by L. B. Dunbar
“Elaine?” I said out of breath, “Have you seen Layne?”
“Layne Ascolat?”
“Yea.”
“No, I haven’t.”
I started to walk away, taking a course to the left first, toward the boathouse that jutted out into the lake.
“Wait. Lansing I have to talk to you.”
“Elaine, it has to wait. I have to find Layne.”
“Lansing, please. This is really important. It can’t wait.”
“Look, I promise I’ll come right back after I find Layne.”
“That’s not good enough, Lansing. You said you would call me and you didn’t.”
“I know and I apologize, but really, I have to go. I’ll be back as soon as I find her.” I had taken a step or two backward, still facing Elaine with my back to the boathouse as I spoke.
“I’m pregnant,” she blurted into the cold night air.
As if Fate hadn’t been cruel enough, Layne heard that admission loud and clear as she gasped somewhere behind me. I turned to face the darkness and I could only make out her shadow. She blended with the night and it was eerie that I couldn’t see her face to read a reaction. I was shocked myself and about to decline the baby, but Elaine continued behind my back.
“I’m two months along. From the night we slept together. The night of Arturo’s disappearance.”
I was holding my breath as the cool air surrounding me was suddenly suffocating me. I tried hard to block that night from my head, the night of my sexcapade with Elaine. I was hardly in my mind that night, anyway. I had been drunk after Arturo ran from the building with Perk and Hollister. When Guinie refused to talk to me again. I decided to fuck them all and drink like a fish. Little did I know it would end with me getting fucked by Elaine Corbin.
“That can’t be,” I said to Elaine, as I stared at the shadow of Layne.
“It is. I haven’t been with another man before or since. It can only be you, Lansing. You are definitely the one.”
Those words haunted me and a memory from long ago drifted into my mind. I had heard them uttered by Elaine Corbin before. Her voice was clear and she must have moved closer behind me. I still did not break my gaze in the direction of Layne.
“Layne?” I said tenderly. I suddenly felt the cold sweep over me. I knew I had to address her delicately. Like I might address Fleur.
“It will never be me, Lansing.” Her voice was confident, determined like the girl who told me all about her opera career hopes in New York City, a few weeks ago.
“I’ll always be second.”
“That’s not true,” I said with a sigh.
“Stop lying to me, Lansing.” Her voice had an edge of anger leaving it suddenly shaky.
“Better yet,” she added, quieting her tone, “stop lying to yourself.”
I didn’t answer at first. I felt like we were having a silent stare down, only I couldn’t see her innocent eyes. If she could, I’m sure she would be beaming enough hatred at me to melt my soul.
“I’ve loved you since high school, but it was never enough. You always wanted Guinie.”
I remained quiet. I couldn’t argue with that.
“And now this, with Elaine? It’s hard to be second, Lansing, so hard. You should know. You’ve been second a long time, as well.”
Her words hurt for their truthfulness and I heard Elaine suck in a breath. I hadn’t realized she still remained behind me to hear the interchange. I was suddenly angry to share that sensitive conversation with Layne before Elaine.
“Go away, Elaine,” I bit, my anger clear.
“I’m not leaving until we talk,” she demanded.
“Now this,” Layne repeated. “I could never be first.”
“This has nothing to do with you, Layne.”
“You’re right because there’s nothing between us,” she said. I could imagine her literally spitting the words at me.
“Layne, I didn’t mean that. Come closer to me so we can talk.”
“You’re having a baby now, Lansing, with Elaine. I would never be first. A baby needs to come first. I would still be second.”
“Layne, you aren’t second. Come here so I can see you.”
I took a step forward but I sensed that she took a step back.
“I’ll always be second, Lansing. I know all about being second. But you, you’ll never be more than the best friend. You’ll always come in second place, too.”
Her words froze me and I watched her disappear again.
Fate was not done with me yet. It took several minutes before I could move. Even when I started to follow the general direction of where Layne had gone, I heard Elaine Corbin say, “Let her go,” at the same time that Guinevere called out my name. I honestly didn’t know who to respond to first. So, my heart took over my head, and I turned toward the sound of Guinevere’s voice.
“Don’t do it, Lansing,” warned Elaine, but I did just what I shouldn’t have done. I followed the siren voice that called to me like a drowning sailor.
“Where’s Layne?” Guinevere asked with concern, as I approached her standing on the flagstone patio.
“She ran off again in the dark. I was about to follow her when Elaine stopped me.”
“Did Elaine tell you her exciting news?” I could hear the smile in Guinevere’s voice, as well as the pain. The loss of her own baby was still very much inside Guinie, as I saw in her eyes the other night when she looked at Fleur in my arms.
“I did tell him the news, just now,” Elaine’s voice dripped with venom that I’d never heard before. “And you can be the first to congratulate us.”
The words hung heavy in the air, haunting like the spirits that roamed the earth that night.
“Us?” Guinevere choked.
“Lansing and I,” Elaine’s voice was an octave too high in her excitement, making her sound evil.
“Elaine,” I warned with a hiss.
“Lansing?” Guinie questioned.
A hand slipped around my upper arm and gripped it tight, in warning. I felt like a rabbit trapped by a predator, if I ran I’d be pounced on and killed immediately.
“I didn’t want to tell you who the father was until I had told him myself,” Elaine beamed. “Isn’t it exciting? The prophecy is true after all.”
Guinie hung her head. I continued to stare at her, while I felt the noose continue wrapping around my arm.
“I’m…I’m very happy,” Guinie swallowed, “for you both.” She had crossed her arms over stomach, as if protecting herself, and she turned on her heels to reenter the warmth of the Corbin home.
I spun in the opposite direction to face Elaine.
“How could you?” I growled.
“What, honey?” her voice dripped with sarcasm.
“How could you blurt all this out in front of them, without telling me first?”
“I tried to tell you, Lansing. Remember you were going to call me, but you never did.”
No words had been more fatal for me. Never making a phone call had been my undoing, all those years ago. I never made the promised call to Guinevere DeGrance. After those high school years of anxiously admiring her from afar, wanting to talk to her, but feeling too awkward to do so, I had missed my chance.
The night I kissed her, I came back to Ingrid Tintagel’s, where I lived during the week to find who I thought was my mother, Vivian, and Mure Linn with Ingrid. I had just turned eighteen. My mother had missed the day of celebration, as it was during the week. I thought at first she was there to surprise me, and surprise me she did; when I was blasted with the truth: the truth of my upbringing under her care, the truth of my parents, and the truth of my inheritance.
When I had turned sixteen, and was in need of attending the Performing Arts Academy, Mure Linn worked on my behalf to break the trust fund that had been established for me, payable upon my eighteenth birthday. A donation was made to a scholarship fund – my scholarship – to attend the prestigious school. I had been living the lie that I was a
special case, when all along I had been one of them: a trust fund baby, as well as, the other kids who attended. My humble understanding of my presence at the school had prevented me from approaching Guinie earlier and all along I was one of her own society.
When I turned eighteen, the entirety of the trust was handed over to me, as my grandparents were dead, along with my father, who I learned of that night. He had been restored to his family’s fortune after my disappearance. The grief my grandparents felt from abandoning their own son, in a sense, reunited them with him when he lost his. I was the sole owner of Logres Construction, a construction company that worked to restore or build skyscrapers. It was the same company that was currently repairing Dolores Guard after the fire.
The only mystery left unturned, that fateful evening in Ingrid’s living room, was my mother, Ellen Wicke. She was in a home in upstate New York, west of our place and I was scheduled to meet with her on my eighteenth birthday. It was part of the will. I hadn’t called Guinevere DeGrance because I was on my way to meet my real mother.
Ellen Wicke was obviously my mother. We shared the same dark brown hair and blue eyes. She was frail compared to me. I assumed my size came from my father. She had a picture of him on the bedside table in her room. She lived in a home for mentally ill women. My emotions were all over the place as I entered the building and saw women sadly talking to themselves, some rocking imaginary babies, some pacing the room looking at the ceiling. It could have been a scene in a horror film, if it weren’t for the cleanliness of the place and the friendliness of the staff.
I was taken into a private room to meet her. She sat demurely on the couch opposite me and when she first looked at my face, her expression was blank. She had no idea who I was. I wasn’t sure what I expected or what I hoped for. I think deep down, I thought there would be an instant connection between us, and she would just know who I was. I was hoping she would know who I was, as I no longer felt like I knew myself.
A family social worker was in the room. She introduced my mother to me as Ellen, and I was introduced to my mother as Lansing. There was still no recognition.
“You’re a very nice looking man,” Ellen said to me.
“Thank you.”
“I was married to a nice looking man,” she continued with a smile.
“I’ve heard.”
“Have you seen him?” she questioned, in all sincerity. “I can’t seem to find him.”
The family social worker was taking notes as the exchange continued.
“You look strong. Could you find him for me?”
“I…” I looked at the social worker, who only shook her head at me.
“Could you find him? I’ve lost my boy.”
My head twisted to look at my mother.
“Your boy?” I choked.
“Yes, he was the most adorable baby. Dark hair. Blue eyes. This tall.” She made a motion with her hands to show my height at three years old.
“He’d wandered off,” she said, her voice saddening, “and we can’t find him.”
“I found him,” I blurted.
“Mr. Lotte,” the social worker warned.
“You did?” Ellen’s voice brightened, her wide eyed expression showed her excitement.
“But he’s grown up now,” I added.
“Oh…oh well, you couldn’t have found my boy, because he’s just a baby,” she sighed, shrinking down into herself on the couch.
“He’s fine, you know?” I said to reassure her.
“I like peanut butter,” she said softly.
I didn’t know what to say. I’d had enough and stood abruptly. I was heading for the door, my hand reaching the knob as Ellen spoke again.
“Lansing?” I stopped with my hand mid-air. I couldn’t turn and look at her, though. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
I did turn then to see her looking at me as if she fully recognized, for a moment, that I was her son standing before her.
That meeting flashed through my mind as I stood outside my Camaro. I’d been so messed up by the truth of my upbringing, the meeting with my mother, and the necessity of signing papers for a company; I didn’t have time to court Guinevere DeGrance. I let that chance slide away, thinking I would have time later to call and explain. But once I had graduated from PA, had the company settled in its current management team, and was thrown into the success of the band, I didn’t look back and Guinie had slipped away. Too much time passed, literally, and I was engulfed in the success of the band, the women who followed us, and the free flowing liquor to someone under twenty-one years of age.
I was startled from my thoughts of regret, when Guinevere called me for the third time ever in two months.
“Lansing? Have you seen Layne?”
I hadn’t. I took Elaine's advice and left the party to think. My head was on overload with Elaine's announcement, Guinie's sorrow, and Layne's anger.
“I haven’t seen her since the party. Didn’t she go to Ingrid's with you?”
“I didn’t go to Ingrid's. I'm still at Elaine’s. It's been hours and we haven't found her.”
“Who's we?”
“Elaine, Elliott, Tristan, Perk, anyone that would help. Where are you?”
I couldn't tell her. I had driven to Arturo's upstate home, Camlann, and I was parked outside the barn. Arturo had a sprawling estate on top of a hill that looked down on Lake Avalon. The lawn expanded in a way that appeared as if it dropped, and you could dive directly into the water below. The barn was an outer building that once served as just that, a barn. Arturo had it converted years ago into a studio for us to practice and record in, and we had done that the past summer. The space was eerily quiet, surrounded in the darkest of black. The house stood closed and brooding behind me on that night. I had the strangest sense of being watched.
“I’ll come back,” I sighed, as I squinted off into the blackness of the woods that began next to the barn. I thought I saw a movement, but I attributed it to the wind. The night had picked up in chill, and a fog was rolling over the lake water. It was a fitting setting for a Halloween night.
I was standing next to the door of my car when I saw the movement out of the corner of my eye. Or rather, I heard a rustling sound.
“Hello?” I questioned the night air. I waited, watching were I had seen the leaves moving on unstable twigs.
“Is someone there?”
There was no response and I noticed the shift in the brush to my left. Whatever it was, was definitely moving, but ignoring my questioning. I stood for another moment before it hit me. What was I doing standing near a deserted home, on a dark night, alone, addressing the woods? I opened the car door and slid inside. The roar of the engine broke the silence with a thundering sound. I looked over the passenger side to see a figure standing behind the car. I hit the brakes and in the red glow stood Arturo.
I forgot to put the car in park as I opened the driver door and the car began to roll backward. I hit the brakes again, with my right foot, as my left foot dragged on the ground outside the open door. I slammed the shift stick into park and twisted as I jumped out the door.
“Arturo,” I said loudly into nothingness. There was no one there. I turned left, then right, and then did a full circle spin. I wouldn't have even known which direction to follow. It seemed that Arturo King had vanished into thin air, like he had on that fateful night months ago.
“Arturo,” I yelled into the empty space. I spun around again, slower the second time. There was no rustling brush, no movement in the tall grasses, no sound anywhere. The only noise I heard was the deep breath I took as I waited for a sign that I hadn't imagined Arturo's appearance. It was an appropriate night for a ghost, but I didn't want to believe that was what I saw.
I sped back to Elaine’s, my heart racing as fast as my engine. My mind couldn’t register if what it had seen was real or not. Was Arturo King really standing there outside his studio barn? I wanted to believe it. Every nerve in my body wanted to believe it, but I just wasn’t cer
tain enough. I raced round curves like the twists in my mind. My thoughts crisscrossed between the possibility of Arturo being alive and well, the question of telling Guinevere what I saw, and the need to find Layne Ascolat.
I pulled up the gravel of the Corbin’s drive to a home lit up like a bonfire. Every window had bright yellow streaming from the glass panes and a variety of colors reflecting from the several windows that were done in a stained glass motif. It was a beacon calling the lost home. I wondered if Arturo would find his way here that evening. I wasn’t sure how to tell Guinevere what, or rather who I’d seen, when I exited my car and walked up the crunching pebbles, making a noise that broke the stillness of the silent night.
I was met at the door with a sobbing Elaine, who fell into my chest despite my hesitant arms. I awkwardly patted her back briefly, before pushing her off me to ask what happened.
“What do you mean what happened?” she snapped on a sob. “Layne’s missing.”
Her words implied my guilt, but I felt Elaine shared the responsibility. If she hadn’t decided to share her news so boldly, after Layne had misinterpreted my conversation with Guinie, she wouldn’t be missing at the moment. I didn’t know how to respond to Elaine. While I knew I should comfort her, I needed to find Guinevere.
We stood in that position, my hands on her upper arms and her bent head leaning on my chest, when her younger brother Elliott approached us just inside the front door.
“We’ve discovered a boat is missing from the boathouse.”
“What do you mean a boat’s missing?” I asked, trying to swallow my escalating nerves.
“The boathouse is an open cover for canoes, and a motorized row boat. We turn them upside down in the fall before they are removed to storage. A canoe is missing from the group. It could be nothing, but the groundskeeper hadn’t noticed it missing yesterday.”
I pushed past Elaine, who was calling after me, to briskly walk through the grand foyer, the elegant living room that held the remains of a masquerade party and out the French doors, still open to the cool night and the flagstone patio. Guinevere stood with her back to the room and I slowed my pace to approach her.