Only Ever You

by Rebecca Drake

  The child hesitated, then slid off the chair and walked slowly through the kitchen and into the shadowed hallway, Bea following behind her. Avery reached a hand toward the doorknob and stopped. “What is it?”

  “I can’t tell you, it’s a surprise,” Bea said, hovering behind her. “Go on, head downstairs.”

  Bea hit the light switch at the top of the stairs, a single bare bulb illuminating the shadowed stairs and a bit of the concrete floor at the bottom. The little girl shook her head, took a step back. “No.”

  “You won’t get the surprise if you don’t go down.” Bea tried to hide her impatience with a light tone.

  “No!” The child took another step back, bumping into Bea’s legs.

  “Just hold on to the handrail.” Bea pushed the child forward, her hand on one small shoulder. “C’mon, you can do it.”

  “No! No, no, no!” Avery pulled out of Bea’s grip and took off running down the gloomy hallway.

  “Get back here!” Bea chased after her.

  The little girl rounded the corner, but then she tripped and fell. “Gotcha.” Bea hauled her up and dragged her back down the hall.

  “I wanna go home!” Avery wailed.

  “Let’s see what’s down here first,” Bea said, grasping the child’s small hand and forcing it on to the handrail. She half-walked, half-carried Avery down the wooden steps into the basement, reaching for another switch at the bottom. Two long fluorescent bars flickered on, humming. Bea led her down the hall to the door partially hidden by the steel support pillar.

  “It’s behind that door,” Bea said. “Go on, open it.”

  “No, no, no!” Avery’s shrieks increased in volume.

  “Here, I’ll help you.” Bea walked the child over and forced Avery’s hand to cup and turn the knob. She pushed the door open for her, shoving the child into the room.

  Bea watched, waiting for the explosion of happiness. She’d painted the walls a cheerful pink and found a wooden bed at a garage sale. It looked a lot like the one in the child’s old room. Cheaper probably, but still a good match. She’d found a toy shelf at a Goodwill and filled it with toys that she bought and some that had been her daughter’s. She’d bought a striped rug at Target to cover the cold concrete floor and even remembered to get a night-light. It was a nice room, but when she looked down to see Avery’s reaction, the girl’s face was slack; she wasn’t smiling at all. She seemed indifferent.

  “Whose room is this?” she said.

  Of course! Bea had forgotten how kids think. “It’s yours. This is all for you.” She spread her arms wide. When Avery didn’t move she gave her a little push in the back to get her over the threshold.

  “This is not my doll,” Avery said, fingering a little baby doll that Bea had bought.

  “Yes it is. She’s yours. All of this is yours. Here’s a tea set. You can have tea parties.”

  “Mine’s purple.” Avery ran one little finger over the new, pink teapot. She didn’t sound enthusiastic. Bea felt a little annoyed. Didn’t the child appreciate anything?

  “Don’t you have something to say? What’s the magic word?”

  The girl’s lower lip slipped out. She pulled her stuffed dog into her arms and shook her head.

  This child had been spoiled, that was plain to see. Bea shook her own head. “Thank you. The magic word is thank you.”

  The child still didn’t say it. Bea sighed. She didn’t have the energy to deal with this now; they’d have plenty of time. “You and Blinky have fun with your new toys,” she said.

  Avery stared after her as Bea walked backward toward the door. She felt uncomfortable with how the child kept looking at her. It wasn’t polite to stare like that.

  She left Cosmo in the room with Avery and closed the door. She slid shut the bolt lock she’d installed and, predictably, the child started to wail. The door shook slightly and Bea knew that Avery had banged on it. But there was hardly any noise coming out—the door and the walls were solid.

  chapter twenty

  DAYS ONE, TWO, AND THREE

  Before Jill could ask to see the death certificate, Elaine Lassiter snatched it from Andrew’s hands. “Are you sure you’ve got the right person?” she demanded, scanning the document with a stunned expression. “Maybe this is the wrong woman?”

  “I’m sure, Mrs. Lassiter.” Andrew sounded unusually somber. He took the certificate back from Elaine and offered it to David, who glanced at it, his expression unreadable.

  “Could we concentrate now on who has taken our child?” he said, passing it to the detectives. “Why aren’t there any leads?”

  Jill recoiled at his disdainful tone. David was looking at Detective Ottilo, but she had been the one who thought Sophia’s disappearance was tied to her adoption. Strange to think that if she’d found out just two days ago that Sophia’s birth mother was dead, she would have felt relieved.

  “It’ll be okay,” Andrew murmured. “They’ll find Sophia.”

  * * *

  He stayed on until well into the evening, until Jill urged him to go. “Paige will be putting the boys to bed—you need to be there to say good-night.” Just saying the words felt surreal—Andrew’s sons waiting safely at home in their beds. All over the country children were going to sleep in their own beds, but her child’s bed was empty. Andrew hugged her again and clapped David on the shoulder, promising to return the next day.

  She and David went upstairs sometime after eleven when her in-laws finally went home and the police had cleared out, leaving behind crime-scene tape, used coffee cups, and crumpled takeout bags. Two different police vehicles remained parked out front, one from Fox Chapel, the other from neighboring O’Hara, with officers whose jobs seemed to be both to keep watch and to keep the media at bay. Two news vans had parked along the street, clearly camping out. Jill moved through her nightly routine on autopilot, pausing only when she changed out of her jeans and started to cry as she stared at the dirt-caked knees from that morning’s frantic search. She gulped sobs back, brushing the wetness from her cheeks, refusing to break down. Nothing good would come of her tears; if she started to cry she might never stop.

  But the tears came again later, after she slipped into bed next to David, fear pressing down on her like the weight of too many covers. David was awake, too; she could tell by his breathing, but neither of them spoke. She thought of what it had been like after Ethan, those first days when she’d felt his absence like a constant ache, and now that wound had torn wide open and she longed to stroke Sophia’s soft cheeks, kiss the small spot at the nape of her neck, feel a dimpled little hand slip into hers. Tears spilled over, hot and silent, running down Jill’s cheeks and dampening her pillow. Exhaustion eventually carried her into sleep, where she dreamed of Sophia calling to her from far out at sea, where she bobbed in an inflatable ring that the waves kept pulling farther and farther from shore. Jill struggled to get to her, swimming through waves that rose higher and higher around her. She woke up with her throat hoarse from crying Sophia’s name.

  * * *

  The police showed up at 6:30 A.M., more news trucks following them into the cul-de-sac. Sophia’s disappearance had been on every evening broadcast. Now reporters were jockeying for position at the front of a growing crowd.

  Jill looked out at the cars, but couldn’t spot Andrew’s among all the traffic. She hoped he’d be there in time for the press conference. She dreaded going out there. Jill had always been more comfortable behind the camera than in front of it. She peeked through the living room curtains at the swarm of news media that had been alerted that she and David would be giving a statement and swallowed hard, nervously smoothing her hair with her fingers.

  “Remember, it’s important that you mention your daughter by name,” Detective Ottilo said. He’d been giving instructions to her and David for the last ten minutes. “An abductor might think of your child as an object of their fantasies instead of as a real person—by naming her you help destroy that illusion.”

&
nbsp; Fantasies. Jill thought she might vomit. How many times had she watched parents of missing children give teary appeals on TV? Had any of them ever done any good? She rubbed her eyes, exhausted.

  “Hey! Where do you think you’re going with those?”

  Jill turned from the window to see David confronting an officer heading out the door carrying both of their laptops along with the desktop from David’s study. “You can’t take my laptop,” she said, hurrying toward them. “I need it for work.”

  “It’s routine, Mr. and Mrs. Lassiter.” Detective Ottilo stepped between them and the officer. “We have to examine everything.”

  “There’s nothing on those that will help you find Sophia,” Jill said.

  “You’ll get them back ASAP,” Detective Ottilo said in his infuriatingly calm voice. “Don’t focus on that right now; you need to think about your media appeal.”

  David threw up his hands and stalked away, grim-faced. Jill crossed her arms to hide the trembling. They were powerless to stop the police, powerless to control anything that was happening. More than thirty hours had passed since they’d last seen Sophia and a bunch of strangers crowded on their lawn wanted a piece of them, a close-up of emotional parents to lead every newscast. “I don’t think I can do this.”

  “Yes you can, Mrs. Lassiter,” Ottilo said. “This is important. You’ll do anything you can to get your daughter back, right?”

  “Of course,” she said, stung. She picked up the photo of Sophia that they’d been instructed to hold and stared at her daughter’s sweet little smile, steeling herself. Ten minutes later, Jill and David headed out the door followed by multiple police officers, who formed a phalanx around them.

  Cold air stung Jill’s face, strands of hair pulling free from her loose bun to whip at her cheeks. She realized belatedly that she should have done something about her appearance. She must look terrible.

  “Jesus,” David muttered, and she didn’t know if he meant the cold or the growing crowd at the end of the driveway. The reporters spotted them, turning en masse and rushing forward. “Mrs. Lassiter! Mr. Lassiter, who took your daughter?” Microphones thrust in their faces; someone bumped against Jill, knocking her off balance. David caught her by the arm before she fell.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Lassiter, what happened to your child?”

  Jill tried to keep her voice clear and steady as Detective Finley had instructed. “Yesterday morning we discovered our three-year-old daughter, Sophia Lassiter, missing from our home. She is our only child and we miss her terribly.” Her voice trembled and David picked up where she’d left off.

  “Sophia is a loving, trusting little girl. Her mother and I need her back with us; we cannot go on without her.”

  Jill held up the photo, trying to keep her hands steady. “Please look carefully at this picture of Sophia and call 911 if you’ve seen her.” She could hear the whir of cameras as they zoomed in on the photo. “I’m speaking now to the person who’s taken Sophia. I’m begging you to please return our daughter.”

  David wiped roughly at his eyes, obviously crying, but she stood dry-eyed beside him. It had always been this way; she’d always shut down emotionally in public. Detective Ottilo stepped in front of them. “Allegheny County police, local officers, K-9 units, and trained search-and-rescue personnel will join volunteers from the community to conduct a broader search of the area beginning at ten tomorrow morning. That’s all for now. Please step back.”

  “Do the police have any suspects?” someone in the crowd called.

  “The investigation is just beginning.” Ottilo sounded completely calm, as if this was something he dealt with all the time.

  “Do you have any eyewitnesses? Has anyone seen Sophia?”

  Ottilo said, “That’s all we’re at liberty to discuss right now.” He signaled to Finley and she motioned to Jill and David to head back inside. Jill had David behind her, one hand on her lower back, as they headed up the walkway, leaving Ottilo to deal with the clamoring. She heard the last shouted question as Finley ushered them back in the front door. “Do the police consider Mr. and Mrs. Lassiter suspects in the disappearance of their child?”

  Jill stopped short to hear his response. “We’re exploring all possibilities,” Ottilo said. “Everyone who has had contact with the child is considered a person of interest.”

  David nudged Jill, raising his eyebrows. This is what Andrew had brought up yesterday, whispering to them in corners when the detectives were otherwise occupied. “Be careful not to say too much,” he’d warned. “Remember—they go with what seems easiest and obvious. The lowest common denominator is the two of you.” David nodded knowingly and Jill hadn’t been surprised. It made perfect sense, but it was different hearing the police actually admit that they were suspects.

  “Let’s get out of the cold.” Detective Finley stood holding the door open for them, her face neutral. She waited for Jill and David to follow her, like school kids called in from recess, before closing their own door behind them. Jill slumped on the living room sofa, cold and trembling all over. She reached for a glass of water and gulped it down. Finley said, “That went well, good job.” It sounded so obviously pacifying that Jill snorted.

  David moved to the window with his arms crossed over his chest. “Let’s hope it works.”

  “I need to get more copies of that made.” Finley held out her hand for the photo of Sophia that Jill hadn’t realized she was still clutching.

  Ottilo came back inside talking on his cell phone; Jill heard something about “search dogs” as he headed down the hall toward the kitchen. When she went to use the bathroom she felt as if she should be asking the police for permission.

  She lingered in the powder room, splashing icy water on her face before running water over her wrists, trying to shock away the numbness. She had a surreal déjà-vu feeling and knew that she’d felt the same before, after Ethan. It was as if the woman she was inside, Jill’s real self, retreated until all that was left was this shell, this body, that was useless to do anything on its own. She stared into the mirror at the shell, noting distractedly the vacant expression in her sunken eyes, the sallowness of her cheeks, the limp hair. Disintegration took such little time.

  When she came out of the bathroom, Tania was there, setting up her laptop at the dining room table, taking little notice of the police technicians who looked variously mystified or offended by this fast-talking woman with gypsylike clothes emanating a mixture of patchouli and lentils. “I got the website set up,” she said when she spotted Jill. “Come take a look.”

  She’d suggested it last night, calling to tell Jill about all the missing-children websites, talking about them as if they were trendy and seemingly surprised that Jill had never seen one. She’d offered to set it up and Jill was surprised that she’d actually followed through with it. “I added the most recent shots I had of Sophia, but we can always add more,” Tania said, clicking rapidly through a couple of pages. Across the top of the home page it said BRING SOPHIA HOME, in a bright, bold font. “You should think about offering a reward,” she informed Jill and David. “People pay more attention when money is involved.”

  She seemed to know so much about this kind of thing—why? Jill thought again of the studio being ransacked and how Tania had been so blasé about it. Suspicion must have looked like hesitation on Jill’s face because Tania said, “I know it’s crass, but some people won’t do the right thing unless they’re compensated, you know?”

  “No,” Jill said. “I don’t know anyone anymore.”

  * * *

  The morning’s search had been mentioned on every nightly news broadcast, but Bea was still surprised to see a young police officer preventing cars from turning onto the street and directing them to park along the side of Fox Chapel Road instead.

  Her chest constricted when he looked directly at her, but it wasn’t the same cop from that night. She’d taken the precaution of swapping the license plate on her sedan with one she’d stolen off a simi
lar car in the vast wasteland of a Walmart parking lot. There were thousands of four-door sedans like this one, hundreds of thousands, probably; nondescript cars that no one would look at twice. The GPS had the route she’d taken from the house two nights before, but it had seemed bad luck, maybe even dangerous, to follow the same path. She’d gone a different way; it was easy enough to let the GPS reroute.

  The bored expression on the patrolman’s face didn’t alter as he waved his hand, indicating that she should follow the car that had just passed, and she pulled onto the shoulder ahead behind a dark blue minivan. She checked the dashboard clock. Seven fifteen. She had two, maybe three hours to make it back before the child woke up. A plump man and even plumper woman got out of the minivan, followed by an equally roly-poly teenage boy. They passed Bea as she got out of the sedan, and she had to squeeze against the car so they could get by. “Here for the search?” the woman said to her with a somber expression, but avid, hunting eyes.

  Bea said, “I just want to be of help.”

  “Us, too.” The woman nodded at her husband and son. “Terrible what this world is coming to if you’ve got to worry about your children in your own home.”

  She was the sort of person who relished the drama of other people’s tragedies, desperate to feel important, interested in attracting their own fifteen minutes of fame by claiming to be “best friends” with a victim they’d met once in passing.

  She hated people like this woman and her passive husband and son, but she nodded at the woman’s babble as if she agreed, falling into step with them because there was safety in numbers. They turned onto the street, and she smiled when she saw just how many people were there. It was even colder today than the day before and she’d chosen her clothes with care, wearing a short, puffy jacket in dull blue with a gummy waistband. The color repelled attention and the extra padding and waistband concealed what she carried. She couldn’t resist checking, running her hand lightly against the small bundle resting against her ribs. She had to keep reminding herself not to reach in and touch it.