His apartment’s décor had always been functional but simple. The one piece of furniture with any character was a desk from the 1800s. It had nooks and crannies, a great workspace, and a secret panel in a false-bottomed drawer. When he purchased it from the antique shop down on the boulevard, he knew it would make a perfect place for the work he brought home nightly. When Kate moved in, he pushed everything off to the side and cleared the surface for her laptop. Impossible, but once again the top overflowed with an unsightly stack of papers all waiting to be sorted. How? With painful clarity, he remembered the day Kate tackled the mess and filed his papers methodically. The pigeonholes she filled were empty, and her computer was gone.
In the middle of the floor were three red drops that looked like blood. Maybe Kate hurt herself and left to get care? It could be an answer, but then where are her things? Or did someone else hurt her? Take her away?
That didn’t seem plausible. No, as much as he wanted to deny it, the answer was obvious. Fear as unstoppable as an incoming tide yanked him back to the apparent truth. He always knew he didn’t deserve her. Maybe she finally discovered it too.
Each room contributed more to his loss. Memories of the past flashed like lightning during a storm.
Kate curled like a cat reading a book.
Kate seductively smiling over a glass of wine.
Kate dancing to the music from her laptop. Each memory pushed the hurt deeper.
Three days earlier, he had jogged three blocks to a small market and brought her a huge bunch of sunflowers. They no longer adorned the table, instead only his cold cup of coffee sat just as he left it before he headed out the door that morning. He frantically searched for any remaining sign, but there was nothing left. There was no visible evidence left of Kate.
A wisp of her fragrance lingered somewhere on his clothes, and as he turned his head, he caught it again. Its sweet feminine essence had tantalized him all day. Just thinking about the past morning made his knees feel weak, and he clutched a chair for support.
That morning, he tried to leave for work and headed for the door, but a backward glance at the soft shape buried in the bedclothes drew him back to her. She was still asleep in their bed. A curl lay gently on her cheek, and a shapely leg poked out from the covers. Just one small kiss to her forehead was all he wanted, and he planted one as softly as he could, breathing in her scent. But as he straightened again to go, Kate stirred, grabbed the front of his jacket and pulled his body back down to hers. The look on her face told him he was going to be late for work. It was unusual for them to make love in the morning, and while he fleetingly wondered why this day was different, he didn’t dwell on the question as the unexpectedness made it even sweeter and all the more exciting. Within minutes the warm bed and her soft limbs ensnared him, and he completely forgot about the time. They made love quickly, urgently. Two souls fused in a timeless dance, their combined breaths held the promise of everything and forever. The air around them was electrically charged, expectant, and the room was aglow with the early morning light.
He kissed her eyes and was surprised to find them wet. He hated to leave, to let her go. Her scent kept him spellbound. Eternity could have come and gone, and Matt was content to let it pass them by if he could stay forever by her side. Kate was everything he would ever want or need, and it took all of his will power to climb back out of bed. It was several minutes before he could get his head acclimated to the real world, the one outside the door and away from her, before he could leave for work a second time. As he finally made his exit that morning, she softly called goodbye. He blew her one more kiss and quietly closed the door behind him.
It was now ten hours later, and Matt was dreading the final blow. He tried to stop his feet, but they moved of their own accord. The bedroom was only a few steps away, yet his heart pounded, and he was out of breath. Little was changed except when he last walked out the door she was still there, half asleep, waving goodbye.
The bed was unmade, but there was not a single wrinkle in the smooth pillow to prove it ever cradled her sweet blond head. With each discovery, the magnitude of his loss mounted and made him physically ill. Forced to sit down until his nausea passed, he perched tentatively on the end of the bed, afraid to get too close to her side, as if it would invade her space and invalidate her ownership.
He hadn’t deserved her, he knew it all along, and now he would pay for his folly. Irrational as it was, he continued the search for his shattered dreams. If only he could find the missing piece to the madness that had become his home, perhaps he could save himself from the agony that was tightening around his heart. There was no need to continue to search, he knew it was useless, but he couldn’t stop. Room by room, drawer by drawer. Hoping in some deep inner place, some sense would be found. Some logic to make it all right again. But no such salvation was forthcoming.
Inspection of the closets was anticlimactic. Like everything else, like Kate’s other possessions, her clothes were gone and only his remained, spaced out like the pickets of a fence in measured cadence. Drawers too were fully occupied as if they never shared their home at all. On closer inspection, he was stunned to discover his worn, gray sweatshirt, folded neatly near the bottom. It was Kate who convinced him to throw it away, and he laughingly agreed. So how can it be here? Secure in its place as it always was, even though he remembered the day she took it to the trash. Only his toothbrush and toiletries remained just as he left them. Even the towel she usually chose, the deep blue one which matched her eyes, mocked him as it hung clean and neat with no sign of use. Words like a refrain from a song repeated over and over in his head, It’s as if she was never here. Logic is on my side, he argued, there has been no clue she was unhappy. Didn’t she make sweet love to me this morning?
But the doubts he buried for years; that he didn’t deserve to be happy, snickered at him, climbed up out of his past and played havoc with his heart. How did I fail her?
He wanted answers. He needed answers. Repeatedly he called Kate’s cell phone and listened to it ring and ring and then finally go dead. No message came on in Kate’s melodic voice instructing callers to leave a name and number. Unable to reach her, he looked up the number where she worked.
“Atlas Medical, how may I direct your call?”
“Hi. I’ve been trying to reach my girlfriend, Kate Champion. Her cell phone isn’t working, and I hope you can help me reach her.”
“I’m sorry sir, I don’t have a listing for anyone by that name.”
“Kate Champion. Maybe she’s listed under Kathryn. She’s in sales and handles the Philadelphia area.”
“No, I’m sorry. We don’t have anyone like that. Perhaps you have the wrong company. There are several medical sales offices in this area.”
“No, I am not wrong! I need to talk to her, please, just transfer me to your supervisor.”
“Okay, if you wish, but it won’t help.” Matt’s long fingers drummed a tattoo on the desktop.
“This is Tom Barrett. How can I help you?”
“Mr. Barrett I’m trying to reach one of your employees, Kate Champion. Your operator can’t even find her name.”
“Look, I’m sorry, but she doesn’t work for Atlas. The operator, my wife actually, is correct. We’re a small business with only twenty-two people. Maybe you have the wrong company.”
“I know that can’t be it. I’m sure I don’t. Is there another company with a similar name?”
“I don’t think so. Sorry.”
Matt’s head pounded, and his stomach roiled. He knew he wasn’t mistaken. He was sure she had told him Atlas Medical. Is it possible I got the name wrong? Why would she lie?
Minutes went by, maybe hours. Agony clouded time. Perhaps the police should be notified. A shudder went through him that Kate could be hurt or in trouble. Is it selfish to hope there is another explanation? That she hasn’t left me? Could any answer be better, make her disappearance hurt less? Shaking his head to clear such forbidden thoughts, he reached for th
e phone. He needed someone to help him make sense of what he had found. Reality made him hesitate. What am I going to tell them? The cops can’t do anything if she left on her own, but what if she didn’t, what if someone took her? But then who would have put my old things back ... or why? Again, the questions and doubts came back full circle. What about the blood? It’s only three drops, but what does it mean? If she loves me, why would she leave me, and even if she doesn’t, couldn’t she leave a note? It’s not like her to be cruel. So many why’s, but no answers. He didn’t know if talking to the police would help, but at least it was action, and he needed to do something besides stare at the four walls which chose to keep their silence.
“Is this an emergency?” a woman asked when Matt dialed the local police department.
“I don’t know, yes it could be. When I got home, I discovered my girlfriend was gone. She just disappeared, and all of her things are gone too.”
The voice answered routinely, “Was there any sign of violence or foul play?”
“Well yeah, sort of. I found some blood. Kate could be hurt, and I don’t know why she would leave on her own.”
“What’s your name?”
“Matt Errington.”
“Okay, Mr. Errington, hold on.”
The strain of the past hour ate at his nerves, and it was difficult to be patient. “Yeah, fine, of course,” he said under his breath. His long fingers clenched and relaxed repeatedly. As he ticked off the minutes, his fears grew.
“Mr. Errington, I’m transferring you to Sergeant Brian York.”
“Thanks,” was all Matt could say before he was put on hold again. Minutes went by before someone finally picked up the phone.
“Sergeant York. How can I help you?”
“Yes, Sergeant, as I told the lady ... when I got home from work, my apartment was stripped of all of my girlfriend’s things. She’s gone, there’s no explanation, and I’m worried about her. I can’t figure out why she would leave so I think something might have happened.”
“Sorry to hear that, you said there was blood. How much are we talking about?”
“Yes, just a few drops, but I’m sure it’s blood.”
“Okay, but are you also reporting there was a theft? Did she empty your apartment, you said everything is gone?”
“No, no, I don’t think anything of mine is missing, just her things.”
“Uh, huh. Listen, Mr. Errington, we’re pretty short-staffed right now, why don’t you come down to the station and we can talk.”
Like a shot of brandy, heated blood pulsed through Matt’s veins. The relief was overwhelming. They would help him. The police would know how to find her.
On the road, Matt attempted to put together a report in his head, trying to make some sense where there was none. He couldn’t explain what happened, and he didn’t want to sound like an idiot. The clock on the dash showed seven-thirty, about the time the hockey game was to start. What a waste of money those tickets were, he decided, closely followed by self-castrating remorse. Geez, what a horrible thought to have right now. He couldn’t believe something like that even entered his head. Kate was gone, he had no idea what happened to her, and he was worried about losing money on tickets. What a shmuck. Still berating himself, Matt pulled into the parking lot of the police substation, and immediately the old terrors washed over him.
Terrors, he buried for many years after his mother died.
He had forcefully kept the horrific memories of the dark days of his past in the back of his mind, imprisoned in the shadows. Like paper cuts on the soul which never quite healed, they were occasionally snagged by life and ripped back open. Patrol cars filled the lot. The sight of their blue and red lights tested the dam that kept the horrors at bay. He saw police cars every day with no great relapse, but tonight, stunned by what he had found, their presence threatened to undo more than a decade of pills and therapy.
It was hard to control the trembling that made his hands shake as he put the car in park. He had come so far from that time. His heart pounded, and he could feel the muscles in his chest painfully contract.
“Control it,” he ordered aloud, and remembered the voices of the doctors and their calming advice, “Focus on better thoughts, good memories.” He took a deep, ragged breath, held it for ten seconds, and let it out. His pulse slowed, and the attack lessened its grip. It was especially hard this time to focus on better thoughts and good memories when those things all centered on Kate.
The one thing the years taught him was to face forward with logic. Logic and facts had rescued him in the difficult times and armed him well as he carved out a scientific career. They were the bedrock upon which he built his life, his guide to the future. That’s what was needed now. Calm, rational, logic.
But calm, he was not. After the accident and his mother’s death, his history with police was knotted with pain and loss. There was so much he fought to keep buried. The thought of opening up all the old feelings again nearly made him turn the car toward home.
Panic almost won. Then Kate’s face floated before him. Her blue eyes sparkled, and her smile dazzled. He just knew the love was there, and this time he could help. “Keep going,” he said out loud. “She is worth whatever it takes to find her.”
Matt stepped out of the car while the chimes reminded him to take his forgotten keys. A chill wind blew up his back, and a light rain began to fall. He hugged his jacket tighter and somewhere in the distance an ambulance raced through the streets, its siren clearing the way. A shiver went through him, worried it could have something to do with Kate, and he prayed it did not. He headed toward the heavy glass doors etched with POLICE in bold block letters. If he must, he would surrender his soul to find her, or at least, to find out why she left.
Chapter Three
The station was well lit, and a half dozen people could be seen through the thick glass window of the lobby, still working despite the late hour. A uniformed young woman looked down at him from a raised platform. She had a small frame, round face with doe-brown eyes and dark hair pulled into a loose knot at the back of her head.
“I’m Matt Errington. I called a little while ago and spoke to Sergeant York.”
“Yes sir, I remember talking to you. I’m Officer Pettingway. Follow me,” she said, as she buzzed him through the door.
They headed toward the back of the building, passing through a large room broken into personal workstations. Desks overflowed with stacks of papers, photos of employee’s families, and coffee cups. Each desk had a waterfall of computer wires and cords which snaked down the back of monitors, phones, and lamps. A basketball hoop was mounted prominently on the back wall over an overflowing wastebasket of papers and discarded lunch containers. Stacks of files were piled on chairs, and nearly-dead plants completed the décor. The few people in the room barely gave him a quick look, but still, he was uneasy. Deep breath.
Surprisingly, as he followed the young woman down the hall, his prior anxiety abated. It reminded him of the time he was nine and was escorted to the principal’s office for passing notes to his friend Sam. It was an innocent note about a ball game they planned for that afternoon; he wasn’t cheating or doing anything wrong, but his teacher made a big deal of it.
Officer Pettingway stopped at the last door on the right and motioned for Matt to go in. An older man behind the desk half rose from his seat and extended his hand to Matt.
“I’m Sergeant York,” he said, “C'mon in,” a thick mustache dusted his wide smile. “Thanks for coming. I prefer face to face, you know. I get a better sense of what’s going on that way.”
Matt nodded. “It’s no problem if it helps me get some answers and find Kate.”
“Kate is your girlfriend?”
“Yes, as I said before on the phone, she’s disappeared, and I’m concerned. Something terrible could have happened, and I’m hoping you can help me find her.”
Sergeant York motioned for him to sit. Two mismatched, straight-backed chairs were pulled u
p close to his desk, and Matt chose the closest one and dropped heavily onto the seat. Stacey Pettingway popped her head in the door. “Either of you want a cup of coffee? There’s a new pot.” Taking his lead from the Sergeant, Matt nodded.
“Yeah, maybe that would help clear my head.”
“How do you want it?”
“Black is fine, don’t go to any trouble for me.”
“Same for me, Stacey,” the Sergeant added as she disappeared out the door.
Less than a minute later, Officer Pettingway walked back in holding two steaming cups out before her. Her walk was stilted, halting, with a stiff-legged gait. Matt hadn’t paid much attention to her earlier as he took in the station house, but now he openly watched her entrance.
Noting his eyes on her as she set the cups down on the edge of Sergeant York’s desk, Stacey turned to Matt. “Sorry if some coffee sloshed out of the cup. I took a bullet in my leg in my first month on active duty, and it doesn’t always work as smoothly as I want it to.”
“I’m sorry, Miss, I mean, Officer.” He flushed; embarrassed she caught him staring. “I usually have better manners, but I’m not myself tonight.”
“It’s okay; I hope you get some answers about your girlfriend.” Matt noticed she had dimples in both cheeks as she smiled and was pretty in spite of the severe hair and drab uniform.
“Thanks for the coffee,” added Sergeant York as Stacey left them and made her way back to the front desk.
Sergeant York took his time, taking out a clean yellow pad, moving a stack of papers and files off to the side and getting himself comfortable. The surface of the green metal desk, worn shiny in spots from age and use, was cluttered with photos. The good sergeant had a full house at home. Several smiling shots of children of various ages, arrayed in Easter finery and sports attire, stared back at Matt. Judging by his age and appearance; the gray hair, mustache, and deep-set wrinkles which hugged his mouth and crisscrossed his forehead, Matt figured he had been on the force for many years. Probably not too many things would surprise him; Matt thought as he watched the man clear a space to write. I know I’m going to sound strange, but I’m sure he’s heard just about every kind of weird tale there is.
Death & Other Lies Page 2