Vanishing Day

by Valerie Davisson

  For the past week, the doctors kept her more or less under, so she could heal. There was no family to update. Officially, police had her down as a Jane Doe, but Rhonda called her by the name the EMTs said she went by, Lori.

  Just as she did with all her patients, Rhonda talked to Lori every time she came in. When she ran out of local gossip, she even told her about her recent breakup with her boyfriend. Lori was a good listener.

  The last thing she did before leaving was to go through a set of mobility and circulation exercises. Lifting Lori’s right leg, she dug deep into the muscle tissue, stroking firmly up towards the heart, working her way all around the leg. Next came bending and stretching, then straightening the sheets. None of her patients ever got bed sores. She was just finished with the right leg and starting to work on the left, when she saw Lori’s eyelids twitch. Holding her breath, she watched intently.

  After a couple of false starts, they fluttered open, then looked directly at her. Rhonda smiled. Lori had beautiful, soft, brown eyes.

  “Yes!” Rhonda shouted, beaming a huge smile, “It’s about time you woke up! Welcome back to the land of the living!”

  59

  After scrubbing off the mud and grime in the shower, Logan looked in the mirror and assessed the damage. Using Edna’s first aid kit, she was able to patch herself up well enough to not scare people. There was even one of those Steri-Strip things to hold the skin on her brow bone together where it split over her right eye, which was also starting to turn purple.

  Lovely.

  She released her wet hair from the scrunchy and tried to push some of the curls over to cover the bandage a little, but without bangs, it was pointless. Sighing, she figured she’d just have to live with it.

  Other than the knee, none of her wounds were very serious. And even the knee pain she hoped would resolve itself with the whole RICE thing: Rest, Ice, Compression, and Elevation. Speaking of which, she needed to see if there was any ice in Rita’s freezer, or better yet, a bag of frozen peas.

  Pulling on underwear, some jeans and an olive-green, long-sleeved t-shirt she got out of her suitcase before her shower, Logan pushed her wet hair out of her face, positioned the crutches under her arms, and swung herself into the kitchen.

  Girl’s gotta eat.

  Before she showered even, Logan had logged into Alaska Air to change her flight. She wanted to leave now, but the last flight out was booked. Next available was the one she was already scheduled to take in the morning. Probably just as well. She still had the two-and-a-half-hour drive to Portland, plus time to turn in the rental car, all of which took longer on crutches, so she resigned herself to sticking to her original travel itinerary.

  It felt weird not to have her phone, but Rita had a landline, so before she went to bed, after locking up every door and window securely, she’d called Ben to apologize for not calling the night before. When he asked why she wasn’t calling from her cell, she told him she’d dropped her phone in the woods somewhere and hadn’t realized Rita had a landline until just now.

  She would tell him the full story in person tomorrow, of course, when she got home, but not tonight! He’d be on the first flight up here if she told him now, and that was ridiculous. She was leaving in the morning. He couldn’t get here before she could get there.

  An hour later, hair mostly dry, ersatz ice bag tied around her knee, she sat enjoying the last of the wine out on the deck. Looking out into the forest, her run through those trees last night seemed surreal. How had she gotten mixed up in all this? She should have just handed that flash drive over to the police the minute she found it. Andrews would have it, and probably have figured it all out and had Garrett in custody by now. But noooo ... she had to stick her nose into it. Again.

  The next day, while waiting to board, Logan checked in with Bonnie. Bonnie said Shannon was fine and Lori was awake and out of ICU. They told her she could go home soon if they could release her into someone’s care. Bonnie had, of course, volunteered to take her in, but Lori, although grateful for what she had done for her daughter, said she wanted to go home to her own place as soon as she was ready. Just her and Shannon. Get things back to normal as soon as possible.

  So, maybe by tomorrow.

  All this was good news. It meant she could tell Lori she found the flash drive, but didn’t have it anymore. Hopefully, that meant Garrett wouldn’t be bothering Lori again. He had what he wanted. What Lori did with that information, whether she chose to stay in Jasper or run again, was up to her. Her new friends would be there for her, though, if she decided to stay.

  With the help of Edna’s crutches and a handful of Ibuprofin, Logan finally hobbled onto Alaska Air Flight 105. The guy behind the check-in desk took one look at her shiner and handed her a new seat assignment.

  “You definitely qualify for pre-boarding,” he said with a straight face.

  Logan was about to check her carry-on, but again the flight attendant took pity on her and hoisted it up into the overhead.

  “Don’t tell anyone I did that,” she smiled. “We’re not supposed to lift.”

  Logan wasn’t about to get a gift horse in trouble. Instead, she mouthed a ”thank you” and saluted.

  She slept for most of the flight.

  Two hours later, lowering herself onto the edge of a cement planter in front of the John Wayne statue at Orange County airport, basking in the welcome sun, Logan tucked her luggage behind her feet, and searched the steady stream of vehicles for Ben’s truck. When it came into view, she almost cried.

  “What happened to you?” Ben said, taking her things and helping her up.

  She hugged him fiercely.

  “You should go away more often,” Ben said, hugging her back, tossing her bag behind her seat, and helping her up into the cab.

  That was just one of the things she loved about Ben. He didn’t overreact to trouble. Which was a good thing, because in the last couple of years, she managed to find trouble quite a few times.

  He did demand a full explanation after they got home. When she got inside, Dimebox stalked past with his tail in the air, letting her know just how he felt about her being gone. Dimebox definitely had abandonment issues. Later, he would curl up next to her on the couch, but not until he felt she got the message.

  Before she could unpack, Ben sat her down on a bar stool at the kitchen counter—there wasn’t room for a table in her little hobbit–hole home—and proceeded to stuff her full of chili rellenos, rice, salad, and a couple of his infamous mojitos. The man could cook!

  He’d planned on taking it all up to the deck, where they usually ate and enjoyed the sunset together, but the crutches, plus no railing on the outside stairs, precluded that idea.

  “Using up the last of the rum,” was his excuse when he made her the second mojito.

  She wasn’t complaining. The swelling in her knee had settled down, but still hurt like hell. With Ben’s phone, she called the ortho’s office and got an appointment for the next afternoon. Nothing to do until then but let the mojitos work their magic.

  Between bites of her delicious welcome home dinner, Logan filled Ben in on the highlights of her trip—toning down the part about being chased through the forest by a violent maniac. If Ben was upset with her for not telling him sooner, he didn’t waste time arguing about it. He thought she should call Detective Andrews, but saw her point about not having any evidence against her attacker. It’d be her word against his. Even though he wanted to go kill the guy himself, Ben reluctantly agreed it made some sense not to stir the hornet’s nest.

  Whatever she decided to do, he wasn’t letting her out of his sight tonight or any other night. He had to work tomorrow but would get off early to take her to the doctor’s and stay the weekend. She knew he was hoping to convince her to bring in the police and she promised to give it some thought, but reasoned that if Garrett wanted to hurt her, he would have come b
ack last night at Rita’s house in Little Whale Cove.

  Changing the subject, she asked him to fill her in on his latest projects and all things Jasper, including the ongoing saga of Iona and Taylor’s romance, which was apparently still going strong. She loved listening to Ben talk—just having him near. His voice, his eyes, the warm bulk of him. The way he absent-mindedly rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb. All of it made her feel grounded. Safe.

  Later, after Ben rinsed and stacked the dishes, she made room for him on the couch, and allowed him to kiss away all her booboos. Later, he carried her up the stairs, joined her in a long, hot shower, then doctored all the uninjured parts of her.

  60

  Officer Redart was at the end of his shift when the call came over the radio.

  “Frank 92. Possible 288 in progress. Male, Caucasian, about 45, slim. On foot. Men’s restroom. Fort Tejon Rest Area.”

  “Frank 92. In pursuit. 10-4.”

  Redart hoped the guy was long gone and he’d be able to make it home in time for his son’s birthday party. It was this afternoon and he still had to pick up his gift, a Mongoose Legion L80 20” Wheel Freestyle. Josh was really into BMX. Good at it too. Practiced for hours. Redart had picked up a few extra shifts to pay for it. If his son was going to put that much effort into something, he deserved the best.

  He cruised into the rest stop, parked and checked out the men’s restroom, then, after announcing himself first, the women’s side. All clear. No one there. Probably just someone’s ex calling the cops on him, trying to get him in trouble. It’s amazing what some women would falsely accuse the father of their children of. Just to pull his chain for dumping them. Or to bleed him for more money. Redart hoped never to be divorced. There was only one other car in the parking lot, out at the end, under a tree. Just to be thorough, he’d check it out before going in.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Garrett jolted awake to an abrupt, loud rap on the glass.

  “Sir, open the window,” a muffled, male voice said.

  Garrett struggled up and tried to focus. He looked out the front windshield. No one there. Confused, he looked left, then right and about jumped out of his skin. A police officer’s stern face looking in at him through the passenger side window. Obviously not happy Garrett wasn’t responding quicker, he rapped on it again, harder this time.

  “Open up!”

  After a couple false starts, Garrett found the right button and lowered the correct window. It smoothly slid down and clicked into place.

  “Yes Officer? I was just resting my eyes for a minute,” he said, unsure of the rules.

  He blinked at the police officer’s frowning face. He looked very official, shades and everything. Bright sun stabbed Garrett’s eyes. What time was it? What did this guy want? He couldn’t have been speeding, he wasn’t moving at all. He was parked.

  “License and registration,” the officer said, straightening up.

  While Garrett fumbled with his wallet and the glove compartment lock to get the requested documents, the officer leaned down again and asked, “How long have you been here?”

  Garrett thought back. He didn’t know if sleeping in your car at a rest stop was allowed in California. He didn’t think it was in Washington.

  “Just a few minutes, Officer. I just pulled over to use the facilities and I must have dozed off,” he said, waggling his empty Starbucks cup, then handing him his license and registration through the window. He was waking up now.

  “Stay in your vehicle.”

  OK.

  Garrett remained in the Volvo.

  The officer got back in his car, checking something. Garrett didn’t like the look of this. He was in his car a while. When he finally got out and started walking back, he had a whole different body language. He approached the Volvo as if it might bite him, hand on his gun.

  Not waiting to see what was going to happen next, Garrett started the car and peeled out.

  Cursing, Officer Redart ran back to his unit, got in, yanked the door shut, and floored it.

  “Frank 92. In pursuit. Highway marker 38, moving south on I-5. Felony arrest warrant on a Garrett Delaney, Male, Caucasian, six feet, 175. White Volvo SUV Charlie, Alpha, X-Ray, nine, four, two.”

  Luck was in Garrett’s favor. Two exits down, he swerved in front of a semi just in time to make Exit 40. He smiled as the cop car missed the turnoff. There was nothing around here but a big box discount store. Just in case the cop doubled back, he went inside. He didn’t want to get back on the freeway just yet.

  Once inside, he looked around to get his bearings. Man, were there some weird people in here. He didn’t know the last time he’d been in a Walmart. Lauren did all the shopping. The only stores he frequented were a couple favorite, high-end department stores and his golf pro shop. After checking out the Halloween aisle full of plastic skeletons, pumpkins, and bags of candy, he wandered into men’s clothing. Grabbing some pants and t–shirts, he ducked into a dressing room. He had no intention of trying on this garbage. He just needed time to figure out his next move.

  As long as he was hiding out in here, he checked his phone for messages. There was only one. It was short.

  “You are not here.”

  The terrifying calm with which these few words were spoken almost undid him. But of course he wasn’t there. Why would he voluntarily go home to meet up with Yoshimoto’s goon? Like a shark, he needed to keep moving. What was it the nature shows said? You stop swimming, you die.

  He waited another half hour until a sales clerk knocked on the flimsy door frame of the dressing room and asked if everything was OK in there. A few minutes later, holding a bag containing a pair of pants and a t-shirt he wouldn’t be caught dead in, Garrett stood a few feet inside the exit doors of the garden center. He looked out at his car for another fifteen minutes before walking over to it, then ventured back on the road. He dropped his new clothing in a trashcan on the way out. A homeless guy ambled over and peered down into the can to see if there was anything worth retrieving in it.

  On the way out of the massive parking lot, Garrett pulled over to the side farthest away from the store, near a newly landscaped berm. Small, stiff plants poked up in a neat pattern out of bare dirt. He parked, got out, and emptied the rest of his Evian onto the ground. Looking around first, he bent down and mixed it up with a takeout spoon from the car, then smeared the resulting mud on his license plate. He eyed his handiwork.

  Not bad.

  For the next hour, Garrett kept an eye on his rearview mirror. So far so good. He wanted to push it, but needed to keep within the speed limit until he got there. Jasper was still eight hours away without stops. He’d need toothpicks to prop open his eyelids if he drove straight through, but he didn’t have the luxury of stopping.

  His phone rang again. Same number. He ignored it and pressed on the gas, then dialed it back to sixty. He adjusted his speed to be just slightly slower than the cars in the fast lane. The last thing he wanted was to get pulled over.

  61

  Ben took Logan to the doctor. The news was as good as could be expected. She would need surgery, but not until the swelling went down. They sent her home with a Cortisone shot and another prescription for pain pills she wouldn’t fill. It was now almost lunchtime and she was feeling much better.

  Bonnie brought burgers, plus food to help stock Lori and Shannon’s fridge for at least a week, including a chocolate and strawberry brownie cake Mike made. The three of them went over after they ate. Ben checked the house several times. Finding no boogiemen hiding in the closets or under the beds, he gave the all clear. They put the food away, then made a huge Welcome Home sign for Lori’s arrival and hung it over the door so she’d see it first thing.

  Bonnie left to go back home and collect Shannon and Haley, while Ben went to Hoag to pick up Lori and her mother, who hadn’t left her side since she flew in this morning.
Grandma had taken the first flight to Orange County as soon as Lori was able to call her. At first, she had worried about Garrett finding out, but Lori told her all that was over. She wasn’t running anymore.

  The house looked great. The social worker agreed it was best for Shannon to not see everything as it was the terrible night she saw her mother almost killed by her father, so everyone chipped in to erase all traces of the violence the little girl had witnessed.

  Anonymous volunteers from the House of Ruth put up fresh curtains and brought in a new end table and lamp to replace the broken one, painted one wall a pretty, soft sage green. A bright tropical print slip cover brought the old couch back to life. A soothing, abstract seascape now hung over the fireplace. The House of Ruth people wouldn’t be at the party, but told Logan to make sure Lori knew she had a home there for as long as she needed one. Everyone wanted them to stay.

  Bonnie brought a huge arrangement of fresh flowers displayed in a graceful, hand-blown, glass vase donated by Howard Miller. Narrow at the bottom, it swirled to an open top, resembling an Easter lily. Founder of the glassblowing school connected to the Otter Festival, Miller kept in touch with Logan after she helped identify the killer of one of his students a couple of years earlier.

  When Lori got out of Bonnie’s SUV, Logan wasn’t sure what to expect. The young mother had been so brutally attacked only a few weeks ago, almost dying as a result, but her wounds had healed well. With Logan’s freshly blossoming black eye, crutches, and stitches, she knew she looked the worst of the two. Luckily, Shannon didn’t seem traumatized at the sight of either of them.

  The little girl, who had been waiting on the porch with Bonnie, scrambled off her seat and flew across the front yard straight into her mother and grandmother’s open arms, almost knocking both of them over. Family hug—not a dry eye in the house. Or yard.