A Fractured Peace

by Elia Seely

  Jerome agreed with me that it was unlikely that Choden had been killed on the Pinto Ridge trail in broad daylight, but he agreed that it was equally unlikely someone had carried him up there either in pieces or as a literal dead weight.

  “I believe it was Sherlock Holmes who said that when you have eliminated the impossible that what remains must be what happened, however strange it is. Although it is not impossible that any scenario happened.” He laughed and poured more wine.

  I had one of those sudden moments of clarity that you get sometimes, before you’re about to do something really stupid. A part of my brain said you should stop now, this man has no real alibi for the afternoon and I pushed it aside with that aspect of teenage anger and rebellion that I’ve never grown out of. What about me? My inner sixteen-year-old argued. Why can’t I ever have fun? I accepted more wine and let Jerome steer the conversation away from the sutras and Choden’s death. I didn’t want to think about it anymore; I wanted to flirt and feel free of the burdens of being a responsible grown-up. Just for a little while. Though Jerome could not account for his movements between the time he left the monastery at three and his dinner at Ruby’s later that evening, I couldn’t imagine him as a cold-blooded killer. Ted Bundy, my inner adult warned. Don’t be paranoid, the teenager answered. I’ve got this.

  I shifted my position to sit cross-legged on the end of the bed. We talked about skiing, running, his life in Germany where he lived permanently, though he traveled a lot as a journalist. I noticed myself not mentioning my kids, him not mentioning any kind of girlfriend or wife. And then, suddenly, he was kissing me, his warm and woodsy smell rich as he pulled me closer. It was what I’d hoped would happen, yet I was taken by complete surprise when it finally did. We jostled around, all fumbly, wine-soaked, and passionate; undoing buttons and zippers and the tie that held my braid in place. His fingers combed roughly through my hair to free it and we both laughed in the dusk. The door to the room was still ajar, but neither of us moved to close it.

  He was lean and covered in fine golden hair, and his length and weight felt like deliverance to my body beneath him. I wrapped around him greedily. He slowed his urgent pace once inside me, turning me over onto my belly, then bringing me astride him. It had been so long since I had felt intimate and so free, and I came so easily; the knowledge in the back of my mind that I absolutely shouldn’t be doing this driving my raw lust.

  After, we both laughed in that satisfied way lovers do, languor from orgasm and the alcohol overtaking each of us. He stroked my face briefly before laying back and closing his eyes. Soon he was asleep. Thoughts started to crowd into my brain, but wine and the ebb of my days of adrenaline was stronger, and I fell into a grateful, uncaring sleep.

  I woke to the loud bang of the door hitting the wall. I leapt out of the bed, momentarily disoriented. A wind gust had blown the door against the wall and I could hear the shrill whistle of the wind around the corner of the building. I looked back to the bed. Jerome lay half-covered by the sheet, snoring softly.

  No.

  I scrambled through the jumble of clothes for my watch: 2:45 a.m.

  No, no, no.

  Margo and Dan, home alone, wondering when I was going to come in, or oblivious, doors unlocked …I put my clothes on in a rush. I stuffed my boots into my big bag, grabbed my duty belt, and stole out of the room, bringing the door to a quiet close behind me. My head ached, my tongue was dry; all familiar feelings, as well as the guilty shame-pleasure of doing what I shouldn’t have done. But I was truly shocked with myself, because right now I was being a terrible mom and a terrible cop besides.

  I drove home fast through empty streets. The worst thing was that I had done it again: left my kids alone to be with a man—though it had been years since I’d done that to go see Mack; I’d let my loneliness get the better of me. Hadn’t used a condom. Been reckless. And with the case too; this was utterly unprofessional and if anyone got a whiff of my behavior, it would get me a talking to and loss of respect, maybe even cost me my job. In those ten minutes it took me to drive home I brought every harsh judgment against myself that I could think of. It would serve me right if the house had burned down, or my kids had run away, or if I lost my job. By the time I pulled into the drive I was shaking with anger and self-recrimination and terrified that a punishing universe had already extracted its due.

  The house was dark and silent. The wind howled through the willow, whipping branches and the swing to and fro. The front screen banged, improperly latched and the door behind it wide open; leaves blew in with each gust that swung the screen open. It was noisy as hell and would’ve woken Margo. And likely she’d gone into my room and found me gone. And now she’d be afraid. The TV showed snow, glowing in the living room. Dan was asleep on the couch, an empty Doritos bag and two RC cola cans as well as a dirty plate and fork on the floor beside the sofa. I set my bag and gear down quietly, closing both doors. Dan’s feet shuffled under his blanket, but he didn’t wake. I turned off my portable radio, though the battery was dead anyway. Out of habit I locked away my gun. When I went to the hall, I thought I heard Margo’s voice, but it was just the wind. I went into her room. The bed was empty, sheet and blanket flung back to reveal her absence. I strode to my own room, but my bed was empty too, unmade from the morning.

  “Margo?” I called in a whisper, my voice incapable of anything else. “Bear, where are you?”

  I checked the bathroom, then Dan’s downstairs lair.

  Oh God, please, where is she? Let her be okay. I’m sorry … please … I don’t pray, but I started bargaining as my mind skittered over where she could be. Checked closets and cabinets, places there was no way she could hide. I ran out the back door, scanning the yard, the embryonic vegetable patch; went around to the front and under the wind-blown willow. She was nowhere.

  I stood in the yard pulling my hair painfully. Okay, think. First thing. Call for assistance. Get back in the Bronco. Start looking. Call dispatch. Get Eli. Go, go, go.

  I went back in the house. Woke up Dan.

  “Buddy—where’s your sister? Where is she?”

  “Huh?” He was addled from sleep and it took all my willpower not to shake him.

  “I had to work late. I just came in and she’s not here. Do you know—Dan—we need to find her!”

  “Mom—I don’t know.” He sat up, his eyes wide with the alarm and the terror that ran off of me in waves. “She was here, honest, I read her a story and she went to bed. At like 9 o’clock. I don’t know—are you sure?”

  I set him to looking through the house again as I went out to the street and looked up and down the length of the block. Margo would never leave the house alone at night. Never. Someone had taken her; someone had gotten my baby while I was shamelessly and thoughtlessly having sex with a stranger. I could have dropped to my knees in the street. Shame kept me from calling dispatch. I would look myself. I started in a jog down the street, wind snarling my hair as I ran, bare feet slamming into stones, feeling dimly the slash and pain of broken glass.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  I sprinted in a kind of madness down to the school; two blocks, head pinging from one side of the street to the other, scanning dark yards. When I reached the cyclone fence of the schoolyard I stopped.

  What are you doing? This is not the way to find your child! Get help! Now!

  A horrified voice of reason rang in my head. I was wasting precious moments looking for Margo on my own when I needed all resources—Bill’s dogs, the reserve officers, Eli—what the hell was I doing? I ran back to the house. Dan sat on the sofa, eyes huge and sunken into his face, terrified and confused.

  “Mom—”

  “I’m going to call dispatch right now. Get people out looking.”

  “I’m sorry Mom—I don’t know…”

  I realized he was trying not to cry. My heart broke further, if that was even possible, because I’d left him in charge, alone, fourteen and handicapped by his own injury, while I—but I pushed t
he thought down, as a kind of wild fury rose inside of me, followed by a deadly, murderous calm. My portable was out of battery, so I jogged back out to the Bronco and radioed into the graveyard shift dispatcher at the hospital. He promised to get a car over as soon as possible. Then I ran back inside and called Eli at home. He answered after the third ring, and my voice was calm and icy cold, my terror imprisoned deep inside, beating wildly but far away. I explained that I’d gotten home late, Margo was gone, I needed help to find her. Eli said he would be there as soon as he could get dressed and drive over. Then I called Butch.

  Eleanor answered, and when I heard the warm, sleep-filled sound of her voice the calm vanished, and I started sobbing.

  “It’s Shannon,” I finally got out, in between gasps. “Margo—” I couldn’t even finish.

  “Okay, honey, take a deep breath now. I’m right here—” her voice became muffled as she spoke to Butch beside her in bed. “Shannon, Butch is here. We’re both here. What’s happened?”

  I juddered through the briefest outline of the story, my brain incapable of lies but with enough self-preservation to not mention Jerome. They both would come. When I got off the phone the patrol car that the reserves used pulled up lights twirling but sirens off. A moment later Eli’s blue Toyota pickup screeched to a halt in front of the house. Both men were out of their vehicles in smooth, professional movements, climbing up the porch stairs, Eli’s hand on my arm briefly— “Dan?”— then past me to sit with my son on the couch. Andy, the volunteer reserve officer, was all business, exactly what I needed. Calm, clear, questions. The lies kicked in then; out for a drink with friends after questioning Jerome, too much to drink, falling asleep in my rig. His face stayed impassive; whatever his judgments, cops stick together in a crisis. He sat me down in the porch swing when I refused to go inside. Butch and Eleanor arrived as I finished the story, and I leapt up, so relieved to see them I started to cry again.

  “Okay, okay,” Butch said, as he reached me at the porch. Eleanor went by into the house after a quick squeeze of my arm. “Andy.” He nodded to the younger officer. “Let’s organize a search right now. Bill’s in Fort Collins for tests at the VA hospital, so we won’t have dogs until someone can get out to his place, but Joe’s on his way. Shannon, you are going to need to take some deep breaths; let’s get coffee going and map out the search. I need to know where you think Margo might go on her own, who she would go with, so forth. Can you do that?”

  My mouth was thick and dry, and a stress headache had begun over one eye. I felt powerless; the clear and useful fury was gone and I groped for an ounce of my crisis and survival training. I counted breaths, up and down.

  “Okay, okay … yeah. All right. Margo would never leave the house on her own, unless there was some kind of emergency. And Dan was here. But if—well, there’s Norma, who lives just a few blocks away, and Naomi, but she would never—and Chenno. But—Margo’s not gone anywhere on her own, Butch. She just wouldn’t.”

  “We don’t know. Have you called Chenno? Norma? No?—” he nodded to Andy. “Numbers in the phone book? Address book?”

  “Yes, yes, by the phone, there’s a book. In the kitchen.” The radio squawked in the patrol car, echoed in the Bronco’s radio.

  Eleanor came back outside. “Coffee’s on,” she said and came to stand with her arm around me. “We’ll find her,” she said. “Have faith.”

  Fury rose over me again, in a wave that left my limbs shaking. Faith? In what? A God that would let my baby suffer? The same God who took my brother? Let Choden be slaughtered so far from home? But I said nothing; stood rigid under Eleanor’s embrace.

  Joe arrived next, looking sleepy but he said nothing to me, focusing on the men. Eleanor went back inside, bodies were shifting and blurring and I felt trapped and why weren’t we looking?

  Joe left again soon, with instructions to cruise the neighborhoods extending out from here to Broad Street. Andy had raised no one at the MC but Norma was on her way over. Naomi insisted on speaking to me, and I stumbled into the house and took the phone.

  “I can be there in twenty minutes. I will come right now. I’ll help them look. Okay, Shannon, I’ll be right there. Do you want me to stop and get Chenno, talk to him? Have you called him?”

  “I—no—they couldn’t reach him. Oh, God, Naomi, we’re all just standing here and Margo, Margo—” my breath caught in my chest and pain shot through my heart. “It’s my fault, I—”

  “Stop it, Shannon, stop it. Pull it together, sweetheart, for your baby, okay? Right now. I’m coming, I’ll be there soon. Keep it together, she needs you. Promise me.”

  “Yeah … okay, I promise …” I breathed out, barely a whisper. “Come quick, please come.”

  “Leaving now, hold on, hold on.” She hung up and I stood in the kitchen, helpless, the smell of fresh coffee making me sick to my stomach. “Dan,” I said, remembering my boy, panicking, as if he could have been spirited away too. I spun to face the living room. “Dan—”

  “Mom, mom, I’m right here,” he said from the couch where he sat slumped against the curve of the sectional. Eleanor sat beside him. I went to him. “Bud, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” His voice was so small and so tired. “You were working. It’s okay.”

  My gut wrenched again and hot tears of shame slid down my face.

  Butch insisted I stay at home, for Dan, in case there was a ransom call or in case she showed up. I paced the yard, Margo’s bare little garden patch. I’d kept promising to get her a sprinkler, cages for the tomatoes she wanted to grow. People were up, looking out of windows, standing on porches. It was horrifying, and some part of me knew they were blaming me, knew what I had done, knew that Margo was gone because of my selfishness and stupidity. The pain was like a tunnel around me, dark and hot.

  I realized at some point that my feet were still bare, that a dull pain jabbed through the center of my left foot. The men started to leave, faces grim. I hugged myself tight, keeping in the panic. No one looked at me. In another few minutes Norma arrived, in a scruffy blue and white bathrobe, looking old and scared. I went to greet her, wordless as she hugged me. She sat with Eleanor on the couch with a cup of coffee on her knee while I paced up and down the kitchen.

  “Where’s Dan?”

  “He’s gone down to his room to sleep. He took half of one of his pain pills. He’s pretty overwhelmed—better to let him sleep,” Eleanor said, her tone kind.

  “Yeah, yeah, okay. Norma—”

  “Shhh,” she said. “It will be all right. Who would take her? No one. She’s probably with Chenno, for some reason. They couldn’t get him on the phone. That one young man has gone out to find him. There will be a good reason.”

  I knew that she was wrong; despite the truth that children were often abducted by an estranged parent, even Chenno would never do anything like this. Sneak in the house past his sleeping son and kidnap his daughter? It was impossible. Even drunk, he would never do it.

  “I need to be doing something. I need to be looking. Where have they gone? What are they doing? Are they looking?” I sat, stood, sat again.

  “Butch and Andy are on foot,” Eleanor said. “Eli is doing a house to house right now of your immediate neighborhood. Joe’s doing a car search and on his way to see Chenno.” She paused. “Shannon, you’ve cut your foot. Is there a first-aid kit?” This she addressed to Norma.

  Norma went silently into the bathroom where I kept a plastic tub full of Band-Aids and first aid supplies. She returned with it and sat on the edge of the couch while Eleanor cleaned my cut and dressed it. Her hands were folded and though she watched Eleanor her look was within; furiously I wondered if she was praying.

  “Shannon,” Eleanor spoke firmly now. “You need to think clearly. I know you are distraught, we all are, but we need to help our men look for her and think of any place—however unlikely—that Margo might go. Any person that she would leave the house with. Anyone that kn
ows you live here and has any kind of a grudge against you, okay?”

  “I don’t—she wouldn’t—”

  “We need to do this. This is protocol, and it’s what we need to do. Now.”

  Her calm and clarity bled through to me, and with her coaxing and Norma’s patient hand recording notes in one of Dan’s old school notebooks, we began the list. Naomi arrived at some point and sat on the floor next to me as we tried to imagine where Margo might be, and with whom. The possibility that she had been taken from my home by a stranger, or worse, by Choden’s killer, squatted like a grotesque elephant in the room. I knew all the statistics about missing children. Most dead within hours of their abduction, after torture, rape, terror. Like a robot I went through the names of Margo’s little friends, her teachers, her Blue Bird leader. But inside, my very soul was hollowed out by the horror of what could be happening to my tiny, sweet, sensitive baby girl.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  At some point Norma went home; she thought it best in case Margo for some reason should turn up there. Naomi had left reluctantly just before sunrise to attend to all her animals, promising to come back as soon as she finished. When the dawn came, the men had returned and stood in the kitchen, solemnly reassessing the situation. I had become a victim, not one of them, but the one on the other side, to be handled and protected. But I knew what they were all thinking.