while in Mexico, she thought. Maybe she had left the number in her apartment for Lane that morning she left. That was it. She’d head over and find the number.
Climbing off the couch she was out the door while it slammed behind her. She went downstairs to the first floor knocking on Marco’s door. Marco, a Spanish American who was the owner of the building, spent most of his days listening to salsa music that everyone would usually hear through his doors. Like right now. Lane had no idea how he could hear anyone on the other side, but he always did. At thirty-nine with no kids, no ex-wives and no alimony, he considered himself the happiest man alive on two legs.
The door opened and a flamboyantly dressed Marco leaned against the door frame. Today’s outfit, a rhinestone pink tank top, and cutoff jeans showing off his hairy long legs. He said he realized he was gay when he turned twenty-nine after having his first accidental gay experience at a bar, and liking it. “Lane, sweetie, long time no see. Where have you been hiding?”
“Hey, Mac, sorry I haven’t been by much, been busy and such. I don’t really have much time to talk, but I was wondering if you could possibly let me into K.C’s apartment really quick. I misplaced something and I think she has it—”
“Woh, woh, woh, slow down, press the brakes and put it in park. Who we talking about here?”
“K.C, the woman in the apartment next to me. You know Dillon’s old apartment. She left for Mexico a week ago and please don’t tell me you already forgot about her,” she said pointedly.
Marco looked confused, and his confused look looked constipated. “Lane, honey I can’t forget someone I’ve never even met,” he responded sincerely touching her shoulder.
“You can’t be serious, she’s been living up there for almost a month,” she exclaimed making his eye brows pop up.
“A
lright just calm down. You say she’s been living next door?”
She nodded. “Yes, we’ve passed up and down these stairs together, I don’t know how many times since she’s moved in.”
“And she’s in Mexico right now?” he questioned. She nodded again.
“If you’ll just come upstairs with me and let me in the apartment, I’ll show you.”
“Okay, but I’m telling you, I haven’t rented that apartment since that sweet hunk of a man Dillon moved out. You wait here let me grab the keys.” He turned heading back into his apartment. Lane waited outside.
Climbing the stairs, she turned and asked, “Do I look crazy Marco?”
He eyed her up and down. “Not to me, but then again I was never a good judge of character. Why do you ask?”
“Well… because you’re the second person today who hasn’t seen who I’ve been looking for. And it’s not just that, you both seem to not know who I am talking about in general. Like I was the only one who saw them, which I know is impossible because they’ve been around other people too,” she said stopping beyond K.C’s door.
He gazed down at her, holding her shoulders before saying, “that does sound crazy, but in a way it really isn’t. It just means that I’m not observant. Hell, for all we know that woman was a squatter and could have been living here, but I would have never known about it because I don’t venture upstairs, unless invited for alcohol and snacks.”
“That’s true.” They both shared a laugh.
“Now keep smiling. We all have a little crazy in us, especially me,” he said pushing the key into the lock and turning the knob, pushing the door open in the process. Maybe he was right—but then again.
Lane’s laughter quickly died when she turned and focused on the room.
Twenty-Three
“No, no…this isn’t right,” she mumbled walking farther into the room. “This isn’t right, this isn’t right. It was all here, it was just all here,” she babbled walking from one corner to the next. “There was a chair, right here, a purple leather chair right where I’m standing and boxes, boxes and boxes of clothes and shoes and racks against the walls, it was all… here.” She ran into the kitchen and circled the room. Marco stood by the door staring at her sadly. “There was an old claw foot iron stove right here, that she used to make old fashion popcorn with.” Marco continued to stare as she ran into the bathroom. “See, I knew it, look,” she said grinning, coming out and holding a large picture in her hands. “I hung this for her the first night she moved in…. see. I’m not crazy.”