The Missing Woman: Utterly gripping psychological suspense with heart-thumping twists

by Georgina Cross

  My head is spinning. All of this—it’s too much—too fast. An appointment in two days? A baby. Something this catastrophic and important.

  And I’m driving her. I’ll need to care for her.

  I turn my eyes to Sabine. Of course I will. “Yes, I’ll help you.”

  She collapses to her knees, the tears pouring more freely, her face twisting with pain until it breaks my heart in two. The anguish that’s cracking open. Pressing her head against my chest, her body trembles, the full sobs wracking her body until she wails, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean… I didn’t know. Please forgive me…”

  And I’m not sure who she’s asking an apology from: me or her parents or Zach, because with me, she doesn’t need to apologize. I’ll be here to support her no matter what. But then I know. The baby. Her heart is breaking and she will never be the same again. She’s pleading for forgiveness from the baby she will never meet.

  When Sabine limps toward the car I know something is wrong. She leans her body against mine, her feet shuffling, body bent at the waist, and I’m gripping the discharge papers from the clinic, guiding her across the parking lot. She winces, followed by a cry as she lowers herself into the front passenger seat.

  The front of the building sent goosebumps across my body when we first arrived. The dingy waiting room and interminable wait after they led Sabine behind closed doors. And now this, Sabine hurting, and far more than I thought would happen after a procedure like this. Something’s not right.

  “Sabine…” I say, nerves flying through my belly. “This isn’t good… Are you okay? Tell me what to do.”

  She rests her head against the headrest and grimaces, her upper lip curling with pain. “Take me to your house,” she whispers.

  As we drive, my heart is hammering a sickening thousand miles a minute. I keep darting my eyes to her face, the tightening of her jaw every time we hit a bump, the bracing of her arm against her stomach as she bites her lip and whimpers with every turn, even though I’m driving as carefully as I can. But inside, I’m freaking out—racing at break-neck speed and wishing we could be home, get this day over with. Her head lolls to one side.

  “Sabine.” I reach out my hand to check her. Her skin is clammy. “We should find another doctor. Something’s wrong.” The fear edges up the back of my throat.

  She rattles the bag clutched in her hand, holding onto the prescription bottles they’ve given her like a lifeline. “I have meds. This is normal…” But her voice is hoarse.

  “This is not normal!” I cry.

  At the off-ramp, I veer into a merging lane and someone stops ahead of me suddenly—a red light—and I have no choice but to slam on the brakes. Sabine lets out a howl and my heart explodes inside my chest.

  “I’m so sorry! Sabine!” And she’s crying, scrunching her body against the seat, her face drenched in sweat.

  I can’t do this—I can’t do this on my own. Sabine needs help. She’s in trouble. Something’s gone terribly wrong and they screwed up the procedure. I can’t hide her in my bedroom while my parents are out of town. We need adults. We need—

  I drive her straight to her parents’ house.

  “What are you doing?” She lifts her head but is too weak to protest.

  “Sabine, I’m so…” I don’t finish what I’m saying because I pull into the Taylors’ drive and run for her parents’ door.

  Pulling on their arms, I don’t tell them much, only that they must come quick. Come now. Sabine is in my car and she needs help.

  The Taylors clutch their daughter. Her dad carefully scoops her out of the front seat and carries her into the house while, hysterical, Mrs. Taylor tosses pillows from the couch and clears a space for Sabine to lie down. Mrs. Taylor’s eyes are wide as saucers, the panic ripping through her face as Sabine’s dad asks repeatedly, “Are you all right? What happened?” Their eyes are on me, a pointed look in my direction. “What’s happened to our daughter?”

  Sabine misses school for two weeks. She doesn’t go to Homecoming and doesn’t answer my calls. She also breaks up with Zach, but I’m sure it’s because her parents convince her to never see him again.

  The Taylors keep her home while she recovers. They enlist a family friend, a retired doctor, who ensures Sabine’s infection will subside and her fever will dissipate as long as she keeps taking her antibiotics. I only know this because after repeated attempts of knocking on the Taylors’ front door, her mom finally lets me in. She says Sabine is recovering but that I’m not allowed to see her.

  “But Mrs. Taylor. It’s me. Please—”

  “I love you girls,” she says. “I love you so much.” She turns away, barely able to meet my eyes. “But what you’ve done… what Sabine has done. It goes against everything we stand for. This family. Our religious beliefs. I’m sorry she had to bring you into all this.”

  I’m sobbing. “She didn’t think she had a choice. She was terrified. I was only trying to help—”

  “You should have never taken her.”

  I stop short, my breath stuck in my throat. My voice wobbles. “I’m so sorry!” I whisper again, and I want to rush to her, hug her, feel her wrap her arms around me too. This woman I’ve known for years, almost a second mother. Our happy times together during our trip.

  But Sabine’s mom wants nothing more to do with me.

  She bristles. “She could have been seriously hurt. That place…” Her eyes fill with tears. “She was seriously injured.”

  I tear my eyes toward the stairs. “Please let me see her.”

  But she’s nudging me out the door. Swallowing a sob, she says, “I think it’s best if the two of you stay away from each other.”

  Stunned, I step back from the porch. “Mrs. Taylor?”

  “We need Sabine to get back on her feet. Recover from this ordeal. She has college applications to focus on.”

  “But Mrs. Taylor—”

  “I’m praying for you, Erica. I love you so much…” She reaches out an arm and shuts the door.

  Twenty-Six

  I don’t know what to do. I’m a shell of a person without Sabine. I stay at home and wait endlessly to hear from her, but nothing. I’m chewing my nails, a horrible habit, and sitting in a corner with nothing else to do but wait.

  My parents work so much and are hardly home, and even when they are, I don’t bother them with what’s happening. I try to hide it as best I can. Granddad notices, though. He stops by and helps me with laundry. The two of us stand at the sink and rinse dishes that have piled up on the counter. He asks me why I’m being so quiet, why he hasn’t seen Sabine come around for a while, but I don’t say a word. My family would be horrified by what we’ve done too.

  At school, it’s only worse. Heidi and Sasha ask me what’s going on and I don’t know what to say. I keep lying to them, and to everyone, and the girls badger me daily asking if I’ve heard from Sabine. After their own phone calls to the Taylors go unanswered, the girls visit their home.

  “She has the flu,” Heidi says at lunch. “Her mom wouldn’t let us upstairs but that’s the deal.”

  I raise my eyes, wondering if they really believe that.

  Sasha adds, “Poor Sabine. I heard the flu is pretty bad this year.”

  They believe them.

  I want to throw up where I sit, my hands shaking. Clamping my fingers beneath the table, I will myself to be calm, hoping they don’t see the torn ends of my nails. Heidi asks me repeatedly why I haven’t tried to visit and of course I tell her I’ve tried. I leave out the part about the door slamming in my face.

  Zach, Sabine’s boyfriend until a couple of weeks ago, is beside himself with worry too. He still sits with his friends at lunch but his head droops. He’s barely eating. Occasionally, he lets his eyes drift across the cafeteria and I quickly turn away. Other times, I stand up and dump my food in the trash.

  One day after school, Zach runs toward my car and holds his arm against the door not letting me get in and drive off. I’ve been avoiding
him for days and he’s sick of it, but I know he’s worried sick about Sabine. The green of his eyes flashes. A tuft of brown hair he rakes across his head.

  “What’s going on?” he asks. “She won’t see me. She canceled Homecoming.” His brows squeeze tight. “She said we’re breaking up and I don’t understand. Why? What did I do? What’s happening?”

  I push my backpack beneath his arm and hurl it across the seat. “I don’t know, Zach. She won’t talk—”

  “Bullshit!” His face is inches from mine but it’s not threatening. At any second, he’s about to cry. And my heart hurts, it really does. Not seeing Sabine. Lying to everyone. Watching Zach be in so much pain.

  Sabine, I was only trying to help.

  It’s what you asked. I was so scared you were hurt…

  “She talks to you about everything,” Zach says. “You know every little thing when it comes to her. What’s going on?”

  I can’t tell him—I mustn’t. And I want to push past him, close the door and crank the engine, shutting him out. But he won’t let me. His arm blocks my path.

  “Erica! Please. She says she doesn’t want to be with me anymore but I don’t believe her. Her parents told me she has the flu but that’s made up too. You know something, I know you do. You have to tell me.”

  But my words sound hollow. “I can’t, I’m sorry.”

  He tightens his grip against the door frame, his eyes narrowing. “She doesn’t have the flu, does she?”

  I fumble with my keys and look away.

  “She said something to me a few weeks ago. Something I couldn’t figure out. It came out of left field.” His eyes soften. They turn heavy. “She asked about kids. I told her I didn’t want any, not yet at least. I mean, we’re only in high school. I’ve got my football scholarship and years of ball ahead of me. And she looked so sad. So heartbroken. It didn’t make any sense. A few days later she said she felt sick.” His eyes stare into mine, the seconds excruciating. And a shocked realization hits his brain, his face tilting up, pained with the question: “Was she pregnant?”

  I don’t make a sound but my face gives it away. Zach knows me too well. My silence is the only answer he needs.

  “Oh my God.” He stumbles back, his arm dropping limply from my car. “That’s what it is, isn’t it? That’s what happened…”

  My heart squeezes—Fix this, Erica! Convince him otherwise. Do something! But Zach is sprinting across the parking lot and jumping into his truck.

  Sabine calls me from her parents’ house phone—I can’t believe it, she’s actually called me back—but my stomach twists. I know why. I’ve been pacing my bedroom floor, a sickening dread, knowing Zach has gone straight to her place.

  But Sabine tells me her parents didn’t let him in. They barred him at the door like they’ve done with everyone else.

  But Zach found a way upstairs anyhow. He sprinted past Mrs. Taylor and ignored everything she said. And now Sabine has asked him to leave and her voice is screaming at me through the phone.

  “You told my parents! And you told Zach! How could you? How could you do this? What were you thinking?” She’s talking so much and so fast, I don’t have a chance to say anything in return. I only want to pound the floor with my fists and beg for her to listen. Beg for her to understand where I’m coming from.

  I was trying to save you.

  If you’d stayed with me, you could have gotten worse. You could have died.

  I didn’t tell Zach. He figured it out on his own.

  She’s crying so hard she’s hiccupping. “I trusted you. I asked you to help. You knew how much I didn’t want to do this but I had to and no one was supposed to know. Only you.” Another sob. “Only you, Erica.”

  “Please listen—”

  “No!” she says. “Don’t! My parents—they’re devastated. Do you know what this is like for them? How they’ve always wanted the world for me. All their prayers. My first Communion. They thought I was perfect, and now this. They can barely look in my direction. Can barely sit in the same room. And now they’re talking about sending me away.”

  What?

  “Boarding school. In a few months. They’re sending me away to some boarding school!” she wails. “And it’s because of you! Everything’s ruined. How can I get into college now? A transfer in the middle of the year looks bad. But my parents think it’s the only way for me to focus, to not get in trouble again. Because of—”

  “You can’t leave.”

  “I don’t have a choice!”

  “I’ll help you. We’ll work on those applications. We’ll get you into Samford.”

  “Don’t you understand?” Sabine cries. “My parents don’t want me to have anything to do with you anymore!”

  When Sabine returns to school, she doesn’t want to sit together at lunch. She places her backpack in my chair and turns her head. For whatever reason, Sasha and Heidi come up with an outrageous idea I have a thing for Zach and that’s why we’re no longer friends. Sabine doesn’t deny it, she’s too wrapped up in her own grief to respond, and the girls stay by her side, leaving me alone. An anger and a hurt that cuts deep inside.

  A month later, she’s sent to the boarding school she warned me about. No goodbyes. No hugs but a letter she places in my mailbox.

  My heart is broken. I know yours is too. But you broke my trust and I’m not sure if I can forgive you. After what happened, I’m not sure if I can forgive myself.

  Throw away that bracelet. It’s meaningless now. Lake Tahoe is one of the last times I remember being happy, my parents too. But no one has joy anymore.

  Take care of yourself, Erica.

  She signs the letter, S.

  And at the bottom of the page, a blemish where something has dried. A spot on the paper the size of a teardrop. Evidence I know Sabine cried, that she still cares.

  Four months later comes the devastating news her parents have died in a car accident and my heart shatters into a million pieces—a horrific nightmare to process since they’d been driving to visit Sabine at her school. In my agony, I picture Mrs. Taylor with her thermos of coffee and Mr. Taylor wearing his Drive or Bust T-shirt. How they only wanted the best for Sabine. How they didn’t understand the agonizing choice she’d made in the end.

  And my soul tears open, the pain I know my friend must be going through, how I want to run to her and help. But she barely speaks to me at the funeral, which is agony in itself as I’m grieving for the Taylors as if I’ve lost a member of my own family, something that would kill me inside. At the service, my parents and Granddad sit beside me. My mom, tired and overworked, reaches for my hand. She cries into a handkerchief my granddad gives her and prays quietly for Sabine’s parents. I lean my head against her shoulder and close my eyes.

  I’m hurting for my friend, who I know is going through so much. And by the end of summer when we leave for separate colleges, I’m starting to come to terms with the fact we may never speak again.

  I try reaching out to her once by phone, and then stop. I’m hurting too—the way she’s cut me off, how she ended our friendship. And years later when I move to Green Cove, I can’t believe it when I see her. What are the chances of us living in the same town? I mean seriously. The same neighborhood? But utterly worlds apart. We’re hardly recognizable to one another.

  But seeing her reminds me of what happened. The abrupt ending. Her anger raged at me when I was only trying to help. Her going away without even a proper goodbye.

  Sometimes when I see her out and about—Sabine along the walking trail or leaving the kids’ school—I bite my tongue. I squeeze my wrist where my bracelet used to be, the one she told me to put away, and the memories light like a torch, tearing me up inside, an anger and a hole that’s been left in my life. And I struggle daily with what I’m going to do about it.

  Part Three

  Present

  Twenty-Seven

  Monday afternoon

  Tish asks, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

 
She’s staring at the photo, at Sabine having lunch, holding a soda can and smiling for the camera with her hair down, gold earrings dangling above the collar of her school uniform. Three other girls sit alongside her lifting their soda cans to make a toast too, including me.

  Tish takes the yearbook from my hands and flips through the pages. Another photo captures Sabine once again in the cafeteria but things are different now. The light and laughter in her eyes have vanished, her cheeks sunken, the forced closed-lip smile for the photographer as Zach and I are the only ones who know what she’s going through.

  I’m no longer sitting with Sabine. Only Sasha and Heidi remain at the table posing with big smiles, oblivious to the fact our friend is going through so much pain—and it’s not their fault; they didn’t know. All they’re aware of is I’ve been relegated outside the group.

  For Sabine’s change in appearance and mood, the girls must have assumed she was worried about exams. Her breakup with Zach. Completing her college application essays in time. The pressure of earning that scholarship. On other days, she must have faked it with enough of a smile to assure them she was all right.

  But this snapshot has caught it. Without realizing it, this photo documented what happened to Sabine in her senior year—what happened to us. The searing divide.

  Tish says, “You guys didn’t just go to school together, you were really good friends. But why…” She looks at me strangely. “I don’t get it. Why didn’t you say something before?”

  I shut the yearbook. It’s hard for me to look at the pictures right now, memories of Sabine rushing back full force. The years that have gone by since then.

  “It was a long time ago. We went our separate ways. We had a fight. It was rough but those things happen.”