Stockholm

by Leigh Lennon

  “Yes, every day. And she’d be happy that you wouldn’t fall victim as she had,” he said, standing and meeting her gaze, with both hands on her shoulders. “Her abuser stripped her raw, as I see in you.”

  “And how is that? Bring her here, let her tell me herself,” she spit at him.

  “I can’t!” he yelled.

  “Why, because she wouldn’t support you?” she spat his way again.

  “No, because she’s dead!” he yelled, and before she could say another word, he pulled her close to him. Sitting back on the bed with her on his lap, he swiped a piece of hair that covered her face, not taking his eyes off hers.

  Her body wanted to react, but in her almost nineteen years of life, never had two emotions fought so hard against one another.

  “You feel it too, sweetness. No reason to lie to yourself. You can lie to me with words, but your body betrays them.”

  She turned away from him, and he gently moved her to the side. “It’s okay, Mikayla. It’s a lot to take in.” Leaning over, he dropped a kiss on her forehead, then walking to the doorway, he turned slightly and continued, “Breakfast will be ready in thirty minutes.”

  With his absence, she stood in silence, then fell to the floor, and rolled into a ball, salty drops falling from her face as she sobbed uncontrollably.

  Nolan didn’t acknowledge her when she sat down at the table. He stood to grab her plate he’d been keeping warm on the stove. With potholders, he placed the food down in front of her. Turning to give her a cup of coffee, he waited on her hand and foot, making sure she had all she needed and wanted. However, she didn’t want to be grateful to this man for all the things he did. It didn’t justify what he was doing by keeping her hidden.

  After he gave her the coffee mug, he took his book from the table and started to exit the kitchen. He never left her, and it felt odd not to have his company even if she’d just sit there and loathe him through her meal. “You never leave?”

  “Yeah, I know. I just felt you needed time by yourself, that’s all.”

  “Oh, okay,” she replied.

  “Do you want me to stay?” he asked, leaning down behind her, so close she felt his breath on her neck.

  “I want you to make me understand all I forgot that night you took me. I barely remember you, but you know my favorite color, my love for bacon, how I appreciate fresh flowers, and my favorite shampoo.” She stopped herself from saying she did remember how ruggedly handsome he was. That would give him false hope, and this was not something she needed now. “How could I have gotten that deep with you about myself in an hour?”

  “More like three hours.” He stepped aside and pulled out the chair to sit down.

  Tremors coursed through her body. “I spoke with you for three hours, and I don’t remember. How is this possible?”

  “The drugs I used erased your memory. I was surprised you remembered meeting me,” he explained.

  “Evangeline ... did you love her?” she asked, and for the first time since coming to the farm, she wanted to alleviate his pain, and had an overwhelming desire to physically comfort him.

  “Not in that way. Not in the way I feel about you. Evie, she was my best friend. When we turned sixteen, I could tell she had feelings for my brother. Lucas returned those feelings a few years later. It was weird at first for Eve because I’d always been the most important man in her life. It was a struggle with my brother, but we found a way to make it work. Her dad killed her when she was so young. My brother and I lived in a state of bleakness for years. We will never be the same.”

  She reached out for his hand. “Nolan, I’m not Eve. I’m not in a bad relationship.”

  “Bullshit, Mikayla. I saw the bruise on your arm where he grabbed you. He was mad that you were seeing Ethan, shaking you and demanding you break up with him. He seems to need control over women.” Nolan held her hands, pulling her closer to him.

  She replaced the closeness of the touch and affection that was coursing through her body with rage because she had to be mad at him. It was the only way to suppress whatever the hell he was doing to her. “First, you know nothing about him. He’s protective and that is it. Second, you say you care for me, but I will never care for you, so please let me go. I’m sorry, but I need you to know that your delusion of this ending in a happily ever after is just not going to happen.”

  For five minutes, Mikayla clung to the hope that Nolan would change his mind and let her go. He finally said, “I don’t believe for a second, Mikayla, that you feel nothing for me. I can read it throughout your body. Your face flushes when I am near; you feel an odd sense of safety with me knowing you don’t have to act as though all is right with the world. Sure, you are at odds with yourself, but it is then, on the rare occasion you don’t want to kill me or claw my eyes out, I see it all. It’s at those times when you let yourself be real and vulnerable, and fuck, it’s then that I want you to stop fighting yourself and the demons working against us.” Taking her hands in his again, he kissed both, just enough that the electricity between them was as evident as all the fucking snow on the ground. He smiled as he recognized their little connection. Then he was done; no more words needed to accompany the truth he hit her with. Standing up, he walked away, giving her the freedom and the silence she wasn’t sure she wanted.

  Libby

  The days following Mikayla’s disappearance were agonizing as she felt a range of emotions. Every time the phone rang and Libby reached for it, she’d hope in her mother’s heart of hearts that Mikayla would be on the other end of the line, signaling some sort of Morse Code only Libby could decipher. But the days turned into weeks. No longer were the FBI or the local police hanging on every phone call.

  She never experienced physical pain as she had with the disappearance of her daughter. She had heard of this phenomenon before, and sure, raising three kids was stressful, but an emotional pain that struck to the very core felt as real as someone taking their fingernails and digging them into her skin or removing her fingers digit by digit.

  Getting out of bed was more than a chore; she found it nearly impossible. If she could only just stay in bed and sleep, she wouldn’t have to think about the possibility that Mikayla would never be seen again. But when she woke up, she had to live through the agony again as her mind played catch-up to the days she hid from the world.

  Mikayla had simply vanished. She’d been seen on video surveillance entering the library the night she was supposed to meet with Ethan, but she never made it to her car. It was still in the parking lot of the library, a long walk from her dorm.

  Wedding plans had taken over Libby’s life, and Jenna was letting her have full access to it all. In her mind, Jenna had been accommodating because being busy meant that Libby was engaged in life, not wallowing in the loneliness of her child’s absence.

  When she had consulted Jenna about the colors of the wedding, Jenna hesitated. “I’m not sure, Mom. What were you thinking?”

  “It’s your wedding, dear. What are your thoughts?”

  Jenna wanted to say something but hesitated a second time. “I was thinking lavender, but …”

  “Lavender?” Libby asked, curious as this was an odd color for Jenna.

  “I know. If you think it’s too weird, I understand. It’s just that I’m not likely to have my own sister there with me, and I thought that could be one way to incorporate Mikayla into my wedding.”

  Mikayla was a purple fanatic. She wore purple, painted walls purple, made her theme song “Purple People Eater.” Everything about her screamed purple. For her seventeenth birthday, her parents wanted to get her something nice and the seats in her little bug were peeling. She couldn’t find a purple car but somehow talked her parents into upholstering her seats a deep violet. Out of all the shades out there, her favorite was lavender.

  Before she could comment, Jenna said, “I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “No, it’s a great way to honor your sister.” It was the truth, but he
r life revolved around Mikayla’s disappearance. The downtime Libby had to think of her daughter made her stir-crazy. Was she hurt? Was she being held against her will? Was she eating? Her child might not be with her, but that wouldn’t stop the thoughts of the ever-worrying mother.

  Taylor

  Taylor’s mom sat on her bed one night, pleading with Taylor to make up with Phillip. The break up, especially before prom, was a bigger blow to her mother than to herself. “You know, sweetheart. No matter what happens in life, we must pull on our big girl panties and continue. If this was me, your father, or Alyssa, you would still have to live, no matter how hard that is to hear. Yes, you feel some cosmic connection with this Mikayla girl, and it’s scary; I get that. A girl goes missing who is close to your age and resembles you to boot.”

  That last statement stopped her breathing. Was her mom right? Did Mikayla look like her? She stood suddenly and grabbed some of the recent pictures scattered on her desk of Mikayla Miller. Looking at them intently, she realized her mom was right. Mikayla did favor Taylor. Was this the reason she’d been so obsessed with her case? Her breathing picked up as if she was almost hyperventilating.

  “Taylor Michelle? Are you okay?” her mom asked, running a jerky hand through her hair in apprehension.

  She moved Taylor back to her bed and started rubbing her back. “Take slow breaths, honey.” As her breathing stabilized, her mother continued, “That’s good. Now slow breaths, continue. That’s right.”

  As she was able to breathe like a normal human, her mother laid her in bed. “Now, just rest. We will continue this discussion later.” Pulling the boring gray comforter over her body, her mother kissed her and turned out the light on the way out of Taylor’s room.

  12

  Present

  One month after the first letter

  Taylor

  She watched her mother in-law’s world fall apart, and what was worse, Jenna left her there. “I had a front row seat to my mom’s breakdown the first time, and I will be damned if I will watch it again,” Jenna said, leaving with the kids as soon as she’d gotten back from the park. To make matters worse, Blake swooped in to play the alpha of the pack and had mandated that they would stay with his parents, offering the help of Taylor in the morning to keep an eye on Libby. Adam had a doctorate class he couldn’t pawn off on his teacher’s assistant, and Jenna couldn’t miss work because they had hit flu and cold season with a vengeance. All the pharmacists were required to work ten-hour days, and Blake’s schedule with the university athletes was in high demand with basketball in full swing.

  It didn’t matter that Dexter, Emmy, and Anna had worn her to beyond exhaustion at the park the day before. For October weather, it was surprisingly warm, and she had this wonderful plan to let the kids wear themselves out silly since Libby had Jenna’s girls on Wednesdays, and that meant Blake would expect her to watch them too.

  Blake woke her up at six a.m. to fix breakfast, and with all the movement in the house, Dexter was up ready to destroy the world shortly after she got up. Looking around the house, she sat him in front of the television to give her ten minutes to get the bacon and eggs on the skillet, a staple in the Miller house.

  Blake walked down the stairs and straight into the kitchen. She could sense his presence and had his coffee ready. Turning to him, she started to kiss his cheek; though he was demanding and controlling, she still loved him. Flashing him a little smile, she backed away because his downward lips sent shivers up her spine. “Good morning, honey. What is wrong? Is it your mother?”

  “No!” The edge in his voice both startled her and cautioned her to approach him with the utmost care. “What is Dexter doing planted in front of the television? You know how I feel about the boob tube being his babysitter.”

  Oh, that, she thought. “He’s never up this early, and was cranky. We are in a different place, and I didn’t want him whining and waking up your folks.”

  “Taylor, you come up with excuses for everything I ask of you. Last week, it was why we needed to put Dexter in preschool; the week before that, it was why the laundry and ironing weren’t done. This week, it’s the television.”

  She sat down, determined to hold her tears at bay. That was the number one anger boosting accelerant that seemed to set Blake off more than a fire. “I’m up earlier too, honey. I’m exhausted and tired, and if you haven’t noticed, I’m very pregnant. I couldn’t get to bed last night until the dishes were done; I had the kids at the park all day and running after Anna wore me out. I don’t mind doing this for those I love, and I love you and your family, but I need some understanding.”

  He sat down, next to her, and she half thought he was about to apologize. Leaning close to her, she could almost hear the I’m sorry on his lips. Taking her hands, Blake showed his pearly whites, the same smile that had her panties melting in the class he assisted years ago. With a steady tone, he started, “I understand.” He stood and leaned in behind her and whispered, “That you better figure out a way to make this happen, Taylor. I can get Mom to watch the kids, and I’ll make you go back to work. This was our agreement. I make the money; you care for the house.” Squeezing her shoulder just enough as a warning, he sat down in front of her and asked, “Do you understand me?”

  She stood to avoid seeing the arrogant bastard who replaced her husband. “Answer me, Taylor.”

  She turned around and seethed, “You want Dexter out of the den and away from the television, then you go get him.” Returning to her cooking and knowing that the worse he would do at his parents was squeeze her shoulder, she stared aimlessly at the bacon sizzling in the pan. “I’m not something you own, Blake. I’m a person with feelings, and I love you very much, but you can’t treat me like this.”

  He stood so close to her back, Taylor could smell the mint of his toothpaste. “You think you are safe here, Tay?”

  “Stop the threats, Blake. I’m a good wife, and maybe if you got off my ass every occasionally, I wouldn’t be such a letdown.”

  He left the kitchen, and within a minute, he returned with a very mad three-year-old and plopped him in the high chair that his mom left out for the grandkids. Grabbing his keys and wallet, he turned to Taylor. “This is not over. I’ll see you tonight, and I’ll take care of this, you can bet on it.”

  Taylor collapsed in the kitchen chair. “Mommy, I want Clifford.”

  She caressed Dexter’s curly brown hair and wiped his tears from his eyes. “I know. I do too, buddy.” She picked him up, turned off the stove, and took him to the living room, turning on Clifford while she sat down on the couch, snuggling with him, content in that for the time being.

  Colette

  David sat on the bed of their hotel room early in the morning, watching his wife straighten her skirt around her narrow waist. In all the years, when they were together, David was always near Colette. Scrubbing his face, he worried about what they were about to embark on. She turned around, taking his hands in hers.

  “Cole, are you sure about this?”

  Bringing his hands to her chest, she said, “David, you’ll never lose me. You and me, we are real and have been since the day I first saw you.”

  David was haunted by the possible consequences of his actions that could destroy the firm foundation they’d worked hard to build in the twelve years they’d been together.

  “But I think this is our best shot. She’s our best shot. If anyone knows what I escaped from all those years ago, it’s her.”

  David grabbed his wife’s hand. “In another life, Cole, we would be normal without this secret.”

  “Babe, I’m not sure I’d want another life.” Those were words she told him so often—that he did the right thing all those years ago. “Anyway, in another life, you wouldn’t have had to come in and save me from a man who should have protected me.”

  A few hours later, they pulled onto the street where she’d learned to ride a bike and skinned her knee on the pavement. It was sunny, and Colette could get away with l
arge glasses to disguise her. Her hair was a dark auburn, and she’d gotten her cheeks lifted shortly after she decided to stay with David in Canada. Maybe the only ones who could really identify her were her family, and even then, Colette was convinced that possibly only her mom could pick her out, and only if the situation was perfect.

  She knew as a mother herself that the bond between mother and child was too great, but still, it had been twelve years and so much had changed. Colette thought of Mikayla as an old friend who moved away and lost touch. She’d never describe Mikayla as her old self. She had always existed somewhere within Mikayla before David unlocked that part of her; freeing her from the pain she’d endured for years. Colette was the woman today that the girl in Mikayla had made her, and for this one fact, she’d always be eternally grateful.

  Her breathing was steady until she took in the house that she had known as her home for so long. “Cole, honey, take a breath. It’s okay.” David’s hand brushed her knee, and with his tender touch, she could breathe again.

  She didn’t know she was crying until her cheeks became wet. “I have such good memories here.” She paused and wiped away her tears. “And I have some really bad memories here too.”

  “Let’s focus on the good ones, Cole. Okay?” he said, taking her hand and kissing it.

  They drove by the house and didn’t see anything unusual. There were no police cars. After circling the block, they parked five houses down under a large tree that offered a source of camouflage for them. “We won’t stay long, Cole. Just ten minutes. We don’t want to attract attention.”

  “I know.” A minivan drove up the driveway, and she looked on as a tall, slender blonde exited the van with a kid on both hips. “Jenna,” Colette said. “I can’t believe it. She hasn’t changed in twelve years.”