by Cross, Amy
Deciding that she must be close to the exit of the cave by now, she dragged herself forward. She still felt breathless, but the sensation was no longer quite so bad and at least she didn't feel as if she was suffocating. She pulled herself across the rock, hoping that she might spot a hint of light up ahead, but there was nothing. She had no idea how far into the cave she'd fallen, but she kept telling herself that she'd be okay if she kept going up. All she had to do was -
Without warning, her right hand slipped on the rock, and in trying to steady herself, she turned and slipped, tumbling back down into the darkness. She slammed hard against another rock, bashing her broken ankle in the process, and then she rolled further down into the pitch black cave. Just as she was starting to wonder if she'd ever stop falling, she plunged headfirst into a freezing cold pool of water.
Today
By midnight, the area around the bottom of the garden and along the riverbank was crawling with police. Charlotte, Ruth and Tony took turns standing by the kitchen window, staring absently at the light display as men with torches search the undergrowth and a solitary police helicopter circled above, casting its spotlight down toward the nearby fields. In the distance, there was the occasional bark of a police dog, and a little further away there were the multi-colored lights of a diving team, searching the river.
"What's the temperature out there?" Ruth asked, her face devoid of any emotion at all as she sat at the kitchen table while a long-since-boiled cup of tea cooled in front of her.
Tony looked over at the thermometer on the wall. "Five," he muttered after a moment.
"She wasn't wearing a jacket," Ruth said, her voice steady and flat, her reddened eyes staring down at the table. "She'll be cold. She..." Pausing, she took a deep breath. "If she's outside, she'll be so cold."
"She's probably holed up somewhere warm," Charlotte muttered, taking the pack of cigarettes out of her pocket and laying it on the table.
"You can't smoke in here," Ruth said suddenly.
"I'm not going to smoke in here," Charlotte snapped back at her.
Ruth's face twitched for a moment, as if she was struggling to hold back a blast of anger.
"Twenty-four hours," Tony said, staring out the window. "That's what they said earlier. The first twenty-four hours are crucial. There's a very good chance -"
"There's a very good chance she won't be back in twenty-four hours," Ruth replied, interrupting him. "And then what?"
"They're not going to stop looking," her husband pointed out.
"They spent weeks searching for me," Charlotte added.
Ruth turned to her.
"It's true," Charlotte continued. "Mum told me. They combed the entire area with fucking millimeter precision, looking for even the slightest clue."
"But they didn't find you, did they?" Ruth replied coldly. "You found yourself, a year later. Or at least that's what you've always told people."
"Not this again," Charlotte sighed. "You know, the -"
"Are you sure you don't remember what happened to you during that year?" Ruth continued, ignoring her sister's pained protests. "I mean, are you really sure? Because if something's holding you back, maybe vanity or embarrassment or shame, now's the time to put other people first and come clean, Charlotte. If you know anything that might explain what's happened to my daughter -"
"I don't!" Charlotte said, raising her voice a little before realizing that she needed to stay calm. "I don't remember anything."
"Because you're stubborn," Ruth snapped back at her.
"This isn't about me," Charlotte replied, grabbing a cigarette from the pack and heading to the back door. "This is about Sophie. She's going to be back soon. I can feel it in my gut." She was lying, but she figured it was better than admitting that she had a bad feeling about things. "Don't lose track of the fact that you need to focus on -"
"Don't tell me what to focus on," Ruth replied. "You're not a mother, Charlotte, and you never will be. You don't have a fucking clue what this is like." She paused. "You're nothing but a liar."
"What the hell have I lied about?" Charlotte asked.
"You remember where you were," Ruth continued. "Maybe other people believe your bullshit story about amnesia, but you remember. I can see it in your eyes."
Smiling sadly, Charlotte turned and headed out onto the porch, where she immediately lit the cigarette before stepping down onto the grass and starting to make her way across the lawn. She passed the deckchairs, which were still laid out from the afternoon, and eventually she made her way all the way down to the end of the garden, which overlooked the tow-path running alongside the river. All she wanted was to get away from the house, away from her sister's baseless accusations.
"Stop!" a voice shouted from the darkness.
Stopping in her tracks, Charlotte shielded her eyes as a torch swung toward her.
"I'm Charlotte Abernathy!" she called out after a moment. "I just came down to see if there's any news!"
The torch was lowered, and a dark figure stepped closer, eventually revealed to be the male officer from earlier.
"There's nothing you can do down here," he said, looking a little uncomfortable. "This is a potential crime scene, so I'm going to have to ask you to go up to the house and stay there while we continue our investigation."
"Crime scene?" Charlotte replied, shocked by the implication. "You're not -"
"We're covering all bases," the officer said firmly. "I'm sure you'll understand that we can't rule anything out at this stage. We should have a better idea of what we're dealing with in the morning, so if you'll please return to the house, I need to get back to work. We've decided to extent the operation through the night, in recognition of the urgency of the case, so we'll be here for the foreseeable future, at least until we find Sophie."
"Sure," Charlotte muttered, taking a drag on her cigarette before turning and starting the walk back toward the house. After a few paces, she glanced over her shoulder and saw that the torch was still aimed straight at her, as if the police officer was watching her leave. She knew she was probably just being a little paranoid, but Charlotte couldn't stop worrying that in some way, her past made her a natural target for suspicion. As she reached the back door, she turned and looked out at the darkened countryside. The thought of Sophie being out there, lost and alone or maybe even worse, was too much to deal with, but she'd never been the kind of person to let her emotions get on top of her. All she could do was hope that wherever she was, Sophie was okay.
She had to be.
Twenty years ago
In the dream, or vision, or whatever it was...
She was sinking through ice-cold water, her arms outstretched as if she was flying through the frozen darkness, her eyes wide open. Although she was aware on one level that she was in danger, on another level she thought nothing of it. She couldn't see a thing, but everything still seemed beautiful.
It was as if she didn't need to breathe at all. Not ever again, not even as she bumped against the muddy bottom of the pool.
Today
Sleep was impossible that night, so after a while Charlotte didn't even try.
Balancing on a small foot-stall, she stood in the middle of the guest bedroom and carefully unscrewed the smoke detector from the ceiling. It was a delicate job, and she was more than a little worried that her sister might have booby-trapped the device in anticipation of such a move. Many had been the argument, over the years, about Charlotte's inability (or unwillingness, according to Ruth) to quit "that filthy habit", but such concerns didn't seem to matter so much on that long, terrified night following Sophie's disappearance. Finally - with the dexterity and calm concentration of Indiana Jones in some far-off temple - Charlotte was able to slip the detector out of its mounting and slide the back open to reveal the battery. She paused for a moment, before pulling the slip of fabric that brought the battery out of its slot, and the evil flashing red light was defeated.
Two minutes later, Charlotte was sitting by the op
en window, smoking the best cigarette of her life. She knew smoking was bad for her, of course, but then so were lots of other things: crossing the road, eating junk food, coloring her hair, living in London, staying up late at night browsing the internet, having sex with strangers, not having sex with anyone, drinking alone... She'd once tried to cut out all the damaging behavior in her life, and the result had been utter tedium. Some people went through life on rails, but Charlotte simply couldn't help barreling along, collecting cuts and dents along the way; she was the kind of person who just figured she'd be okay, that her body would accept a little rough and tumble, and that consequences were things that happened to other people.
Beyond the window, and beyond the lawn, and perhaps even beyond life itself, there were still lights down by the river. Police divers, Charlotte figured, were out there in the cold water, searching for something macabre and horrific: the dead body of a young girl, just eight years old, who might have tumbled beneath the surface and been unable to keep herself from sinking. For a fraction of a second, Charlotte imagined Sophie's body down there, picked out by the granular searchlights of the diving team, her dead eyes reflecting the sad but hardened faces of the divers as they realized their search was over. Charlotte kept telling herself that Sophie would be okay, of course; like a good aunt, like a good person, she repeated that phrase over and over in her mind like a mantra.
Still, in the back of her mind, there was a voice...
She took a long, deep puff on her cigarette and tried to make her thoughts fall silent for a moment. Unfortunately, when the thoughts went away, their place was taken by gruesome images of a dead Sophie. Blinking a couple of times, Charlotte decided to embrace the thoughts instead of the images.
Hearing a noise below the window, she leaned out and saw a figure shuffling out of the back door. She frowned for a moment as she recognized the unmistakeable gait of her mother, who seemed to have decided to take a post-midnight stroll. For a couple of seconds, Charlotte tried to work out what the old bat was doing outside at almost two in the morning, but finally she got to her feet and headed out of the guest room. She knew she should stub the cigarette out, and that her sister would undoubtedly be able to trace its lingering scent in the morning, but at this particular moment Charlotte didn't give a damn. When she got down into the hallway, she held the cigarette between her teeth as she put her coat on over the thin t-shirt she'd worn to bed, and then she headed out the front door into the ice-cold night.
"What are you doing out here?" she whispered as she came up behind her mother, her breath visible in the cold night air. "It's fucking freezing!"
Looking shocked that she'd been spotted, the old woman turned to her daughter.
"You been sleep-walking or something?" Charlotte asked.
Slowly, her mother shook her head.
"Just thought you'd come out and freeze to death, did you?" As soon as she'd said the words, Charlotte regretted being so harsh. She usually enjoyed finding inventive ways to harangue her mother, but tonight seemed different. "It's kinda nippy, don't you think?"
"I just..."
There was an awkward silence, and the old woman seemed a little confused.
"Come inside," Charlotte continued, taking her by the arm. "I'll pour you a sherry." She waited for a reply, and for the first time in many years, she actually felt a little sorry for her mother. She knew the feeling wouldn't last, of course, but she also knew there was no point fighting it for now.
"Is she really missing?" her mother asked suddenly, resisting the attempt to lead her back inside and, instead, staring at the lights down by the river. "I thought maybe it had been a bad dream."
"Sure," Charlotte replied. "Everything's been a bad dream, ever since I was born. Go back to sleep, and when you wake up in the morning, it'll be the mid-eighties again. Whoop-de-doo."
"Sophie's missing," her mother replied. "That's right, isn't it?"
"I'm sure they'll find her soon," Charlotte replied wearily. "Come on, Mum. We need to get you back inside before you drop dead of pneumonia."
The old woman still resisted, as if the lights of the police search crews were mesmerizing her. "Or is it Charlotte?" she asked after a moment. "I don't remember. Which of them is out there?"
Charlotte paused. This wasn't the first time she'd suspected her mother of losing her marbles, and she doubted it'd be the last. Whether it was Parkinson's or Alzheimer's or just old age, something was riddling the old woman's mind.
"Mum," Charlotte added. "Please. Don't make me leave you out here. I will, you know. I'm that much of a bitch." She took a puff on her cigarette, and the warmth felt good in her chest. "Mum, please," she added, desperate to get back into the relative warmth of the darkened kitchen.
"It was like this when Charlotte went missing, you know," her mother replied, as if she hadn't heard her. "Lights, just like this. They were in the water, trying to find her. They said they thought she'd be okay, but they still looked in all the places where a dead child might be found. I could see it in their eyes, you know. Before they even walked in the door, they thought she was gone." She paused, and a look of utter confusion crossed her face. "It's Sophie, isn't it? It's Sophie who's missing now?"
Charlotte nodded.
"She's Ruth's child. Not Charlotte's. Charlotte doesn't have any children. I think she may be barren."
"Thanks a lot," Charlotte muttered.
"It's like a replay," her mother said. "It's like..." Her voice trailed off, and she seemed utterly lost in her thoughts. "Poor Charlotte. I hope they find her eventually."
"It's Sophie," Charlotte replied, a little spooked by her mother's words. "Sophie's the one who's missing. I'm Charlotte, remember? I'm right here, see?"
Her mother stared at her for a moment, as if her thoughts were slowly congealing.
"I'm freezing my tits off," Charlotte continued, taking another puff on her cigarette. "Can we please just get inside? I'll stay up and talk to you, whatever the fuck you want, but for God's sake, can we get out of the cold?"
"You go," her mother replied. "I'll be okay out here."
"Fine," Charlotte said, letting go of her mother's arm and turning back toward the door, before suddenly realizing that no matter how much she hated the old woman, and no matter how cold she was, something was preventing her from leaving her outside alone. It wasn't affection or pity, and she was damn sure it wasn't love or human compassion, but for some damn reason, she sighed and turned back to her mother. "You're lucky I'm so kind," she said after a moment. "You are so damn fucking lucky that I'm a decent fucking human being."
"It's my fault," her mother replied quietly, all the fight and confidence gone from her voice. "That poor girl. Such a horrible way to die."
"She's not dead," Charlotte replied wearily. "Please don't say things like that, especially not around Ruth. You'll do her head in, Mum."
"It's so sad, and it's all my fault."
"It's really not," Charlotte told her, before pausing for a moment. "Wait, do you mean this thing with Sophie, or the broader dysfunctional mess of the family? 'Cause if you mean the thing with Sophie, then it's really not your fault at all. The other thing? Maybe there are a few issues..." She waited for a reply, before finally realizing that she needed to do or say something to catch her mother's attention and break her out of this reverie. "I meant what I said," she continued eventually, surprising herself. "What happened to me, it wasn't your fault."
"What are you talking about?" her mother asked, turning to her with a sharp, shocked look in her eyes. "Nothing happened to you."
"You're really not okay, are you?" Charlotte asked with a heavy heart. "Jesus, you're out of it."
"I hope they find her body soon."
"For Sophie's sake -"
"Why would it help Sophie?" her mother replied, seemingly annoyed. "What good would rummaging around in anyone's head do for that poor little girl, eh? Sophie's... Sophie's a lovely child. Warm and happy and playful, not like that poor little..." Her voi
ce trailed off, and for a moment she looked utterly horrified.
"Sophie could still be okay," Charlotte said eventually.
"This isn't about you, Charlotte," her mother said, suddenly seeming much more energized as she shuffled back past her and into the kitchen. "Everything that happened to you is in the past, Charlotte, and Sophie is very much in the present. It's Sophie who must be the focus of our attention, and there's no point going rooting around in events that were put to bed a long time ago. The past is the past, and the present is the present. Please, child, for the sake of all that's holy in the world, don't go talking nonsense."
Sighing, Charlotte followed her inside and pushed the door shut. "Sorry," she muttered, figuring that at least the old woman seemed to have drifted into a moment of lucidity. "Didn't mean to put a jolt up your ass."
"This isn't a game," her mother continued, making her way painfully slowly toward the hallway. "It's not a puzzle. It's just a coincidence, that's all. Whatever has happened to that poor, sweet little girl, it's nothing to do with what happened to you. Please, dear, don't muddy the waters." She paused, before turning back to Charlotte. "You don't understand, Charlotte. You never did, and you never will."
Charlotte opened her mouth to reply, but something made her hold back. The transformation in her mother was surprising: in just a couple of seconds, the old woman had gone from seeming sad, confused and melancholy to seeming angry and defensive, and Charlotte couldn't help but feel that she'd accidentally touched a nerve. She felt bad for thinking such a thing, but she actually preferred her mother when the dementia was in full force.
"You want a glass of sherry?" she asked, hoping to calm the waters.
No reply.
"Mum?"
Without saying anything, her mother turned and started to make her way upstairs.