by L. T. Vargus
“Sorry about that. That was Kara’s probation officer. I wanted to be sure she knows what’s going on. Otherwise this could really screw up her deal.”
“A girl is missing, and that’s what you’re worried about?”
“Hey, if you knew what it took to keep her out of juvenile detention… Did her parents tell you she resisted arrest?”
“No.”
“They wanted to charge her with assaulting an officer, which was bullshit. She’s five foot two. Probably 100 pounds soaking wet. She was just a scared kid who panicked. Struggled when they tried to put the cuffs on. No punches or anything. Anyway, my point is, wherever Kara is, I consider it part of my job to make sure things don’t go to shit in the meantime. The last thing I want is her getting back here and ending up in juvie because she screwed up her probation.”
“Would that happen? If she ran off and came back, would they really lock her up?”
“They could lock her up even if she didn’t run off.”
“OK, wait. You’re saying that—worst-case scenario—if someone kidnapped her or something, the court would still penalize her for violating her probation?”
“They could, if they wanted,” Will said, nodding. “Especially if a judge was feeling particularly salty that day.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“That’s justice. Or so the courts would have you believe.” He leaned back in his chair. “The whole thing is a racket. Do you know what Kara’s blood-alcohol was at the time of her arrest?”
“No.”
“Point-zero-three.”
Charlie frowned.
“But the legal limit is point-zero-eight.”
Will held up a finger.
“Not if you’re underage. Then the limit is point-zero-two in Michigan. It’s essentially zero tolerance for minors.”
“But she had been drinking,” Charlie pointed out.
“Look, I’m not saying what Kara did was right,” Will said. “She’s underage and had alcohol in her system. She should have been charged with minor in possession, sure. But a BAC of point-zero-three for a girl Kara’s size means she likely had a single drink—maybe less—over the course of an hour. If you had a glass of wine right now, would you be OK to drive in half an hour?”
“Yes.”
“See? We’re not talking about someone chugging a fifth of Popov and hopping behind the wheel. Kara had been drinking, but she was not drunk. There’s a difference, and it should matter.”
“OK, so why doesn’t it? To the legal system, I mean.”
“Because the whole DUI system is essentially a business. When they first started doing widespread breath tests, the American Medical Association was asked to come up with a blood-alcohol level that would signify impairment. Their number was point-one-five. And now we’re at point-zero-eight. Why? Because now they don’t even have to make a case of whether you’re actually impaired. It’s all down to the number. Pass/fail. And the lower they make it, the more people they catch in the net, and the more money they make from fines. It’s all about generating cash for the city.”
Will leaned back in his chair, swiveling slightly from side to side. “There have actually been articles about how Uber and Lyft are hurting local government coffers because DUI arrests are down. I’m not making this up. I mean, that should be a good thing, right? It just shows that this isn’t a system that’s primarily concerned with keeping people safe. If it were, they’d figure out comprehensive ways to actually prevent people from driving drunk. They’d be glad that rideshares are lowering DUI rates. But I’d put money on us seeing a push to lower the legal limit again very soon to compensate for the fact that the money isn’t flowing like it used to. They tried back in 2013 to get it lowered to point-zero-five. It’s a joke. The whole system is punitive and corrupt.”
Sighing, Will closed his eyes.
“Sorry… as you might be able to tell, I’m just a touch obsessed with this particular subject. People like to label me pro-drunk-driving, but that’s not it at all. I’m all for keeping drunks off the road. But I am absolutely opposed to the justice system being used as a money-grab. And Kara is a perfect example. She should have been charged with a much lesser crime. She would have paid a small fine for the underage drinking, been on probation, taken some classes. But suddenly, because she happened to be behind the wheel at the time, the judge wants to throw the book at her.”
“You don’t think the zero-tolerance system is a way to try to discourage underage drinking?” Charlie asked.
“Oh, that’s what groups like Mothers Against Drunk Driving like to claim, but I don’t buy it. How is it discouraging underage drinking? At best, it might be discouraging underage drinking and driving, but I doubt it even does that. You remember being that age. Would the zero-tolerance law have kept you from drinking?”
Charlie considered this.
“Probably not.”
“Exactly. This is a girl who did what probably over half the kids her age have done, and she’s looking at jail time? Who is that supposed to be helping? Certainly not Kara. And I don’t think society at large needs to be protected from someone who had one beer, no matter her age.”
“Did you try to get the charge reduced from a DUI to minor in possession?” Charlie asked, more out of curiosity than anything.
“I did,” he said. “It didn’t work, which was no surprise. I’ve had a dozen or so cases like this over the years with no success arguing that point. I know other defense attorneys who have tried the same. And I don’t know of a single case where it’s ever worked.”
“Because no judge wants to look weak on underage drinking,” Charlie said, reasoning it out.
“Pretty much. Justice is blind, but the blindfold tends to slip when it’s a topic that might come up during re-election.”
“Have you always been this cynical?” Charlie asked. “Or is that something they teach you all in law school?”
Will smiled.
“Cynicism 101. Great class. But I’m guessing you didn’t come all the way over here so I could rant about the state of our judicial system. You had questions for me about Kara?”
Charlie had been so wrapped up in Will’s commentary, she’d totally forgotten that she hadn’t yet asked about Kara’s last meeting with her probation officer. She couldn’t deny that Will had a natural charisma—he always had—and she imagined he did very well in the courtroom on account of it.
“Kara’s mother told me she met with her probation officer here the day before she disappeared.”
“That’s right.”
“Can you tell me about it?”
“I didn’t usually participate in the meetings. I just wanted Kara to have somewhere close to school so she could get to the meetings with as little fuss as possible.”
“And did she ever mention being involved with anything or anyone who might give me something to go on? A person she might have gone to if she were in trouble?”
“Even if she did, I wouldn’t be able to tell you.” He pointed at her, an amused twinkle in his eye. “And I know that you know that.”
“Attorney–client privilege. Yeah. Doesn’t mean sometimes people don’t slip,” Charlie said. “Thanks for answering my questions, especially considering I barged in here without scheduling an appointment or anything.”
“I’m always happy to take walk-ins when it’s an old friend.”
As she got up to leave, Will came around the desk, and Charlie stepped forward, for some reason thinking he was going to hug her. Instead, he extended his hand.
“It’s good to see you, Charlie.”
Charlie’s face flushed, and she felt her hands go clammy in an instant. Will’s fingers were cool and dry by comparison. She wondered if that was another lawyer trick, always seeming calm and collected.
“You too,” she said and slipped through the door.
Chapter Eight
Charlie pulled the zipper of her parka all the way up, using the collar to shield the botto
m half of her face from the icy breeze coming off the lake. It was almost fully dark now, just a sliver of salmon-colored light on the western horizon. Against the bright splash of pink-orange, Charlie could just make out the silhouette of the decaying Ferris wheel on the far side of the island.
In the car, she slid out her phone and got back to work, checking more potential leads off her list. A couple of quick phone calls to both Kara’s probation officer and biological father had failed to turn up anything useful. In fact, Charlie was starting to grow concerned at just how unconcerned everyone else seemed to be. The probation officer predicted that Kara would turn up within the next day or so, at which point she wanted to be called immediately. Meanwhile, Kara’s dad said it was “normal kid stuff” and he was sure Kara was “just fine.” Something about the “just fine” in particular made Charlie shudder.
On her way back to the office, Charlie stopped off at Town Square Pizza and ordered a large with mushroom and green pepper. She watched Marco, the owner, assemble the pie in lightning speed. In less than a minute, he’d stretched the dough, ladled on the sauce, spread the cheese and toppings, and slid the whole thing into the oven to bake. Marco had been running the place almost single-handedly as long as she could remember. Aside from the fact that his waxed handlebar mustache had gone gray, he even still looked mostly the same.
Roughly ten minutes later, Marco pulled the pizza from the oven and put it straight into the box before slicing it. He handed it over to Charlie, thanking her and wishing her happy holidays.
She kept forgetting Christmas was less than two weeks away. Holidays hadn’t really been a thing since Allie died. Charlie had come back for visits now and then, but the magic of Christmas, the joy felt gathering around the table for Thanksgiving, those things were over. Her mother hadn’t put up so much as a sprig of mistletoe in the years since Allie disappeared.
The heat coming through the cardboard box warmed her hands as she made the trek to her car. Inside, with the door shut, the smell of the fresh-baked pizza overwhelmed her. She suddenly remembered that she hadn’t eaten lunch.
Lifting the lid, Charlie pulled a slice of pizza from the box. It was still steaming, but she judged it not quite hot enough to burn her mouth.
She bit into the chewy crust and gooey cheese. The taste instantly brought back a dozen memories from childhood: a picnic in the park with her dad and Allie, a sleepover at Candace Mitchell’s house in seventh grade, impromptu pizza parties when the staff of the school newspaper stayed late to meet a deadline.
“This is classy,” Allie said. “I mean, nothing screams ‘you’ve made it’ like eating pizza in your car.”
“Go away.”
“I’m just saying… if you want to rub elbows with the upper echelons of society, you have to think about these things.”
“What are you talking about?” Charlie asked. “Who exactly am I supposedly wanting to rub elbows with?”
“Uh, Will Crawford,” Allie said, as if the answer were obvious.
“That wasn’t a social call. I was asking him questions about Kara Dawkins.”
“Yeah, one teensy whisper of his name, and WHOOSH! You’re parked in front of his office.”
“Whatever.” Charlie made a dismissive sound. “Anyway, Will isn’t like that. He’s not a snob.”
“He’s a lawyer now. You saw that office. Pretty lux.”
“He basically said himself that it was all for show,” Charlie reminded her. “Underneath the suit, he’s the same old Will. I guarantee it.”
“You know what else is underneath the suit?”
“No. Stop.”
“Big ol’ hog leg.”
“I said stop.”
“His plonker, as the Brits might say. His kielbasa sausage. His anaconda, which may or may not want some, depending upon the bun situation.”
Charlie closed her eyes, trying to ignore her sister.
Allie leaned close and whispered, “Charlie, I’m talking about his penis.”
Chapter Nine
Charlie hovered over the coffee machine the next morning in the dark. Bleary-eyed. Her hands splayed on the kitchen counter, arms holding up her top half as though she’d crumple back to sleep on the spot without their support.
It was too damn early. Too early to turn the lights on. Too early to be doing any of this, but here she was.
The gurgle of the coffee machine thrummed through the thin laminate countertop and shuddered through her fingers and palms. A strange vibration. Not unpleasant.
Her half-awake mind tried to tumble through all she now knew about Kara Dawkins. Cogent thoughts coming to her in fits and starts. She seemed to gravitate back toward one detail over and over.
Kara had been sneaking out at night. Charlie’s mind replayed the moment over and over: Kara’s stepsister Rachel standing in their shared room, shoulders slumped, a frightened look passing over her face as she gave up the secret.
Yes. Something there, Charlie thought. Something meaningful. If morning intuition was worth anything, figuring out where Kara had been going after dark would lead to a break in the case.
And then her eyes drooped closed and her mind wandered, making that intuitive leap from Kara to Allie once again, half-dreaming and half-remembering. The pictures opened in her head. Blooming. Becoming.
It started with the memory of one of the photos in Kara’s room—Kara and another girl her age, posing in front of the giant clown head at Poseidon’s Kingdom. The marine-themed amusement park had once been a big attraction for summer tourists on Salem Island. There had even been a dedicated ferry that took people back and forth between Detroit and the park. This was mostly before Charlie’s time, of course. The park had closed when she and Allie were six or seven. It was abandoned now and had been for decades. She knew it as a sprawling maze of paved pathways peppered with crumbling rides, the whole place overgrown with weeds and rogue trees.
It was closed to the public, of course, off limits in the way that meant that every kid on the island between the ages of twelve and eighteen had snuck in at least once. Almost instantly, Charlie was overcome by a memory of her and Allie standing in the very same spot as Kara in the photo. They were probably fourteen or fifteen, and she remembered pausing to gaze up at the giant red lips of the monstrous clown. Allie jumped up to slap her hand against the grinning teeth as they passed through the mouth and into Zinky’s Funhouse. They followed the labyrinthine path through the Hall of Mirrors, just as they had a hundred times before. If not for the myriad of holes in the roof, they’d have needed flashlights. Instead, the sun glinted through the Swiss cheese ceiling above, giving them just enough light to make their way.
The mirrors were dusty and spotted now, some of them broken, but there were enough intact to still make it a disorienting experience. Charlie could half-remember what it had been in the park’s heyday: bright lights shining against the gleaming mirrors, the sound of kids laughing and shrieking competing with the organ music blaring from the speakers.
“Do you remember playing Bloody Mary when we were younger?” Allie had asked.
“I remember you trying to get me to play.”
Allie snorted out a laugh.
“Yeah, I forgot you were such a chicken.”
“I just don’t believe in stupid urban legends.”
“Well, Heather told me that she and Laura played Bloody Mary in here once. And they saw her.”
With a scoff, Charlie said, “Heather also thinks that if you swallow gum, it stays in your stomach for seven years.”
Charlie was walking just ahead, running her hand along the mirrors on the right side. She turned back and saw a mischievous glint in Allie’s eye.
“Then let’s do it,” Allie said.
“Do what?”
“Play Bloody Mary.”
“It’s a stupid kids’ game.”
“Then there’s no harm in it, Charles,” Allie said. “Unless you’re scared.”
“I’m not scared, I just think it’s
dumb,” Charlie said.
Allie was silent for the next several seconds, long enough that Charlie actually thought she’d won the debate.
And then Allie said, “Bloody Mary.”
Her voice was low, and she drew out each syllable of the name.
“Allie, seriously—”
“Bloody Mary.”
Charlie’s mouth opened, ready to protest. But that’s what Allie wanted. Better to turn the tables on her sister, she thought.
She didn’t drag it out the way Allie had. She said it loud and proud, as if daring the specter to appear.
“Bloody Mary!”
Her voice ricocheted off the glass-paneled walls, echoing down the passageway. She chuckled at her own boldness.
“See?” She glanced over her shoulder. “It’s all just—”
In the corridor behind her, she saw a dozen different reflections of herself, but none of them were her sister.
The hallway was empty.
She spun around.
“Allie?”
No answer.
Charlie realized that this had been Allie’s plan all along. Get Charlie all worked up with the talk of Bloody Mary and then abandon her in the mirror maze on her own.
“Another laugh riot,” Charlie said, deadpan.
She took several steps back the way she’d come. What she couldn’t figure out was how Allie had vanished so quickly.
“OK. The joke’s over now. I get it. Ha. Ha.”
Charlie took another step, and then another.
“Allie?”
The mirrored wall behind her suddenly shifted, a hidden door springing open. A ghoul lurched out from the darkness, its hair long and matted, blood running down from the eyes. It howled like a banshee.
Bloody. Fucking. Mary.
Charlie screamed and stutter-stepped away from it. Her hands flailed at the mirrors as though she might find a way through them. She stumbled, coming down hard on her butt, her teeth clacking together.
She scrabbled backward, finding herself trapped in the dead end of the maze. Backed up against a mirror.