Vanished

by E. E. Cooper

  My foot was tapping. I stopped it. I should think it through before pulling him in. Except there wasn’t much time. They’d know about the body any second now. After that, Britney would disappear.

  I picked up my phone and put it down. Derek would have caller ID. This had to be anonymous.

  I quickly set up a new email account and typed in the address from his card.

  FROM: koncerned@gmail.com

  TO: derek@diriven.com

  RE: Matson Story

  You have questions about Britney and you’re right to have them. Things aren’t what they seem. Ask yourself, if she weren’t dead, where would she be?

  I read over the email and hit SEND. If he took it to the police they could likely trace it back to me, but I didn’t think Derek would do that. I didn’t out-and-out accuse her of anything. My goal was to make him curious.

  Curious enough to do some poking around and find the story of the century.

  “Let’s go, people,” Dad shouted. “I hear a cow calling my name.”

  I yanked off the sweater I’d worn all day and pulled on a different one. Clean was as good as it was going to get. I put on some lip gloss and headed downstairs. I wasn’t even remotely hungry, but I was going to have to pretend.

  “Looking foxy,” Dad said as I came into the kitchen.

  “No one says foxy, Dad.”

  “Really? That’s a shame.” He whistled when my mom came down the stairs. She winked at him.

  My cell rang just as Dad grabbed his car keys off the counter.

  “Ignore it,” Mom said, but I’d already picked it up. I had this irrational fear that it was going to be Derek, who’d somehow figured out the email was from me. The caller ID said unknown.

  “Hello,” I said.

  “Kalah?”

  My heart stopped in my chest. My ears filled with a loud buzzing sound.

  “Kah-bear? Is that you? I’m ready to come home now.”

  Britney was back.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Hospital waiting rooms are designed for maximum discomfort. The plastic chairs in this one were shaped with something other than a human butt in mind. The magazines were all at least six months out of date, and the coffee tasted like it was strained through an old T-shirt. Instead of getting his steak, my dad had to make do with a stale ham sandwich that tasted like the plastic triangle container it came in.

  The clock ticked off another minute. There was a TV attached to the opposite wall showing Headline News. We’d seen the same stories cycle through two or three times already, so everyone was ignoring it.

  I wondered how long before the media heard about this headline.

  Things had happened quickly after Britney had called. My tongue had lost all ability to shape words, so I’d passed the phone to my mom. Brit was apparently crying by then, but able to say where she was. My mom made my dad call for an ambulance on his cell while she stayed on my phone with Brit. As soon as we knew the paramedics had her, we jumped in the car to meet them at Munson Hospital.

  My mom called and called Brit’s parents until they finally picked up. They must have broken every speed limit in town getting to the hospital.

  After all, it’s not every day your daughter returns from the dead.

  Brit’s parents had rushed in, sweeping past us with a quick thank-you before disappearing down the hall.

  Because my mom worked at the hospital she’d pried some information from the nursing clerk. Britney had a few injuries, but nothing major. The nurse thought she was underweight and was clearly disoriented. They were running a tox screen on her in case she’d taken something or been drugged.

  I’d already chewed my thumbnail down, exposing the tender flesh underneath, and I was working to complete the gnaw-manicure on my other fingers. It’s a good thing I wasn’t planning to hold hands with anyone soon.

  I practically bounced out of my seat when I saw the police arrive. This was it. This was my moment—Beth’s moment. The moment when Britney would finally get the handcuffs she deserved.

  Two male officers with stern expressions walked past with Officer Siegel trailing behind them. I fought the urge to dance around her chanting, “I tried to tell you!” They didn’t say anything to us.

  After another hour and another four repetitions of the same headline cycle, Brit’s mom finally came out into the waiting room. We all stood like she was the president. She reached over and squeezed my shoulder, which was pretty touchy for Brit’s mom. It was practically a hug. Dr. Ryerson wasn’t known for showing a lot of affection.

  “Britney is doing well,” she announced.

  We all stood there, waiting for more. She was doing well? That’s all she was going to say? How about explaining where her “dead” daughter had been for the past few weeks? Or what Brit might know about the body everyone assumed was hers?

  Maybe the cops were still interrogating her. Maybe they hadn’t told her parents yet.

  “We’re all so glad to hear that,” my mom said.

  “Thank you for calling for an ambulance. Britney’s quite disoriented. When she didn’t get an answer when she called us at home, she called the only other number she knew by heart.” Dr. Ryerson gave me a small smile.

  “She was afraid she was going to run out of change for the pay phone before she could reach anyone.” Dr. Ryerson’s lip shook with emotion. I thought of pointing out that Britney could have called collect, or gone inside and asked the guy if she could use his cell. If Britney couldn’t remember how to sweet-talk some gas station attendant, she was seriously not herself.

  “This all must come as such a shock,” my mom said.

  Dr. Ryerson swallowed. “Not completely. The police called us this morning. They told us that Britney’s DNA didn’t match the body.”

  I wanted to pump my fist at the sky. I couldn’t wait to hear how Brit was going to explain that away.

  “At that moment, we couldn’t help but hope she might still be alive.” Dr. Ryerson nodded to me. “The police will want to speak with you as well.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “I’m looking forward to talking to them too,” I said.

  “We’ll do whatever we can to help,” Dad said.

  “Britney’s been through a terrible trauma, but we’re going to get her the best help possible to get through this.”

  “Where has she been?” I asked. I wanted to know if she’d already been questioned about Beth’s murder, or if her parents were making her stay silent until they could get her a lawyer.

  It was amazing—I’d done it. I’d convinced her to come back. She must have thought it was safe, that Beth’s body would never be found. I couldn’t wait to see her squirm.

  “We don’t know where she’s been. We believe Britney has PTA,” Dr. Ryerson said.

  “You’ll have to excuse me—I’m not up on my medical terminology. What’s PTA?” my dad asked.

  “Post-traumatic amnesia,” Dr. Ryerson said. “It’s common after a head injury. The condition is characterized by disorientation, confusion, memory difficulties, and emotional liability. Britney has a textbook case.”

  I’ll bet she did. “So she doesn’t remember anything?” I pressed. Did she think she’d get a lighter sentence if she had amnesia? Maybe she thought that excuse would play better with a jury.

  “Not as much as she would like.” Brit’s mom smiled weakly. “It’s very common. She’s missing both the actual traumatic event as well as events before and after. It’s important we don’t push her too fast or too hard. This is a difficult time for her.”

  “Excuse me, can we speak with you?” one of the cops we’d seen earlier asked. He motioned for all of us to take a seat. I sank slowly into the uncomfortable plastic chair. “I know this is an emotional time, but we want to get some statements while everything is fresh.” He gave a juicy sniffle.

  “Of course,” my mom said.

  “Any of you need anything, maybe some coffee?” He turned to Officer Siegel. “Why don’t you
run down to the cafeteria and get some fresh coffee for these folks.” The only sign that Officer Siegel wanted to punch him in the face for treating her like a waitress was a twitch above her eyebrow. I was glad when everyone shook their head no, but I could tell the other cop had wanted to get rid of her. “I’m Detective Cabot. Can you tell me what time the call came in?”

  “It was just after five,” my dad said. “We were headed out for dinner.”

  Detective Cabot scribbled something in his notebook. “And how did you know it was Britney?”

  “I recognized her voice,” I said.

  He nodded like I’d said something deep. “Can you tell me what she said on the phone?”

  My mom recounted their conversation. Officer Siegel watched me, trying to read my reaction. Detective Cabot slapped his thighs when Mom finished and heaved himself up.

  “Okay, then. We might have some more questions for you later.” Detective Cabot jammed his notebook back into his inside jacket pocket.

  “That’s it?” I asked. Clearly watching television and movies had given me an overinflated sense of the police’s ability to do a basic investigation.

  “Yup. Things are fairly straightforward,” the detective said.

  Was he joking? This was straightforward? Unease fluttered through my gut.

  Officer Siegel saw my expression. “Britney was able to tell us a few things.”

  “Such as?” I demanded.

  Officer Siegel looked over at Brit’s mom, who waved her hand, apparently giving permission to tell us. Maybe this was our reward for taking Brit’s call and sending the rescue party.

  Officer Siegel met my eyes. “On the day she disappeared, Britney’s intent was to commit suicide. She reports she was in a state of despair. The only person she told was Beth, in an email that she’d thought Beth never received.”

  I blinked. This was bullshit. By that time Beth was already dead.

  “She has some snippets of memory of Beth trying to stop her,” Officer Siegel continued. “After that she doesn’t remember much. We believe that’s when Beth tried to intervene and there was some kind of accident.”

  “But Brit doesn’t know what happened,” I repeated.

  The detective hitched his waistband up. “What we think is most likely given the injuries to the girl’s body is that Britney was about to throw herself off the Point, when the other girl—”

  “Beth,” I interrupted. “Her name was Beth.”

  “Right. Beth. Most likely Beth tried to stop her and they both ended up going over the edge together. Both girls hit their heads, but tragically only one of them survived the fall.”

  “So where has Britney been?” I demanded. Were we supposed to believe she’d been wandering the woods all month?

  “PTA,” her mom explained. “In her disoriented state, she must have picked up Beth’s ID and assumed that was her own identity. Given the level of emotional upset and Britney’s desire to harm herself, it’s possible her brain found it easier to accept that she was someone else. Her mind couldn’t cope with what had occurred, so it gave her time. She was scared and hurt. This was a major trauma. Basic fight or flight. She hid.”

  I stared at Officer Siegel, wondering if she was buying this. Her face gave away nothing.

  “Slowly things started to come back to her,” Dr. Ryerson said. “You have to understand this would have been very confusing for her. Because she believed she was Beth at first, and had no medical attention, or support, it took some time for her mind to—I guess you could call it reboot, to the reality of her situation.”

  Detective Cabot was nodding as Doctor Ryerson talked. I couldn’t believe he was swallowing it. Did anyone really believe a word of this bullshit?

  But I’d forgotten the most basic truth of all: that pretty little rich girls are always believed. People expect evil to look ugly.

  “We hope Britney will be able to give us more details eventually. We’re going to keep her here overnight for observation, but she should be able to come home tomorrow,” Dr. Ryerson said. “We’re lucky that she’s in overall good health.”

  “Thank goodness,” my mom said.

  Dr. Ryerson nodded. “We don’t want this to drag out. Britney’s been through enough, and the whole situation is so . . . sordid. She wants to get back to normal life as soon as possible.”

  “What about Beth?” I pushed.

  “We’ve asked the lab to put a rush on confirming the body’s hers,” Detective Cabot said. “Then her family can put her to rest.”

  My mom put her hand lightly on my back.

  “So, that’s it,” I said, my voice flat.

  “Not entirely. Britney wants to see you.” Her mom smiled at me like I’d just won the lottery.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Britney’s the only person I know who could make a hospital gown look stylish. Her parents had arranged for her to have a private room. Flowers had already been delivered, a giant bouquet of red and gold tulips by the window. The room smelled like a mix of antiseptic and Dr. Ryerson’s perfume.

  I stood by the door.

  “Hey,” Britney said faintly. Her eyes fluttered open, her dark lashes like spider legs. “My mom said you were here.” She pulled herself up and leaned against the recently plumped pillows. There was an IV needle in the back of her hand. I liked the idea that she was tethered to the bed in some way. “Come on in, I’m not going to bite,” she said.

  “You’re back,” I said, stepping closer.

  She laughed softly. “I guess I am.”

  I stared at her. “Your hair is brown.” It was the same shade as Beth’s.

  “I know.” Brit pulled on a lock of hair, staring at the end as if she were surprised about it too. “It’s another mystery. One more thing I don’t remember. I’m going to get it changed back to blond as soon as I can. It’s not really me.”

  I wanted to slap her. “Why did you send me those emails?”

  Her eyes widened. She looked like a character in a fairy-tale book. “What emails?”

  I felt my jaw tighten. “You emailed me, saying you were Beth. We chatted. A lot.” I watched for a crack in her expression. Nothing.

  Her hand went to her mouth. “I did?” She blinked twice. “I have to be honest: a lot of stuff is still really blurry. But apparently I thought I was Beth. Are you sure I sent them?”

  “Who else?”

  “I don’t know. This whole situation seems so unreal.” Britney leaned forward. “Can you bring them to me? Maybe if I read them it will help me get back some of the missing time. You know, shake something free.”

  I could see why they’d believed her. She was a good actress. “I don’t have them anymore.”

  She sighed and slumped back. “Damn. Those might have helped.” She rubbed her temples like she was getting a massive headache. “You have no idea how scary all of this is. I just wish I could remember something.”

  “Me too,” I said. She sounded so earnest, I was almost starting to doubt what I knew. But there was no part of our chats that had sounded confused or disoriented, or however PTA was supposed to impact her.

  Brit smiled weakly. “My mom told me how amazing you were at the funeral, and trying to help with the foundation.” She brushed some hair from her face. “I guess everyone has wondered at some point what people would be like if they were gone, what stories others might tell about them. I suppose the silver lining of this situation is I now know who I can count on.”

  Britney began to cry, or at the very least her eyes watered. Big crystal tears tracked down her face.

  No one cries that pretty, I thought. I remembered how she’d sobbed when she’d had the fight with Jason. That was real emotion. This was an act.

  “They told me about Beth. I can’t believe she’s gone,” she said.

  I didn’t even know what I was supposed to say to that. “Me neither,” I answered honestly. I couldn’t believe any of this.

  “Beth was my best friend.” Britney’s voice shook
. She reached over and grabbed my arm, her nails digging in. No matter how weak she might look, her grip was strong. “All we have is each other now.”

  I tried to pull away, but she held on to my wrist. It made me uneasy to have her touching me. More than that, it repulsed me.

  “You’re my very best friend now,” Britney said fiercely. “I’ll never forget what you did for me.”

  “Okay, girls.” A doctor popped her head in the doorway. “Britney should get her rest.”

  Brit let go of my wrist and put her head back down on her pillow, once again looking wan. I stepped back quickly out of her reach. I couldn’t help but wonder if she believed her own bluff.

  “I knew you’d have my back,” Brit said.

  “That’s what friends are for,” I replied. She didn’t even blink.

  I stepped out of her room and into the hall. It felt for a second as if my legs might not hold me, so I leaned against the wall. Nurses and orderlies rushed past, pushing carts or carrying files. It felt like I’d walked back into the real world. Britney’s room was a portal to an alternate universe, where nothing makes sense or even tries to.

  I felt unbalanced. Maybe I really was crazy.

  Officer Siegel walked up and leaned against the wall next to me. “How does she look to you?”

  “She says she’s tired.”

  “I imagine she is.” Officer Siegel watched the nurses and doctors bustle by. It was hard to tell if she meant anything by that.

  “How come you’re not in charge of the investigation?”

  “Investigation.” Officer Siegel snorted. “I guess you could call it that. There are a few reasons. One, Britney’s parents and I didn’t exactly see eye to eye on some issues when her apparent suicide first happened. Also, I’m just a beat cop. They always involve a detective for this kind of thing. I think my supervisor figures the way I handled her parents early on proved I don’t have the communication skills needed to carry a case like this.”

  “Really? I think people skills is one of your strengths,” I said. As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I worried I might have crossed a line, but Officer Siegel actually smiled.