Little Owl

by Lauri Schoenfeld

  “You’re not here to help me, are you? It’s about what I can do for you.”

  “Put simply, yes.” Abbott paused. “Why do you believe your daughters are alive? All evidence proves that they’re dead.”

  She hesitated and held her heart. “I’m their mother. You know how you get that pit of your stomach sinking feeling when something is wrong with your kids?”

  He nodded.

  “I never got that, but I would on every broken arm, burn, cut, or illness they had. They are alive, and I’m going to find them. I just need to figure out who would do this, and why. And also, why I’m a target.”

  “You feel you’re in danger?” Abbott asked.

  “I wasn’t making up that someone was in my house.”

  His hands got clammy and his fingers twitched. “Do you remember who gave you the necklace?”

  Adaline shook her head. “I don’t, but I’m going to therapy to get assistance from someone who’s helping me recover my past. That’s why I was so late.”

  Abbott held his head. “Well, that’s convenient.”

  “You think it’s fun for me to not remember? My babies are still out there somewhere, and I have to sit and wait for my mind to decide to wake up. Or have people claiming to be helping me, only they think I’m a train wreck, and they tell me to be patient so they can do their job.” She held her wrist. “I’m not sitting on this, and my girls will be found. I don’t give a rat’s ass if you believe me or not, just stay out of my way. You search for your girl, and I’ll search for mine.”

  He could feel her rage and passion vibrate throughout the room. No one else backed him, either. Abbott sighed. “Tragedy is an odd thing. Either you remember too much and wish you didn’t, or you make it go away and search for those details your whole life.”

  “It sounds like you know from experience.” She walked toward the table.

  “I remember too much, and that pain never goes away. The pictures in my head of her smiling, her laugh, even the way she smelled—of raspberries, from her shampoo—haunts me day in and day out.”

  Adaline placed her hand on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry for the pain you feel.”

  He glanced away and stepped backward. “I should probably get going.”

  “I don’t get close to a lot of people. It’s easier that way. You don’t make friends, but you don’t get enemies either. But then again, here I am, receiving threats.”

  Adaline seemed to know exactly what to say, like a mind reader, but she understood and took empathy on him in a very calming way, and she still held a sense of humor through her pain. That made him even that much more curious about the kind of person she was. He smiled.

  “You and Sam are friends?” she asked. “You said you go back.”

  “Yeah, he helped me through a tough time when my daughter went missing.”

  “He has a knack for trying to save people that need saving.” She reached to grab his cup of tea. “So, what do we do now?”

  Abbott glanced at her. “You need to talk to Sam.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.

  “I already talked to him about the owl necklace, and he said to leave you out of it. He wouldn’t tell me much.”

  “Why wouldn’t he tell you about the necklace?”

  “I don’t know. He’s protecting you. Wait…Sam could’ve given it to you, right? You two do have a romantic tie, and a dark past, from what I gather.”

  Adaline put the teacup on the counter in the kitchen and walked back to the front room. “That’s not up for conversation.”

  “Did you know Sam’s dad well?”

  “Well enough. I lived with Sam’s family for years after my parents died in the fire. His father was a quiet individual, but he was a kind man when he was home.”

  “He wasn’t around a lot?” Abbott asked.

  “He was a truck driver and happened to be on the road often,” she said. “He complimented me on my blonde hair and blue eyes. Do you like art?”

  Abbott gazed at her. “Ummm…”

  “I do, and the painting on the wall is a favorite. Do you recognize it?” Adaline pointed to the painting centered in her living room.

  “I don’t, but it’s beautiful.”

  “Thank you. It’s called Starry Night, by Van Gogh. It reminded me of something Sam’s dad used to say to me. This painting gave me the same warmth that his words did.” She smiled. “He said my eyes resembled the sun and moon blending together. Honestly, he was the closest thing I had to a father.”

  “Sam paints a different picture of him.”

  “Yes, he had issues with his father being gone all the time. I tried to talk to him many times, but he always worried about other people over himself.”

  “Sounds about right. His dad treated you like one of his own?”

  “I thought so. He pushed me on the swings and would always bring me flowers, and he had the kindest eyes—” Adaline stopped. “I think I need to lie down.”

  She’s hiding something

  Abbott clenched his jaw. “If you remember anything, you have my number.”

  Adaline held her hands together and nodded.

  “Make sure to lock up. You can never trust people these days,” he said, letting himself out.

  If no one would give him answers, he would dig until all their sins resurfaced.

  Forty-Three

  Adaline Rushner

  Thursday, November 11th

  7:30 p.m.

  After an hour’s conversation with Officer Abbott, Adaline’s head felt like it just got stuck in a hamster wheel. So many thoughts spiraled in a psychedelic blur that couldn’t be understood. She turned off the lights in the living room, made her way upstairs, and lay fully clothed in her bed. The spinning subsided, but the confusion continued in her mind.

  Her front door made a popping noise.

  Someone’s in the house.

  Gliding off the bed quietly, she held her phone to her chest.

  Maybe it’s the girls.

  Adaline’s feet yelled at her to take them toward the front door—they needed to move, to respond to this thought. They ached, but she halted and remembered the message left at her store warning her that the girls were only the beginning of her pain.

  She gripped a pillow and growled silently into it.

  Footsteps danced around the entryway, and no attempt at coming her direction was made. Adaline peered around her room and noticed a hammer she had been using to hang up a picture of her girls. She grabbed it from the side table and crept near her door. Her fingers shook, and the harder she held the handle, the shaking turned to cramping. Breathing in deep, she concentrated on the pattern her breaths took.

  I won’t be put into a closet again.

  The movement inched its way toward the stairs. She held the hammer against her leg, ready to strike before anyone had the chance to grab her.

  “Adaline?”

  She knew that voice anywhere, and her heart beat faster, making her forget about their fights.

  Welcome home, Daddy. We missed you.

  “Cache. I’m here.” Adaline put the hammer back on the side table. Turning on the hall light, she ran to him. His curly hair, stubbled face, and side smile sent chills down her spine. She wrapped her arms around his neck. The warmth of his embrace—how tightly he squeezed her—was something she’d needed for days.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  She nodded and laid her face against his chest. “Just hold me for a minute, please.”

  He gripped her tighter and rested his head on hers.

  Adaline glanced up at him and concern dwelled inside her. Blood was all over his forehead and above his eyebrow. She let go of his arms. “What happened to you?”

  “I had a rough day at work,” he said.

  “Let me clean you up. Sit down.”

  He followed her into the bedroom, sat on a sofa in the corner of the room, and laid his head back.

  Adaline got a washcl
oth from the bathroom closet and rinsed it under warm water. Wringing the rag out, she made her way to his side and placed the cloth on his head to clean off the excess blood. “How did this happen?”

  “I saw our real estate agent today. That was rather interesting.” He paused. “Then I got fired, and . . . when I walked to my car, someone smacked me in the head with something and slashed the hell out of my tires.” He grabbed her hand. “I got worried that someone was going after you next.”

  Adaline didn’t say anything as she sat next to him and worked on the dried blood stuck in his hair, but her insides turned to jelly.

  “You heard I got fired, right?”

  “I’m not worried about that. Someone hit you and slashed your tires?”

  He nodded.

  “Who would do that?” she asked.

  “I don’t know, but that’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “Me, too. I mean, I need to talk to you. How did you get home?”

  “Sam came and got me,” he said.

  Adaline’s face sunk. “How did he know to come get you?”

  “I called you a few times, and when you didn’t answer, I thought the worst. I figured if you trusted Sam, I needed to start trusting you more.”

  She leaned into him and planted a kiss on his cheek. Adaline appreciated the effort he was trying to make. Every part inside of her yelled to kick Cache out and not to let him get close to her again, but she missed her husband. “Thank you.”

  “Why are you on edge? What happened with your day?”

  Adaline scratched her head, debating how much she should tell him. Clearly, he was in danger, too. It was safer for him to not know about the details of her past that were coming into play. She hesitated. “Well . . . there’s been some new evidence that links our daughters with my past and Officer Abbott’s daughter’s kidnapping.” She grabbed her head confused about why she decided to tell him.

  He already got hurt today for not knowing anything. What are you doing?

  “How is he linked to our daughters?”

  “He was left an owl necklace too, at the crime scene. He’s never found his daughter.”

  “When did his daughter get taken?” Cache asked.

  “A year ago.”

  Cache punched his leg. “I told you those necklaces were nothing but a token of death. Why do you keep holding on to it?”

  “The person who gave it to me was kind. They were a friend,” she said. “It’s important to me.”

  “Honey, you have no idea who your friend is.”

  “I know.” She took the cloth off Cache’s forehead and set it on a side table. “His daughter, Aspen, looks exactly like Leora, and they both were eight when they were taken.”

  He grabbed her hand. “Leora looks like a copy of you, too. Does Sam know Officer Abbott?”

  “Don’t do that. I know where you’re going with this.”

  “Does he?”

  She sunk her head. “Yes, they’re friends.”

  Letting go of her hand, Cache held the back of his neck and covered his mouth. “He’s a part of your past, and now all of a sudden, he’s back. He knows the officer, and he’s obsessed with you. Always has been.”

  Adaline chewed her nail. “I want to share things with you. I need you to believe me, and I know how I might sound to you, but you know me.”

  He rubbed her shoulder. “Okay.”

  “I went to see a psychologist today. My childhood therapist.”

  “You found your doctor, and she’s here in town?” he asked.

  “I did, and she’s not too far from us. A few streets away.”

  Cache fidgeted with his ring. “What made you decide to do that?”

  “I watched all the horrible things the reporters said about me. Between being suicidal and locked up in a psychiatric ward, I remembered a memory that I’d forgotten.

  “I heard it on the radio too.” He held his chin. “How do you forget a memory? I mean, how is that possible?”

  Adaline could feel herself pulling away from him again. The more questions he asked, the more she felt like she was on trial and had done something wrong. Peering at him, his brown eyes reminded her so much of Eliza. They were rich and golden, and she couldn’t help but get lost in them. They used to joke about him having “Caramello” eyes. They’re an addiction, like chocolate. “I have PTSD, or rather Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Apparently, I have such horrible memories that I subconsciously hid them from myself.”

  “You can really do that?”

  “I guess you can,” she said. “After I watched the news, I took a bath, and I remembered something out of the blue about living with my aunt.”

  “Aunt Arlene. The aunt you liked?”

  Adaline nodded. “There’s more. My aunt’s not who I thought she was. I somehow embellished a better story in my mind about our relationship.”

  Cache ran his fingers through his brown hair and held his hands at the base of his neck again. His eyes didn’t leave hers, and she could see him pleading with her to tear down those closed walls. “Are you taking your meds?”

  He won’t believe me if he knew I wasn’t.

  She smiled at him sweetly and caressed his cheek. “Of course. Why do you ask?”

  “No reason.” He gripped her hand in his.

  “I’ve . . . missed you, and I need you to be here with me.” Adaline snuggled into his cheek. “I went to a psych ward, but not for what the news report says. I was framed by my aunt.”

  “Why?”

  “I believe she only took me in for money, but I’m not positive. Sticking me into that place was a resolution to a problem.”

  “The reports that you’re schizophrenic are clearly a lie.”

  “Yes. I believe so,” she said.

  “How did you get out of there?”

  She frowned and lowered her eyes. “I don’t know.”

  He rubbed her back. “It’s okay.”

  “No. It’s not okay that I can’t remember everything from my past. It’s like a jigsaw puzzle in there. Some pieces I remember, but they don’t all connect. Like the owl necklace and Officer Abbott.”

  “Let me help you. It’s Sam. Everything ties to him.”

  Adaline’s hands shook. “No, Sam’s in trouble.”

  Cache slammed his hands on the table and stood. “I knew it. He gave the necklace to you.”

  She didn’t say anything and sat stationary.

  “He couldn’t have you, so he murdered our girls instead.” He gripped the table and clenched his fists. “I’m going to kill him.”

  Adaline stood and grasped his arm. “Listen to me. I don’t think it’s Sam.”

  “Jealousy does some messed up things to people, especially when it comes to love. You don’t know it wasn’t him. You loved him too.”

  “I loved him a long time ago. I love you, not him.” She held her mouth. “I know it looks bad, but we’re talking about Sam. Besides you, he’s the closest thing I have to family.”

  “No.” Cache let go of Adaline’s hand and opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. He paced the floor while he rubbed his forehead and breathed in deeply.

  Adaline pressed her fingers together. “I think there’s a lot more going on here than we realize. I don’t know what people are capable of anymore. I just know that I can’t trust anyone, and that scares me. Is there anyone you trust?”

  “No. I don’t think there is.”

  “What do we do now?” Adaline asked.

  “We pretend as if we don’t know what we know and see what other clues we can pick up from people that are supposed to be helping us.”

  She looked away. That was easy. She had done that for as long as she could remember. Adaline didn’t have friends, family, or anyone she truly trusted. Three faces came to her mind of people she had let in.

  Dr. Lynchester.

  Sam.

  Cache.

  A voice sang in her head.

  There was a little
owl high in a tree.

  She trusted the man with the swing. Who was he? Adaline couldn’t help but wonder who was messing with her now.

  They stared at each other for a minute before either one spoke. “What happened with the real estate agent?” she asked.

  “Not tonight. We’ve had enough to think about for one night. I'll leave now.”

  “Cache? Will you please stay and hold me?”

  “Of course, I’ll stay with you.” She lay down with him as he pressed his head against hers. The way he smelled of pine and a dash of nutmeg, and the way she found a home in his arms, made her heart warm. She loved being held, and it was the one thing that calmed her down whenever everything else in the world was black.

  Please don’t let him be the one that breaks my heart.

  She curled closer into him, allowing herself to feel something other than pain. At least for a moment.

  Forty-Four

  Cache Rushner

  Thursday, November 11th

  9:00 p.m.

  Things didn’t add up, and what did, felt wrong.

  Was Adaline telling the truth, or was it a hallucination?

  She seemed pretty conscious of what was going on around her rather than being in her head, and her spirits were heightened from the last time they talked.

  Cache gently moved Adaline’s head from his arm and maneuvered out of her grip. He sat up and watched her sleep, taking deep breaths in. She appeared as though she hadn’t slept in days, and that she finally allowed herself to feel peace, even for a short time.

  He tiptoed out of the bedroom, went down to the kitchen, and opened the cupboard where he knew Adaline had put her medication. The bottle stood right up front. He unsealed the cap, tipping the pills in the palm of his hand. He counted each one, knowing it had a full month’s worth in the bottle, one for each day.

  Seven were missing.

  Good sign.

  Pouring the pills back in the bottle, he shut the lid, placed the container back on the shelf, and closed the cabinet lightly.

  He smiled.

  The pills must be working.

  Cache wanted his wife back, and the new beginning he’d planned for them, which didn’t include Officer Abbott, Dr. Lynchester, or Sam.