Emily went across the empty quadrangle and slipped inside a door on the south side of the gymnasium. Once inside, it wasn’t difficult to stay hidden: just avoid the sound of coach’s whistles and basketballs thumping off the hardwood floors and concrete walls.
She found a door that opened to a hallway that led her to the girls’ locker room. The dressing room and showers had been remodeled since her days as a freshman, but they still smelled the same—sweat socks and moldy towels.
She rifled through a few of the lockers until she found everything she needed: a hairbrush, deodorant, toothpaste, toothbrush, a baggy pair of sweat pants, a long-sleeved t-shirt, and a pair of yellow running shoes.
She took the coat off and stood at a wash sink in the bathroom. She looked in the mirror and gasped. Her hair was twisted, matted, and sticky out at crazy angles. Her neck was indeed bruised and her cheek swollen. She looked like a homeless girl who had been kidnapped, tortured, almost raped and killed, consumed by blue fire, then jumped through time.
She fired the hot water, dispensed a glob of hand soap and began the cleanup process, paying special attention to the wounds across her body. The soap stung when it hit the gashes in her skin, but she pushed through it.
She put on the clothes and focused on her post-trip checklist: clothes—check. She took another couple of minutes to look through the backpacks strewn around the locker room for the next item on her checklist: food. She found a brown bag containing a ham sandwich, a bag of Doritos, a Ding Dong wrapped in aluminum foil, and a juice box, which seemed to her more like a lunch for a third-grader than a high school girl, but it didn’t matter—she took the food and scarfed it down.
The sack lunch reminded her of her friend from the shelter, Junie. She wondered how she was doing. The memory made her change her to-do list, adding Junie to the mix.
She left the locker room and walked casually past the football stadium and track, through the varsity baseball diamond and handball courts and across North 129th Avenue. She hopped a block fence and lost herself in the suburban neighborhood directly adjacent to Dysart High: Rancho Mirage.
Next on the checklist: place to stay. She knew exactly where to go—Jim Miller’s place at 333 Glassford.
Then she changed her mind. Next up: find Junie.
***
January 5, 2015
11:42 a.m.
The telephone rang in the Central Squad Room of the Phoenix Police Department. Detective James Alison opened his eyes, whipped his feet off the credenza sitting behind his desk, and spun the chair around to face the phone.
He leaned forward and grabbed the receiver before the next ring, but fumbled it when he tried to switch hands. It landed on an uneven stack of manila folders, rolled off the pile, and bounced on the laminate surface. He corralled the handle between his hands, then picked it up and put it to his ear.
He cleared his throat, hoping the caller wouldn’t detect his recent catnap.
“Alison here. Klutz of the day.”
The male caller laughed. “Sounds like you’re playing phone soccer again,” a familiar voice said. It was the duty sergeant, Mark MacAlister.
“Sorry Mac. Been one of those mornings. Didn’t get much rack time last night.”
“Yeah, I can hear it in your voice. Sleeping at your desk again?”
He put his free arm out and away from his body, stretched it and yawned. “Just needed to rest my eyes for a bit. It’s this damn case I’m working on.”
“The Glassford Girl?”
“Ten-four.”
“You really need to put it down once in a while. Get a fresh perspective in the morning.”
“That’s easy for you to say. The chief is all over my ass.”
“That’s why I’ll never put in for detective. My old lady would shit a Winnebago if I let myself get saddled with the hours you keep, not to mention all that stress. One heart attack and two titanium stints jammed inside my arteries are enough, thank you very much. That’s why I fly a desk all day. Allows me to be front and center promptly at six every night for dinner.”
“Well, some of us don’t have that luxury. Or a warm body waiting for us at home. So, what can I do for you, Mac?”
“Got an urgent call. Line 2. Some school teacher at Dysart High.”
“Why is she calling here? That’s not our jurisdiction. Let El Mirage PD handle it.”
“They’re the ones who sent her to central dispatch and they routed the call here. I was told to patch this to you directly.”
“Why is this woman being dumped on me?”
“Don’t know and don’t care. I’m just the messenger. You want the call or not?”
“Yeah. Sure. Put her through.”
The line clicked, then connected. He heard breathing on the other end of the line.
“Detective Alison, Phoenix PD. How may I help you?”
“Please tell me that you’re not going to send me to someone else. I’ve been transferred three times already and frankly, I’m getting a little sick and tired of it. What kind of operation are you people running down there?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. But I need you to calm down. Can you do that for me?”
“Calm down? You try waiting on hold for twenty minutes while person after person tries to decide where to send you next. Then have to tell your story over and over to each officer who isn’t listening in the first place. It’s enough to drive a woman to drink.”
“Yes. It can be frustrating. But I’m here to assist you. Let’s start with your name.”
“Mrs. Dorothy Thompson. I’m a teacher at Dysart High School. In El Mirage. You know where that is, right?”
“I’m familiar with it, yes.”
“I demand to know why you people haven’t sent anyone to investigate. My principal called this in hours ago.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. Investigate what?”
“The teenage girl I found in my classroom this morning. She’d obviously been assaulted. She was bloody and bruised. Don’t you people investigate sexual assaults anymore? Or is it not a serious enough crime for you?”
“No, Mrs. Thompson. We take all crimes seriously. Tell me exactly what happened.”
“I opened my classroom and there she was. Naked and bloody. She looked so scared. It broke my heart to see her like that. I sent one of my students for help and then covered her up, but she took off running before anyone arrived. I’m worried for her. I hope she’s okay.”
“Is she there now, or did someone take her to the hospital?”
“What? Are you deaf? I said, she ran away! Nobody’s seen her. She looked like she was beaten, and there were cuts all over her body. Someone needs to help her. I don’t understand why you people refuse to help. This is what we pay our taxes for. We can’t have our girls being assaulted on campus and nobody lifts a finger to do anything. What kind of world do we live in?”
“I agree, ma’am. I’m trying to help you. But you need to focus and stay calm. How old was she?”
“Sixteen or seventeen. Hard to tell for sure. Her hair was a mess and her face was swollen. And all the blood. I was in shock, and not really paying too much attention to all the details. I just knew someone had hurt that poor girl and I needed to help her right then.”
“Did you recognize her? Is she a student?”
“That’s the whole point. I don’t know. She seemed vaguely familiar, but I wasn’t exactly thinking straight at the time. The last thing I expected to see when I opened my classroom door this morning was a naked girl covered in blood, lying helpless on the floor.”
“I can imagine. Now, could you describe her for me?”
“Slender. Maybe five foot six. Hundred and twenty pounds. Blue eyes, freckles. Oh, and she had bright-red hair—”
If Alison hadn’t been paying attention before, he was now. He tapped the pad on his laptop and the screen came to life.
“Mrs. Thompson, I’m sorry to interrupt, but are you at a computer right now? I’d like to e-mail you a
couple of photos to look at.”
“Yes, Detective, as a matter of fact, I am. I’m in my classroom. My school e-mail address is my first initial and last name. No dot. All one word.”
“Hang on, let me send these to you.” Alison found the school’s domain name to complete her e-mail address and sent her two pictures of The Glassford Girl—one image taken by Jim Miller when the girl was sitting in the back seat of the police cruiser, and another from the overhead camera in the Italian restaurant.
“Okay, sent. They should be coming through any second. Let me know when you see them.”
A minute later, she spoke. “Okay, I have them.”
“Is this the same girl?”
There was a long silence. Alison thought she’d hung up. “Ma’am? Are you still there? Hello?”
“Yes, I’m still here.”
“Is something wrong?” he asked her, hearing a series of shallow breaths coming across the connection.
“I just need a minute. My heart is beating a hundred miles an hour right now.”
“Take your time. No rush. Breathe in and out and try to relax. It’ll help you focus.”
“Okay, I’m feeling better now. Thank you.”
“Do you recognize her? We think her first name is Emily.”
“Oh my God! That’s it!”
The rapid-fire breathing resumed, only at double the rate from before.
“I need you to please remain calm, Mrs. Thompson. We don’t want you to hyperventilate and pass out.”
“I can’t believe it! How can this be?”
“How can what be?”
“The girl in the photos. It’s the same girl all right. The same girl in my classroom this morning. I’m sure of it. And there’s something else. It just came to me when you said her name. You see, I’ve lived here all my life, right here in El Mirage. Been a teacher at this school since the fall semester of 1980. You probably won’t remember this, but I do, like it was yesterday. This girl looks exactly like Emily Heart. The girl that disappeared with her mother a long time ago. She was a freshman at the time, and in my homeroom class. I remember how devastated I was. And now she’s here? In my classroom? Naked and hurt? How can this be?”
CHAPTER THIRTY
January 5, 2015
12:05 p.m.
Jim Miller was sitting at the kitchen table in his Roosevelt Row bungalow, sipping his midday coffee and watching the birds hunt for worms in his back yard. He was still adjusting to the rhythm of everyday life. He was grateful to be home doing the little things on his own terms and his own schedule. He loved the peace and quiet of his house, and had been itching to get back to a normal life, but complications from the multiple surgeries and resulting infections kept him in the hospital far longer than he would have liked.
He wasn’t sure which was more onerous—being shot multiple times by members of the Phoenix Police Department, or suffering through months of bad food and even worse jokes from physicians trying to put a positive spin on what was a shitty situation.
It was no fault of the police, of course—they had just been doing their job. They’d arrived late to a gun battle and simply reacted to the situation, catching Jim in the crossfire. However, he could’ve done without the disingenuous doctors and their stale platitudes.
Then, there was Nurse Ball-buster. He didn’t miss that witch for a second. His secret nickname for her was Helga, from Helga’s House of Pain. He laughed, then turned his attention to the worn folder containing everything he knew about Emily Heart.
His cell phone buzzed on the table. He picked it up and looked at the display—it was Alison. He slid his thumb across the screen.
“Hey, Alice, what can I do you for?” he asked, slurping another swig of coffee.
“I know who she is. We have a positive ID. Her name is Emily Heart.”
Jim spit out his coffee, then wiped his chin. “Come again?”
“The Glassford Girl. Her name is Emily Heart and she’s back. Showed up this morning at a high school on the west side. I just finished an interview with a teacher who swears that she recognizes her from one of her classes.
“But get this—not a recent class. The witness claims this is the same girl who went missing with her mother back in 1985.”
***
January 5, 2015
2:45 p.m.
Emily hitchhiked her way across town and found herself on the sidewalk across the street from the front entrance of Pueblo Middle School in downtown Phoenix. She decided to try the school closest to the homeless shelter that she knew Junie and her mother liked to stay at most of the time. If Junie wasn’t at this school, then she’d head to the shelter and try to locate her there.
Students had been pouring out of the brick-facade school through the elegant, sculptured columns and down the sprawling steps for the past ten minutes. Emily was about to give up when she saw something that lifted her spirits: Junie’s electric smile and adorable pigtails.
Junie was in an animated conversation with two girls her age—probably about boys.
Emily couldn’t believe it, but Junie must have been three inches taller than the last time she’d seen her. She watched Junie say good-bye to her friends, walk outside the front gate, then head in the direction of the Central Phoenix Homeless Shelter.
Emily sped across the street, her heart dancing inside its cage. “Junie! Junie!”
Junie stopped, turned around and squealed, “Oh my God! Em!” She ran to Emily and jumped in the air.
Emily held out her arms, making sure to catch her friend.
Junie’s pencil-thin legs wrapped around Emily’s waist and her arms squeezed her neck tight. The hug constricted Emily’s chest, making it difficult to breathe.
She whispered in Junie’s ear. “It’s good to see you, baby. I’ve been worried about you.”
“Oh, Em, I missed you so much! It seems like forever. Where have you been?”
Junie let go and slid down Emily’s body. She looked up, staring at Emily’s cheek. “What happened to your face? Did someone hurt you?”
“Yes, I’m fine. I . . . uh . . . fell. It’s a little swollen, but not a big deal. How are you? How’s your mom?”
“My mom . . . well, she’s the same. She tries, but . . . yeah. We’re back in the shelter again. I have to be there by three thirty, but I wanted to stop and get ice cream first. Wanna come? I have five dollars. I can buy.”
“Yes, I’d love to.”
Emily took Junie’s hand and they walked down the street, swinging their arms with playful excess.
“So, you’re in the same shelter? Central?”
“Yeah. But we moved out for a while. Mom got a boyfriend, but he turned out to be a real douche. No surprise, right? At first he was okay, but then he started coming home totally drunk and she would get really mad. It seemed like all they would do was fight every night. It was awful, Em. I would tell them to stop but then they’d both start yelling at me and tell me to go to my room. He must have gotten tired of the yelling, too, because he left one night and never came back. Mom laid on the couch and cried for like three days. A week later, she started getting high again, and Mr. Donaldson at the bakery fired her. And well, we ended up back in Central.”
“When was this?”
“Couple months ago.”
She pulled Junie close, wrapping her free arm around her. She squeezed her with all her love. “I’m sorry, Junie. Hang in there. I promise things will get better. You just have to be strong.”
Emily let go and they continued their trip, still holding hands. “You look really good, sweetie. I feel like an old lady saying this, but I can’t believe how much you’ve grown.”
“Shut up! Now you sound like my mom. Well, when she’s sober, which isn’t much lately.”
“You need to try to cut her some slack. She’s doing the best she can.”
“But she’s so sad all the time.”
“She must have loved him a lot. Love can do that. Makes you feel all warm inside, or
it can make you crazy and do dumb things. Like drugs.”
“I’m never letting a boy do that to me. Ever.”
“You say that now, but trust me. It’ll happen. Just like with your mom. Love finds you. You can’t hide from it or control it. What she probably needs right now is for you to be there for her.”
“I know, Em. It’s just so hard. She’s supposed to take care of me, not the other way around.”
“When it comes to your family, you have to be supportive and love them no matter what. Especially when they’re sad.”
“Sometimes I just think it would be better if she’d just OD already, and get it over with.”
Emily stopped, ripped her hand free from Junie and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Don’t you ever say that! You hear me? Never! Moms aren’t perfect. They make mistakes, just like everyone else. But she’s your mother. Your only family, and she loves you.”
“But—”
“Listen to me. I would give anything to be able to hug my mom again. Just one more time. Anything. But I can’t. I can never go back to how it was before. So, don’t ever say that!”
“I’m sorry, Em. I didn’t mean it,” Junie said with tears in her eyes. She threw her arms around Emily. “Please don’t be mad at me.”
“I’m not mad. You just can’t think those thoughts. Promise me.”
“I won’t. I swear. I’m so glad you’re here. I wish I could hug you forever.”
“I know, baby. Me, too.”
Junie cried in her arms, sending a river of tears down Emily’s neck. Emily wanted to join her for a long-overdue cry, but stopped herself. She needed to be strong for Junie.
“I wish I could have come back sooner and saved you from all of this.”
“Don’t ever leave, Em. Please!”
“I’ll try, but sometimes we don’t always get to do what we want. But I’m here now, and that’s all that matters. How about we go get that ice cream?”
A minute later, Junie’s tears stopped and they broke their embrace. They resumed their march with interlocked fingers.
“I know a place over in Evans Churchill where we can get a yummy ice cream cone,” Emily said. Then it occurred to her that she wanted Junie to meet Jim. “And I have a friend I want you to meet. He lives right over there on Glassford.”
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