by Glenn Rolfe
The tears rose and blurred her vision.
“It’s not your fault,” her dad said. He came to her, wrapping her in his arms.
“I think that’s enough for right now,” the sheriff said. He gulped down his coffee and placed the mug on the table.
“One last thing before I let you two alone. What time did you leave your aunt’s place?”
Michele looked up at her dad.
“What, you came into the garage…it must have been around 5, 5:30??”
Not trusting herself to speak without her voice quivering, she nodded
Sheriff Davis patted her father on the shoulder.
“I’ll be in touch soon as I hear anything.” He turned his blue eyes to her. “Thanks for the coffee.”
They walked him out the door and watched him get in his car and leave.
“I didn’t think…I…”
“Cheli, look at me.”
She did.
“Laura decided to stay. It’s not your fault, whatever this is.”
She knew it was true, but that didn’t make up for the fact that she’d abandoned her, left her there alone.
“I don’t see myself getting to sleep anytime soon. You wanna watch something with me?”
She did, but she didn’t. She wanted to be alone. “I’m really tired.”
He kissed her head again and gave her a hug. “I’ll probably be up awhile. Hell, I should probably check on you mother, but I’m not about to leave you here alone. You change your mind…”
“Thanks, dad.”
She started for the hallway.
“Dad?”
He was reaching up to the cupboard above the refrigerator, where her parents kept the liquor.
“Yeah?”
“What do you think’s going on?”
He brought down a bottle.
“I don’t know, honey. I don’t know, but I’m sure…I’m sure Sheriff Davis will figure it out.”
She thought about Greg standing outside her window. A chill ripped through her.
Just a dream.
“Goodnight, dad.”
“Goodnight.”
She thought she’d never sleep. Not for the rest of her life.
If they don’t find Laura…
She curled up under her covers with her Kindle.
Her eyes itched beneath lids that suddenly felt lined with lead. She forced herself to read on, deeper into a story that was growing less fictional by the page. What was this woman digging up?
Sometime after Midnight, exhaustion overtook her.
In her dreams, Aunt Ginny peeled her own face off and revealed the blank space behind the flesh. Laura followed suit but her uncle’s face waited beneath. His moustache reached out like a thousand baby tentacles from a bad science fiction movie. She tried to escape, running out the front door and into the waiting arms of her father.
She buried her face in his chest. When she looked at him again it was no longer her dad. It was Greg.
His arms grew tighter around her. She struggled and cried as his arms became a cocoon that grew and grew until it swallowed her. Her screams cut out, like a YouTube video where the audio just drops out completely.
Her silent screen nightmare continued until dawn.
…..
Shane stopped in at the Botwell’s and spilled the bad news, and then spent the next few hours driving around town, before making his way back over to the Neilson’s neighborhood. He sat in his cruiser out front of the trailer until it got hard to keep his eyes open. Nothing moved, no lights came on or off in any of the immediate houses near the trailer. He caught movement in the trees around two-thirty, but found out it was two deer hightailing out of sight.
Convinced no one was coming home tonight and becoming a danger himself behind the wheel, he headed home.
Mae was asleep when he crawled in beside her. Despite how exhausted he’d been on the way home, even resorting to slapping himself to keep his eyes open, he was now wide-awake. There would be no sleep for the wicked, at least not any time soon.
He set a steaming mug of tea on the kitchen table and took a seat. Mae had thrown out yesterday’s newspaper; otherwise he’d be re-reading the article from this morning. They’d had missing kids in the area before. Missy Hopkins, eight years old. Her father and his girlfriend claim they went to bed and woke up to find the girl missing. Two years later, a dog found the girls remains out back of the mill where the father, Stephen Hopkins, worked. Last year, a teen from Bethel, his name was Clark or Cal, one of those, Shane couldn’t remember, walked out of his house and was found by a passerby the next morning. The poor kid was clinging to a tree limb that hanged over the Weston River. The boy was autistic and got lost in the dark. He got hypothermia, but turned out okay.
This felt different. The Neilson’s were the logical suspects. Their daughter, then their niece, and now they were nowhere to be found. A creak of the floorboards behind him, and the scent of jasmine, alerted him to Mae’s presence.
“Evening, dear,” he said. He sipped the tea, tried to keep the bitterness from his face, and set the cup down.
He watched his wife walk to the sink and get a glass of water.
“Tea?” she asked as she took the chair next to him.
“Yep. Wanted another cup of Folgers, but I gotta get to sleep sometime.”
“There’s caffeine in tea, too.”
“Shit.”
She placed a warm hand on his. “I got just the thing. You stay right here.”
He knew her sleep remedy. She disappeared down the hallway and came back a minute later, a freshly rolled joint in her hand.
“Ma’am, you do know I’m an officer of the law.”
She sparked the end with the long light she used for her candles. She took a hit, held it in, and exhaled. She handed it over. “You gonna turn me in?”
He brought the weed up to his lips. “I guess I’ll give you a pass this one time, seeing’s how you’re awful pretty.” He inhaled.
She kissed his cheek, and sat back down. She tossed her beautiful gray-streaked hair over her shoulder and gave him the smile that captured him twenty-three years ago.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” she said. “Maybe I’ll take you out back and show you a thing or two.”
He felt her foot slide up his calf. She had that twinkle in her eye.
Shane took another hit and passed it over.
“There are worse things to do in the middle of the night when you can’t sleep.”
“Why, Officer Davis, I’m not that kind of gal.” She took a hit and passed it back. “So, what’s really eating at you?”
“The Neilson’s are missing.”
“What?”
“And Laura Botwell”
“When?”
“Got the call tonight.” He filled her in on the evening events. The joint burned out in his fingers.
“Jesus, no wonder you can’t sleep,” Mae said. “You can’t get a hold of Deputy Horner?”
Above all else, Horner’s disappearance took the cake for most bizarre. It didn’t fit.
Shane thought of the Maglite covered in goop.
“You’re heading back out.” Mae said. It was a statement, not a question. She knew his looks.
“I got enough rest.”
She brewed him up some fresh coffee and sent him on his way.
He was buzzed, but the coffee would get his feet closer to the ground. Horner had a boyfriend in town. No one at the station knew the kid was gay, and it didn’t matter in the least to Shane, but Horner was accustomed to hiding the fact. Shane had seen his deputy’s car parked outside of Jake Newman’s house enough times to put two and two together.
He put the cruiser in DRIVE and headed for Newman’s.
Chapter Sixteen
Michele woke up just after four in the morning. It was still dark outside when she got up and got dressed. She wondered if she was being stupid. No, she knew she was, but that hadn’t been enough to stop her from sneaking ou
t.
What would Veronica Mars do?
Okay, it was ridiculous, but still. She abandoned Laura. She turned to a chicken shit scared little girl and ran away. She couldn’t sleep thinking that her cousin was out there somewhere lost or taken by…who? Her aunt and uncle?
No.
She knew who it was. He’d visited her.
“I won’t fail you, Laura,” she said.
She’d never been so aware of her surroundings. It raised every hair on her body and blistered her skin with goose bumps. The entire neighborhood slept.
Or they’re gone, too.
Cars in every driveway, no lights in any window-they’re sleeping.
That’s what most sane people do at four in the morning.
She wasn’t making herself feel any better.
It was warmer out than usual. The post-storm smell–tangy and ozone-tinged—accompanied her as she speed-walked toward her aunt’s trailer.
Headlights bloomed down the road. She hurled herself behind the overgrown hedges out front of the Rotenberg’s.
The car slowed again and again. It wasn’t until the newspaper in a plastic bag slapped the driveway that she was able to breathe easy.
The paperboy.
She was a bit surprised that that was a job someone still had. Who read the paper anymore? Apparently, Mr. Rotenberg, among others on this street.
She waited until the taillights of the station wagon disappeared around the corner, then continued to her destination.
The trailer was dark. The screen to the bathroom window was leaning against the bottom of the trailer. She shivered. The powerful case of heebee jeebees, as her dad referred to them, caused her serious reason to pause.
“Jesus, I shouldn’t be here.”
As much as she’d been happy that her parents were fast asleep when she slipped out the back door, she now couldn’t help praying that they would come swerving and swearing down the road after her. To put an end to her foolish game.
This isn’t a freaking movie. What if her aunt and uncle really did something awful to Laura? What if they’d done something to Jennifer? She’d seen plenty of shows where people that seem nice enough just snap and do some of the most sick and deranged stuff possible. And it was always to people they knew. They always hurt those that trusted them. Those that would never in a million years suspect them of their horrendous crimes.
She crouched to the wet lawn, closed her eyes, and shook her head.
A loud crack from behind the trailer clenched her spine.
She opened her eyes and tried to swallow the lump in her throat.
She wasn’t alone.
…..
Shane drew his gun. Jake Newman’s front door was wide open.
“Mr. Newman, you home?”
No answer.
He flicked on the light switch, a living room modernly furnished with a sofa and chair that looked more appropriate for a sci-fi movie than a place people would actually relax. He held his gun snug to his chest as he entered the home, his eyes darting to each corner as he moved swift, yet cautiously, through the first few rooms--living room, kitchen, dining room, bathroom—until he reached what looked to be the master bedroom. The bed spread stretched out across the floor, and the lavender sheets on the bed were soaked. The deep purple curtains waved before an open window. He hurried over and found the screen smashed out, lying upon the lawn. He raised his chin and gazed at the woods just beyond the recently mowed backyard. Another one of his citizens had been taken.
Just what the fuck is going on here?
Shane went back out to his car and reached in the window for his two way.
“Crowley? Sheriff here, over? Crowley?”
“Crawford?”
No one answered.
Shane dug out his seldom used cell phone and dialed the station.
He got a busy signal. He tried again and got the same.
Tight-lipped, he leaned back against his door and stared at the empty house. Newman’s Audi sat in front of the small garage.
Missing kids was one thing, a damn shame and the worst kind of criminal act, but now this? The hell if he could wrap his mind around any of it. He needed to check the station, and if it was as he feared, he was going to need back up. He dialed Bret Cote’s number as he got behind the wheel, fired up his cruiser, and drove toward the station.
Cote picked up after three rings. Groggy and gruff, Shane was just glad his friend was home.
“Yeah?”
“Bret, its Sheriff Davis.”
“Mmm. Sheriff? Is everything all right?”
“Wish I knew. Sorry for waking you.”
“No, no worries, what is it?”
“I wish I knew. Deputy Horner never checked in. Now I can’t get a hold of Deputy Crawford or my dispatcher.”
“Shane, what in the world--”
“I haven’t the faintest. Listen, at this point I’m just glad to hear another voice. Do me a favor.”
“Anything.”
“Get Brenda and your daughter, drop them off at my place with Mae, then meet me at the station. Can you do that?”
“Yeah, I guess… I mean, of course. Yes.”
“Good. Meet me as soon as you can.”
“Okay.”
“Thank you, Bret. I’m sorry to have to ask this of you--”
“No worries, Shane. I’m on my way.”
Shane cruised the darkened back roads. Every house sat in total darkness. Not surprising at this time—his dash clock read 4:15—but he’d give anything for a light in one place.
He dialed Mae. She answered, lifting another huge weight from his shoulders. He filled her in on his concerns and told her the Cote’s were on their way over. He hated to worry her, but wasn’t about to let anything happen to her, either.
His phone made a loud beeping noise in his ear.
“That your phone?” Mae said.
“Yeah, probably dying on me.”
“I’ll let you go,” she said. “Be safe. I love you.”
“Love you–” The phone went dead. “Too,” he said, tossing the cell to the seat beside him.
He reached for the ignition when something slapped against the driver’s side window.
Chapter Seventeen
“Where is she, Bret? Huh? I swear to God, if anything happens to her–”
“Jesus, Brenda, if I knew I’d…you know what? Let’s just get in the truck and look for her.”
If he could just leave her here he would. The word DIVORCE burned bright through his racing mind in raging neon lights.
Goddamn it, Cheli, what the fuck are you doing?
With all the shit going on, the last thing he needed was his daughter out there.
Here he was stuck with the one person he wished would go missing…
He hung his head, his hand on the truck’s door handle.
You don’t mean that, you piece of shit.
He was just out of balance, Cheli was his everything. And he cared for his wife, despite the arguments, the coldness between them these last couple years.
“Well?” Brenda said.
He opened the door, climbed behind the wheel, and started the truck. His baby barked to life as he threw it in REVERSE.
“I promised the sheriff I’d get you over to stay with Mae–”
“Bullshit. I’m not going anywhere until we know where Michele is.”
Tears filled her eyes. He reached over and placed his hand on hers.
“I promise you, I will find her.”
He knew where she’d gone. There was only Ginny’s. She wouldn’t dare go to the lake in the dark, but damn if that girl hadn’t inherited his bullheadedness and his pension for guilt.
“We have to swing by your sister’s. If she’s not there, you take the truck and head to Mae’s. There’s no reason she should be left to fend for herself.”
“What is going on?” she broke down, leaning across the cab and crying on his shoulder.
“I don’t know, dear
. I don’t know.”
She lifted her face and kissed his cheek.
“Let’s just hurry.”
He let off the brake, his tires squealed halfway down the street, screaming through the night.
Ginny’s trailer came into sight.
“I don’t see anyone,” he said.
Part of Bret looked for Deputy Horner’s cruiser. Shane had dispatch call Gunner’s tow company. The car was gone, still, it somehow added to the wrongness of the scene. The irrational side of his brain wanted to go back in time. Go back to a month ago when everything had been peachy fucking keen outside of his marriage. This was too surreal.
He pulled the truck to a stop on the lawn.
“Stay here. I’ll check it out.”
She grabbed hold of him.
“You’re not leaving me out here. I’m coming in.”
“Fine, come on.”
He climbed out and waited for her by the grille. She took his hand and followed him toward the front door.
Feeling her hand in his, he wondered how long it had been. Damned if he could recall. When had it happened? When had they fallen away from one another?
He opened the door and shoved it inward. The interior was as he and the sheriff left it. Black and empty.
He let go of her hand and rose his signaling for her to wait.
“Cheli?”
The silence, the goddamn silence.
“Oh god, Bret. Where is she?”
He turned, grabbed her by the upper arms, and raised her chin with his hand.
“I’m going to find her.”
She nodded as tears fell.
Guiding her back to the truck, he let her go, opened the passenger door, and pulled his Ruger pistol beneath the seat.
“What are you doing? I didn’t know you had that in there?”
“Take my truck. Get to the sheriff’s. I promised him we’d watch over Mae.”
“What about you?”
He reached his back, tucking the pistol under his flannel shirt.
“I can take care of myself. I’ll find our girl. Promise.”