Where I Left Her

by Amber Garza

  “No, you’re not hearing me!” I said, my voice rising in desperation. “I didn’t let him do anything. He forced himself on me. I tried to get him to stop.” The tears were back. I sniffed. “And he said really mean things about my body.”

  “I can’t even deal with this right now,” Millie said, angrily. “Just stay away from my boyfriend, okay?”

  She hung up, leaving me staring down at my phone in disbelief.

  I was so angry, I didn’t talk to Millie all week. Even ignored her at school. I thought she’d apologize. See the error of her ways. At the very least feel bad for the way I’d been hurt. But she didn’t seem to feel bad at all.

  I had no other choice. I had to force her to see.

  26

  SUNDAY, 3:30 A.M.

  THIRTY-FOUR AND A HALF HOURS AFTER DROP-OFF

  NATALIE WAS STILL dead asleep on the couch, face upturned, lips parted. Keeping an eye on her, Whitney tiptoed past. Careful not to make too much noise, Whitney snatched up her purse and keys. She felt like a teenager sneaking out of the house, but she knew if Natalie caught her, she’d try to stop her.

  The minute the cold air hit Whitney, she shivered. She had always hated the cold. Although, she wasn’t sure this weather qualified as cold. Springtime wasn’t extreme here. Still, she longed to be curled up in a warm bed, not outside running around in the dark in the middle of the night.

  If only that were an option.

  It was quiet in the complex, blinds closed, curtains drawn, lights off, in all the apartments she passed. She made her way down the stairs, careful to take quiet steps. When she reached the bottom, she heard male voices around the corner. Kind of by the park area. The skin on the back of her neck prickled. Were the guys from apartment 204 back?

  Rounding the corner, her tennis shoes pounded on the pavement. The voices got quieter, moving farther away. Desperation bloomed in her chest. She picked up the pace. When the men came into view, she hollered, “Wait!”

  They both spun around, almost in perfect timing as if it was a choreographed dance routine. When they took in her face, their eyebrows leaped upward.

  “Yes?” one of them said.

  Whitney shrank back. There was no way these men were the ones Amelia had been hanging out with. They were Whitney’s age. Maybe older.

  “Nothing. Sorry,” she mumbled. “I thought you were someone else.”

  “We could be someone else,” the other man joked, jabbing his friend in the side with his elbow. His friend laughed. It was then that Whitney noticed their watery eyes, the flush of their cheeks and noses. “Tell us who you want us to be. Brad Pitt? Hugh Grant?”

  Were they for real?

  Her stomach tightened.

  “I um...I actually should get back home...to um...my husband,” she lied, tucking her ringless hand behind her back.

  “Husband,” the jokester said. “That’s a dirty word.” The two men laughed again.

  It was a regular comedy fest out here.

  Rolling her eyes, Whitney turned away from the strange men. Keeping her ears pricked, she hurried back where she came from. After rounding the corner again, she pressed her back against the wall and listened to the men’s retreating footsteps. They were walking too slowly, and she tapped her foot against the ground with impatience.

  Once it was quiet again, she stepped out of the shadows. She was anxious to get back to that house. The one that had stolen her daughter from her.

  But first, she felt the pull toward apartment 204. Every apartment down here was quiet and dark, blinds closed. Apartment 204 was no exception.

  She tried to peek in between the little slits in the closed blinds of the front window, but she couldn’t see anything. Hugging herself, she stared at the closed door. It was like earlier. She couldn’t detect any sound or movement inside.

  There was another window to the left. Probably one of the bedrooms. She walked toward it. Pressing her face to the glass. Nothing. Just a wall of darkness.

  Man, they kept this place locked up tight.

  But there was also no noise there either.

  They were either out or sleeping.

  She should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy. What was she expecting? To find a party going on, Amelia right in plain sight?

  If only.

  She started to leave, but then turned back around. Bit her lip.

  Oh, screw it.

  Reaching up, she knocked on the door before she could talk herself out of it again. Holding her breath, she waited. A breeze whisked over her skin and she shivered, goose bumps rising on her skin.

  No, Mom, they’re geese bumps because there’s more than one of them.

  The memory flew through Whitney’s mind fast and surprising. Tears pricked her eyes. She knocked again. Louder.

  This time she didn’t stop rapping until she heard something. She stood up straighter, throwing her shoulders back and lifting her chin. Her pulse was so erratic she felt its uneven beat in her neck.

  The door flung open, and a middle-aged woman wearing flannel pajamas, her short curly hair sticking up all over her head, popped her head out.

  “What do you want?” she snapped. Her face was red, and mascara ringed her eyes as if she hadn’t washed it off well before bedtime.

  “I’m sorry,” Whitney said, blinking. She hadn’t prepared herself for his mom answering. “I...umm...I was just...looking for my daughter.”

  “My son already told the police everything he knows,” she said, recognition dawning in her eyes of who Whitney must be.

  “Is your son home? Maybe he can just fill me in on what he told them.”

  Moving back, the woman pushed the door slightly closed. “Look, I’m really sorry about your daughter, and I don’t want to be rude. But my son doesn’t know where she is, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t involve him in this anymore.”

  Whitney knew her window of opportunity was closing. And she sympathized with this mom. Really, she did. She knew she’d act the same way if their roles were reversed. But they weren’t. Her daughter was the one that was missing. She didn’t have the luxury of closing her door on the situation and going back to sleep. “Please. I just need to find Amelia. If there’s anything at all he can tell me.”

  “Mom?” a voice sounded behind the woman.

  Whitney’s head swung back and forth, desperate to see over the mom’s head. But she held her ground. The door was almost all the way closed now.

  “Go back to bed,” the woman said, right before the door closed completely.

  But then it immediately swung back open. “No, Mom, it’s fine.”

  Whitney’s gaze skated upward at the incredibly tall, lanky boy filling the doorway. He was so tall his head almost reached the top of the doorframe. His thick curly hair fell into his face. He ran a hand through it, brushing it back, revealing bloodshot eyes. And he was definitely the boy from the picture.

  “You’re Amelia’s mom?” He looked Whitney up and down.

  “Yeah,” she said. “Do you know where she is?”

  He shook his head. “I haven’t heard from her all weekend.” Frowning, he hung his head. His expression was one of grave concern. “I’m sorry.”

  “Do you have any idea where she might be?” Whitney asked, desperate.

  “He already told the police everything he knows, okay?” The mom was back again, shoving at her son and attempting to close the door.

  “I’d look into that friend of hers,” the boy said quickly.

  Whitney’s heart hammered in her ears. “Lauren?”

  He nodded. “Something isn’t right with her.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “You need to leave us alone now.” The mother slammed the door in Whitney’s face before she could ask what the boy’s name was.

  She flinched at the force
of it. For a moment, she waited just in case it popped open again. But it didn’t. Not this time.

  Groaning, she nearly flung herself against it and started pounding again. But she stopped herself. There was no way that mom was going to let her son say anything else. Whitney thought about the boy’s kind eyes and concerned expression.

  Amelia wasn’t here.

  This boy didn’t hold the answers to Amelia’s whereabouts. Lauren did.

  Something isn’t right with her.

  Whitney shivered, a memory from the first time Lauren spent the night flashing in her mind.

  Whitney had been having that recurring dream where she was a high school student, lying out in the grass during lunch with her best friend. They were staring up through the branches of the tree above them, giggling and chatting about classes and boys, when suddenly Whitney had this awful feeling like she forgot something. Something important. Something that made her feel panicky. As Whitney’s friend droned on, she racked her brain, trying to place what it was.

  She shot upward.

  Amelia.

  She’d forgotten about her daughter. Left her alone to come to school. What kind of mom was she?

  When she mentioned it, her friend stared at her like she’d lost her mind.

  “You don’t have a daughter,” she laughed.

  “Yes, I do,” she insisted.

  Didn’t she?

  She leaped up, racing across campus toward the parking lot, desperate to get home. To find her daughter. But before she could reach the car, the parking lot faded. Darkness enveloped her. Her scalp prickled, a funny feeling descending on her.

  The sensation of being watched drew her from her dream.

  It was a familiar feeling. One she’d had countless times when Amelia was a little girl. She’d startle awake to find Amelia standing beside her bed.

  “Mommy, I’m scared.”

  But this time when she opened her eyes, it wasn’t Amelia in her room.

  It was Lauren.

  She blinked, rubbed her eyes, certain she was seeing things.

  When she looked again, Lauren was gone. She exhaled. Rolled over onto her side. Then froze. Her door was open an inch or so, swaying slightly from the heating vent above. She always slept with the door closed. She slid out of bed. Padding into the hallway, she caught movement, a splash of dark hair, disappearing into Amelia’s room. Whitney followed it, swung open Amelia’s door. Both she and Lauren were asleep, back-to-back in Amelia’s bed. Whitney stood there a moment, listening to their steady breathing.

  She stepped back into the hallway, closing Amelia’s door lightly behind her, then ambled back into her room and stared at the spot where she’d seen Lauren. But it couldn’t have been her, right?

  She was asleep.

  Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

  Afterward, Whitney kept telling herself that she imagined someone in her room. That she’d dreamed it. Now she wasn’t so sure.

  Who was this new friend of Amelia’s? This girl who’d shown up out of nowhere?

  And what did she want?

  27

  THE SATURDAY AFTER my ugly encounter with Mitch, I showed up at Millie’s house late at night. She was home alone, her mom out on a date. She let me in but was clearly still angry with me. Music blasted throughout the room. Without offering me anything, she sat down on the couch, sipping a glass of her mom’s vodka.

  I poured my own glass and joined her. It was like liquid fire going down my throat.

  “Do you honestly think I would come on to Mitch?” I asked her, wrapping my hands around my glass. The condensation seeped into my palms.

  “Honestly?” she asked. “Yeah, I mean, you are kinda always butting into my life. And, no offense, but sometimes it seems like you do wanna be me.”

  I didn’t want to be her, I swear. I wanted to be near her. Close to her. I wanted to be enough for her.

  “Sometimes it seems like you’re obsessed with me or something,” she tacked on, staring down into her drink.

  I took a gulp of vodka. Ignored the burning sensation in my throat. Swallowed it down. Liquid courage. “Those are his words, right? All week you’ve been ignoring me, but you’re still talking to him?”

  She continued staring into her drink, as if the answers to my questions were written in the center of the ice cubes.

  “Do you think I’m lying about what happened? You think I made it up?”

  Millie’s head whipped in my direction, her eyes narrowing. “I don’t know who to believe. His story is completely opposite yours.”

  “It’s an easy choice, Mil. You believe me. Your best friend who has always been there for you. Not your asshole boyfriend who hits you!” I was done playing it cool. I was pissed.

  Millie finally tore her eyes away from her drink. “That’s a low blow.”

  “I’ll tell you all about low blows,” I said. “It’s when you try to help your best friend out and instead you get assaulted by her boyfriend.”

  “Stop saying he assaulted you.” She moved in closer. “You haven’t told anyone else this, have you? Mitch could get in real trouble.”

  “Oh, my God. That’s what you’re worried about? Him getting in trouble?” I lashed out, angry tears springing to my eyes. “What about what he did to me?” Shaking my head, I sniffed. Blinked. “But you don’t care, do you? He’s the one you care about. Not me.”

  It hurt, even though it was what I figured would happen. My wild, seemingly carefree friend had become predictable when it came to him. Pathetic.

  I took a baggie of pills out of my pocket. Dumped a few into my hand. When I first stole these, I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to enact this plan. I’d hoped Millie would see reason.

  “What are those?” she asked, eyeing them.

  “Just leave me alone. You made your choice.” I threw them into my mouth and drank them down with the remainder of the vodka. It burned and I didn’t actually have enough to get all the pills down. I ended up gagging a little. Luckily, there was a half-drunk cup of water on the table—Millie’s, I imagined, the smudge of her lips on the rim—and I used it to shove the pills the rest of the way down.

  Millie watched, slack-jawed. “What did you just do?” She fumbled for the baggie. Only two pills left in it.

  “Why do you care?”

  “Seriously, what are these? What kinds of pills did you take?”

  “I don’t know. Some kind of diet pill Mitch gave me,” I lied, already feeling a little fuzzy-headed. There was still a way to make her believe Mitch was a bad guy. A way that didn’t involve me having to face him again.

  “What? Mitch gave you diet pills? When?”

  “Same day he called me fat.” My lips trembled, remembering. “Right after he shoved me against the wall and grabbed...at me...and...” My voice trailed off, unable to relive it again. I’d already told her what a monster he was. But she didn’t want to listen. That’s why I had to show her. I tried to run my fingers down her arm, but they felt numb.

  She set down her glass, raked her fingers through her hair. “Oh, my God. So, you are telling the truth?”

  I wasn’t, actually. I mean, I was about the touching and saying mean things. But I wasn’t about the pills. I’d found those in my mom’s medicine cabinet. They were just pain pills. I’d seen her take a couple at a time before, so I wasn’t worried. I’d be fine. But Millie didn’t know that, and that’s what mattered.

  “Why would you take so many?” Her voice sounded shrill.

  Finally. There was that compassion I’d been looking for. I had her.

  “The more I take, the thinner I’ll get. Then maybe your boyfriend will approve of me.” I lowered myself back on the couch, my limbs heavy, my head cottony. “It’s not like it matters, anyway.”

  “You’re not making any sense.”
>
  “Yess, I am. Perfect sensssse.” My words were coming out a little slurred. My eyes felt weighted. The ceiling seemed to move, up and down, slowly, like ocean waves. It concerned me. I wasn’t expecting to have this kind of reaction. “You chose him over me. You always choose him over me.” Feeling nauseous, I rolled over just in time to puke into the carpet. Darkness crept in at the edge of my vision. My skin felt cold, clammy. I tried to grip the side of the couch, but my fingers slid off. My body followed, toppling over onto the floor. The room was spinning faster now.

  I could hear Millie screaming in the distance. Felt fingertips brush over my wrist. Then everything went black.

  28

  SUNDAY, 4:15 A.M.

  OVER THIRTY-FIVE HOURS

  AFTER DROP-OFF

  THERE IT WAS—the house Whitney had dropped Amelia off at. It stood in front of her. Quiet. Imposing. Lips locked, refusing to share the answers Whitney knew it had. Hiding behind its freshly manicured front lawn and rosebushes. Looking pristine and regal, so no one would suspect a thing.

  Whitney knew she couldn’t stop her car here, couldn’t park out front where anyone driving by could see.

  Circling the block, she came upon a park. So strange that she hadn’t noticed it the first time she’d been here. Then again, it was hidden back behind a lot of trees, and Whitney hadn’t been looking for a park then. It wasn’t a traditional one. It didn’t have a playground. It had a soccer field, some picnic tables, a few barbecue pits, a lone blue safety light or two. It also had a parking lot shaded by large, leafy trees. Whitney parked in the night-black back corner. After hiding her purse on the floor in the backseat and tucking her keys into her pocket, she locked her car and pulled the hood of her sweatshirt over her head. Then she hurried across the street and hoofed it up the sidewalk. She stood in front of the house a moment, gathering courage.

  It felt like a lifetime ago when she’d sat in her car, watching Amelia walk up to the front door. She remembered that awful feeling. The way she’d reached down to unlatch her seat belt. The way she’d fought the urge to run after her daughter.