He was pretty rattled when he pulled into Lilah’s driveway. Somehow he’d always nursed an ideal vision of the town as a haven of family life and core American values. Hard drugs didn’t even factor into the equation. He wondered how long the drug thing had been going on. And whether there was some possible connection with the disappearances of all those kids.
Preoccupied, he climbed the steps up to Lilah’s front door. The whole place was lit up. He pressed the front doorbell and set off a jangling chime. Footsteps pattered across the inside and Lilah’s face peered through the window. She waved and pulled the door open, and for a moment he hesitated. If he crossed the threshold there’d be no going back tonight. Somehow he knew it.
“C’mon in,” she said. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
He thrust the bottles towards her. “I don’t want to alarm you, but I just stumbled on a bush party, only there’s no beer. Just dope and meth.”
Her face clouded over. “ I’ll chill these,” she said, turning towards the kitchen. “Just throw your coat onto the bench there.”
The kitchen was fragrant with the smell of spicy meat. “Hey – sorry. I didn’t mean to be a killjoy,” he said, reaching for a glass. “Let’s have some wine.”
She took a sweating bottle of wine out of the fridge and poured two large ones. Nick held up his glass. “To health and happiness in your new home,” he said as they chinked glasses and drank. The wine was perfect. Cold, slightly dry, it tingled as it slid down his throat.
“And to the unexplored future,” she said, throwing back her head and sipping the wine. Her throat was smooth and creamy.
She motioned him towards a stool by the kitchen island. “Before we eat, I just want to say one thing, Nick,” she said, a serious expression crossing her face. “I’ve had some experience of the damage drugs can do to people, and I believe you shouldn’t be silent about this. Put something in your paper or talk to the school principal.” She’d let out another little snippet of information about her life, but somehow he knew instinctively not to pursue it. She’d tell him when the time was right.
“I will,” he said. “I promise. Now let’s see what’s cooking.”
Nick sat at the counter, his appetite returning with a vengeance. She kept bringing out amazing little starters. Crunchy shrimp cooked in coconut with a spicy chili sauce, smoked salmon with capers and cucumber on toast triangles, tiny crab cakes with creamy dip, smoked oysters, wafer thin beef on skewers. They drank glasses of chilled white wine and a fire blazed in the hearth. Nick had never read a romance novel before, but Violet occasionally reviewed them for the paper, so he felt sure this was just like one of those perfect scenarios for love. Somehow he’d stumbled into a movie set in which he was the romantic lead starring opposite Lilah. It was perfect. He’d been dying for this role.
His limbs felt loose and fluid when she led him to the couch by the fireside. He sat nursing his drink, knowing he’d have to ease off a bit, because his head was starting to whirl. Some kind of slow guitar music was playing and she stood above him, waiting. For once in his life he froze, unsure what to do next. Incredible. Nick Hendricks, the smooth operator, too shit scared to make the first move. She leaned down and took his glass and put it on the table, then with one swift movement, unzipped her dress. It slithered to the floor and fell in a puddle at her feet. In the rosy glow of the firelight, she stood, completely naked. Gorgeous, tanned curves and sweetly swelling breasts. She was so beautiful he couldn’t breathe.
“Didn’t know you were a shy guy, Nick,” she whispered. “You’re too handsome.”
“And you’re too beautiful,” he said, stroking her breasts, then the sides of her body until his hands rested on her waist. She lowered herself down onto his knee and sat facing him, her legs on either side of his.
“So one of us is naked,” she whispered. “I’d say it’s time for the other to get naked too.”
She licked the inside of his ear until he pulled her tightly to him and they sank down onto the couch, kissing and tasting each other for the first time. When he finally sat up and struggled out of his clothes, he gasped as his body touched hers. His insides flipped over, the rush of sensation to his groin so great he clambered to cover her body with his. The whole world turned upside down when she arched up to meet him and he came so quickly and with such terrifying force he cried out loud. She was in his blood after that moment. There was no going back.
9
Next morning, when his eyes snapped open, his first thought was that he’d had an incredible dream, but when he rolled onto his back and looked at the heavy timbers spanning the ceiling, he remembered he was in Lilah’s bed. It had all actually happened. But where was she? He buried his nose in sheets that smelled of her flowery perfume and remembered the best lovemaking he’d ever experienced since first discovering the orgasm at the age of eleven.
He stretched out, lazily anticipating a whole morning spent holding her soft, curvy body, but the hiss of the shower brought him back to reality. It was Monday and Monday meant work. Damn, he’d have to wait until tonight. He sat up and took in his surroundings. The honey-coloured stone fireplace, the long wall of windows that overlooked the snowy lakeshore. In summertime they’d wake up and race straight down to the lake for a morning swim. Christ, he was already planning for the future. And that far ahead.
Steam billowed out of the bathroom and Lilah emerged, wrapped in a white towel, her hair damp and curly, her face scrubbed clean and shining. Some girls looked like shit in the morning. All grumpy and sticky eyed. Not Lilah. She was like a fresh flower, and he was already getting sentimental. He could’ve whipped out his notebook and described her in a million terrific words.
“Hey sleepy,” she said, rubbing her hair with a smaller towel. Nick held out his arms and she dropped the towel onto the floor to flop on the bed beside him. Then he was all over her. Hungry for the taste of her skin and the soft feel of her lips, but she wriggled away.
“Gotta go out of town today,” she said, grabbing the towel again. “And I’m behind schedule.”
Something about her tone told him not to ask questions about where she might be going, but she’d already got him wondering.
“I guess I’d better get to work,” he said, grabbing his boxers from the trail of clothes on the floor.
“Not before you’ve had some breakfast,” she said, slipping into the closet. “Give me a few minutes to get dressed and I’ll cook some eggs.”
He sang while he was in the shower. His whole body felt relaxed. Every urge satisfied, every nerve ending tingling and warm. So he wouldn’t see her until tonight. He could manage that. When he turned off the water, he heard her voice, only it sounded different. Higher, as if she was talking to a kid or something. She clicked the phone off when he came out of the shower, rubbing his hair with a towel.
“You look amazing with wet hair,” she said, nuzzling his neck. He didn’t ask about the call, since he was too busy trying to control the hard on that threatened to show up and embarrass him. “Get dressed. Eggs, toast, fruit in five.”
He sat across from her, eating the creamiest scrambled eggs he’d had since he dated Marcie, the chef in Minneapolis.
“So – what are your plans today?” she asked, pouring him a second coffee.
“I gotta do the write up for the Hayride. Then I thought I’d drop by the school and sound out some teachers I know – see if they know anything about the drug problem.”
She smiled. “Great. Sometimes people like to pretend these problems don’t exist. They’d rather sweep them under the carpet and hold onto the illusion that everything is perfect.”
“You’re right,” he said, swallowing the last delicious forkful of egg. “I’ve been shoveling out the same saccharin, feel-good crap for too long. Time for something gritty and real.”
“Now you’re talking,” she said, hugging his shoulders and kissing his cheek.
“You gonna be back tonight?” he asked.
She hesitated. “I’m not sure. I’ll try. If I am I’ll text you.”
He missed her right away when he headed up the driveway. There was a yawning gap in his world, and the old familiar places seemed dull. It was a strange new feeling for the guy who usually called the shots. The guy who said he’d phone or text and then it somehow slipped his mind. The asshole whose heart froze at the sight of a sobbing girl. His feelings were waking up from a long, deep sleep and he could already feel the tingling pain, like frostbite when your toes suddenly thaw out.
Even his house looked like a cheap shithole after a night spent in luxury at Lilah’s lakeside cabin. So he changed his clothes ultra quick and set out for the office, but the thought of six grinding hours alone in front of the computer was too much to bear. He took a turn off just before Main Street and headed towards Lakeside High. Maybe he could sound Cole Schuler out about a possible drug problem among the kids.
He pulled up at the school around ten. A few stragglers sat smoking around the flagpole and he recalled for a brief and painful moment, how he hated his senior year at high school. How he’d rather have shivered outside in sub zero temperatures than sit comatose in a sweaty room listening to a colorless teacher with pocket protectors and a fortrel shirt, drone on about the War of Independence.
“Hey man, spare a cig,” said one straggly haired kid with yellow teeth.
“Don’t smoke,” he said, feeling more depressed by the minute.
Inside smelled of radiators and floor polish. The halls were startlingly quiet as he passed quiet classrooms where digital projectors flickered in the darkness and kids sat, lolling backwards on chairs too small for their lanky frames.
Cole Schuler’s office was at the side of the band room, a wide oak paneled theatre of a room with glass French doors. He was in the midst of a teaching moment, raising his hands in a conductor’s pose and then lowering them. What followed sounded like the braying of a thousand tuneless, maniacal donkeys. This was ninth grade beginner hell. Somehow everyone came into the tune at their own sweet time, oblivious to details like pitch and tone, then they limped along in a bizarre circus-like rendering of Yankee Doodle Dandy.
Nick reckoned Schuler must have been secretly wired to an IPod playing Yo Yo Ma or Placido Domingo, because the look on his face was one of absolute bliss, despite the screeching and caterwauling going on around him. He waited by the door until Schuler glanced over and held up five fingers. Five more minutes of ear-splitting hell and the class was suddenly over. A screeching buzzer sounded and the quiet hallways swarmed with bodies. Nick slipped through the stampede of kids streaming through the doorway, and into the band room before being trampled. Cole was already gathering up the instruments and sheets of music. The room smelled of unwashed bodies and damp socks.
“How do you put up with this?” Nick asked. “The noise, the crowds, the sweat?”
“Hey – it’s a regular paycheck. And besides, I actually enjoy some of the classes. We always get some pretty good musicians each year.”
“Hope I’m not disturbing you,” Nick said, gathering up some papers and handing them over.
“Nah - I have a spare. We can go get coffee in the staff room.”
Nick followed him past clanging lockers where kids sorted out binders and books for the next class. “Just keep close to the edge,” he said. “The next class is about to begin.”
There was a sudden rush of bodies in all directions, and miraculously the halls emptied just as the buzzer went again. They reached the staff room in time to see Shayla Reid pushing the door open. She almost dropped her coffee when she saw Nick.
“Nick – what the hell brings you here?” she said, her cheeks flushing. A narcissistic voice in his head told Nick she was still not over him.
“Just working on a story,” he said, giving her the lazy grin that always made her crazy.
“Well – good to see you. Gotta get to class,” she said, scurrying off down the hallway.
“You’re lucky she’s still talking to you, jerk,” said Cole, winking and showing him over to a table. The staff room stunk of stale coffee. Furnished with a jumble of mismatched thrift store type tables, wooden chairs, and a couple of sad old couches in the corner. An old guy that probably should have been long retired by now lay snoring against the cushions.
Cole glanced over. “That’s Bill Farley. Poor guy. He’s due to retire in September. Remind me to wake him up at eleven,” said Cole. “Otherwise he’ll sleep through his next class.”
He carried over a cup of muddy looking coffee and a bowl of fake coffee creamer.
“How do you guys survive on this shit?” said Nick, taking a sip then wanting to spit the evil brew out.
“I know it’s like engine fuel, but you build up a tolerance for it, and then you can’t get through the day without at least four cups.”
Nick stirred in a few spoons of sugar. “I guess that’s one way to deal with a bunch of teenagers.”
“Ah – it’s not so bad. And we get the whole summer to lounge around and do our own thing,” said Cole, slurping it up like it was gourmet roast. “So, I don’t suppose you came here just to shoot the shit.”
“I’m thinking of doing something different in The Sentinel. Something edgier,” Nick was unsure how to actually broach the topic.
“I’m telling you here and now,” said Cole. “I’m not posing in my boxers for page three.”
“Not that kind of thing. Something more investigative.”
“In Silver Narrows? Nothing happens here.”
“I’m not so sure about that.” Nick pushed the coffee away. Nothing could save it. “Two or three nights in a row I’ve seen kids either stoned or in the process of getting stoned in the area around Lakeside Narrows.”
“I’m sure there’s some drinking and toking in every small town,” Schuler said, smirking.
“True, Cole, but I saw kids doing meth in the forest and two of them nearly ran into my friend’s car out on the highway.”
“I haven’t heard anything about meth, Nick. We’d know if there was a problem. Principal Twomey likes to keep on top of that kind of stuff.” Principal Twomey was a five feet nothing female powerhouse with dyed red hair and a voice that sounded like it came through a bull horn.
“That’s weird, because the same two kids were at the Hayride dance – stoned out of their heads. Somebody had to notice.”
Schuler started to shift uncomfortably in his chair. “Nick, I’m not allowed to talk to the press about school matters. I can pass you on to Principal Twomey.”
“Nah. Don’t worry. I’m gonna do a bit more digging around first. Then maybe I’ll talk to her.”
“If I was you, Nick,” he said, standing abruptly, “I’d stick to ice golf tournaments and hayrides. Why rock the boat?”
Nick stood up just as quickly and pushed his chair backwards so hard it clattered onto the floor. “As a matter of fact, now I’ve heard that, it’s made me all the more determined to find out exactly what’s going on.”
Schuler held up both hands. “Take it easy, man. I gotta hold onto my job. I have a wife and kids.”
Somehow the guy had burrowed right under Nick’s skin like a nasty cockroach. “That’s exactly why I’m doing this. For your kids and others like them. Anyway. Gotta go and work in the real world. And thanks for the coffee,” said Nick, heading out before he nailed the idiot on the chin.
Nick’s head was buzzing when he got back outside. Prick. Calling me a hack. He didn’t want to admit it, but there was some truth in what he said. Nick had been recycling the same shit for years now. No wonder Schuler was surprised he’d decided to do some real writing. To make matters worse, the snow had started up again, but it was warm enough outside to turn it into freezing rain. He slid across the parking lot, barely making it to the car. Then he started to think about Lilah, maybe caught out on the highway in a crazy ice storm. He crawled back into town on roads like skating rinks. He’d work until the gravel trucks came around, then go and
check to see if she was back.
When he sat down in his chair and looked at all of last year’s back copies of The Sentinel, he swept them off his desk. Meeting Lilah had changed things. Like he’d woken up from a long sleep and now could spot crap from a mile away. He pulled up the blank screen and started writing. First the title, Lost Children of Silver Narrows. Deliberately provocative, it would jog the town’s memory back to the disappearances and link it with the present drug problem. Then he emptied his mind of everything else, blasted out The End by The Doors on his IPod dock, and words poured out, coiling around themselves, spewing out onto the page. After eleven hundred words, he sat back, his brain on fire. This is what it meant to be passionate about something. He put aside the draft, planning to revise it later. But his heart was already thudding at the prospect of seeing exactly what he’d come up with. He had to occupy himself until then, so he swung the chair around to scan the poster of the disappeared kids.
The name Stephen Castle stood out. Tara Anderson had disappeared from his grad party. Nick typed his name into a search and waited. Bingo. There were about ten Stephen Castles on Facebook, so he scrolled down to find who was from Minnesota. He showed up three or four names down. Stephen Castle, lawyer based in Minneapolis. An endless slideshow of photos showed him at one party after another, with a bevy of gorgeous girls, draped all over him in Mexico, Vegas, Tahoe, Palm Springs and LA. He noted the name as another potential interview subject, underneath the Anderson family.
Next he went back to the archives to look at the next two disappearances. In 2003 a senior called Chris Bauer went missing. He stared out from his photo – seventeenish, a helmet of dark hair, round glasses, nerdy looking in a Harry Potter way, he looked like the kind of kid who washed his hair once a week and sat up all night playing Call of Duty or Assassin’s Creed. Skimming through the article, Nick’s wasn’t surprised to find the kid had disappeared after a grad bush party in the woods around Lakeshore Narrows. After pinning up his pic, Nick added a red marker to the area around the lake. By now all the disappearances were within a mile of each other. Had nobody thought to put all this together? A later copy of the paper showed the Bauers had moved out of town to somewhere in North Dakota, when the search parties turned up empty handed and the case was filed away for future consideration.
Lilah Page 7