Cristina

by Jake Parent

  “I’m not saying he didn’t do it. Like I told you when we spoke before, asking a lot of annoying questions is just what we FBI guys do.”

  “Who else could it be?”

  Long pause.

  “You’re right. There’s not really anyone else, is there?”

  “Do you know something you aren’t telling me? Please don’t hold back if you do. I need to find my baby.”

  This time his response was immediate.

  “No. I’m sorry I said anything. Really, I wish there was more that I could do. But, like I said, I can’t do much besides watch on TV until I get the OK from the powers-that-be. I promise, though, if and when that happens, you’ll be the first to know. OK?”

  “What needs to happen for you guys to get involved?” Cristina asked. “Does my little girl have to die?”

  She was trying not to sound angry. Canfield had daughters, and she wouldn’t have called him if she didn’t think he really cared.

  “No,” he said with patience. “We either need to make the case that the PD isn’t able or willing to do everything they can, or we need to be asked. The second option is a lot easier, and a lot faster. If you can get one of the local brass to put in a formal request, I can be on scene in an hour with the full force of the federal government behind me.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yep, that’s it. But, as you’ve already seen, the people in charge there in Pleasure Point have other interests as well.”

  “Fuck that,” she said. He laughed for the first time she could remember. She added, “I’m going to make it happen.”

  “Good luck. I’ll be standing by.”

  65

  On the ride back to Cristina’s house, Detective Tony opened up about his involvement with the search for Annie Stewart.

  He talked about how frustrating it had been to hear his bosses order all resources put behind the search, only to have them simultaneously undermine that effort by downplaying the severity of the case to the public. He added that there had been multiple pieces of evidence the investigative team was ordered not to discuss publicly.

  One was a copy of the New Horizon handbook, which had been found a short distance from where Annie’s body was recovered in the quarry.

  Another was a phone call that came into the station. To Tony himself, in fact. The caller, who used a voice scrambler, went on about how corrupt the world is. How nothing can change until everything does. That kind of thing.

  “Basically all the same garbage found in that handbook.”

  But it was the last thirty seconds of the diatribe that really hit Tony. The caller stopped talking in sentences, and instead kept repeating, in a deadly voice that still haunted him to this day, the same phrase over and over again.

  “The blood of the innocent will wash away our sins.”

  After finishing the recollection, Tony’s tough demeanor was visibly shaken.

  So was Cristina’s.

  He said, “I don’t say all this to scare you. Any more than I’m sure you already are. All I want to do is make the point again that it’s my sincere belief all this playing politics stuff really hurt the investigative team’s ability to do our job. And I want you to know that I’m willing to put my own ass on the line to help make sure that doesn’t happen again.”

  66

  Cristina couldn’t bring herself to eat that night.

  Most of the cops had left. But Casey, Tío Alberto, and Aba were all still there.

  Everyone was exhausted.

  Cristina and Casey had joined the search team once they returned home from the news conference. A few hours past sunset, Casey had to practically drag her back inside so she could get some rest.

  There was still nothing to report.

  Except for Jack’s sighting of Anthony and Anise on the trail, there wasn’t a single clue indicating where they’d gone.

  Cristina tried all evening to get the Mayor or Chief Blunderberg on the phone so she could convince them to ask for the FBI’s assistance. Every time she called, however, they were “in a meeting” or “on a call” or had “just stepped out.”

  Cristina herself stopped answering the phone after the 20th or so reporter called and asked the same set of questions. She hated to be uncooperative, but each of those conversations was a painful reminder of the fact that the only thing she knew for certain was Anise had been fine when Cristina went to bed, and in the morning she was gone.

  That was it.

  That was all.

  Over and over again, she asked herself how Anthony could have made it into the house without them knowing.

  It all made zero sense.

  Casey finally convinced her to try sleeping for a few hours. Cristina had vowed not to do so until Anise was found, but she also knew that she would soon be useless if she didn’t get at least some rest.

  In bed, she tried to apologize for being mean to him earlier in the day. He wouldn’t even let her finish the sentence, instead reassuring her that he would do anything she needed.

  He held her tightly in his strong arms until she drifted off to sleep.

  67

  The unseen force led her from the bedroom, down the stairs, toward the closet door. She crawled on her hands and knees through the small opening in the back wall, into the blazing light, not knowing exactly where she would end up.

  The red cabin in the woods.

  She was alone, except for the old car standing guard in the front yard. It welcomed her with its rusted smile. Dead pine needles crunched softly under her foot, muffling the sound of her steps and making her feel like she was floating.

  The wind started to blow, beginning as a slow breeze and quickly increasing. The air seemed unnaturally cold – an icy chill that penetrated Cristina’s bones, reminding her of winter nights spent sleeping in abandoned buildings.

  Soon, needles and leaves and branches were being thrown about by the swirling wind.

  With hands covering her face, Cristina made her way up the house’s unpainted steps, onto its wooden porch. She stared at the door. It was red, too. Darker than the house itself. The color of dried blood.

  Although she felt fearful of this place, her hand reached toward the door without being called upon. The knob was as cold as the wind. She turned it and pulled.

  Inside, with the door closed, the small living room was silent. The air felt stagnant and damp. A single low-watt bulb burned from the ceiling, casting its yellow glow across a room that was bare except for a cold fireplace and an ancient rocking chair.

  The walls seemed to whisper, though Cristina couldn’t understand their words.

  A pitch-black hallway led away from the front room. She walked toward the darkness. As she came to the edge of the light, a small hand appeared from the black and grabbed her wrist.

  Cristina tried to scream but couldn’t. Her lungs were being squeezed, to the point she could hardly breathe.

  A face emerged from the shadows.

  Annie.

  The little girl looked up at Cristina with her sad, scared eyes. She clutched her stuffed hippo tightly against her chest, while letting go of Cristina’s wrist and bringing a single finger to her lips. Message delivered, the pressure in Cristina’s chest subsided. Annie again reached out, this time taking hold of Cristina’s hand and guiding her forward into the darkness.

  The two walked down the hallway. Cristina felt claustrophobic in the black silence. The walls seemed only a few inches away, like being trapped alive in a coffin. There was an odd sense of relief when the quiet was broken by a scream from somewhere deeper in the house.

  Until Cristina realized it came from Anise.

  68

  “I know where she is,” Cristina gasped as she awoke into a state of full awareness.

  It was just past dawn.

  “What?” Casey asked from next to her, trying to make himself alert. “Where? How?”

  “My dream. I know where she is.”

  Casey blinked several times, but could
n’t find anything to say.

  She told him, “I know you probably think I’m crazy. But when you went to find Jeremy in that abandoned building, I dreamed about it the night before. That’s how I knew where you were going to be. And ever since I moved in here, something has been trying to warn me.”

  She reached toward the nightstand for her phone and found Detective Tony’s contact information. She called.

  “Babe,” Casey said as the phone rang. “I want to find her, too. More than anything. But a dream?”

  “Yes, a dream.”

  The phone continued to ring.

  “Hello?” Tony answered, sounding tired but awake.

  “It’s Cristina.”

  “Yah, I know. Hey, they’ve taken me off the case. Well, put me on desk duty at least. Said I wasn’t handling the witnesses well enough. Can you believe that?”

  She ignored him and said, “I think I know where Anise is.”

  He perked up.

  “What? Where? How?”

  “I’m pretty sure she’s in a red house, somewhere in the mountains. The place has an old car sitting in the front yard. And there are pine needles all over the ground.”

  “And what makes you think that?”

  “A dream.”

  “A dream?”

  “Yes, a dream. Look, I know it sounds crazy. But you said yourself there are lots of places up there. Maybe Anthony rented a house or something and is hiding out until the coast is clear.”

  “Cristina—”

  “—Do you guys have something better?” she snapped, having never been so sure of anything in her life.

  “Well, no. But what I was going to say is that there are probably dozens of houses up in those mountains that look exactly like the one you’re describing. It’s going to take some time.”

  “I’m telling you, she’s there. I know it. I’m going to drive around myself if I have to.”

  “No, it’s not safe. If Anthony’s doing this to get at you, the last thing I want happening is for you to show up there and give him two hostages.”

  He was probably right, and she was glad to hear it sounded like he actually believed her.

  He added, “I can guarantee you the bosses aren’t going to let me put the idea out to the public that there could be a crazed man on the loose somewhere in the mountains above Pleasure Point. Especially not based off of a dream. But I can take your description and drive around myself. See if I can find anything. Would that work for you? Hell, I don’t have anything better to do.”

  “Yes. I’d be very grateful. Casey will go, too.” She looked at him and he nodded. “If he finds something, he’ll call you, OK?”

  “Alright, Cristina. I think we might be wasting our time but—”

  “—We’re not,” she said. “And when you find the place, because you will, I want you to call Jim Canfield from the FBI. He’s ready to help.”

  She gave him the number.

  Then said, “And Tony?”

  “Yah, I’m still here.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You bet. We’re going to get her back, Cristina. I promise.”

  Casey was already getting dressed.

  They went downstairs.

  Tío Alberto told Cristina he needed to take Aba to the doctor.

  “Sorry, mija,” her grandmother said, kissing her on the cheek. “I don’t feel so good. You know I want to find that baby more than anyone. But I gotta get my treatment.”

  “Don’t worry, Aba. I know. And we’re going to find her.”

  For the first time in the past 24 hours, Cristina actually started to believe it.

  69

  Cristina sat alone in the living room.

  The morning was brisk, a cool breeze blowing off the ocean.

  There were no signs of any cops out the big front window.

  They must all be out searching.

  Across the courtyard, she saw Jack sitting on his porch. His body language suggested he still felt awful. She dialed his number and watched him pull the phone from his jacket pocket.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Jack. Want to come by for some coffee and breakfast? I could use the company.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I’m feeling a little whooped, you know. But OK. I think I can trot this bruised body over to enjoy the company of a beautiful woman.”

  They ended the call and she put on a pot of coffee.

  A minute later, he was knocking at the door.

  “You know, you don’t have to knock, Jack,” she said, trying to add some cheer to his dejected face. “You’re pretty much family after what you did.”

  He waved off the compliment as she helped him inside. “Oh, you mean letting myself almost get decapitated? Yah, great move, wasn’t it?”

  They walked into the kitchen.

  She offered to take his jacket for him but he declined.

  “Don’t worry, Jack,” she said. “We’re going to find her. I think I know where she is now.”

  She went about making eggs and pouring coffee.

  Jack asked, “Oh yah? Where’s that?”

  She told him about the dream and the red house.

  Something shifted in his face. Worry or surprise, she didn’t know. Everyone was treating her dream like it was crazy, and she supposed she couldn’t blame them. But that didn’t change the fact she believed it.

  “I know it sounds cuckoo,” she added. “But I really feel in my heart that if we find the house I saw, we’ll find Anise too.” She turned his way. “You’ve lived here your whole life, any ideas?”

  He seemed lost in thought.

  Probably still dazed from the blow to his head.

  He snapped out of it and said, “Oh, wow. That sounds like a million places up in the hills. I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

  “That’s what the detective said, but I was able to talk him and Casey into scouting it out anyway.”

  “Oh, that’s good. Any luck?”

  “They’ve only been out for a little while but–”

  Her phone rang.

  She said, “Maybe this is one of them.”

  She answered, and was a little surprised to hear Officer Washburn on the other end.

  “Cristina, we found Anthony.”

  “What!?”

  Relief drenched her entire being.

  She said, “Is Anise OK? Where were they?”

  Jack raised his eyebrows toward her.

  She gave him a thumbs up.

  “Cristina,” Washburn said. “Anthony was trying to cross the Mexico border when an agent recognized him and took him into custody.”

  A pause.

  She continued, “Cristina, Anise wasn’t with him. He says he has no idea where she is. He didn’t even know she was gone.”

  “What? That lying bastard!”

  She turned away so Jack wouldn’t see the tears rushing into her eyes.

  “Cristina, he could be lying. But those border guys are good. They know how to get information out of people, and the agent I spoke with said he was ninety-nine percent sure Anthony was telling the truth.”

  “How can that be? If it wasn’t him, then who took my baby?”

  “Don’t worry, Cristina. We’re going to get her back. Don’t lose faith. Something will come up. I’ll be in touch soon.”

  As she ended the call, Cristina’s entire world went black.

  70

  Her eyes blinked open.

  Her head pounded with a deep, throbbing pain.

  An intense beam of light blinded her vision. She tried to block it with her hands and realized her wrists were restrained by cold metal. It didn’t take long for her to recognize the feeling of handcuffs, one pair below each hand, their other ends secured to a solid metal pipe.

  Her legs were tied together with rope.

  She wasn’t going anywhere.

  Her brain tried to piece together what had happened.

  At first, she assumed the stress must have caused her to pass out,
and this was all just another dream. But it felt too real. For one, her body was sore all over, like it had been dragged. And then there was the painful dryness in her throat. She could never remember feeling thirsty in a dream, but her mouth now felt like she’d been chewing on sand.

  A metallic clang drew her attention away from the pain for a moment, though the light was too bright for her to see anything but a black curtain of shadows beyond it.

  Another clang.

  “Hello?” she said into the light. “Is someone there?”

  The words sounded stupid to her ears. If there was someone out there in the dark, she guessed it wasn’t anyone she should be particularly eager to interact with.

  Still, what else was she going to do?

  Suddenly, she became aware of how quiet it was. She guessed maybe she was underground. It smelled that way. Musty and dank, like the Cave Train ride at the amusement park. There was the slightest hint of something else, too. Cinnamon maybe.

  It was hard to be sure of anything, though. Her senses were clouded by the hammering in her brain.

  She thought she heard a whisper of footsteps

  “Hello?” she said again, imagining someone flying out from the shadows at any second.

  There was nothing.

  Except . . . for a moment, what could have been the faint sound of breathing.

  In and out.

  In and out.

  In and out.

  Again, she moved her head to see around the bright light. Her eyes sent back only orange and red spots over the blackness.

  She tried to free herself from the handcuffs by sliding her hands through them. No luck. The cuffs were closed so tight that her palms had swollen to the point of pain.

  It struck her that she had no idea how long she’d been there.

  An hour?

  A week?

  Next, she tested the pipe. Pulling. Tugging. Picking up her bound feet, forcing the metal to support the weight of her small frame, hoping it would be enough to pull the pipe free from the wall. But she could only hold the position for a few moments before her wrists screamed at her, sending her feet back onto the ground.

  A laugh from the dark. Familiar, but her disorientated mind couldn’t quite place it.