Celtic Sister

by Pentermann, Meira

  “Would he kill her?” Amy proposed.

  Sam looked like a broken boy. She pictured the young man who dropped out of college for a decade before trying to start again.

  “CSI. That’s why you’re studying CSI. You want to solve the mystery no one else could.”

  “Would he kill her, Amy?”

  “I’ve been wondering that myself,” she admitted.

  “Then why didn’t you tell anyone?”

  “I… I only just found this yearbook and… and the article. I didn’t even know there was an Emma Foster two weeks ago.”

  Sam paced the room, pulling his hand through his hair and mumbling. He looked up at the ceiling. “You told me she was okay.”

  Amy was about to respond to the curious remark when she realized he was chastising God. It seemed silly, and she was embarrassed for him.

  When Sam returned to Amy’s side, he knelt down on the floor and took her hands in his. “I don’t want to be insensitive, but I need to know how he hurt you. How… badly he hurt you. I need to know.”

  “He pushed me down the stairs. I don’t know that he is capable of murder, but he has a bad temper.” He murdered our baby! Amy tried to chase away the images forming in her head.

  “A bad temper, huh? Very euphemistic.”

  Amy sighed. “So you understand? Why I can’t go?”

  “No, actually,” Sam said. “You’re coming. It’ll be good for you.”

  “Seriously?”

  Sam gazed at her, his eyes intense and determined. “Amy, what are the odds you and I would run into one another by happenstance? Two random strangers in a bar? One of them searching for his sister. The other one in possession of a yearbook containing her handwriting. It’s Twilight Zone crazy. The only explanation is that it’s meant to be.”

  “Meant to be?”

  “Exactly. No other explanation.” He crossed to the dresser and rattled through the drawers. He turned to her in exasperation. “Are these things you’re wearing, this shirt you vomited on, the only clothing you own?”

  Amy examined herself. Raksha’s beautiful silk shirt was now streaked with stains. Her filthy sweat suit was in her locker at Banhi’s Grill. She didn’t have anything else.

  “I was running away. I didn’t have time to pack a wardrobe.”

  Sam looked at her thoughtfully. “Write down your sizes and I’ll run to the store, get you a couple of things.”

  “No—”

  “At least a clean T-shirt, for goodness’ sake.”

  Amy looked down. She’d been embarrassed to ask Raksha for anything else, and she hadn’t had time to shop. Although she hated to be a charity case, she felt desperate. She nodded, wrote down her sizes on a scrap of paper, and handed it to Sam without looking into his eyes.

  “I’ll be right back,” he said as he slipped out the door.

  Amy made a pot of coffee and headed for the bathroom. By the time Sam returned, she had showered, consumed two cups of coffee, styled her hair, and applied a little makeup.

  Sam knocked on the door.

  Still wrapped in a towel, Amy held the door open just far enough to peek out. He handed her several plastic bags filled with clothing.

  She blushed. “Thank you.”

  “No worries.”

  His entire demeanor had changed. He wasn’t the quirky medical school dropout or the brother possessed. He was simply a man looking out for a wounded creature. Amy momentarily let go of her embarrassment and was grateful for his kindness.

  “So I’ll just hang out in the parking lot while you get dressed,” he said. “Will you still come with me?”

  Further proof Sam had changed his perspective on the situation, he no longer demanded she come. He asked. This development gave Amy courage.

  “Sure,” she said, before she fully digested exactly what their mission would entail.

  The car ride gave her a chance to reflect upon what they were about to do. She was going to knock on the door of the man who threw her down the stairs, killed their baby, and threatened to take her to the police. As the hangover wore off, Amy became more and more edgy. Why did I agree to this?

  “What are we going to say?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Please don’t ask me to lead this.”

  He touched her hand briefly. “No. Of course not. Just be with me.”

  “In Brent’s eyes, I won’t make you look invincible. You realize that.”

  “I’m not concerned about his perspective,” Sam said. “I’ll just feel stronger if I’m not standing alone.”

  Amy nodded. “Okay.”

  They approached the door as a team. A few minutes after Sam knocked, Brent yanked the door open and took a step back. Unshaven with disheveled hair, he looked somewhat vulnerable.

  Sam pulled a worn photo of Emma out of his wallet. It was not the same one from the yearbook, but it was similar, perhaps taken during the same senior photo shoot. He held the photo in Brent’s face.

  “Where is she?” he demanded.

  Brent looked from Amy to Sam and back again. He narrowed his eyes. “Do you know who I am?” Then he smirked. “Better yet, do you know who she is?”

  Sam glanced in Amy’s direction.

  “She’s my wife, asshole.” Brent grabbed Amy’s arm.

  Sam knocked Brent’s elbow, causing him to lose his grip. Amy stepped away. Sam shielded her while he readdressed Brent. “What do you know about the disappearance of Emma Foster?”

  “I’m calling our lawyers. Get a restraining order on this bitch and whoever you are.”

  “Samuel Foster.”

  Brent was caught off guard for a moment. Amy saw a glimpse of the fear she had witnessed in the doctor’s office. Then the door slammed swiftly in their faces.

  Sam stood staring at the door for several seconds before turning and running down the stairs. Amy caught up with him at the car.

  He threw his hands in the air. “Clearly he knows something. I’m calling the detective who worked on this case. O’Malley, I think it was.” He looked up to the sky. “I thought she was okay.” The rest of his words seemed like babbling. “Is this Brent monster really that connected? Could he thwart justice? Wait, Detective O’Hara, maybe… This can’t be happening. She ran away. No one hurt her… O’Hara. I’m sure it was O’Hara. I’ve got my notes at home.” Sam paced, grumbled, and despaired. Random statements flew from his mouth. From Amy’s perspective, he appeared to be grappling with an old puzzle, one that never had all the pieces. Clearly he found a piece this morning, and his brain was in overdrive trying to locate the rest of the puzzle, the dusty fragments he stored somewhere in case they might one day again be useful.

  Amy closed the distance between them and touched his arm. “We’ll figure it out,” she whispered, surprised at her use of the pronoun we. “We’ll find her.”

  Chapter Seven

  They rode in silence as they made their way back to the Shanti Motel. Amy had a headache, and she shielded her eyes from the sun. Sam had a broken heart, perhaps a broken soul. Amy glanced at him every once in a while, but she couldn’t get a read on his mood.

  “Let’s have lunch,” he said.

  “Okay.”

  They pulled into the parking lot of a Mexican place. Amy immediately craved a margarita. She chastised herself. Really? Last night wasn’t enough? On the other hand, she thought, this morning has really sucked so far. She reviewed the events in her mind – waking up with a strange man in her motel room glaring at her, discussing the plight of Emma Foster who has haunted Amy since she found the yearbook, and confronting Brent. She wasn’t sure which was worse – standing in Brent’s presence or stepping onto the property where the nightmare had taken place. She shuddered.

  “You okay?” Sam asked.

  “Yeah. It’s just been quite a day.”

  Sam nodded. Amy could only imagine the thoughts racing through his brain.

  They settled into a booth in a corner of the restaurant. Sam buri
ed himself in the menu. When the waiter arrived, he ordered a margarita.

  “On the rocks, with salt.”

  Amy raised her eyebrows.

  “You want one?” he offered.

  “Yeah, but uh—”

  “We deserve it.”

  “Right.” Amy turned to the waiter. “Yes, I’ll have the same. Rocks, salt, et cetera.”

  “Absolutely, amigos. I’ll be right back.” Then he slipped away, whistling.

  “So…” Amy placed her hands on the table. “What now?”

  “I’ll talk to the detective and see if he’ll reopen the investigation. At least he can tell me if they ever interviewed Brent. The detective was really good to us, you know. He’ll probably share the notes from the interview if he can slip them to me. I can’t imagine they’d let political connections thwart justice.” He was silent for a moment. Amy considered the idea that political connections enabled people to circumvent justice all the time.

  The margaritas arrived and Amy wasted no time getting busy with hers. Sam merely poked the straw around his glass.

  “I just believed,” he began. “I believed she was okay. It was a feeling. I almost convinced myself I heard the voice of God.” He looked away. “I know that sounds stupid.”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  “Emma was the spiritual one. She was the one who believed God was watching out for us. I was a snarky skeptic when she disappeared.”

  “Your sister disappeared, and then you found God?” Amy asked. The remark sounded callous, but she could not withdraw it. “I’m sorry.”

  Sam said nothing.

  Catching the eye of the waiter who was just returning to take their order, Amy subtly pointed to her almost-empty margarita glass and nodded. The waiter retreated again. Sam was clueless to the entire exchange.

  “I was lost for a very long time, Amy. Especially after Emma disappeared. I quit school. I pissed my life away. Then four years ago… It’s hard to explain.”

  “Talk about Emma,” Amy said, hoping to lead him out of despair and back into that sense of calm he had when he believed she would be okay.

  He tilted his head, his eyes filled with sadness. “She was a light, always smiling, but something changed.”

  The waiter arrived, plopped another margarita in front of Amy, and took their order. Sam ordered quickly. He didn’t seem to notice the second drink, and he remained quiet until the waiter left. Then he resumed his story.

  “In the spring before she disappeared, Emma became very moody. Sometimes she was full of joy. Sometimes she seemed sad, and she talked about God’s love in a sort of pleading way. I was at the University of Colorado, staying in a dorm, but when I joined my family for dinner or if I dropped by to do laundry, she’d almost pounce on me. She wanted to make sure I got it. ‘Give it to God. He has a plan for you.’ All the while, her emotions were all over the map. I was worried about her. Maybe she was depressed or even bipolar. Maybe she was suicidal. So I cornered her one day. ‘Are you okay, Emma? Do you need help?’ Something flashed in her eyes. It was a peace I had never before seen. She seemed older and wiser, filled with… I don’t know… purpose. Then she said, ‘Sam, I love you very much. Please know that everything happens for a reason and that I am very, very grateful for my life.’ I stood there dumbfounded, since I had no idea what she was talking about. Three days later, she was gone.”

  Amy pursed her lips. She considered the possibilities. Was this the kind of good-bye that preceded a suicide?

  “I always doubted she killed herself,” Sam said as if reading Amy’s mind. “Not after what she said about being grateful.”

  “You’re right. Doesn’t really sound like despair.”

  “No. Not at all. I never believed she killed herself. I thought she ran away, maybe to a nunnery or something.”

  “Are you Catholic?”

  “No, but people convert. She seemed pretty obsessed with religion.” He tossed the straw aside and took a gulp of his as-of-yet-untouched margarita. “The truth is, your husband’s behavior suddenly makes me doubt everything I believe.”

  Amy winced at his use of the word husband, but she couldn’t correct him. It was the truth, and until she could force a divorce, she’d have to live with it. Still, Sam was becoming her friend. Maybe he would understand.

  “Could we just refer to him as Brent please?”

  “Sorry.”

  “No worries.”

  “I just feel uprooted,” Sam said. “This encounter has shaken my faith. I’m not super religious, but I had this spiritual experience four years ago. It meant something to me, changed the way I view the world. Now I don’t know what to believe.”

  “One visit to that asshole uproots you? He wins, you know. If you let him do that, he wins.”

  Sam put his head in his hand. “It doesn’t matter if he wins. The only win I care about is my sister coming home.”

  Amy softened her voice. “I understand, but I’d hate to see you lose your faith because of that evil man.”

  “So you agree he’s evil? That he might have done something to Emma?”

  Amy shook her head. Now was simply not the time to share the darker part of her story. It would frighten Sam. Besides, she had no idea what Brent was capable of. As a teenager? As far as she knew, Brent didn’t even associate with Emma Foster. Perhaps the girl had a crush on him and that was all. He was the big, square-jawed football star. Brent may know something. He may not. He didn’t necessarily harm her. In fact, Emma’s parting words didn’t sound like fear.

  “She must have run away, Sam. Think about what she said to you. It sounded like a good-bye, not an ashamed, I’m going to commit suicide good-bye, but more like… like I’m embarking on a journey. You may not understand it, but it’s what God wants me to do. That kind of good-bye. A nunnery is the more reasonable explanation.”

  “And Brent’s behavior?”

  Amy didn’t have an answer. She polished off her margarita.

  “Exactly,” Sam said. He took a small sip of his.

  At that moment their food arrived. Amy considered ordering another margarita but thought better of it. She had made a fool out of herself the night before.

  As they ate, Amy pondered. It had been such a roller coaster of a day. It was hard to believe they had confronted Brent only a couple of hours ago. It didn’t seem possible. Sam remained quiet and ate methodically, half his margarita remaining untouched and possibly forgotten. Amy never understood ordering a drink if you didn’t intend to drink it. She had to steel herself against the urge to ask him are you going to finish that?

  “Sam,” she began, trying to distract herself. “Tell me about your epiphany, this feeling Emma would be okay.”

  “It happened just after I turned thirty.”

  She waited for him to elaborate. “And?”

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me.”

  He placed his fork and knife on his plate and gazed into her eyes.

  “I was hungover one morning, standing behind the counter at Avis Rent-a-Car, one of my many short-lived careers during the lost decade.”

  Amy smiled.

  “Anyway, I was standing there, staring out the window. I could see the planes taking off and landing. It was sort of hypnotic. For some reason, Emma’s face popped into my head. I’d tried so hard to suppress the feelings year after year. I’d almost forgotten what she looked like. But all of a sudden, there she was smiling at me. Then I realized she’d be older. She wouldn’t look like that, you know? I was thirty. She’d be twenty-eight.”

  Amy nodded.

  “And for a moment the idea almost suffocated me. My sister could be out there, and I might not even recognize her. Or she might be dead, only a memory, forever frozen in the image of a seventeen-year-old girl.”

  The waiter stopped by and grabbed their plates. He tried to be nonintrusive, but Sam waited patiently for him to leave before he continued his story.

  “Then the most amazing thin
g happened,” Sam explained. His eyes lit up for the first time since the day had begun. “I felt this sudden calm come over me. It was like nothing I’d ever experienced in my life. There was this presence. It enveloped me and embraced me with love. I heard a voice. It was in my head, but it wasn’t my own thoughts, you know?”

  No, I don’t know.

  “‘She is okay,’ was all it said, but in that instant I knew. I just knew she was someplace safe and she had gone wherever she went for a reason, for a greater purpose. And I believed it with a powerful conviction.” He looked down at the table and began tracing the patterns in the wood absentmindedly.

  Amy remained quiet.

  “It was like hearing an echo for the first time,” he whispered. “I walked through life with the understanding that there was such a thing as an echo, knowing other people had heard them, but never really experiencing one myself. Then I heard it, the echo, a bizarre sound which is both eerie and joyful. And all at once I understood what Emma was talking about when she spoke of God’s love.”

  Amy leaned in. The analogy was beautiful. It gave her chills.

  “Then I realized I didn’t want to piss away my life anymore, going from job to job, hanging out with half friends. Emma would have hated to see what became of me. I wanted to do something. I hadn’t figured it all out yet. I guess I still haven’t, but at that precious, gracious moment, I knew I was meant for something more. It was one of the most amazing days of my life.”

  He tilted his head and the expression of sadness returned. Amy reached over and touched his hand.

  “That is beautiful,” she said.

  His face darkened. “What if it is all based on a lie? What if Emma is not okay? What if she was cringing in her grave that very moment?” He slapped his hand on the table. “The morning of peace and light I’ve treasured for the past four years… what if she was looking down on me with disgust, wondering why I never did a damn thing to help her?”

  “Oh, Sam, you can’t possibly—”

  “I can’t possibly wonder?”

  “Well, no. But don’t discount the powerful experience you had. It is something to be treasured.”