The Stolen Breath

by L. G. Davis

“It’s a new email,” I murmur.

  There are no words this time, just an attachment, a photo that makes my stomach turn. It’s an image of a soiled baby’s onesie, pink with white ruffles around the hem. The entire torso section is soaked with blood. I don’t need to read the words accompanying the image to recognize it as Lea’s.

  “I feel sick.” I clutch my stomach with one hand, fingers digging into my flesh.

  Clayton takes the laptop from me before it falls from my lap.

  I’m so much in shock that my body is delayed at reacting to the signals sent to it by my brain. The last few months I’ve gotten quite good at crying. It helped get rid of the overwhelming emotions in my body. Now, the stress emotions have reached their peak. It would take more than crying to expel them.

  Clayton tries to touch me, but I shake him off. Then I grab a throw pillow and press it against my face, screaming my frustrations into it.

  When I drop the pillow again, my vision is blurred by my tears.

  “What can I do for you?” Clayton asks. His face is contorted with worry.

  “I don’t know. You’ve done so much already.” I massage the back of my neck. Then it occurs to me that maybe he can help me figure something out. “How do you think my stalker got hold of Lea’s onesie? Surely, the police have it in their possession.”

  Clayton looks taken aback. He didn’t expect me to go from meltdown to a conversation within seconds. At the moment, the only way for me to protect myself is to pretend I’m a detective on this case instead of the mother of the victim.

  He rubs the side of his face. “Well, I think the photo was probably taken before the piece of clothing was buried. The blood in the photo looks fresh.”

  My emotions push their way up my chest again, but I try to swallow them down. It doesn’t work.

  “I could never do that. I could never hurt my baby.” I snap out of my trance and start pacing the room, hyperventilating. “The police need to know. I should tell them.”

  How the hell did this happen? Just over a year ago, I was pregnant and in love with my husband. The world was at my feet. Now I don’t have my baby and I don’t have Andrew.

  Something clicks in my mind and a terrifying realization washes over me. “I think Andrew was killed by my stalker.”

  Clayton raises an eyebrow. “Who’s Andrew?”

  “My husband.” I twist my wedding ring around my finger. “He died the day Lea was born. Someone ran him over.”

  “Jesus, Delia. I’m so sorry for your loss. That’s devastating.”

  “Yeah. Especially since the killer was never found.”

  “And you really think the person who took Lea is the one who killed your husband?”

  “I don’t know what to think, Clayton.” My husband is gone and Lea is all I have in this world. I saw the bloodied onesie. I heard what Ray told me over the phone. But I can’t allow myself to believe my daughter is dead. I won’t be able to survive it. “I just want my baby back. I need to find her.”

  Clayton looks at me like I’m going crazy. “You still think she’s alive? But you saw the photo.”

  “I know what I saw,” I snap. “But I won’t believe it until I see her for myself.”

  I have two options. To sit and wait for the police to find my daughter in whatever state she’s in, or to go searching for her myself again.

  “I still think it would be dangerous for you to go out there. Especially now that the police think you did it.”

  I have to agree with him. Also, it’s not only the police who are a danger to me right now. The kidnapper is dangerous. I could end up dead.

  “Wait here for a day or two to see if the police find the maniac who took your child. A lot can happen in a few hours.” He takes me by the shoulders. “If this person really killed your baby and your husband, you could be next. You have to let the police find him or her.”

  It terrifies me that he’s right. I’m safer on the boat. Even if I go out there, I have no idea where to start searching for the monster who’s holding my life hostage.

  “But not doing anything is also killing me.”

  “Here.” He hands me my phone. “The internet will allow you to search for your daughter without getting off the boat.” Clayton pushes himself to his feet. “I’ll get you something to drink, then I’ll help you.”

  When he returns, I’m scrolling through hundreds of comments on various posts on my blog. Since the post that went viral is deleted, visitors to my blog have posted their thoughts on older ones, wanting to have their voices heard.

  “Have you found anything useful?” Clayton walks back into the room and puts a glass of orange juice on the coffee table in front of me.

  “Not yet.” I sign into my Facebook account, where more comments and messages await me from both supporters and haters.

  My search leads me to a Facebook group called Find Lea, created by one of my Facebook friends. Clayton is as amazed as I am.

  “I can’t believe this.” Tears warm my eyes. “Fifty members, me included.”

  Clayton picks up his laptop. “Soon to be fifty-one,” he says. “I just requested to join.”

  It touches me to the core to know that even when I’m feeling totally helpless, there are people out there who have my back.

  The group keeps me sane the rest of the day, especially when Clayton leaves to check on his family, returning only to bring me dinner. I finally have an appetite, and eat while binge reading the posts in the group.

  Clayton’s request to join the group is approved just as he heads home for the evening, leaving me alone with my pain.

  When I go to send him a friend request, I notice that we only have two mutual friends. One is Jody Drew, someone we both knew in high school.

  Our other mutual friend is Anita Stark.

  Chapter 23

  It’s close to midnight and there’s a scratching sound at my cabin door.

  Thank God I locked the door. The boat was meant to keep me safe, but right now all I feel is the fear spreading like ice through my stomach.

  What if the kidnapper has finally caught up with me? What if they have come to erase my life for good?

  Swallowing the lump in my throat, I grab a large wooden photo frame from the nearby desk, slide out of bed and stand next to the door. I hold it above my head and wait for the intruder to enter. I won’t hesitate to attack.

  I haven’t looked at the time so I’m not sure how long I stand waiting, but my aching arms tell me it’s long enough. Since leaving the bed, I hear nothing more than sounds of the ocean outside the window.

  Letting out a breath, I lower the frame and press my ear to the door. No sound.

  I’m imagining things. Being alone on the boat is making me paranoid. All the same, someone is truly out to get me.

  Still staring at the door, I go back to the bed. I don’t return my weapon to its usual place. It stays next to me, in case I come face to face with my worst nightmare.

  “WHY ARE YOU LOOKING at me like that?” Clayton asks when he arrives in the morning.

  I swallow and rip the Band-Aid off. “Yesterday I saw that you’re Facebook friends with one of my friends. My best friend actually. Her name is Anita Stark. She’s also my neighbor in Sarton.” I pause. “I think I mentioned her to you.”

  “Anita Stark.” He rubs the back of his neck, deep in thought. “No, she doesn’t sound familiar.”

  I reach for my phone and show him our short list of mutual friends. I turn the screen to him, my eyes on his face, watching for a reaction.

  “No.” He shakes his head again. “I don’t know her.” Nothing on his face gives me a reason not to believe him.

  “But she’s one of your friends.” I put the phone down.

  “I can see that, but she was probably a random person who had sent me a friend request at some point. I don’t know all the people who are my friends on Facebook.”

  I have no reason to believe he’s lying. For a guy who had very few friends in school,
he has close to a thousand Facebook friends.

  “Okay,” I say, letting it go.

  He goes on to tell me that his wife and daughter are on their way to California to see her parents, and he will get to spend more time on the boat with me. I tell him about last night and how I thought someone was outside my cabin door.

  “Then you can’t stay here alone.” He sighs. “I’ll spend the night here to see if I notice anything suspicious. There’s no one at my house anyway, and the boat has a few unused cabins available.”

  “Are you sure?” I ask, even though relief is gushing through me in waves. “I hate that I’m keeping you away from your life.”

  “You’re not. My family is not around for a few days, and I’m self-employed so I can work from anywhere.” He goes on to tell me that he’s a successful app developer with his own company. I feel guilty for not asking him before. He must think I don’t care at all. I hope he will forgive me for having other things on my mind.

  “How long do you think I should stay on the boat?” I ask. I need someone else to make decisions for me, because I’m terrified of making the wrong ones.

  “My advice would be for you to stay put until the person who took your child is captured. It’s safer that way.” He gets down from his stool. “Since you might be here for a while, I should go and get us more supplies. But first, I need to fix up the upper deck. It was quite windy last night.”

  I wouldn’t know; I haven’t gone onto the upper deck since I arrived. That’s how I prefer it even if sometimes it feels like I’m inside an underground prison.

  While Clayton is fixing the upper deck and running errands, I log on to Facebook again and find myself scrolling through Anita’s profile. A thorough look through her photos shows me that there’s nothing obvious connecting her and Clayton, and most of her posts are old shares from other accounts. She doesn’t seem to have logged in for at least a month.

  I’m desperate to contact her, to see how she’s doing, but it might be too risky.

  To keep my mind from going to an even darker place, I tidy up the living room. When I do nothing, my mind shows me images of the bloody onesie, or my baby lying in a ditch. I’ve been doing my best to shove these images to the back of my mind. I choose to live in denial, to hold tight to the idea that my baby is not dead and the police will find her before something bad happens to her.

  Once the living room is tidy, I sit down with my phone and go through posts in the Find Lea group. I don’t comment on any of the posts, afraid that some of the people in the group might not have the best intentions. The person who ruined my life might be one of the members.

  Left with nothing else to do and still determined to find answers, I decide to read some of the non-supportive posts shared on my profile.

  I visit the profiles of every person who has posted, all twenty of them. Some of them seem to have created accounts solely for the purpose of harassing me, with no posts on their own profiles. But out of the twenty, one seems real, complete with background information.

  Her name is Mira Richards. She wrote on my profile that there’s no doubt in her mind that I killed my baby. According to her “about” section, she lives in Greece with her husband and two poodles.

  I scroll through a lot of bikini photos, but none of them show her face. She’s either looking out in the distance, showing only her back, or the images don’t show anything above ruby-red lips. I’m about to quit looking at the photos since they don’t tell me anything, but then I catch sight of a tattoo on one of her legs. Above her right ankle is a bright blue butterfly that looks familiar.

  Half an hour later, I jump to my feet as realization hits me. I have seen the tattoo before.

  As soon as Clayton comes back down, I share my suspicions with him. “I think I know who my stalker is.”

  He lowers a bag of groceries to the counter and turns to face me with a raised eyebrow. “You think it’s a woman?”

  “Yes.” I show him a photo of the woman, pointing to the butterfly. “I’ve seen this butterfly before.”

  “Are you sure?” He squints at the image. “Lots of people have butterfly tattoos.”

  “Yes, but this woman attacked me on my profile, and I know who she is.”

  “Who?” Clayton looks confused and hopeful at the same time.

  “Tina’s sister, Miranda.”

  “So, you think Mira is short for Miranda?” He pulls out a stool.

  “Yes, and maybe she’s married now and that’s why she has a different surname.”

  I’ve only met Miranda a handful of times, but she had never been that warm toward me. I remember a conversation she had with Tina, where she told her sister that she was ruining her reputation by hanging out with me.

  Even though my mother always made sure we had food on the table, I was still considered to be one of the poor students in school and college, shunned because I couldn’t afford most of the things the rich kids could. To make matters worse, when my mother was not working at a local bakery, she cleaned homes, some of them belonging to the rich kids who bullied me. Kids can be mean and I was the perfect target.

  If Miranda suspects I killed her sister, I don’t think she would hesitate to come after me.

  Clayton folds his arms and stares into space. “I remember her. She never said a word to me on campus. But she left town not long after you did.”

  “On her profile it says she lives in Greece. But that doesn’t mean she’s there now. I really think it’s her, Clayton. She could have taken Lea.” I clutch the edge of the counter.

  “Delia, sit down.” He pulls out a stool for me. “You don’t look well.”

  “No surprise there. I don’t feel well.” I sit down to catch my breath.

  Together we look at more of Miranda’s photos until we find one with a face.

  “See, it’s her.” She’s older, but her doll-like blue eyes are identical to Tina’s.

  Clayton doesn’t say anything as he places a finger on his lips, deep in thought. He may be a man now, but his mannerisms are the same as when I knew him before.

  “If it’s really her,” he says finally, “then we have to find a way to prove it.”

  “I should get in touch with her.” I need to find a way to get to her before she leaves town to go back to Greece.

  “That’s not a good idea. If she knows you’re onto her, she might run before the police arrest her.”

  I jump to my feet. “Should we notify the police?”

  “Not before we know for sure that she’s the kidnapper.”

  I spend the rest of the day stalking Miranda on my phone, searching for the proof I need to nail her. When my eyes start aching from staring at the small screen for hours, I use Clayton’s laptop.

  He’s already signed in so I don’t need to disturb him asking for the password. He has been busy fixing things on the upper deck again, and I don’t want to disturb him. Since he has already allowed me to use his laptop once before, I don’t think he’ll mind.

  Shortly before dinner, I tell Clayton that I linked Miranda to one of the mean comments on my blog.

  “Great. I’ll see tonight if I can find more evidence.” He narrows his eyes at his laptop. “Did you happen to use my laptop?” he asks, looking up from it at me.

  “Yes. Sorry I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to disturb you. My phone screen was hurting my eyes.” I hold my breath. Maybe I should have asked him instead of assuming he wouldn’t mind.

  He nods and closes his laptop. “That’s not a problem at all. I was just wondering. You can use it any time you need.”

  “Thanks.” I sigh with relief.

  We spend a few more minutes discussing my discoveries and exchanging our thoughts, then we say goodnight.

  “If you hear anything during the night, give me a call.”

  “I will. I feel better not to be alone on the big boat.”

  Before he walks away, he comes to give me a hug. “I’m happy we’re making progress. If Miranda really did all
those things to hurt you, she’ll pay for her crimes.”

  “I hope she hasn’t hurt Lea. She wasn’t friendly in college, but I don’t think she would hurt a baby.”

  “Let’s hope you’re right.” Clayton turns to leave. “I know it’s hard, but you should try and get some sleep.”

  Even though he advised me not to contact Miranda, as soon as I’m on my own, I send an email to the address listed on her profile.

  Dear Miranda,

  I’m not sure this is your email address, but I thought it wouldn’t hurt to write and find out.

  I know we haven’t seen each other since Tina’s funeral.

  I feel terrible for not checking up on you and your family to see how you are doing. A lot has happened since I left Oakney.

  Anyway, I hope you are well. I’d love it if we could keep in touch.

  Take care,

  Delia

  It’s an innocent email that doesn’t give anything away. Hopefully, her response will give me the ammunition I can use to blow up her life and get my baby back.

  Chapter 24

  The only person I can trust now is Clayton, but I’m still curious about his connection to Anita. I keep telling myself it’s a coincidence, but as I stand under the shower, my curiosity refuses to loosen its grip on me.

  During breakfast, when he goes to the bathroom, he leaves his phone in the galley. I grab it, but it’s locked and I don’t know the passcode. I spend the day watching him like a hawk every time he types it in. Something inside me is urging me to check his calls and messages.

  Night falls and I still don’t know how to get into his phone. Miranda has also not responded to my email.

  Lying in my dark cabin late at night, a sudden idea comes to me. Maybe I don’t need his phone to get answers to the questions in my head.

  He normally wakes up at around 6:00 a.m. to use the bathroom opposite my cabin.

  The next morning, as soon as I hear him, I get ready to put my plan into action.

  I listen to the sounds of him entering the bathroom. The squeak of the doorknob turning, the whoosh of the door being opened, the click of it being closed again.