Along Comes a Wolfe

by Angie Counios

  It’s been almost twenty hours since Sheri and I texted. Man, almost an entire day has passed, and Gekas and her buddies haven’t got any further than questioning me about what I know. Talk about a bunch of heads up the collective ass. It also means they have nothing. They have no clue what happened to her—whether she ran away or got taken or—

  I push the thought out of my head and start running other scenarios.

  Sheri isn’t the type to take off. She was happy at home, happy at school. She had plans that required a sensible and stable family life. Also, she was strong. If there was a problem, she would face it head-on and deal with it.

  Yet, Gekas kept asking me whether there was something going on or if she seemed in distress—

  Still, she would have talked to me if something was bothering her. We were good together. She would have said something. I’m sure of it.

  I want to clear the possibility of her running away off the table, but I don’t have the energy to face the alternatives. She said she was hitting the trails and then helping Brody with his homework, but before all that she was at school. If I want to figure out where she’s gone, I have to start there.

  I go through the alley and open the gate into my yard. If Mom or Dad is home, they’ll be waiting for me. I need to get in and out of the house with the least amount of confrontation, so I open the back door quietly and wait a moment before going in. Someone is moving around on the second floor and I sneak across the kitchen to the bowl of car keys. Whoever is in the house is coming down the stairs. I grab the set for Dad’s car without asking. I’m pretty sure I hear my name before I shut the door, but I don’t turn around. Quick as I can, I jump in the car, and pull away.

  I don’t look back in the rearview mirror.

  chapter 14

  Traffic is relatively quiet as I drive across the city to Sheri’s school. I realize I’ve missed lunch entirely, what with the trip to the office and the walk home. I still have ten bucks from Dad in my pocket, but really, anything I try to eat isn’t going to sit well in my stomach. Besides, if I have to sit in a line-up for a craptastic burger and salty fries, I might want to punch a plastic clown, and I just can’t have that. I focus on the problem, forcing myself forward to find a solution and let nothing else in. It’s all I can do right now.

  Sheri’s school is on the southeast end of the city, and as soon as I cross the freeway, I hit the soulless suburbs and the big box stores. Cookie cutter mini-mansions for the wannabe wealthy appear. The streets wind and twist around corners and cul-de-sacs and along the high walls that separate the neighbourhoods from the rest of the world. Sometimes I wonder if these man-made boundaries are meant to keep the riff-raff out or keep the inhabitants in—like an asylum.

  The trees disappear and the road opens wide. It intersects the highway, and as I drive across, I see the paved asphalt stretch out of the city, slicing through the open prairie. If I needed to, I could turn right now and make a run for the border. I’d be there in only a couple of hours—if I needed to—if I were guilty—which I’m not.

  I keep driving until I pull up to Sheri’s school, Guthrie High. I hurry down the walkway to the double doors at the front of the school.

  By now, it’s fourth period; almost half an hour before the bell rings. If I’m careful enough, I should be able to get to Sheri’s locker without anyone noticing. I grab the door handle and—dammit—it’s locked. I pause for a moment and consider other options before moving along the building to find another entrance.

  “They’re all locked.”

  I look over. A guy about my age with shaggy blond hair kneels in the bushes, digging in the soil.

  “What?”

  He doesn’t really acknowledge me, just keeps working the dirt with his hands. “All the doors are locked,” he pauses, looking at the ground. “You’d think it’s to keep out the troublemakers—” he looks over at me, “like you and me. But the wardens of this prison actually expect it to be protection for the students who give a shit.”

  I am pretty sure he must have just escaped from a psych ward. He rises, dusting off his jeans. He crosses over to the sidewalk that skirts the school and stops, looking back at me.

  “You following me or what?”

  “Uh, no.”

  “You don’t want in?”

  I size him up. He’s shorter than me but he’s built stocky and solid and likely enjoys getting into the occasional fight. I should be able to get away from him if he decides to take a swing—but if I get too close, I’m sure I’d be down for the count.

  “You know how?”

  “You think I just hang out, digging in the bushes of any old school?” He stares at me like I’m the idiot.

  Since I’m considering following him, maybe I am.

  “Yeah, what was that all about?”

  He sighs, looking up at the sky, squinting in the sun.

  “You coming or not?”

  I walk toward him. He turns and heads for the corner of the school.

  “Why were you digging?”

  He doesn’t answer, so I jog to catch up to him. He glances over his shoulder at me and goes around the corner. I stay close to him.

  This side of the school is shaded and it’s cool and windy.

  “There’s a side door used by the mechanics class so the grease monkeys can drive their cars into the workshop.”

  “Isn’t it sort of dangerous to show strangers how to get in?”

  “You know why they lock the doors?”

  “Listen, I’ve had a real long day—”

  He ignores me and goes on, “It’s because our keepers expect students to want to be here. They think that when we’re late and we can’t get in, we’ll seek redemption to ease our suffering. The sad thing is that most of us buy into that crap.”

  He walks up to the big shop entrance and peers through the window. “All clear.” He moves to the regular-sized door beside it and tries the doorknob. It’s locked, but he barely pauses before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a ring of keys. He thumbs through them and picks one. He slides it into the lock and opens the door.

  He looks at me. “Anyway, I haven’t seen you before. And no one goes into a school unless they’re looking for answers or they’ve got a personal score to settle.”

  I think about all the students that must go to this school—hell, that go to my school. “How would you know? How could you possibly recognize everyone?”

  He just smiles, and I know this guy’s definitely got a few screws loose.

  “Hope you figure out what happened to Sheri.”

  Before I can say anything, he shuts the door behind me and is gone.

  chapter 15

  Who the hell was that guy? And how the hell does he know who I am?

  I shake away the thought—I don’t have time—and cross the shop floor. Students are visible through the open door of the adjoining classroom. The day’s events have knocked me so out of sync with the rest of the world that I’ve forgotten school is still on. The teacher is talking about the differences between two-stroke and four-stroke engines. I move past the door quickly and no one notices.

  I’ve been to this school a couple of times to meet Sheri or for a game, but never in this area. The odours of oil, gas, and exhaust drift out into the hall, and although the walls are painted white, everything feels greasy. The smell of machinery blends into wood shavings and dust, and the high-pitched sound of a table saw tearing through boards screams somewhere nearby. The corridor tees off and I go toward a set of double doors that I hope leads to the main hall.

  I come out a long passageway with lockers and classrooms on both sides. There’s a set of stairs partway down and I head toward them. Sheri’s locker is on the second floor, near the main staircase by the office. I’m hoping Detective Gekas hasn’t found her way over here yet. I know that she will—but if I have enou
gh time, and because I know Sheri, I think I might find something that Gekas won’t.

  I’m not quite halfway down the hall when a teacher steps out of his classroom. I move into the recess around a water fountain between the lockers and hope he doesn’t see me. When I look up again, he’s down at the far end of the hall, and I make for the stairs. As I duck through the door, he leaves the hallway, and now I can see where he’s going: the open foyer by the front entrance where a huddle of adults stands in a circle.

  I climb the stairs to the second floor and turn right.

  The halls are empty. Sheri’s locker is between the bio and chem labs, and I walk up to it, staring at the black “223” stenciled onto the small brass plate. Two sticky notes, Come back Sheri and We <3 u, hang on the outside of her locker. They’re signed in colourful, glitter gel pens by a dozen or so names.

  I feel a surge of frustration. These notes piss me off—it’s probably some drama-seeking ninth grader who pounces on any opportunity to draw attention to themselves who put them up. I think about crumpling up the notes and throwing them on the ground but I don’t. Gotta stay focused. I take the combination lock into my hand and realize I’m shaking.

  Nineteen right, thirty-seven left, thirty-one right. I pull on the lock gently, not wanting to make a lot of noise, and it pops open. I glance left and right—still no one. I’ve only been here a moment, but it feels much longer. I open the locker and the faint smell of Sheri fills my head—pang—and my gut lurches. I close my eyes and breathe in. Enough. I have work to do. There’s got to be something here that’ll tell me where Sheri went.

  On the top shelf there are only two textbooks and a novel. I reach up and feel toward the back, but there’s nothing else. Of the three hooks below the shelf, the one where she’d usually put her jacket is empty, another has one of my old hoodies on it—pang—and the third holds a gym shirt and a small canvas bag. I quickly dig into its centre pocket and pull out some lip gloss, a hair brush, deodorant, and a small cosmetics bag. Inside are tampons and a bunch of hair elastics, like the ones she leaves everywhere that I end up putting in the glove box or my pocket or wherever, just in case she needs one. I put everything back where it was. I take her tee-shirt down, rub it between my fingers, and think.

  What am I looking for? Is there something not right about her locker? Is anything out of place? If she was in trouble, she’d text me, wouldn’t she?

  I look down at the cross trainers snuggled in a nest of colourful, mismatched socks on the locker floor. Gym shoes. She has another pair she wears for outdoor training. I shift to the inside of her locker door and its magnetic notepad. Attached to it is the small map of routes she takes with her when she runs, with distances written in marker on each loop. A calendar hangs under the map. Each day is marked with times and distances and the type of run she plans to do:

  THURS.

  Race Strategy:

  East Trails—6 miles

  A photo of us, held by a heart-shaped magnet in each corner, overlaps the bottom of the map. She’s laughing directly into the camera. I have my arm around her and I’m looking down at her with the biggest smile. I remember that moment. We were at the lake—we’d spent the day swimming and that evening, I’d asked her out officially.

  pang—pang—pang

  It’s a wave I can’t control. I close the locker and snap the lock shut. I rush to the nearest bathroom and straight into the stall, locking it. I lean my head against the door, eyes and fists squeezed tight. I’m breathing hard, chest pounding. I’m still holding Sheri’s tee-shirt. I try my hardest to keep quiet, inhaling and exhaling, trying to find my composure.

  I want to believe she’s okay, but I can’t explain why I haven’t heard from her.

  When my heart settles a bit, I take out my phone. Several missed texts and messages from my parents. One from Mike. I don’t have time for them. I scroll to Sheri’s name and see the long column of texts from me—and none from her. I type one more:

  Babe, text me back. I’m worried. Where R U?

  Send.

  chapter 16

  I want to punch something. The clock is ticking. The bell will go soon and I need to get back to Sheri’s locker. I suck up my courage and stuff her tee-shirt into the pouch of my hoodie. I take a breath and step out of the stall, checking myself in the mirror before I leave the bathroom—and immediately slam on the brakes.

  Two uniformed officers stand behind a maintenance person with bolt cutters beside Sheri’s locker at the end of the hall. They break the lock and start photographing, removing, and cataloguing every item before ziplocking all of it away.

  Dammit, Gekas, you got here too soon.

  Before they see me, I duck downstairs and leg it to the closest back door. The last thing I need is to be found lurking around my missing girlfriend’s school. No point in further confirming my prime suspect status.

  In the car, I toss my phone on the seat beside me and glance at it frequently as I drive, praying that Sheri will get in touch before I get home.

  Dad’s at the window when I pull into the driveway. I haul my ass out of the car, ready for whatever he and Mom have to say. I don’t expect it’ll be fun—I spent the morning talking with a cop about my missing girlfriend and they likely know by now that I ditched school. On top of that, I took the car without permission and didn’t return a single text. This isn’t going to be good.

  I walk in the front door and kick off my shoes. Dad comes around the corner and waves me into the kitchen. I don’t argue. Mom’s there but she’s drinking tea at the counter. Dad takes a seat and fills a cup for me. I don’t think I have a choice. I take a seat on a stool at the island but don’t look up right away; all my attention is on the hot steam rising out of the cup, weaving tiny swirls in the air.

  Until Mom’s voice pulls me back.

  “Anthony.”

  I look up at her.

  “We love you.”

  I keep staring, waiting.

  “Where did you go this afternoon? After the principal and the detective talked to you?”

  I hold a long silence, or at least it feels that way.

  “I went for a drive.”

  “Son…” Dad’s voice is so gentle, it’s like he’s trying not to shake loose the reality that hangs above us like broken glass. I close my eyes, taking a deep breath as he continues, “It’s fine that you took the car, but we wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  Mom leans on the counter across from me—she’s not a very big woman but right now her presence looms. “We’re asking because we want to help you. To keep you safe. To know there are no surprises.”

  I open my eyes, exhaling. “I went… to Sheri’s school.” I swallow. I really don’t want either of them to get angry. “I wanted to see if there was anything in her locker that could help me understand why I haven’t heard from her since her run. It just doesn’t make sense.”

  My chin quivers and I look up at the ceiling, holding onto the tears. “I have this really bad feeling in my gut. I’m trying not to listen to it. I’m trying to believe that everything will be okay, that she’ll turn up in some hospital with amnesia or something—”

  Dad cuts me off. “You went to her school?”

  I nod.

  “Did you find anything?”

  I shake my head and add, “Not before the police showed up.”

  “Did they see you?”

  I know I shouldn’t be angry but I am. “No! No one saw me. But what does it matter? What if someone did see me? Don’t I have the right to find out what happened to her?”

  I can see the strained look on Mom’s face as she fills another cup of tea for herself. It reminds me to drink my own, and I wish for a split second that it was something alcoholic instead. I take a big gulp.

  Dad thumbs the edge of his cup as he speaks. “We ask because you are our priority, Anthony. We want She
ri found, but we also want you to be safe and okay. This is hard on us, but we also know that it’s a thousand times harder on you.”

  I nod slowly.

  “So if we ask something that doesn’t sit well with you, please try to understand why we’re asking.” Dad has an innate ability to settle me down. “So, let’s figure some things out together.”

  In this moment, I know that I’m safe—and that I still feel like a kid in a lot of ways.

  “You went to Sheri’s school to look in her locker?” Dad asks.

  “Yeah. To see if there was some clue to figure out where she went.”

  Mom pipes up, “You know her combination?”

  “Of course, Mom.” I roll my eyes a bit and as soon as I do I feel like an asshole.

  “Did you find anything?”

  “No. I wish I had but there’s nothing. There’s never anything unusual or different with Sheri, ever.”

  Dad leans back, looking up at the corner of the room as he thinks things through while Mom listens intently.

  “Then, I went to the bathroom for a minute.”

  Dad gives me a look, and I can only shake my head and keep trying to explain myself.

  “On the way back, I saw the cops, so I left.” I push my empty teacup to the centre of the counter and Mom takes it.

  “Good choice.” She pours another cup to let me know we aren’t done talking, which is fine by me. I could use my parents right now.

  Dad asks when I saw Sheri last and what she was planning to do the night she went missing. I get it. They want information, and I try to answer them as fully as I can.

  “We’re going to call our lawyer to be safe. We know you didn’t do anything wrong.

  I’m relieved—they sound ready to fight for me.

  “When her parents called last night after you fell asleep, we didn’t think much of it. We suggested they try a couple of her friends.”

  “They called? Why didn’t you wake me?” I’m stunned—I feel like a stack of wooden blocks is threatening to topple over inside me. Every minute counts and the minutes we had last night were lost.