Missing Daughter

by Rick Mofina

  In the days that followed, Maddie came out of her room less and less except to go to school.

  She barely spoke to her family and picked at her meals.

  Then one night at about 2:00 a.m., Tyler, Ryan and Karen were awakened to screams coming from her bedroom.

  Ryan had a baseball bat and Tyler a hunting knife when they rushed in to find Maddie flailing and shrieking.

  “NO! STOP! GET AWAY! PLEASE!”

  Karen, still gripping her phone to call police if necessary, scooped Maddie into her arms and soothed her.

  “Honey, wake up. Wake up. It’s just a bad dream.”

  In her stupor, Maddie blinked then squinted at the faces of her mother, her father and her brother, as if seeing them for the first time.

  It was just a bad dream.

  Still, the incident gave Karen pause as she comforted Maddie, soothing her until she fell back asleep.

  62

  Two days later, Karen Lane’s cell phone rang.

  “Hi, Karen, this is Fran Asher. Stan and I would like to visit with you, Ryan and Maddison as soon as possible. Could we drop by today?”

  Fran and Stan? All casual, like old friends. Karen was wary.

  “Why? What’s this about?”

  “We just returned from Florida, still trying to fill in the blanks, and we have something we need Maddison’s help on.”

  “What?”

  “I’d rather not say over the phone—it’s something we need to show her.”

  “Just a minute.” Karen muted her phone for several seconds to consult Ryan before she came back to Asher. “All right, six thirty this evening.”

  * * *

  Tyler got the door when the detectives arrived, and any traces of smiles dissolved on their faces when they saw Cole Lane with Ryan, Karen and Maddison in the kitchen.

  Ryan gestured that they’d talk at the kitchen table, an indication that he didn’t want them to be too comfortable.

  “Coffee?” Karen offered.

  “Sure, thank you,” Zubik said.

  “Yes, please,” Asher said, nodding to Maddison. “How’re you doing?”

  Maddison shrugged.

  Zubik found a smile. “We understand you’ve been getting counselling?”

  “She has. That’s no secret,” Karen said. “To help her recover from what she’s been through.”

  “That’s why we’re here.” Zubik kept his eyes on Maddison. “We’d like to know what you’ve been through. Have you been able to remember anything new?”

  Maddison began shaking her head slowly.

  “No, she hasn’t,” Ryan said. “What’s this about? On the phone you told Karen that you had something to show her.”

  “We do.” Asher worked on her tablet. “We’ve just returned from Florida where we were talking to people, and we want to show Maddison these security camera images.” Asher cued them up. “Come closer have a look.”

  “Where did this come from?” Cole asked.

  “Security cameras at and near the shelter,” Asher said.

  Maddison watched as Asher played the short sequence from the shelter then the strip mall parking lot. Her family drew nearer to view them.

  “This is you,” Asher said. She’d set up the clips so they replayed over and over and slowed them down to stop-action speed. “What do you think? Does this help you remember what you were running from, where you were in the time before these images?”

  Cole studied Maddison as she concentrated on the images, then shook her head.

  “Look—Fran, can you stop it here?” Zubik pointed with his pen to the blurry dark image near Maddison at the beginning of the strip mall footage. “We’ve enhanced this. It looks like it could be a person just exiting the frame. Does that help you remember? Do you know who that is?”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t.”

  “That could be anything,” Cole said.

  “Exactly,” Zubik said. “That’s why we’re here for help.” Then to Maddison he said, “Has your therapist tried hypnosis to help you remember?”

  “No, she hasn’t.”

  “Hey, what’s this about?” Ryan asked.

  “We’d like Maddison to undergo hypnosis to help her remember.”

  “Just hold on,” Cole said. “Hypnosis has drawbacks. You know about confabulation, false memories, Stan.”

  “No, to be clear,” Asher said, “we’re talking more about a cognitive interview, Cole.”

  “Yeah, that’s right,” Zubik said.

  “We know a cognitive interview reduces distortions and inaccuracies,” Asher said. “It can be very effective.”

  “No, no,” Karen said. “She’s been having an extremely hard time. Her doctor says she may be suppressing traumatic events she doesn’t want to remember. I’m afraid this kind of thing could cause more damage to her.”

  “We understand that,” Asher said. “But Karen, Maddison, everybody, we all want and need to know what happened when she disappeared from this house four years ago, what crimes were committed.”

  “But we’ve got her back,” Ryan said.

  “Yes, and thank God for that,” Asher said.

  Zubik steepled his fingers and touched them to his mouth. “Think about this. What if whoever took Maddison has also taken other children, is holding them somewhere, is harming those children now as we sit here in your kitchen? Maddison’s memory could be the key to helping us save them.”

  A silence fell over all of them until it was broken by Maddison.

  “I’ll do it. I’ll let you hypnotize me.”

  63

  “Are you comfortable, Maddison?”

  “Yes.”

  Maddie was lying on top of her bed in her room where Dr. Vera Granov conducted the final segment of the session.

  It was night. The lighting had been dimmed.

  Granov, a psychiatrist from the university, had worked with the FBI, state and Syracuse police, helping witnesses remember details using a method known as a cognitive interview.

  Earlier that day, Maddison had met the white-haired grandmotherly woman in her office, where Granov’s cat, Pasha, took to Maddison. She liked the doctor, who, after reviewing police and news reports on Maddison’s case, had initiated the first stages of the interview process.

  Granov took notes while Maddison relayed the little she could recall about her ordeal while Pasha padded through the office. The doctor was going to help Maddison reach into her mind to recover more details of her disappearance. Granov said that while studies showed that “on the scene” sessions increased the accuracy of memories and the chances of unlocking suppressed details, they would not be able to travel to Florida. They would instead start in Maddison’s bedroom, re-creating the time and conditions, then use the Florida security footage.

  Granov would help Maddison reach an intense state of concentration by guiding her to be cognizant of details in the moments leading up to her departure from her bedroom—the weather, the sounds, smells, her emotions and her thoughts. Maddison agreed to do her best but had requested her psychiatrist, Dr. Hartley, be present for the final interview segment in her bedroom.

  “Shall we proceed?” Granov said.

  Now, along with Granov and Hartley, Zubik and Asher were also present, filling Maddison’s room. The detectives were recording the session. Asher adjusted the tripod and camera. Maddison closed her eyes in the soft, tranquil light of her room. The camera’s recording light was blinking. The tablet on Granov’s lap was filled with notes. She made a formal evidentiary introduction on the video then began.

  “As we discussed, Maddison, I want you to think, reach back to that night in this house, in this room, and tell me what you remember. Start with the first thoughts you have.”

  “I smell pizza...we had pizza...and we watched a m
ovie about dinosaurs—Jurassic Park...pretty scary...”

  Maddison talked about the movie for a moment.

  “Good. I’m guiding you to your bedroom, this room now...what are you doing...”

  “I’m changing...getting ready for bed...pretty tired...my window’s open and there’s a nice breeze... I hear the quiet...”

  “And your phone. Where’s your phone?”

  Eyes closed, Maddison raised her hands a little.

  “Phone?” Maddison repeats.

  “Yes, where is your phone? Are you communicating with someone on your phone? Are you using self-destructing messages to keep them secret?”

  Maddison’s fingers began to move in slow motion, mimicking texting.

  “I can’t... I don’t...”

  “That’s okay. What happens now?”

  “The ladder... I remember a ladder...at my window...”

  “Who put the ladder there? Who’s at your window?”

  “I don’t... I can’t...outside... I’m outside now...leaving my yard...running...running...through the forest...dark...it’s so dark...”

  “Who are you with? Think of voices, sounds, smells, colors. Who?”

  Maddison was silent. Eyes closed, she shook her head.

  “What’s happening Maddison? What’re you doing? Who’s with you?”

  Tears rolled down Maddison’s face.

  “I can’t. I can’t...so dark...so dark...please no...no more...”

  “All right, it’s okay,” Granov soothed her. “Take a breath. Take your time. We’ll shift to Florida, like we discussed.” Granov worked on her tablet, opening the Florida footage of Maddison from the strip mall and the shelter, which had been merged into a single, short video. “All right, Maddison, are you ready to look at the pictures of you in Florida during the storm?”

  Maddison’s face glowed in the light of Granov’s tablet as she watched.

  “Go back. Think of the sounds, the smells, your thoughts. What can you tell us? What do you recall?” Granov asked.

  “Rain...” Maddie said. “Rain and wind...howling, loud wind...stuff is flying everywhere...and smells...it smells like tropical air...not like Syracuse...and warmer...”

  “Go back. Take your mind back to where you came from just before the shelter, Maddison. Where were you before running to the shelter?”

  “Running... I’ve got to run...the hurricane’s coming...run...”

  “How did you get to the parking lot? Who was with you?”

  “...just run...run...my head...”

  “Was anyone with you?”

  “...run...keep running...”

  “Who is with you? Do they remind you of anyone you know?”

  “...run...something hit my head...”

  “How? How are you hurt? Did someone hurt you? Who hurt you?”

  Maddison shakes her head from side to side.

  “No... I’m so afraid... NO!”

  Maddison screamed. Then cried.

  Granov moved to console her.

  “It’s okay, we’re finished. We’re done, Maddison.”

  Zubik looked at Maddie, his expression betraying nothing.

  64

  “What happened? Is she going to be all right?”

  Karen’s face was etched with worry when the psychiatrists and detectives closed the door to Maddie’s room after leaving her there.

  “We gave her a mild sedative. She’ll be asleep soon.” Dr. Granov touched Karen’s shoulder, glanced at Ryan, Cole and Tyler. “Let’s go to the living room.”

  After everyone was seated, Granov continued.

  “It was difficult for Maddison, but unfortunately little emerged from the session.”

  “Did it do any damage to her, hurt her in any way?” Karen looked at Granov then Hartley.

  “No, I don’t believe so,” Hartley said.

  “Did she remember anything?” Cole looked at the psychiatrists, then the detectives for answers. “Anything from that night? Anything from Florida.”

  “Like Dr. Granov said, very little emerged,” Zubik said.

  Zubik and Asher drove Dr. Hartley home first. Then after dropping her off, they stopped at a coffee shop with Dr. Granov.

  Their server brought the detectives coffee, and tea for Granov.

  “So what’s your take on this?” Asher asked.

  “The research on memory retrieval shows us that everyone stores their recall of events differently.” Granov dipped her teabag in her cup of hot water. “In Maddison’s case, after tonight’s session, I would conclude that she was blocked.”

  “Blocked?” Asher looked at Zubik.

  “Yes,” Granov said. “It would appear she’s experienced something traumatic. That trauma is refusing to allow access to the information you need, refusing to allow us to unlock her memory to recover it.”

  “So what does that mean?” Asher said. “You try more sessions?”

  “Perhaps, but I sense reluctance on the part of the parents to continue,” Granov said. “It’s understandable. Maddison appears to be in a fragile state, and it’s important to note that memory deteriorates over time.”

  “What’re you saying here?” Zubik said. “In plain English.”

  “What I’m saying, Stan, is that instead of trying to remember, the girl may be trying to forget.”

  Zubik’s jaw tensed.

  He turned away, looked to the window and into the night.

  “So we don’t know what happened to her,” he said. “Where does that leave us?”

  65

  The house was a custom-built, two-story colonial with a deep, private backyard, a tall fence, trees and big shrubs.

  It sat back from the curb in an upper-class Syracuse neighborhood.

  This is a thief’s dream, he thought as he worked at disabling the security system. Easy if you knew what you were doing, and he did. He’d been at this for years, and he’d never made a mistake.

  As always, he’d done his surveillance.

  No barking dogs nearby. He knew who lived in the house, knew the family’s cars, knew their basic schedule, their routine. He’d followed the family online.

  They were on vacation.

  He had to smile. One thing he’d learned about places with security systems—it was a flag that there was something of exceptional value inside. In this case, the father often mentioned his collection of rare coins online.

  Pop!

  He’d broken the lock on the back window that was nearly obscured in shadows. Contorting himself into the house, he moved quickly, taking stock, looking everywhere.

  I want those coins.

  First he’d see what other treasure he could get. Cash, jewels, credit cards. He’d amassed a lot of money in his career. Much of it was tucked away in offshore accounts. He was ready to slow down, maybe even retire with his perfect record—except for that one incident he’d witnessed. At times it still gnawed at him. That’s the trouble when you’re a compassionate thief.

  Forget what you saw. It’s in the past. Get to work.

  As usual, he searched everywhere because he knew people hid things in unlikely places. He searched the washer, the dryer, the freezer, the fridge, the stove, toilet tanks, bookcases, spice racks, in cereal boxes, sugar and flower canisters, before moving on to the standards. He searched the study, the living room, sofa cushions, wall paintings then the bedrooms.

  He’d worked his way through the master bedroom and was in the walk-in closet, checking the pockets of the clothes, when there was a sudden diffusion of light.

  He turned.

  A mountain of a man stood in the doorway.

  He was holding a gun, pointed at him.

  “Don’t move, asshole!”

  He slowly raised his gloved hands.

  “De
lla!” the gun man shouted. “Call 911 now! We got an intruder!”

  “Oh my God, Dan!” a woman shrieked.

  “I want you to get out here,” the gun man—Dan—told him, “on the floor. Get on your stomach or I’ll put a bullet in your head.”

  He didn’t move. His world had stopped. This was how it would end. The homeowners had inexplicably returned, and he’d never heard a sound.

  “Move, asshole! Now!” Dan waved the gun and stepped back.

  He moved with caution from the closet into the bedroom, got down on the carpet, the citrus scent of the cleaner hitting him with the realization that the life he knew, the life he loved, was over.

  No, it can’t end like this!

  He felt a hand pawing him, patting him for a weapon. He felt the soft vibration on the floor of someone running up the stairs, someone approaching. Without thinking he twisted, kicked in a lightning attack that knocked Dan to his knees and sent the gun bouncing, sliding across the carpet, stopping several feet away.

  He dove for it, but the now gunless man moved fast, blanketing him, crushing him with his body, sliding his arm under his neck, locking him in a choke hold just as a woman appeared. She picked up the gun and pointed at his head as he coughed for air.

  “Freeze, you son of a bitch!” she screamed.

  “Please,” he gasped. “Can’t breathe.”

  The man loosened his death grip. The panting of all three soon gave way to the sound of sirens approaching.

  66

  In the morning Karen knocked on Maddie’s door.

  “You’re going to be late for school, honey.”

  No response.

  Karen opened the door. Maddie was under her blankets with her back to her.

  “I’m not going.”

  Karen sat on the bed. “Are you not feeling well?”

  “My mouth is kind of sore.”

  Karen touched the back of her hand to Maddie’s forehead. “Want me to give you something?”

  “I just want to be left alone.”

  “Are you upset after the session last night?”

  “I don’t know. I’m confused about everything.”