by R. T. Lowe
“I didn’t allow anything to happen,” Bill said stiffly through his teeth. He breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth, trying to remain calm.
“No? Then pray tell where the boy may be.”
“I’m sure he’s at his grandmother’s place.” Bill kept his voice steady only with tremendous effort. “He has nowhere else to go.”
“His grandmother’s place?” His dad paused for a beat. “Oh. The cottage in that little coastal town near Washington?”
“Yes. Cove Rock.”
“Well then goddammit, if you know where he is, why aren’t you in your car?”
“Do you really think he’ll want to see me right now after what just happened? He’s as likely to kill me as he is to talk.”
His dad didn’t have an immediate response to that. He cleared his throat with a phlegmy, grinding half cough—like a chainsaw on the first pull of the cord—that required Bill to expend every last ounce of restraint not to end the call. This was how his dad bought time when he didn’t know the answer to something. It was just one of his annoying habits.
Bill sat in silence, leaning back in his chair, staring at the phone, waiting for his dad to speak.
“I’m sure you’re right,” his dad said after a long while. “So what’s your plan?”
“I’ll have Allison get him.”
“Another teenager?” his dad replied with contempt in his voice. “Is that a good idea?”
“Do you have a better one? She’s the only one who knows what Felix is. And he trusts her. He trusts her more than anyone. Nobody else can bring him back.”
“When will you tell her?” his dad asked.
“I think Felix is going to need some time by himself. I’ll give him two or three days, then I’ll talk to Allison.”
“I’d give him four.”
“Fine.” Bill sighed soundlessly at his dad’s incorrigible contrarianism, another of his charming traits. “Four days it is then. I’ll wait until Friday.”
“And William, one other thing before I go back to bed: We can’t lose this war because of your ill-conceived therapy session. Bring the boy back. Let me know when you do.”
Chapter 54
Missing
“Have you seen him?” Harper burst out as soon as Allison sat down at the table.
Allison had gone out for an early run and studied through breakfast. The time had slipped away from her and now she was late for lunch. Harper, Lucas and Caitlin must have arrived much earlier because they didn’t have a lot left on their plates. Allison’s stomach was rumbling and the turkey sandwich on her tray was making her mouth water. Starvation felt like a distinct possibility. “Who?” she asked, removing the toothpicks from the top slice of bread.
The cafeteria was busier than usual, the air full of manic conversation and the clatter of knives and forks on sturdy bulk-purchased tableware. The rain had finally stopped and pale sunshine poured in through the tall windows, bathing the table in warm streaming light.
“Felix,” Harper answered.
“Uh-uh.” Allison shook her head and took the sandwich in both hands, sizing it up for the first bite. She was too focused on her lunch to notice the concern in Harper’s voice, but she felt Harper’s eyes following her movements so she glanced sideways at her, mouth open, and saw the expression Harper was wearing on her face. She nearly dropped the sandwich.
“What do you mean have I seen him?” Allison said to Harper, her stomach turning.
“He wasn’t in our room when we got back from Woodrow’s,” Lucas somehow managed to garble out while chewing on a mouthful of cheeseburger.
“Where is he?” Allison asked.
“We don’t know,” Harper said bluntly. “That’s why I asked you.”
“Oh.” No longer hungry, Allison placed the sandwich on her plate. “But we didn’t get back until like four in the morning, right?”
Lucas yawned and nodded. He was tired. They all were. Sleep reservoirs were severely depleted, drying up from the sweltering pressure of finals week.
“I haven’t seen him since Dirk’s press conference,” Allison said.
“Same,” Lucas mumbled. Then he set about demolishing the rest of his burger and fries.
“So um… who saw him last?” Allison felt a spurt of anxiousness creeping up her throat, but tried not to show it.
“Me,” Harper said. “I think. Right before I met up with you guys at Woodrow’s. That was around what? Six?”
Caitlin nodded, picking at some sliced carrots and apples she’d segregated to one side of her plate.
Allison turned to Harper. “Did he say anything to you? Was he going somewhere?”
“He told me he had to meet with his parents’ attorney. Something about their insurance. He was going downtown.”
“Insurance?” Allison said, her voice rising in surprise. “That was all settled months ago. Back before school started.”
Harper’s face flushed and her teeth clenched, then she looked down at her plate.
“Maybe he just went home?” Caitlin suggested, watching Harper from across the table with a look of concern. “He finished his finals yesterday, didn’t he?”
“He doesn’t have a home,” Lucas reminded her. “But I think he’s still on campus. All his shit’s still in our room. Clothes. Bathroom stuff. You can say what you want about dudes and questionable hygiene, but we never travel without a toothbrush.”
“Anyone text him?” Allison asked, as calmly as possible.
Harper nodded, still staring at her plate.
“And you didn’t hear anything?”
“Obviously not,” Harper said sharply, looking up to meet Allison’s gaze. “If I had, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“Text me if you hear from him.” Allison stood.
“Where are you going?” Caitlin asked, her eyes moving from Allison to her uneaten sandwich. “Why so worried? He probably just went out partying with his football buddies and passed out somewhere.”
“Probably,” Allison said lightly, and forced a smile as she picked up her tray and backed away from the table. “I’m just going to have a look around. Let me know if you see him.”
Allison set off across campus, trying not to panic. Her friends probably thought she was overreacting. But her friends were oblivious. Only Allison (and Bill) knew that Felix was in constant danger. The Protectors and the Faceman had already tried to kill him (even though Allison still couldn’t remember what had really happened in ‘Martha’s’ back yard). The Faceman was six feet under. But Felix had told her that the Protectors were still out there, just waiting for an opportunity.
Allison checked Felix’s usual haunts—the Caffeine Hut, Woodrow’s Room, the Bryant Center and Satler (the fatassosaurs hadn’t seen him in a few days)—then she went to his secret places, the places she’d followed him to when he wanted to be alone and thought no one was watching him: the little room on the top floor of the Madras Building that looked out onto the stadium and no-man’s-land; the chapel just past the Star Trees—St. Rose—which gave her the chills the moment she stepped inside; the garden to the west of the Student Center hidden behind evergreens and stacked-stone walls and trellises covered in crawling vines where the pathways made their way through clipped grass lawns and beds of finely crushed rock and under ornate archways, all connecting to the center, to a bronze statue of Sacagawea, and the world went silent and still except for the sound of rushing water from the nearby Mill Stream.
Finding Felix on campus was a long shot—probably impossible—if he didn’t want to be found. There were too many places to search, too many places for Felix to hide. And Felix was more familiar with the campus than anyone she knew; not even the Old Campus was off limits to him. So Allison decided on a different approach, something she probably should have done from the beginning: she started looking for his Jeep. She checked the main parking lot, the overflow lots next to the football stadium, and the side streets Felix sometimes used if a spot
opened up near the dorm. No Jeep anywhere. After hours of walking, her feet were beginning to hurt. But at least she’d learned something: No Jeep meant Felix had left campus. But why would he leave without telling anyone where he was going or what he was doing? Why would he leave without taking anything with him? And why did he tell Harper he was meeting with his parents’ lawyer? Why would he lie to her? What was he really doing last night? None of it added up. None of it made sense.
She tried to convince herself that there were other plausible explanations, but she kept coming back to the only conclusion that fit the facts: Something had clearly happened to Felix. Something was wrong. Allison had hit a dead end and she couldn’t do anything more on her own. She knew that there was one person who might have some answers but she was wary of asking for his help. Turning to him for guidance would establish a precedent (and not a good one) and she didn’t want to be in a position of needing to rely on someone she had no confidence in. But Allison was at a loss and out of ideas. So against her better judgment, she sent a text to Bill.
* * *
The next day, early Wednesday morning, she received a text in reply: “Felix is fine. Details to follow. Trust me.”
The text only assuaged some of her fears. Allison didn’t trust Bill. And she didn’t trust that they shared the same definition of ‘fine’. She texted him again, inquiring about the ‘details’.
Silence followed.
So Allison went about her day as best she could. She took two finals (crushed them) and prepared for her remaining exams. She also checked Bill’s office—locked door, lights off, bundle of mail on the floor. She searched for Felix (same places, same result) even though she was certain he wasn’t on campus.
Around her friends she acted as though she wasn’t concerned, but with every passing hour she grew more anxious. Despite her efforts, it soon began to show. And her concern was spreading like a virus. Lucas behaved like a different person: pensive, reserved and thoughtful. Allison found the transformation strange and disturbing. Harper was moodier than usual, snapping at anyone who crossed her path with only the slightest pretense of provocation; no one was immune, not even Caitlin.
* * *
On Thursday, Allison received another text from Bill: “Details coming soon. Please be patient.” She wasn’t feeling very patient. But Bill wasn’t giving her much of a choice.
By this point, no one had seen or heard from Felix in three days. He hadn’t responded to any texts or answered his phone and there was no other way to contact him. Harper was of the firm opinion that something bad had happened to him. She kept bringing up teenage depression, red flags and warning signs. Lucas thought Felix just wanted to be alone, that he was holed up somewhere “decompressing.” Caitlin was on the fence; she wasn’t sure what to think.
And then Lucas did something monumentally stupid: He told Caitlin and Harper about Felix’s nightmares. He thought it would convince them that Felix was just feeling solitary—that he was simply looking for a change of scenery to escape from the awful dreams tormenting his sleep. It didn’t have the intended effect. Harper flew off the handle, accusing Lucas of concealing important information. And Caitlin started siding with her. Now they both believed that Felix was in serious trouble. Allison tried to stay neutral—she just needed to buy some time until Bill provided her with the ‘details’. Late that night, Harper, Lucas and Caitlin came to an important decision. If they didn’t hear from Felix the next day, they would call the police.
* * *
Friday morning, Allison awoke before sunrise and left the dorm while Caitlin was still in bed. Exhausted after finishing her last final the day before, she was in dire need of sleep, but she didn’t want to see Caitlin (or anyone else). She had a strong feeling that her friends wouldn’t actually call the Portland PD until they talked to her. It wasn’t that they needed her permission, but she thought they would want her in the room when they made the call. Because once that call was placed, jaded men and women would scrutinize their ‘bad feelings’ and ‘speculation’ and either dismiss them as overimaginative teenagers with too much time on their hands or escalate their concerns to the scary world of reports, statements, and interviews at the precinct. Everything would get real in a hurry.
Allison waited to hear from Bill, killing time, ignoring the calls and texts from Caitlin and Lucas, wondering what the ‘details’ might be. For dinner, she snuck a sandwich into the library and ate it in Woodrow’s Room. At just after nine o’clock while flipping through a magazine, she received the long awaited text: “He’s in Cove Rock. Come to my office. I’ll give you my car keys.”
She rushed out of the library and called Caitlin to find out where everyone was. They were all in Lucas’s room, and a hot second away from calling the police to report Felix missing. They would have done it already, but they couldn’t decide on who should make the call. Allison told them to stay put and not to do anything until she got there.
As soon as Allison stepped into the room, a sinking feeling crept over her. The space was depressing, and even with the light on, it seemed dark. With all of Felix’s belongings still there, it reminded her of a highway shrine. “I know where he is,” she announced, not mincing words.
They all stood up, gathering around her.
“Is he okay?” Harper asked anxiously.
“I think so,” Allison replied, careful with her words. “He’s at the coast.”
“Did you talk to him?” Lucas asked.
“Yeah,” she lied. “But just for a minute. He just said he’s okay and not to worry.” She made it sound convincing.
“What happened to him?” Harper asked. Her eyes were slightly puffy. “Why’d he leave?”
“I’m not exactly sure,” Allison answered truthfully. “I just think with everything going on, it was just too… just too much for him. Maybe he couldn’t handle it all.” That was her best guess. And she couldn’t tell them anything more than that.
Harper turned her back to Allison and went over to the window.
“I better get going,” Allison told them. “I’ll let you know when I see him.”
“Should we go with you?” Lucas asked her.
Allison shook her head. “I just think he wants to, you know, just keep away from… everything.”
Allison started for the door.
“How are you getting there?” Caitlin asked.
“Huh?” Allison hadn’t expected that. “I’m borrowing a car from… Bill.”
“Who’s Bill?” Lucas asked.
“Just a guy I know. I’ve gotta go.”
Chapter 55
Cove Rock
Cove Rock was dead. Bill’s Range Rover sped through the deserted town in a steady downpour. It was just after midnight and Allison was fighting off sleep, catching herself, for the third time, drifting off. She drove hunched forward over the steering wheel, stereo blasting, singing along to the music, talking to herself and doing whatever else she could think of to stay awake. She’d set the cabin temperature at fifty-six degrees. She would have opened the windows to let the chilly air in, but feared she might drown (and ruin the plush interior of the nicest car she’d ever been in).
The heartache she felt for Felix had kept her awake for the first half hour of the trip. For the next thirty minutes, her seething fury stoked her, keeping her alert: She would never forgive Bill for waiting four days to tell her about the cursed memory, to tell her that Felix had witnessed himself killing his parents. But not even her anger could ward off the enchantress of sleep. The all-nighters studying for finals had taken their toll. She’d never needed a cup of coffee so badly.
The shops and restaurants were all closed for the night. The streets were quiet and empty. This was what Cove Rock was like in December. Tourist season had ended months ago. As she passed the last shop on the main strip—‘Harry’s Hardware & Supplies’—she looked toward the bay, trying to catch a glimpse of the town symbol and namesake, the object that attracted visitors from near and far:
a monolithic pillar of stone jutting 250 feet above the cold Pacific waters like the finger of an ancient god of the ocean. But nothing was illuminated beyond the streetlamps and the security lights ringing the store fronts.
The rain started coming down in torrents. The wipers couldn’t keep up. Allison considered pulling over to wait out the worst of it, but the forecasters were predicting that the storm wouldn’t dissipate until morning. And she was close. So she pushed on despite the limited visibility and her throbbing head. A mile past Harry’s, on the fringes of the town limits, she arrived at a weather-beaten stop sign missing a ‘P’. She remembered it from the last time she was here.
She turned left—toward the ocean—down an unpaved road with DEAD END signs posted on both sides of the narrow lane. Keeping the speed just above an idle, the Range Rover churned its way along the uneven, potholed surface, locking into the established ruts. Water splashed. Gravel crunched and popped under the tires. There were no streetlights here. Set back from the road behind low fences and hedges, the silhouettes of small gray houses stood out. None had their porch lights on.
At the end of the cul-de-sac parked in the driveway of a plain Cape Cod was a Wrangler with big tires and a dark top. She pulled up next to the Jeep and turned off the car. She hesitated, thinking about what she could possibly say to Felix. Nothing really came to mind. With the stereo off, the battering din of the rain grew a few notches, rattling the car and the inside of her skull, making it hard to think. The glass quickly fogged up with moisture. She climbed out. The rain hit her like a fist. The winds carried the salty scent of the ocean and a faint trace of wood smoke from a chimney. She headed for the front door and promptly stepped into a deep puddle of freezing water.
“Shit!” She lifted up her foot in a flamingo pose, struggling to remain balanced as a raging wind blew her back against the car. Before she could find drier ground, the automatic timer expired and the headlights clicked off. She was swimming in darkness, barely able to see the pavement beneath her feet. The rain ran down her forehead and into her eyes. She wondered if having bushier eyebrows might be helpful at a time like this (the sort of thought that comes to you when you’re exhausted and desperate).