by Terri Reid
A brittle mocking laugh echoed in the quiet room.
Rosie sat up in bed, ripping the mask off her face. Frantically she reached for her bedside lamp and, with shaking hands, turned it on. Light flooded into the room and she scanned the area wildly. Taking deep calming breaths, she realized nothing was out of place. Her room looked the same way it had just minutes ago when she had gone to sleep.
“I must have been dreaming,” she said aloud, shaking her head. “I just scared myself.”
She began to reach for her mask when she saw the closet door was open.
“I thought I...,” her last words caught in her throat as she looked down. Her mask lay in the middle of an imprint of a body made by someone else lying in her bed.
Chapter Seven
“Your wife was murdered and your baby daughter was given up for adoption?” Katie asked, her eyes wide with horror after Bradley explained the circumstances behind Jeannine’s death. “How did you ever go on with your life?”
Bradley sat back in his chair. “Well, it wasn’t until recently that I learned what actually happened to Jeannine and my daughter,” he explained. “Mary was able to help Jeannine’s ghost remember what happened and we were able to finally catch the man who kidnapped her.”
Mary nodded. “We just discovered that his daughter was given up for adoption to a couple in Freeport,” Mary said. “But the records are still sealed, so we haven’t been able to discover anything else about her.”
Katie chuckled. “You must have thought it ironic when I told you Maggie was adopted.”
Mary and Bradley glanced at each other, neither saying a word. Finally, Ian replied with a nervous laugh of his own, “Oh, aye, it was quite ironic.”
“Wait...” Clifford said, eying the three of them. “You thought Maggie was Bradley’s daughter, didn’t you?”
Clearing his throat, Bradley nodded. “Yes, Clifford, for a little while we thought she might be my daughter.”
“But...but...why didn’t you come to us? Ask us?” Katie asked.
“Actually, that was our first impulse,” Mary explained. “It seemed so logical. Not only was she adopted, but Maggie admitted to us that she’d seen a ghost; a sad lady named Jeannine.”
Katie covered her hand with her mouth. “Jeannine…Bradley’s wife?” Katie finally asked. “Maggie had seen her?”
Nodding, Mary turned to Katie. “Yes, she had. And we thought, eight years old, a little girl, adopted, in Freeport and she talked about a sad lady, a ghost, coming to see her. What were the odds?”
“And you considered talking to us?” Clifford repeated.
“Aye, we did,” Ian interrupted. “But because we were still working with the judge in Chicago to open the files, we didn’t think it would be fair to suggest it without proof. We didn’t want all of us living in this limbo together.”
“And, quite frankly, we didn’t want to hurt any of you,” Bradley added. “The very reason Maggie is so adorable and bright is because of the way you raised her. You are her parents, no matter what the file might have shown. Your boys are her brothers.”
He paused and ran his hand through his hair. “I was actually relieved when we found out that she wasn’t the one.”
“Wait, what? When did you find that out?” Clifford asked.
“Actually, this afternoon at the wedding,” Mary replied. “Maggie explained to me that Jeannine, Bradley’s wife, only visited her in order to have her relay messages to her friend, Clarissa.”
Nodding, Katie sat back in her chair. “Of course, the ‘doption girls,” she said. “They were always together, and I do recall Maggie telling Clarissa something the sad lady said. I had no idea that she was her birth mother.”
“Now listen,” Clifford said. “Becca, Clarissa’s mother, has been through enough these past few years. She doesn’t need you rushing in and trying to take her daughter from her. She’s already had someone try and do that.”
“What?” Bradley asked, nearly jumping out of his chair.
Katie shrugged. “There was a man who called them insisting he was the birth father and he wanted Clarissa back. It happened just before Henry, Becca’s husband, died.”
“Do you happen to know the name of the man who was trying to get Clarissa?” Ian asked.
Katie shrugged. “No one really, he was a dentist...”
“Do you really think this is relevant?” Clifford asked. “Don’t you think…”
“Aye, the man who kidnapped and raped Bradley’s wife was a dentist,” Ian interrupted. “And as we were working to solve Jeannine’s murder, he kidnapped Mary and tried to do the same to her. Don’t you think Becca would be better off having someone to lean on, someone to help her?”
Clifford stood up, paced away from the table and then turned back. “Are you telling me there really was a threat to that family? We all thought....”
“Thought what?” Bradley asked.
Clifford sighed. “We thought Becca had made it all up. That she didn’t want to acknowledge her husband died in a car accident, falling asleep at the wheel of his car...”
“Wait, what did Becca say?” Mary asked.
“She said that Henry, her husband, had taken the morning off to drive to Sycamore and meet with the dentist who had been calling them, demanding the custody of Clarissa,” Clifford said. “Henry knew that it was causing Becca a great deal of stress and...”
“And she had been very sick for a long time,” Katie finished. “One of the things the dentist had said was he felt he could take care of Clarissa better than they could. Becca was sure he knew about her illness.”
“So did Henry go to Sycamore?” Mary asked.
Katie nodded. “Yes, and on the way home he must have fallen asleep at the wheel,” she explained. “He drove into the median and hit a cement pylon head-on. They said he was killed instantly.”
“Did they check his system for drugs?” Bradley asked.
“Hey, Henry was a good guy,” Clifford asserted. “He didn’t use drugs.”
“No, no, not that way,” Mary explained. “Gary Copper, the dentist, was known for drugging people. He would often lace their drinks with drugs that would knock them out. He could have drugged Henry.”
Katie clapped her hand over her mouth. “So she wasn’t imagining it,” she said. “He really could have been murdered.”
“More than likely,” Ian said. “Did they do an autopsy?”
Clifford shook his head. “We don’t know,” he said. “Becca disappeared with Clarissa the next day. Emptied out her checking account and drove away, leaving her house and belongings. She was sure that dentist, Gary Copper, was coming for them.”
“When did all of this happen?” Mary asked.
“Almost a year ago,” Katie replied, “late last spring.”
“Do you have any idea where they might have gone?” Bradley asked. “Did she give you any clue?”
“She said she was going back home, so she could get lost in the crowds,” Katie said. “She was from Chicago.”
“Did she have any family there?” Bradley asked.
“No, they just had each other,” Katie replied, shaking her head. “I remember her saying that. They just had each other.”
Chapter Eight
Clarissa awoke to the sun shining through her bedroom window. She slowly stretched her arms up over her head, then pushed the blankets down and hopped out of bed. The wood floor was cold on her bare feet as she crossed the room and opened her door.
The living room was also bathed in sunlight. Sun shone through the windows onto her mother who was still sleeping on the old couch. Clarissa tip-toed over and sighed with silent relief to hear the gentle breathing of a normal sleep. She glanced at the clock on the table next to the couch. It was 7:30. Her mother must be working the late shift today or she would already be up and getting dressed.
She padded down the hall to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door. Other than a small jar of grape jelly, another jar of peanut b
utter and some small packets of condiments from fast food places, white Styrofoam boxes lined the shelves.
“Let’s see what mommy brought home last night,” Clarissa whispered.
She opened a box that held the remainder of the special of the day, spaghetti and meatballs. Another box contained macaroni and cheese, and still another contained fat congealed pot roast and vegetables.
“Gross,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Didn’t you bring home anything for breakfast?”
The last container held some rolls, a pile of bacon and two slices of cherry pie. “Yes,” she whispered, “pie for breakfast!”
Climbing up on a chair, she retrieved two plastic plates from the cabinet. She put the bacon on one plate and put it into the old microwave on the counter. Pressing the “HIGH” button for 10 seconds, she let the microwave work while she made a breakfast plate for her mother. Breaking open a roll, she emptied a container of mayonnaise and ketchup onto it. Once the bacon was reheated, she broke it into roll sized pieces and placed them on the roll. “BLT’s just the way Mom likes them,” she said.
She slid the bigger piece of pie onto her mother’s plate and, with a fork and napkin in hand, carried breakfast into her mother.
Becca lay on the couch, her eyes open, her body aching, trying to get the strength to get out of bed. She had run out of theophylline, her medicine, two days earlier and she felt as if her lungs were closing up on her. If she was going to keep working she had to get more medicine. She slowly inhaled, trying to fill her damaged lungs as full as possible, and then exhaled, wincing at the pain. She started to inhale again when she heard Clarissa coming down the hallway. She took a quick gasp of air, pasted a smile on her face and turned towards her daughter.
“Oh, my, what has Chef Clarissa prepared for us this morning?” she asked brightly, though her words came out in a weak wheeze.
Clarissa smiled, pretending she didn’t notice the weakness. “I made you BLT’s just the way you like them,” she said, putting the plate on the table next to the couch. “And there’s delicious cherry pie for dessert. But you have to eat your breakfast first.”
“Since when do we have dessert with breakfast?” Becca asked.
“Since today,” Clarissa answered. “Because it’s a sunny day and it’s Sunday. Do you have to go to work today, Mommy?”
Becca nodded. “Yes, but not until this afternoon,” she said, reaching for the sandwich and taking a small bite. “This is just delicious, sweetheart.”
“It’s ‘cause I’m a chef,” Clarissa said, then her smile left her face and she sighed. “Do I have to go to Mrs. Gunderson’s house today?”
Becca lifted her hand and stroked Clarissa’s cheek. “Yes, sweetheart, I’m afraid you do,” she replied. “But what if we go to the nursing home and talk to the grandmas and grandpas this morning first?”
“But, the last time we went there, you got sick,” Clarissa said.
Becca closed her eyes for a moment; she hated to see that worried look in her little girl’s eyes. She opened her eyes and turned back to Clarissa. “I wasn’t sick,” she said. “I was just a little dizzy. Sometimes the smells at the Nursing Home make me feel that way. It will probably happen again, but don’t worry. You just keep singing to them and I’ll find a bathroom and be back with you in a few minutes.”
“Really?” Clarissa asked.
“Really,” Becca replied. “Now, get your breakfast so we can get over to the Nursing Home before it’s too late.”
###
Forty minutes later they had walked the four blocks to the inner city Nursing Home and were signing their names at the reception desk.
“Good morning, Clarissa,” Goldie, the receptionist, greeted them with a friendly smile. “Are you going to sing to us again today?”
Clarissa nodded. “Is that okay if I sing to the grandmas and grandpas?” she asked. “Are they awake today?”
Goldie laughed. “Well, some of them is and some of them ain’t,” she said. “But they all love a good show and they doubly love cute little girls.”
Clarissa liked the sound her shoes made against the hard linoleum floor, “click, click, clack.” She stomped her feet harder to make the noise louder.
“Shhh, Clarissa,” Becca said. “There are some people who are still asleep here.”
Instantly remorseful, Clarissa began to tiptoe. “Sorry, Mom, I forgot.”
Becca smiled down at her daughter. “I like the sounds your shoes make too,” she whispered. “Maybe we can go to a museum some day and then your shoes can echo even louder.”
“Really?” Clarissa asked, excitement sparkling in her eyes. “When?”
Becca’s smile lessened for a moment. “Well, soon, I hope,” she replied, reaching over and patting her daughter on her head. “Very soon.”
“Can angels hear shoes?”
Her mother stopped walking and looked down at her. “Why I imagine they could,” she said. “Especially loud ones like yours.”
Clarissa giggled. “Then we should go to a museum soon,” she announced. “So daddy can hear my shoes.”
Sudden tears formed in Becca’s eyes and she quickly wiped them away. “Yes. Yes we should,” she replied, “because Daddy always liked your loud noises.”
Nodding, Clarissa glanced down at her shoes. “And he never got to see these shoes, did he? ‘Cause we got these at our special store.”
Becca nodded, remembering the bags of clothes and shoes they purchased for only a dollar at the thrift store three blocks away from their home. They had been lucky enough to find quite a few items that fit Clarissa perfectly, although they were worn and some needed to be mended. She wondered again if she’d done the right thing. She hadn’t given their real names to anyone. She was working for less than minimum wage in order to work without a Social Security number. She couldn’t apply for welfare, because she didn’t want anyone to be able to track them down. And, worst of all, she couldn’t go to a free clinic to get her prescriptions because she was afraid Gary Copper knew about her disease and would somehow be able to trace her medical information and find them. She sighed, took Clarissa’s hand, and together they walked down the hall toward the recreation room where dozens of elderly patients sat in chairs or wheelchairs.
She sent up a little prayer for forgiveness before they went through the large double doors and then smiled down at Clarissa and they both went inside.
Joyce, the Activity Director, a large woman with a warm and friendly smile, crossed the room to greet them.
“Hello, it’s so nice of you to visit us again,” she said. “Now help me remember your names again.”
Clarissa smiled up at her. “I’m Clarissa…,” she paused, making sure to remember their new last name, “Newman and this is my mom, Becca Newman.”
“Wow, aren’t you a smart young lady,” Joyce replied. “I don’t know if I mentioned this last time you came, but ten o’clock is the time we have to give all of our patients their medicine. So, it’s a little crazy here.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Becca said. “I believe you might have said that. Are we in the way? Could Clarissa still sing to some of the residents?”
Joyce nodded. “Oh, of course,” she said. “We just won’t be able to help you very much. We’re all needed to distribute the meds.”
“Well, if we need you, I’ll just poke my head out and find someone,” Becca said. “Come on, Clarissa, let’s have you stand over there by the aquarium.”
Becca guided Clarissa over to a group of residents sitting near a large tropical aquarium.
“Are you my granddaughter?” an elderly woman in a wheelchair asked Clarissa.
“No,” she responded, shaking her head. “But I don’t have a grandma, so we could pretend.”
The woman cackled with delight. “I’d like that just fine. You can call me Mami Nadja, that’s Grandma Nadja from where I come from.”
“Mami Nadja,” Clarissa repeated.
“Very good,” Mami replied. “So,
what are you doing here with all us old people?”
“I came to sing to you,” Clarissa said. “Is that okay?”
“What did you say?” a white-haired man lying in a recliner asked.
“She’s going to sing to us, Charlie,” Mami yelled. “Pay attention.”
“I don’t sing very well, but I could try,” Charlie replied.
“Charlie, turn up your hearing aids,” she yelled in response.
“They is turned up,” Charlie yelled back. “They just ain’t in my ears.”
Mami rolled her eyes and winked at Clarissa, she giggled in response.
“Well, for goodness sake, man, stick them in your ears,” she said.
Charlie positioned his hearing aids in his ears and turned to Clarissa. “Now, what did you say you were going to do?” he asked.
Her smile widened. “I’m going to sing to you,” she said. “I learned lots of songs in school and from listening to the radio. Can I sing to you now?”
“Well, certainly, you go right ahead,” Charlie encouraged.
Becca bent down and whispered into Clarissa ear. “You go ahead and start, sweetheart. I have to find a bathroom, but I’ll be right back.”
Becca let herself out of the door in the back of the recreation room, the door that led to the residents’ rooms. She walked purposely, as if she belonged there and was just visiting a family member. She greeted those passing by with a friendly nod, although her heart was hammering in her ears.
Knowing it was not uncommon for family members to visit the home on Sunday, Becca has purposely chosen Sunday to allow Clarissa to sing. She wanted a day with enough activity to hide the real purpose of her visit, because she knew if she was caught she could be sent to jail.
She came to the first hallway and cautiously examined the corridor. Halfway down was an unsupervised medicine trolley; the nurse was probably in a nearby room with a patient. Becca hurried down the hall, peeking into the rooms to try and find the nurse. She approached the cart before she found the nurse and quickly glanced at the containers, looking for the familiar orange hue of the theophylline. After a cursory examination, she realized her much needed pills were not on this cart.