by M. F. Lorson
“Should we knock?” whispered Chelsea. I shrugged, a chill running up my spine as she gently tapped the window. We waited then, both of us holding our breath. Would she come to the window again? And if she did, what would we do? There was no response.
“Tap again” I hissed. Reluctantly, Chelsea tapped on the window, this time a little louder. Somewhere in the shed wood was beginning to creak. Someone or something in there was moving. We waited for what seemed like an eternity but can’t have been more than a moment. “Breathe.” I whispered, squeezing Chelsea’s hand. Sometimes when she was scared or worked up she forgot to breathw. Chelsea’s Mom called them panic attacks and told me to come get her immediately if I saw one coming on. If it were any other time I would have taken her home, would have taken her straight to Claire. Chelsea’s Mom knew just how to calm her down. I couldn’t do that now. I had to see what or who was in that shed. Chelsea would have to wait.
There were a million things I would do differently if I could go back to that night, but only one that could have changed the outcome. I should have taken her home right then. I could have saved her if I had only taken her home. Instead I reached up and rapped on the window twice as loud as Chelsea’s last two taps. The creaking in the shed grew louder as whatever inside moved closer. Were they as afraid of us as we were of them? Chelsea was wheezing now. Her eyes begging me to abort mission but I couldn’t. I had to know. I had crossed the point of no return and I wasn’t going to leave until I saw that face in the window one more time. Suddenly a figure materialized in front of us. The dirt and grime stained glass obscured her features to some degree but I saw her there. A mess of tangled brown hair hanging long around her shoulders. Dried, cracked lips pursed in an unreadable expression. I raised my hand to wave, to show her we meant no harm. She leaned forward blowing hot steam from her mouth onto the window. I knew this trick. You saw it in television shows all the time. She was going to write a message in the steam. She had something to tell us, something important. My heart began to race. At first I didn’t understand what she wrote, the letters were backward and it took me a minute to put it all together. Three letters N U R. Run,she was telling us to run. Something or someone triggered the motion detector light in front of the shed. We were no longer invisible. The girl in the window waved her hands frantically in a go away motion. I took one last look at her before turning to run. I ran like I had never run before. I ran till my lungs felt like they would explode. I ran till I burst through the clearing. I ran until I could see my front porch light reaching out to me like the arms of salvation. I ran to safety and I left Chelsea to face the monsters alone.
Chapter 25
I woke with a renewed sense of purpose. Today I would perform my skills test to a panel of judges. Judges who would determine my fate. Judges who would look at me and decide what I’m worth. If I could just stay here long enough to graduate I knew that I could change people's mind. If I could make people see me as responsible and honest maybe they would listen when I told them about the man in the blue house. If I graduated from Huntley and Drake people might stop looking at me as just another screw up. I wouldn’t be the little girl who makes up lies to cope with tragedy. I’d be an adult. I’d be credible and I would get her justice. But first, first I had to pass.
I met the judges in the courtyard. It was a brisk morning and the three of them were bundled in the scarves and hats that are all too regular an occurrence here in the pacific northwest. I wore my blue running shoes with a Nike sport tank and the kind of shorts that look too short to be out in public but right in place when kicking off the starter block. It wasn’t until one of them stepped forward to shake my hand that I noticed Jordan, perched on the bench behind them. So he had come to watch after all. Even after our fight and the silly way I had been acting all week. I gave a small wave in his direction before giving my attention back to the judges. I had never been a particularly eloquent speaker so I didn’t bother talking myself up. I was to the point. I told them my route and the time in which I hoped to achieve it. If they wanted more than that they could always ask questions.
The dean, Mrs Lewis, and a woman I was sure I had seen on campus but couldn’t quite place would be scoring my skills assessment. They didn’t have clipboards, they weren’t even carrying pens. They were going to base their decision on observation and observation alone. I was nervous. Had we trained enough? Had I improved enough? I pushed the questions and doubts out of my head. Sydney, Jordan and Hayden all believed in me. I wouldn’t let them down. Not today. My life had been full of events I had no control over. Today was different. Today I determined my own fate. The judges began to count down, 5 4 3 2 1. I sprang forward like a leopard toward its prey. My body was a machine controlled by my brain and my brain said “You will not fail!”
The first three fourths of my mile flew. I was far ahead of my usual pace. Jordan was right, adrenaline would do for me what no amount of training could accomplish. With four hundred yards to go I launched into my final sprint. For once I felt light, seamless, a machine the way that Jordan must have felt every time he ran. Today’s run would determine whether or not I stayed at Huntley and Drake for a second term. When I got here I knew I wanted to stay because going back home had seemed unbearable. But now, I had to stay, it was so much more than want, this was where I belonged. I could do things here I had never so much as dreamed about at home. No teacher looked at me like I was stupid, people didn’t whisper when I walked past them in the halls. I wasn’t that girl who was haunted, or dense, or mean. I had friends, a support system, mentors, people, I had people here and those people were seconds away now, just waiting for me to prove once and for all that I had something to offer. I rounded the final corner with a smile plastered to my face. I couldn’t help it, for the first time since Chelsea’s disappearance I felt like someone worth knowing. It took months to build up my life, months to turn it from a dim existence to something hopeful, and only seconds for it to re-collapse. Standing beside Jordan and the judges stood a set of people I had hoped would remain forever in my past.
I pulled to a quick stop. From fifty feet away the six of us stared in silence. They seemed almost as afraid of me as I was them. No one was willing to make the first move. And then she stepped forward, cautiously at first. I’d of been cautious too. The last time I’d seen her hadn’t gone so smoothly. But she was bright enough to realize I wasn’t going to claw her eyes out, not here, with the judges watching our every move. Her copper ponytail bobbed behind her as she closed the gap between us. Her skin was still freckled from a California summer. So they’d either stayed in California or moved somewhere else warm, pleasant, and populated. They deserved exile, the both of them. She was wearing jeans and a thin T-shirt emblazoned with the fading logo of the Fighting Irish. I had never imagined her as a sports fan, or a college graduate for that matter. Every time I thought of her I envisioned that face in the window, the one she had stood with her hand on the bible and swore she’d never seen. That denial had been what prompted my fist to take refuge in the soft, freckled surface of her tiny perfect nose. It gave me great satisfaction to see that it hadn’t healed right. If you knew it was there, you could detect the faintest bump where the doctors had repaired the cartilage beneath the surface.
I had long since completed my mandated days in both Juvie and Huntley and Drake. Whatever they wanted today it wasn’t about me. Jennifer and I were close enough to touch now but neither of us spoke. In the distance behind her my parents hovered awkwardly in a half circle with the detective from Chelsea’s case and my therapist Lucinda.
“You shouldn’t be here.” I mumbled, looking everywhere but at her.
“I got your letters.”
“And what? You believe me now?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why are you here? I don’t need to be told I’m a liar again, or that I’m crazy, or be oh so subtly reminded that I was the last person to see her alive.”
“I understand how you must feel b
ut…”
“I strongly doubt you understand how I feel.”
“You want to know what happened to somebody you loved. You want to know where they went, why they left you, when they’re coming back. I know all of that. I know it in ways only you could understand.”
“I don’t know what you mean, and I’m not going to be your therapist.” I knew she was trying to say something that mattered but it mattered to her not me, not Chelsea. I wanted Chelsea back and if she didn’t believe me she didn’t have anything to offer. “You should go back home.” I said, I didn’t care to face my parents, I sure as hell didn’t want to talk to Lucinda, and the judges had long since left the courtyard. I didn’t need this, not now, not with my future on the line. To some degree I knew Jennifer was a mess. I knew she needed to hear me, needed to know everything, that it was the only thing that would give her the freedom to live again but Chelsea didn’t have that option and Jennifer had made damn sure of that. When Jennifer put it all together, when she was ready to accept and condemn her husband, we could try this again. I turned my back on her and headed back towards the barracks.
“Did you know he cleaned the shed?” She hollered after me. I stopped in my tracks. “ He spent hours cleaning the shed the day after she disappeared. I didn’t question it because he was always in there. It was no different than any other day, except that he didn’t come back in after twenty minutes, hours passed, he filled our pickup and took it to the dump and I still didn’t bat an eye. And then, before the trial, when they told us you would testify about that shed I asked him why he cleaned it. He said ‘You know how cops are. If they don’t have any real evidence they’ll pin it on whoever they can.’ He was my husband you know? If he had a secret, I would have known. You were just a little girl with an active imagination, mourning the loss of a friend. I didn’t hear you. I only heard him. So when you broke into our house, searched through our things, I told him not to press charges. And the second time, I went to bat for you then too. It was your parents who insisted there be a punishment. It was your parents who told me to press charges or it would never be over. Even then I wasn’t convinced but when you punched me? When you punched me I thought this girl is crazy, this girl needs help.”
“Wow, well thanks for all your help.” I smirked, “Juvie really transformed me, except of course that I’m not the one who needed transforming.”
“I know that now”
“You do?”
“I don’t know if what you saw is real. I don’t know if Matt had anything to do with your friend’s disappearance but I know there was something in that shed and I think I know what it was.”
“Don’t you mean who?” Jennifer gasped the hands at her side beginning to tremble.
“Yes” she said, so quietly the wind could have taken it away. “Yes, I think I know who.” This time she had my attention. During the whole duration of the trial there had been one thing that didn’t add up, one thing that freed him of guilt. That face in the window. There was no proof, no one saw her but Chelsea and I. There had been no traces of life in the shed. No leftover dishes, trash, or toiletries, just the typical garden accoutrements, shovels and fertilizer, insect repellant and gardening gloves. Without a who there was no trail to follow, nothing that linked him to her. And today she stood in front of me with an accusation on her lips. Today she believed what she had denied under oath. We weren’t stupid little girls. We knew what we saw. Just because she refused to see it herself didn’t mean it didn’t happen.
“Who then. Who is it?”
“I think it’s Arabella Madison”
“ Is that name supposed to mean something?.”
“Not to you. Not to anyone back in San Jose. She disappeared four years ago from a small town in Texas. It was local news but it never made national headlines. They never found her body but she was presumed to be dead.”
“What makes you so sure it was her? There are literally thousands of missing children all over the US.”
“She disappeared the summer we moved to San Diego.”
“And?”
“She disappeared in the town that we moved from.” The chip on my shoulder was slowly subsiding. My insides felt like Jello. Was this what hope felt like? It had been a long time since I hoped for anything.
“Nobody wakes up in the morning and thinks to themselves ‘hey maybe my husbands a child abductor. I know you all think he..” I cut her off.
“We all? We all? Don’t you mean us all? You didn’t come here because you thought he was falsely accused. You came here because you don’t know where he is.” Jennifer looked down, unable to meet my eyes.
“He’s still my husband.” She hissed.
“I’m a little young to understand the inner workings of marriage but I was under the impression it didn’t not involve running away with two underage girls involuntarily in tow.” There were angry tears streaming down Jennifer’s face.
“Coming here was a mistake. I won’t bother you again.”
“I wish that you wouldn’t!” I shouted as she made her way back across the courtyard. I could see my parents disappointment from fifty yards away. I was supposed to make nice today. That’s what this trip was about. I may have changed my grades, my outlook on life, and what I thought of myself but even Huntley and Drake couldn’t change the way I felt about the man in the big blue house.
I thought my parents would come and find me but they didn’t. They left without so much as a hello. I couldn’t say I was surprised it was no secret that my existence had become a bit of an inconvenience for them lately. I was a liability not a child. They were bright enough to cut their losses, and cold enough too. No, it wasn’t my parents that came to see me. It was Detective Finney. The same man who told the judges there was little to no evidence that what I claimed had happened had ever occurred. The same man that in nine months was yet to produce a single lead in Chelsea’s case. Detective Finney stood with his hands in his pockets.
“I heard you’re doing well here Kate.” I rolled my eyes.
“What can I say, I excel when amongst my fellow juvenile delinquents.” Detective Finney did not crack a smile. He was the serious sort. Serious, methodical, detailed. I imagined that made him a good detective in most cases but Chelsea wasn’t most cases. He needed concrete evidence to follow up on any lead and that was the one thing I couldn’t give him. He warned me that the words of a child would not hold up in court, that we would need more than that but I was still young, still hopeful. I still believed in the system. I knew better now.
He was here because he had found something concrete. But that didn’t mean he would tell me what it was.
“Jennifer is willing to testify that her husband was acting suspicious around the time of Chelsea’s disappearance. She’s willing to tell a jury that he cleaned the shed within days of her disappearance, likely destroying evidence.” This was all knew. Since when was Jennifer willing to blame her husband for anything. “It’s good information Kate and it supports your previous testimony.”
“But…” There was always a but with Detective Finney.
“But you know as well as I do that we need more than words to make an arrest.”
“And?”
“And I think you can give us what we need.”
“I don’t have any evidence. I’ve told you all that before. All I can do is tell you what I saw, and last I checked you don’t believe me.” Detective Finney combed his hands through his shaggy brown hair.
“It's more complicated than whether or not I believe you.”
“But it would help if you did. If you believed me you wouldn’t have quit looking for her.”
“I’m here today Kate, because I haven’t quit looking for her.” I knew he was right. I’d known it the moment I rounded that corner and saw him standing there. It didn’t make me any less angry.
“What do you want me to do? What do I say that you haven’t heard already.”
“I want you to sit with our composite artist.”<
br />
“Why? You have plenty of pictures of Chelsea.”
“I don’t want him to draw Chelsea. I want him to draw the face you saw in the window. Do you think you can remember what she looked like?” I laughed, of course I remember what she looks like. She’d been gracing my dreams with her presence for the last year and a half.
“Remembering is not my problem. I’ll sit for him. If you think it will help. Do you really think it will help?”
“I can’t promise anything Kate.”
“Forget about promises and rules and guarantees. Do you think you’re going to find her?” Detective Finney took a deep breath.
“I think we will find one of them.”
Chapter 26
Detective Finney didn’t waste any time. The Sketch artist was waiting for me by the time I arrived back at the barracks. I would never be able to concentrate with a bundle of girls hanging over my shoulder so I asked permission to meet in one of the libraries regularly vacant study rooms. I had seen this sort of thing on TV before but nothing really prepares you for what it feels like to be the person doing the describing. At first I thought it would all be a wash. I remembered her face alright but remembering and describing were two separate things. Fortunately this wasn’t his first composite. Over the course of the hour he asked me detailed questions about the girl’s features. Then when I had exhausted all possible adjectives for eyes, nose and mouth he turned the sketch toward me. It wasn’t perfect, but it was unmistakably the girl in the window. He had captured her expression, the shape of her eyes and nose, the roundness of her cheeks.
After the session, the artist took me back to Detective Finney. Together we showed him the composite. He looked long and hard at the drawing, saying nothing, giving nothing away. “I’ll be in contact” he stated matter of factly. “If this leads to something, I’ll be in contact.” I hated the way he said “if”. I’d heard his ifs before. IF they found anything in the shed, IF Jennifer remembered anything of note, IF Chelsea’s parents found anything indicating she ran away etc etc. There was always an IF and never a result. There was an hour until my sociology presentation and given the events of the morning I was far from feeling good about it. The last thing I wanted right now was to stand in front of a room full of my peers. I stopped by Sydney’s old coffee bar for a Twix and a small coffee, just the way I like it. Two heaping spoons full of sugar and a dollop of cream. The girl running it now was new and burnt the first pot. Nothing was going to go right today.