The Girl on Prytania Street: A gripping psychological thriller with a shocking twist

by Kira Saito

  “Mom, stop, please, not everything is a conspiracy theory and not every life event has some story behind it. Life is what it is, it was the best of times and yesterday was the worst of times.”

  “Please don’t do that, honey.”

  She let out a bored sigh. “Do what? What am I doing?”

  “Covering up your feelings with half book quotes. Please let me take a look, please. You can tell me what happened. You can trust me.”

  “I fell on ice,” she remained firm as she pushed me out of the door and once again out of her ever-chaotic life.

  When I told Richard about the bruises, he had gone mad. His sense of rationality and level-headedness had been replaced by an angry Papa bear who was hell-bent on finding out who or what had hurt his daughter.

  “What the fuck, Kate, are you sure?” He stabbed the sharp knife he was using to slice tomatoes into the wooden cutting board. Tiny seeds spilled onto the shiny black granite counter.

  “I’m positive.” Of course, he never let his emotions overtake his actions or let Zoe know the level of frustration and anger that was brewing beneath the surface.

  He had rushed out of the kitchen and straight to Zoe’s room.

  “Zoe, tell me the truth,” he said for the hundredth time.

  “Ice, Dad. It was the ice.”

  “Zoe …” Richard’s eyes were full of suspicion and sadness.

  “Ice, I don’t lie to you, how can I?” she asked.

  “We’re making an appointment to see Dr. Thorton first thing in the morning.”

  “Whatever you say,” she replied not at all fazed by his subtle threat. “I’ll be happy to show her my body, but it’s creepy as hell having you two examine me. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to get some rest if I’m going to get up at the crack of dawn to have my body poked and prodded.”

  I remember how Richard held my hand tenderly at the doctor’s office, how we both held our breath wanting to know what happened yet not willing to accept whatever the ugly truth was. Dr. Thorton had been Zoe’s doctor since birth, she cared about my daughter’s well-being as much as I did, and I trusted her almost blindly to be honest yet professional.

  Zoe walked through the examination room with a smug grin with Dr. Thorton’s fit figure trailing behind her.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Givens,” the doctor said as her steel gray eyes examined at us intently. My heart stopped or seemed to have at the various words that could come out of her mouth. Richard squeezed my hand as we exchanged a nervous glance. “Zoe is telling the truth.” She opened a yellow file and pulled out X-rays and pictures of the trauma that covered Zoe’s back. “These bruises were indeed inflicted by blunt trauma similar to that of falling on ice. The pattern and nature of these bruises confirms Zoe’s story.”

  “But …” I took the pictures from her hand and studied them carefully. There wasn’t a handprint in sight. “I saw handprints,” I maintained as I flipped through the pictures and X-rays.

  “Are you sure?” Richard asked as he looked at the pictures and then at me.

  “Yes, I’m sure. I saw what I saw. Dr. Thorton, are you sure that these are all of the pictures?”

  “God, Mom, what more proof do you want?” Zoe impatiently tapped her foot as she sucked on a red lollipop.

  “Yes, Mrs. Givens, these are all of them,” Dr. Thorton said. She gently touched my arm in a reassuring manner. “I know what it’s like to be a parent. We try to protect them from every cut and bruise, but it doesn’t always work out that way, does it?”

  I shook my head. I know what I saw. I saw handprints. “They were there.”

  “Kate.” Richard gently embraced me and gave me that look. That look that reminded me that maybe I had it wrong.

  It was three against one. I should have said something more. I should have demanded Zoe to strip down. However, I caved in and naively accepted that maybe I had been mistaken and not everything was a vast conspiracy as Zoe had often pointed out. I had to learn how to separate my journalistic side from my maternal side.

  Chapter Six

  Kate

  I tapped off a text to Detective Ryan, one of the only detectives who had not given up on finding Zoe. He had become one of the reasons a small flame of hope still lingered within my soul encouraging me not to jump off of the Brooklyn Bridge.

  It’s me, Kate. I’m sorry to bother you, but please tell me you haven’t stopped watching Jay Simmons. I know it was him. She disappeared two days after I confronted her about the marks. I know it wasn’t just ice. It was something else. I have a feeling about him, call it a mother’s intuition or what not. I know that everyone believes that I’m overreacting, but I’m not.

  I tapped my chipped nails against the glass table waiting for a response. A warm breeze rustled through the massive oak that sat in front of me. Its twisted branches extended in a hundred different directions, each one fighting for survival, fighting to live, to blossom, to simply exist. Society had given it a right to blossom in peace. No one had chopped it down before its time or hidden it where no one could admire its beauty, why had Zoe suffered that fate? Why had she been chopped down before her time? Detective Ryan replied after a few minutes and my reflective mood was cut short.

  Mrs. Givens, rest assured that I am watching Jay Simmons carefully; however, I am also watching you and your husband as well. In fact, all people, rich, poor, black, white, or alien who knew Zoe are suspect. However, no one is guilty until proven so. If memory serves me correctly, you, yourself had an incident with Zoe. Patience, smarts, logic, reason, and a little kindness will help us find Zoe. Have a good day.

  My blood froze as I thought about that day that had occurred months before the bruise incident. No matter what angle I examined that day from, it reminded me of how terribly inappropriate I had been. I had crossed the line from mom into demented bitch in a matter of three point five seconds.

  “Honey, it’s time for dinner and then study time. If you’re going to pass that exam tomorrow, you have to put in the work.”

  “Sure.” She lazed on her bed and refused to look up from her phone. I hated that damn thing, but how was I supposed to justify her not having a phone when everyone over the age of five was carrying one around? I couldn’t protect her forever, but I could be a vigilant and responsible mother.

  “Zoe, I mean now, not ten minutes from now or half an hour from now.”

  “Sure,” she replied clearly in a world of her own. These days “sure” was the only word that seemed to come out of her mouth.

  My eye caught the soft glow of her laptop and I decided to see if she had put in any time into studying at all. She was so preoccupied with her phone that she didn’t even notice as I took a seat behind her pink desk. The screen came to life as I moved the mouse. My mouth dropped open. I resisted the urge to scream as I numbly flipped through one photo after the next. Zoe, naked, in poses that no thirteen-year-old should ever think of let alone take pictures of.

  “Mom, what the hell!” The laptop slammed shut and Zoe pulled it towards her chest.

  In shock and in anger, I attempted to snatch it from her. “Young lady give that to me, you don’t know how angry I am at you.” My face red, flushed with embarrassment and anger.

  “Let me explain,” she begged.

  “There is nothing to explain.” I tugged harder and so did she.

  “I was just messing around. I wanted to see what my body looked like on camera.”

  “I’m not an idiot, Zoe. Those were not selfies.” Our tug of war grew more intense. “Did Jay take those?” I was going to murder that son of a bitch.

  “They were simple selfies for my viewing pleasure only! Jay has nothing to do with this! I took them myself!”

  “Those pictures look like they came right out of Fifty Shades Darker! Tell me the truth! There is no way you can make those poses and take selfies.”

  “I am telling you the truth!” She tugged with all her might. “It’s called a photo timer!”

  “No, you�
�re not. I’m your mother, please let me into your world.” I tugged back.

  “I’m telling you the truth. Let’s leave it at that.” She gave the computer another forceful pull. She fell backward and landed with a thump on the hardwood floor. The flimsy laptop cracked.

  “Zoe!” I ran towards her. She moaned in pain, tears covered her smooth skin.

  “Ouch! I think it’s broken,” she said pointing to her arm. “Are you happy now? Why can’t you just stay out of my life? The universe will conspire to provide the best for the both of us if you do that! Quote courtesy of Paulo Coelho and Zoe Givens!” Even through her pain, she was determined to punish me for trying to be her mother.

  “I’m so sorry, baby,” I whispered. Tears of frustration and helplessness quickly replaced my anger. I could have handled the situation in a better manner; however, what I had seen shook me to my very core. I wasn’t a complete idiot. I knew the times we lived in, the age of technology, selfies, belfies, porn that was accidentally leaked onto the internet in order to get your very own reality series on cable and the nastiness of the deep web. I had written enough stories and investigated enough seedy cases to comprehend that the world didn’t solely consist of Mermaid Frappuccinos, fluffy puppies lazing on hammocks, and long walks on the beach. I shouldn’t have grabbed the computer out of her hand, but the thought of that world coming into my home and impacting my daughter was my worst fear coming to life.

  I remember how we had rushed her to the ER. The doctors had questioned Richard and I about the broken arm extensively and there had been mention of getting Child Protective Services involved.

  In the end, they bought my version of the story even though it could never be proved. The laptop had taken a hit and somehow the files had become inaccessible. I had taken the computer to every tech wizard in town and they all said the same thing; the files couldn’t be accessed. The hard drive had shattered when the computer fell and Zoe had fallen on top of it. Richard and I had gone through Zoe’s phone, social media accounts and every other place we could think of, but there was no evidence of the naked photos or anything else remotely scandalous aside from the length of Jay’s tongue which he seemed to stick out in every photo.

  “Kate?” Richard had asked. “Are you sure that it was Zoe in those pictures. Maybe she was curious and decided to do some browsing? I’m not saying that I like that idea any better, but maybe that’s what you saw …”

  I hated when he questioned my judgment as if he didn’t quite trust me. “Yes, I am sure.”

  He let out a sigh that matched my level of frustration. “I suppose we have to keep a closer eye on her. What else can we do? We can’t lock her up inside the home, and if we take away her phone, computer or tablet, she’ll find another device. If we disconnect the internet, she can simply walk into any café and get access. We cannot shield her from everything no matter how much we both want to. Come here,” he said as he pulled me in for a hug and gave me a tender kiss on my cheek.

  “Kate.” A light tap on the shoulder jolted me back to reality. “Can I get you anything?” Brian asked.

  My hand lingered on my cheek. “Ice, please get me some more ice, Brian.” The waiter who had been so sympathetic was now looking at me undoubtedly wondering as to how he could get me off the porch. Breakfast was long over, but I sat frozen unable to do anything but ask for cubes of ice to freshen up my Pimm’s Cup.

  “I think the kitchen is all out of ice, but I’ll double check for you.” He gave me an understanding nod.

  “Brian, how old are you?”

  “I’m sixteen, ma’am.”

  “Do you have a girlfriend?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I do.” He blushed.

  “Do you love her?” I sucked on some ice.

  “Only since I was two. She gave me a kiss under that old oak tree right there, and I pulled her hair in response. We’ve been inseparable since. I’m gonna marry her as soon as I can. ”

  What was left of my heart ached for the young, hopeful man who dared dream of such fantastical bullshit. “You wouldn’t hit her, would you? Make her turn black and blue?”

  “What? Why in the world would I do that?” His eyes widened at my frank question.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know, the same reason why you would want to take naked pictures of her in poses that she wouldn’t dream of imagining. Are you a virgin, Brian?” I asked.

  His face flushed under his tanned skin. “Ma’am …” he stuttered.

  I was being inappropriate, but I didn’t care. The Pimm’s Cup had worked its magic and I was invincible. “Well, are you? Have you had sex with the woman you’re madly in love with? Are you going to get tired of her after having sex? Are you ever going to make her disappear? Or maybe, you’ll leave her after facing some hard times together. You know, hook up with an older woman with money and all the beauty the knife can buy.”

  “I really should be getting that ice …”

  “Brian, men are weak creatures. Sure, you can lift heavy objects, maybe even build a shelf or a house; hell, you can even out eat, out drink, and a majority of you may still outearn us girls, but what you can’t do is unwillingly bleed from your genitals every month, give birth or ever understand what it feels like to have half of your soul ripped from you.”

  A figure interrupted my shakedown of Brian. I froze and the crystal cup that held the remainder of my drink split into a hundred tiny pieces as it landed against the cool marble floor.

  Chapter Seven

  Richard

  The July air was sticky, the sky was bruised, and my body was covered in a cold sweat. My soles had these streets memorized ever since I had left the Midwest. I had fallen in love with New York from the moment my feet hit the pavement. Frank Sinatra’s “New York New York” had become the theme song of my life. Everything about the city was alive and possessed an unmatched magnetism, the trees, people, and energy.

  I smiled at the regulars I saw on the pavement as I made my way to Zen’s Pot, the café that had transformed my life in so many ways. Back then, I hadn’t realized what an impact answering a tiny ad in a newspaper would have on my future. I thought back to that day.

  “Mary, your little bastard is here for money again.” The putrid smell of Frank, my mother’s on and off again meth-dealing boyfriend permanently lingered in my nostrils.

  “I’m here to see my mother, not you.” I tried to enter the tiny apartment which probably hadn’t been cleaned since before the sixties. He blocked my way, I pushed him aside and the eventual fist fight ensued.

  “Richie! Frankie! Stop it!” My mother stood between us. She was thinner than the last time I had seen her, and her eyes had that glazed over look that told me that she was using again. I wanted to take her away from that shitty place and never look back, but she knew no other way of life and deep within maybe I didn’t either. I had been born on the streets to a sixteen-year-old prostitute and a faceless john. Over the years, many men like Frank had drifted in and out of our lives. I hated watching my mom plead with loser after loser, begging them to stay with her. I had decided long ago that her life would not be mine. If I wanted to break the cycle I had to get away.

  I unclenched my fist and Frank backed off. “Mom, I’m going to New York, and I’m not coming back.” I suppose telling her was the least I could do. “If you want to come with me, we can make a fresh start of things.”

  “I want to be a part of it, New York, New York!” She sang at the top of her lungs taking my hand and twirling me around the filthy little living room.

  “Mom, the bus leaves at six, are you coming or not?” All that I owned was already firmly strapped against my back. I had chosen to live on the streets rather than sharing space with whoever was feeding her current addiction.

  “Richie, what in the world am I going to do in New York? My home is here with Frankie.” I glanced at Frank who flashed me a set of rotting teeth.

  “Mom, the guy’s a loser, I found a job and they say that there is massive potential to
climb the ladder. Let me take care of you. Come on,” I whispered so that Frank wouldn’t hear.

  “My Richie is going to be Richie Rich,” she squealed as she continued to twirl me around. I looked deep into her eyes trying to find a sign that the real her was in there, but it was futile. I gave her a small kiss on the cheek and promised that I would send her money as soon as I could.

  “The regular?” The young barista’s voice transported me to the present. “Yeah, thanks, Tom.” I took my Americano and sat in the far-left corner of the little shop. My phone buzzed. It was Anita.

  “Hey Richard, where are you?” Her tone was brisk and business-like as usual.

  “At Zen’s Pot,” I said letting the caffeine enter my bloodstream.

  “Not feeling nostalgic, I hope?”

  “Naw, it’s nothing like that, you know how incomparable the coffee here is.”

  “I do … We are still meeting for lunch, aren’t we?”

  A lump formed at the back of my throat, I knew what the next question was even before she asked. “Of course we are, what are you and Sara up to?”

  “Well, we’re at the restaurant, Senator Winner and a group of his buddies stopped by for an early lunch.”

  “Did they approve of the new menu?”

  “They found the selection very refreshing given it was only lunch. Let’s cut to the chase, did you get the divorce papers signed?”

  I took another sip of coffee. The pause seemed to extend into infinity, and I could hear Anita tap her nails anxiously against the granite counter table top of my bistro’s kitchen. “Not yet …”

  “You promised that they would be ready by today, remember?” Her voice was soft, but I could detect the underlying disappointment.

  “I know. I tried, trust me, but Kate had to go to New Orleans for an assignment. She promised that she’d get to them as soon as she gets back.”