by A. M. Taylor
Forget Me Not
A. M. TAYLOR
A division of HarperCollinsPublishers
www.harpercollins.co.uk
Copyright
KillerReads
an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2018
Copyright © Annie Taylor 2018
Cover design by Holly Macdonald © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018
Cover photographs © Shutterstock.com
Annie Taylor asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Ebook Edition © October 2018 ISBN: 9780008312916
Version: 2018-08-20
Dedication
For Ruthie (big sister, best cheerleader, and all-round super woman)
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Acknowledgements
About the Author
About the Publisher
CHAPTER ONE
Madison Journal
Ten Years Gone: Family Mourns Missing Daughter
By Angela Cairney
January 7, 2018
Ten years ago, the family and friends of Nora Altman woke up to find themselves living in a nightmare. Tomorrow marks the anniversary of her disappearance when the 17-year-old’s car was found abandoned by the side of Old Highway 51 on the road between Forest View, WI, and nearby Stokely in the early hours of January 8, 2008. The car was locked, with no sign of a struggle; the only indication that anything was wrong with the car was the empty tank of gas that had presumably halted the teen’s drive.
The case has long since gone cold, and the local police department have been criticized both by members of the community and Nora’s family for not acting quickly enough when she was first reported missing. But Chief of Waterstone Police Department Patrick Moody claims he hasn’t given up. “We’re always on the lookout for anything relating to Nora’s disappearance. This is the kind of case that defines your whole career, but its impact has been much more far-reaching than that. It’s affected the whole community and I feel the full weight of that responsibility daily. Even now.”
Three years after the teen first went missing, her father, Jonathan Altman, almost launched a civil suit against the Waterstone Police Department. “There are no hard feelings,” Moody said, “he was just doing everything he had to do to find out what happened to his daughter. As a father, I would have done the same.”
Chief Moody was planning on joining the family and close friends of Nora today to mark the ten-year anniversary of her disappearance. “We’ve done it almost every year since Nora went missing. It’s good to get together and remember her, and also to remind ourselves that there’s still work to do.”
For the family, though, the nightmare still goes on. “We’ll never have closure,” Nora’s younger sister Noelle said. Only 7 when Nora went missing, Noelle regrets not having had a big sister to grow up with and guide her along the way. “My brother Nate tries his hardest, but it’s not the same. Even though I know I barely really knew her, I still really miss her. I just know she would have been the best big sister.”
CHAPTER TWO
I was dreaming of the sheet of glass again.
I was carrying this huge plate of glass that was beginning to crack, tiny spider webs of distortion spreading fast, and as it did the pane shifted in my heavy arms and slipped from my grasp. I woke just as it should have been shattering into a million pieces on the floor below me. I carried that great big sheet of glass everywhere I went, my arms straining with the effort, my forehead shining with sweat, the glass itself slowly, slowly cracking as I shifted it slightly from hand to hand, arm to arm. It was exhausting and debilitating, cumbersome and controlling and, I thought, so, so obvious to everyone I met that I was struggling. People recognized the struggle of course, just as I knew they would, gave it a name, and either pushed it to the back of their minds or worried about it endlessly depending on who they were and what they were to me. They all made the same mistake, though: thinking that pane of glass made me weak. You try carrying something like that around with you wherever you go. You get tired, sure; but you also get strong.
There was nothing particularly special about waking up to that shattering glass. I’d done it a thousand times before and no doubt it would continue to haunt me after; it wasn’t a portent, or an omen, I didn’t have to write about it in my dream journal, or put a black mark in my diary so that in the years to come I’d be able to look back and say “ah yes, the dream. I should have known something terrible was going to happen.” Because there was no way anyone could have known.
Because when the worst has already happened, you don’t expect it to happen again.
But this story doesn’t start with a dream. What story ever does? No, this story starts with Nora.
Nora’s parents had chosen Sunday for the memorial because more people were available. The day was white and gray, the sky thick and heavy even though the snow didn’t come until nightfall. It had been the same on the day Nora disappeared but then that should have hardly come as a surprise. January has a way of making every day look and feel the same, the month lasting forever and then suddenly over. I don’t know why we gathered at the lake house rather than at the Altman home, although I was glad we weren’t huddled around the trees by the side of the road where her abandoned car had been found that morning, so many years ago. Too many impromptu vigils had happened there in the days and weeks following Nora’s disappearance for me to feel anything other than nausea when I drove past. At least the lake held some happy memories, long gone but still just about holding on. So, Nora’s dad, Jonathan, spoke, and then her older brother, Nate, did, and then we all just stood looking at the lake for a while, no one really knowing what to do, what we were expected to do. That’s something I’ve learned over the last ten years; no
one ever tells you what to expect or what’s going to happen next because no one knows. You’re on your own.
I waited for a while, wanting to get Nate on his own, but Leo and Bright were stood with him, their faces pale and maybe even a little drawn but talking to each other as animatedly as you can at a memorial. They were trying to draw Nate into the conversation, trying to coax him out, but wherever he was it wasn’t with them. I had a feeling he hadn’t been with them for a while.
“Hey, Maddie,” Leo said as I approached. “Nice to see you.” Leo had just graduated from the police academy when Nora went missing. Three months on the job and he was investigating the disappearance of his best friend’s little sister. Whenever I saw him back then the image of him in his brand-new uniform would shock me all over again; he looked so young, too young to be in a position of such authority, as though he’d put the uniform on for Halloween and never taken it off.
Bright, or Michael Brightman to give him his full name, was a year older than Nate and Leo; the same age as my older sister, Serena: They’d gone out for a while, in fact, back in high school. He’d had a year longer on the job than Leo, a year or so to prepare for something neither of them could ever have seen coming when they decided they wanted to be cops in the same small town they’d grown up in, where nothing ever seemed to happen. I could still see his face, stark, stretched and stunned, when he told me they’d found Nora’s car but that there was no sign of Nora.
“Nice to see you too,” I said, leaning in for awkward hugs with both Leo and Bright before stopping at Nate whose eyes were turned towards the lake, or where the lake would have been if it weren’t blanketed with snow. I had lain my hand on Nate’s arm in an attempt to get his attention, and he finally turned towards me.
“Hey, Mads. Good of you to come,” he said, his voice scratching the cold air around us.
I looked at him, trying to make sense of what he was saying before just nodding my head slowly and saying: “I wouldn’t miss it.”
Nate sucked in a breath, still not really looking at me, and I turned back to Bright and Leo, the latter of whom met my gaze and shrugged. “Can you guys give us a minute?” I asked, the two of them sharing a look before wandering off towards the lake house without another word.
“How’re you doing, Nate?” I asked.
Nate shoved his hands into his pockets and turned towards me with a sigh. “I don’t know, Mads. How do you think I’m doing?” He was facing me but not meeting my eyes, his gaze wandering across the snowy landscape, taking in the fractured group of people who had gathered to remember Nora.
His younger sister and brother, Noelle, and Noah, were walking together towards the house, looking for warmth; his aunt stood with her arm around his mom as she quietly cried. My oldest friend, Ange, was talking to Bright and Leo now, while our parents stood in a small knot, joined by Nate’s dad, Jonathan, and the Winters family. It was a scene familiar to me, too familiar, and I wondered if that was what Nate was thinking too: How many times had we done this, how many times had we stood here, if not exactly in this precise spot, then one very much like it, thinking about Nora, remembering her, trying to keep her with us even while she was taken further and further away from us?
Ten years. I tried to take it in and couldn’t. Ten years was a lifetime, an entire decade. What was there to say about an entire decade that, for the most part, had been marked only by absence? For some people if there’s something missing, if there’s a hole in their life, they fill it; I tend to fall down it.
“How’s work?” I asked, searching his face, desperate for something, anything. “How’s Texas?” Nate had moved to Austin almost four years earlier, and I’d barely seen him, barely spoken to him since, the distance between us so much bigger, so much wider than those thousands of miles.
Nate took another long breath, looked like he was readying himself for something and ran a gloved hand over his face before batting my question away. “Texas is fine, work is fine.”
“Wow, that’s really illuminating stuff, thanks, Nate.” I wanted to smooth out the edges of my words but, for some reason, even that day, I couldn’t. They were sharp and cold, like the weather, like the day.
“That’s all I have for you right now. How about you? You want to tell me all about your great, interesting life?” Sarcasm shaded his voice, adding an unfamiliar arch to it, and he was looking right at me then, his eyes dark and hard, like a dare. I shrugged off his question, trying to pretend it slid right off my back, and he decided that he’d made his point. “See, that’s what I thought. Good to see you, Mads, be sure to have a slice of the coffee cake before you go.”
And then he was walking away from me, hands deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched.
Nate and I used to be able to communicate with each other even through silence. Despite it, because of it, whichever way you want to look at it, neither of us had the words available to talk about Nora and that was how we communicated, through the understanding that she was there, always, in every word we said and every word we didn’t, every word we couldn’t. But it had been years since that was the case and, by then, whenever we saw each other, whenever we spoke, the silences in between had no give to them. They felt like gaps, misunderstandings, another hole to fall down, another hole to be filled.
I didn’t have any cake. I’d long stopped eating at those kinds of things. The food was a necessary distraction, it gave your hands something to do while you tried to figure out exactly what it was you were meant to be doing, but I could never take a bite, my stomach twisting and turning, my throat closing up as soon as I raised anything to my lips. Inevitably I just ended up carrying a loaded plate of food around before finding somewhere to stash it. No one stayed too long that time though. No one wanted to. We’d had ten years of these things after all, and were just marking time now. When she first went missing, even in the year or two after, there was still something close to hope at the vigils and memorials but, after ten years, that was just a way of saying look at how much time has passed, look at how we’re still thinking of you. Nora was gone, and it was simply something we had to do to remind ourselves that we were still here.
Eventually I followed Nate and the rest of the party into the lake house where everyone had decamped to. I would have preferred to have left without even a goodbye, but my parents had attempted to raise me better than that, and besides, they’d driven me there. I helped myself to a coffee in the small kitchen, wishing it was a little later in the day, wishing there was wine instead, or better yet, vodka, but grateful for the pocket of extra time it gave me away from everyone. The cabin was small, just one large room with a utility room off the kitchen, the front door opening onto the living room, and even though there weren’t that many of us, it was still too many. I clutched at my coffee cup, waiting for my hands to warm up, waiting for the crushing feeling inside my chest to ease up.
Noelle was sat on the arm of one of the couches, picking at a thread that was coming loose on the sleeve of her sweater. Ten years younger that Nora, she’d turned seventeen just a few months earlier, the same age Nora had been when she went missing. I stared at her, looking instinctively, automatically, for the similarities between the two of them as I always did when I saw Elle. I didn’t have to look for long. Her hair was lighter, and she wore it longer than Nora had, and her eyes were the same brown as Nate’s rather than Nora’s arctic blue, but Nora was there still. They had the same mouth and jawline, the same shaped eyes and long neck. I knew that when Elle stood up she’d be almost as tall as Nora was, but for now Leo was leaning over her, talking intently as Elle refused to meet his eye. I joined them with my coffee, maneuvering carefully around Nate as I did so, neither of us saying a word.
“Maddie,” Elle said, her eyes meeting mine, looking grateful, I thought, or maybe even a little pleased.
“Hey, you. How you doing?”
We hugged and her body felt small in my arms even as she pulled quickly away.
“Oh, you know. Not
great.”
I don’t why I kept asking people how they were, to be honest. I hated that question even on a good day, let alone that day.
I nodded and slid my gaze towards Leo, who raised his eyebrows at me and asked: “How long are you in town for, Mads?”
“I have to get back tomorrow.”
“How you finding being back in Madison? You’re doing a PhD, right?”
Yet another question I dreaded even more than “how are you doing?”
I coughed through my coffee and shook my head. “No. I quit, actually. A while ago. I’m working in the communications department now. At the university.”
“Oh. How’s that going?”
“It’s fine. It has its moments.”
“Sure,” Leo said nodding, polite, polite, “well, it’s a job, right?”
I looked at him, trying to decipher his words but he just smiled, nice and easy, his face wide open.
“They all have their moments. Last call out we got was to save Mr. Hetherington from himself. He’d locked himself out of his house and decided it was best to just sleep off whatever he’d drunk in his car, but the neighbors were worried about him, so they called us. Probably almost died of hypothermia, but what are you gonna do, that’s the job, right?”
It would have been too generous to describe Hetherington as the town drunk. He was simply a guy who got drunk and happened to live in town. I wondered at what Leo was complaining about though. You become a cop in a small town, and what else do you expect from life except fishing drunks out of ditches and pushing cars out of snow drifts? Apart from a former classmate who’d been missing for ten years, of course. It took me a while to realize that he was throwing me a tentative bone. I wasn’t where I’d expected to be in my life, but there had been days, hell, there had been months and years, where getting to even where I was then would have looked like something close to a miracle. And when it came down to it, none of us were really where we had expected to be.