by Aliya DalRae
Detective Baker had been hesitant to file the report, citing a dozen reasons why Patrick had chosen not to return home, but Maggie had been adamant. She absolutely refused to leave until they had at least made it official. Once the report was filled out, the detective turned to her, his body language making it clear he’d given her all the time he planned to.
“What happens now?” Maggie asked, refusing to be dismissed so easily.
“There’s really not much else we can do,” Baker said. “I’ll file the report, and after that I’ll ask around, see if anyone has seen or heard from your husband.”
“Daddy’s gone,” Jessica said to the detective, giving him big, serious eyes. “The monsters took him and hurt him, and now he’s never coming back.”
Baker glared at Maggie. “Mrs. O’Connell, you really do need to be careful what you say in front of your daughter. You’re obviously frightening her with this talk of monsters. No,” he said, interrupting Maggie’s response. “I get that you’re scared, but saying stuff like that in front of the kid? I know it’s not my place, but that’s just wrong, lady.”
“You don’t understand,” Maggie said, but was cut off again.
“You said your husband went out for a pack of cigarettes. It’s cliché, but that’s what they say the minute before they walk out. You guys are just kids, really. Isn’t it possible that Mr. O’Connell was just tired of the family life and decided to walk away?”
“No,” Maggie said for the umpteenth time, her eyes burning with furious tears. “You don’t know my Patrick. We’re happy, the three of us. We’re saving for a house. We’re…happy.”
“Go home, Mrs. O’Connell. We’ll let you know if anything turns up.”
Maggie stared at the detective for a full minute before she gathered Jessica in her arms and rose to her feet. She knew in her soul that this had been a colossal waste of time. This man had no more intention of looking for Patrick than if she’d come here reporting Santa missing.
It was a long trek to the exit, through the warren of desks where officers of the law were supposed to protect and serve. Each step she took provided that much more clarity, that much more understanding that if she was going to find Patrick, she would be doing it on her own. One young man meant nothing to these people, but he meant the world to her and Jessica. She’d be damned if she would let them treat this as a case of a runaway husband.
When Maggie reached the door she turned back to look at the man who she knew would provide her no help whatsoever. Something he said had struck a nerve—well, everything he said, really—but this in particular needed to be set to rights.
“Mr. Baker,” she called, intentionally leaving off the “detective” designation, as she was certain he would be doing little to no detecting on her behalf. He looked up from his computer and she said, “For the record, I have never mentioned monsters to my daughter, nor have I told her that her father was injured. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Those are her words, not mine, and if you were smart you would pay attention to what she has to say.”
Baker’s mouth fell open, but if he had a response, Maggie didn’t wait around to hear it. She walked boldly through the door, vaguely aware of Jessica leaning over her shoulder to toss a cheery wave at the man.
Chapter Four
Six Months
M aggie returned to the police station daily, determined to harangue these people into doing their jobs. While her visits did nothing to advance the investigation, it at least made her feel that she was doing something beyond harassing the neighborhood folks into remembering something, anything, about the night Patrick disappeared.
Detective Baker eventually threatened to have her bodily removed if she didn’t back off and let them work. At that point she’d reduced her visits to once a week, and today was the day.
However, Detective Baker was no more interested in helping her now than he had been the day she’d filed the missing persons report.
“Mrs. O’Connell, I’ve told you, we have done everything we can. The kid at the carryout remembers your husband coming in that night and purchasing…” He opened a file folder on his desk and flipped through some papers before stabbing a finger at the writing on a particular page. “Cigarettes, beef jerky and a candy bar.”
“I know, I know, and that candy bar was for me,” Maggie insisted. “I’ve told you that a thousand times. Why would he buy me a candy bar if he had no intention of bringing it home to me?”
“Why do people do anything?” Baker said. “Look, there is no sign of foul play, no body, no nothing. It’s like your husband just fell off the face of the earth, and without some kind of evidence to the contrary, the only conclusion is that he walked away under his own steam.”
“You’re wrong,” Maggie said. “Wherever he is, it’s not of his choosing. You call yourself a detective? You obviously don’t know a damn thing about finding people.”
“There’s no need to insult me, ma’am. This department has done the best they can, and quite frankly, we don’t have the resources to keep looking for a man who doesn’t want to be found.”
“I refuse to believe that,” Maggie cried, slapping her palm on the paper-littered desk and knocking a little box of paper clips over on its side. “Paddy would never just up and leave us. If you had done any investigating into the kind of man he is, then you would know that already.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. O’Connell. There’s nothing more I can do, and that’s coming from the top.”
Maggie stormed from the building, the tears she had been struggling to contain spilling from her eyes as she stumbled down the stone steps.
She’d left Jessica with a neighbor, and so alone, she wandered the streets of Dayton, showing Patrick’s picture to anyone who would stop long enough to look. She’d been doing this from the moment she realized how little help the police were going to be, pounding the pavement, searching any place she thought Paddy might have gone the night he disappeared.
So far, she’d learned nothing more than what the police had told her, but unlike them, she wasn’t giving up.
Over the months, her search area had become wider and the hours she put in longer, but she would not believe that Patrick had chosen to walk away.
It was taking its toll, however. The curves that Patrick had admired were fading as her body reacted to the long periods of exercise and lack of food. The girls at the diner were on her constantly, but the mere thought of eating made her sick. Her job was in jeopardy as well, and she knew it was by the grace of the good people she worked with that she was still employed at all.
She barely saw Jessica anymore, and when she did her daughter looked at her as though she were somehow responsible for Paddy’s disappearance, for not bringing him home. It was to the point that Maggie could scarcely look the child in the eye, and had taken to avoiding her when she could.
Today had been the icing on the cake. With the police giving up, was she being delusional? Should she take their advice and move on? Her heart clenched at the idea of abandoning Patrick to whatever fate had befallen him, so she squared her shoulders and powered on, stopping everyone she met to ask if they’d seen her husband.
Several hours later, she found herself back in her neighborhood, the conversation with Detective Baker weighing heavily on her heart. What if he was right? What if Patrick had made a new life for himself and he simply didn’t want to be found?
She stopped in front of the little store, the last place her husband had been seen, and she stared into the window. She imagined Patrick standing at the counter, joking with John—the kid who worked the night shift—as he made his purchases. He was smiling and happy in her daydream, just as he had been the night he’d walked out the door. The night they had made love on the couch and joked about missing Final Jeopardy.
A fat, hot tear slid down her cheek as the wind kicked up, indicating a storm was on its way.
“You okay, honey?”
Maggie blinked away the daydream and looked down the si
dewalk in the direction from which the question had come. A woman stood there, tall and thin with dirty blond hair and a mild acne problem, leaning against the wall of the building at the edge of a dark alley.
“Oh, hey Duronda,” Maggie said as the woman joined her in front of the store.
Duronda was one of the local “ladies” that Patrick had befriended, helping her out from time to time doing handyman-type tasks around her apartment when the need arose. Maggie supposed there were those who would have been jealous of their husband hanging around with prostitutes, but their relationship had never been like that. Maggie actually liked Duronda, in spite of her choice of profession and questionable chemical habits.
“Any word on Patrick?” the hooker asked, her eyes narrowed in concern as she stuck a cigarette between her lips and took a long drag.
“Nothing.” Maggie’s shoulders fell under the weight of admitting the fact out loud. “It’s like he’s vanished into thin air.”
Duronda nodded, the cigarette bobbing dangerously between her cracked lips.
“Are you sure you don’t remember anything?” Maggie asked. It wasn’t the first time she’d posed the question to Duronda and it wouldn’t be the last, but the woman took it in stride.
“I sure wish I did, Maggie. That man of yours, he loved you to the moon and back. I just don’t see him up and running off, and I said the same to that cop when he was here nosing around. Haven’t seen him in a while, though. Are they still looking?”
“What do you think,” Maggie said, hiding her frustration by studying a crack in the sidewalk.
“Bastards,” Duronda spat, retrieving the cigarette from her mouth as the long ash fell to the ground. “Can’t count on ‘em for nothing but rousting out people just trying to make a living.”
Maggie didn’t respond. There was nothing to say to that.
“I gotta be honest,” Duronda said, studying Maggie through dull brown eyes. “You don’t look so hot. Are you sure your holding up okay?”
Maggie blew out a breath and looked to the sky for guidance. She couldn’t stop the tears that sprung to her eyes and retraced a familiar path down her cheeks. Unable to speak, she shook her head.
Duronda flipped the cigarette into the gutter and dragged Maggie into her arms, holding her in a surprisingly tight hug as Maggie’s body shook with wretched sobs.
“It’s alright, girl. Just let it out.”
And Maggie did. Right there in the middle of the street, in front of God and everybody, Maggie cried her heart out. When the sobs subsided and Maggie felt like she couldn’t stand a moment longer, Duronda held her at arm’s length for a quick study.
“I know this ain’t your thing, girl, but I think you need a little help to get you through. Just until your man shows up again, you know?”
Maggie didn’t know, but she allowed Duronda to lead her down the street and into a shabby apartment, where she discovered a sweet little something to cure her pain, if only for a little while.
Chapter Five
One Year
“M ama, wake up.”
The voice was coming from far away, and though Maggie knew it, she struggled to respond.
“Mama, you have to get up now. You have to go to work.”
Maggie, cranked her eyes open and turned her head to see where the annoying sound was coming from. It took a couple of blinks for her eyes to focus, and when they did she saw Jessica standing in the bedroom doorway with her hands on her hips. Her hair was in tangles, and she had dressed herself in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt that she’d put on inside-out and backwards. The tag stuck out below Jessica’s chin like a little tongue, mocking Maggie as a statement to her poor mothering skills.
Maggie rolled over and pulled the covers over her head.
“Mama, you have to get up. Now.” Jessica added emphasis by stomping her little foot on the hardwood floor, but Maggie was incapable of acknowledging how adorable she was.
“Mama doesn’t feel well,” she mumbled into the sheets. “I’m not going to work today.”
Jessica stomped the distance between the door and the bed and grabbed the blankets, yanking them off of Maggie, exposing her to the cool air. The child then grabbed her arm and pulled, doing everything she could to maneuver Maggie from the mattress.
“Please, Mama, you’re gonna get fired.” Maggie could hear the tears in Jessica’s voice, and she had the fleeting thought that her daughter was only five, too young to know what being fired meant.
Still, she had a point.
Maggie pushed herself into a sitting position, her head full of cotton as she struggled to get herself together enough to get out of bed. Jessica was standing in the doorway again, her little arms folded across her chest as she tapped her foot in an exact imitation of Maggie’s displays of impatience. Patrick would have enjoyed seeing Jessica like this, would have laughed his ass off, but Maggie found it annoying.
Who was the mom here, anyway?
“Breakfast is ready,” Jessica said, all business. “Hurry, or your cereal will be soggy.” With that, she stomped out of the room.
Who, indeed?
~~~~~
Jessica wouldn’t budge until Maggie had choked down at least half of her Cheerios, which were, in fact, quite soggy by the time she got there.
Once breakfast was finished to Jessica’s satisfaction, the girl grabbed Maggie’s hand and pulled her to her feet. “You need a shower,” she said. “Bad.”
Maggie let Jessica lead her to the bathroom, where the child cranked on the water, testing it for proper temperature, then stood aside and motioned for Maggie to get in.
Who was this kid, and what had happened to her happy-go-lucky little girl? The one who had giggled herself silly as her father tickled her belly, or stared in wonder when he said, “I got your nose.”
The longer he was gone, the harder it was for Maggie to keep her spirits up, let alone those of this little person who, for some reason, God had seen fit to put into her care.
“Hurry, Mama, you’re gonna be late.”
“Ah, Jessica,” Maggie murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair from her daughter’s face. “When did you get so grown up.”
Jessica frowned, but said nothing as Maggie knelt to look into her eyes.
“Do you still see your daddy?” Maggie whispered, staring so hard into Jessica’s ice blue irises, so like her father’s, as if she could see the answer lying in wait for her there.
But Jessica shook her head. “No, Mama. Daddy’s gone. You’re gonna be late,” she said again, then left Maggie alone, closing the door behind her.
Maggie climbed into the shower, the warm water shaking loose some of the cobwebs that had taken up near-permanent residence inside of her brain. All this did was bring the loss closer to the surface, reminding Maggie of all that had been taken from her.
The drugs helped some, in dulling that pain, but there never seemed to be enough of them. They only worked for so long before, like now, the memories came flooding back and she was left to deal with the horrors of being alone.
Maggie slid down the shower wall and drew her knees to her chest. Her shoulders shook as the clean water mixed with her salty tears, both washing away down the tarnished drain in a hellish metaphor of loss and regret.
Chapter Six
Eighteen Months
M aggie sat on a sticky bar stool, tapping her finger in a nervous tattoo on the equally sticky bar. Duronda was late, and if she didn’t get there soon, Maggie didn’t know what she was going to do.
The police had officially filed Patrick’s case as cold. As in icy. As in so cold your tongue would stick to it and it would take a herd of firefighters with a bucket of lukewarm water to get it going again.
Somewhere along the line, Maggie had abandoned her own search as well, exchanging the frantic canvassing of every street in Dayton for the sweet numbness that only an injection of heroin could bring.
Up until a few months ago she had been holding it together, even after the
police had called it quits. She was only using occasionally at that point—just to take the edge off as Duronda had suggested—and it was enough. She managed to make it to work most days, with Jessica’s help, and she’d been keeping up with most of the bills, although more often than not she was robbing Peter to pay Paul.
On the days when she couldn’t quite make it into the diner, the other girls covered for her. It was all good.
She wasn’t entirely sure when everyone had started to turn on her. It must have happened, though, because all of a sudden she found herself without a place of employment, and more importantly, without a single bone in her body that gave a shit. There was the money she and Patrick had been saving to move away from the city and into the suburbs. She knew she would have that to fall back on, so fuck the diner and fuck the people she worked with. Or used to. Whatever.
Maggie downed the last of her beer, the bottle falling to its side when she tried to place it on the bar. After righting the bottle, she craned her neck to look through the crowded bar, searching for that dirty blonde hair among the hoard of beer drinkers and pool players. She should have been here by now.
Maggie leaned across the bar and snagged a couple of cherries while the bartender had his back turned. Tony would have given them to her if she asked, but that was beside the point. She hated asking for charity of any kind. Which was probably why their gas had been turned off last week.
That rainy day money hadn’t lasted nearly as long as she’d thought it would. She barely had enough to pay for the drugs she needed so desperately to get by, let alone food for the kid. Sometimes things had to give, and Jessica never complained, so Maggie didn’t worry about the food too much.
Funny kid, Jessica. It was one of her little predictions that had started this whole spiral into hell Maggie’s life had taken. Talking about Patrick leaving them had been the beginning of the end. Now the kid had the nerve to say that Maggie was going to go away, too. Hadn’t she been busting her ass trying to get their family back together? Hadn’t she done everything she could to find Patrick and bring him home? Not that that little brat had an ounce of gratitude.