Go to Helen? Runaway?
My heart suddenly started to pound as I rewrote the last half of the note.
Collapsed. Sick like Rose. Find family. Go to Helen. Runaway. Love you. You came. Now go. Please.
Though it was impossible to know whether I was correct, it felt right. Despite what the police and sheriff had told me about runaways—or missing persons in general from the area—I knew my grandfather had been talking about Callie.
Why, then, hadn’t he mentioned her by name?
I continued to drink my coffee, turning my focus to the first part of the note, trying different reinterpretations. I finished one cup and poured myself another, running through the words, reordering the pauses, but never once could I come up with Callie, or anything even close. I’d think about it, then let my thoughts drift to Natalie again, then return my concentration to the task at hand.
Halfway through my third cup of coffee, I felt the emergence of a new idea and if I was correct, then everything in the note was startlingly clear.
While admitting that I might be wrong, I suddenly felt confident that I would have the answer before the morning was out.
* * *
“Hey,” Natalie said.
Lost in thought, I hadn’t seen her enter the alcove. Unlike me, she’d already showered, the ends of her hair still wet. Her eyes were bright, with none of the weariness I’d expected.
“Good morning.”
“You were up early. I didn’t hear you leave.”
“I’m like a mouse when I sneak away.”
“I’m going to get some yogurt. Do you want anything?”
“I can go with you.”
Good to her word, she selected a container of yogurt and prepared a cup of tea. I opted for eggs and bacon with a side of toast, giving myself a pass on my healthy diet.
Back at the table, we sat across from each other.
“Did you sleep well?” I asked.
“Like a baby,” she said with a sheepish air. “That was nice, last night. Thank you.”
“Please don’t thank me. That might ruin it.”
“Deal,” she said. “Did you find the schools in the area?”
“I did,” I said. “Before dinner.”
“Me too,” she said. “There aren’t too many, but they’re spread through the county. We’ll do a lot of driving today.”
“I want to go to the police station first. What time do you think the chief will be there?”
“Hard to say. Probably around eight. Why?”
“I’d rather not say until I know for sure. But it might make for less driving if I’m right.”
* * *
Having eaten, I went back to the room, showered, and packed up my things. After meeting in the lobby, we were in the car before the top of the hour.
At the station, we were again ushered into Robertson’s office. Because I hadn’t shared my thinking with Natalie, she was as curious about the visit as he was.
“I’m sure you’re not here for a social visit,” he began, “so what can I do for you?”
“I’m wondering how missing persons are categorized in Georgia,” I said. “Is there a statewide database?”
“There is and there isn’t. Missing persons reports are generally handled locally, so every police department has its own list. Sometimes, the GBI might be involved as well, and they do operate statewide.”
“GBI?”
“Georgia Bureau of Investigation,” he said. “Small communities can’t necessarily afford to have full-time detectives or investigators on staff, so when crimes are committed or people go missing outside of major cities, the GBI steps in. They have their own missing persons list.”
“So if you had a name, you could check if someone is missing?”
“Of course,” he said. “Missing persons are usually listed alphabetically, but some departments list them chronologically. Depending on the department, some of those lists are public.”
“What if you only have a first name?”
“That’s obviously a slower process, but it’s still possible. You’d have to look over the various lists yourself. Keep in mind that there are missing people in the books that go back more than ten years.”
“Would you be willing to check for us?”
“You want me to look for Callie’s name? Neither of you are even certain that she went missing from Georgia.”
“She’s a kid and she’s dying.”
It took him a second before he finally nodded. “All right. I don’t have any idea how long this might take, though.”
“There’s something else, too.”
“Yes?”
“In addition to Callie, can you look for the name Karen as well?”
“Karen?”
I nodded. “A Caucasian teenage girl, missing since last spring or summer.”
Even as I said it, I could feel Natalie’s questioning gaze on me.
* * *
Robertson told us to wait in a coffee shop down the street. Though we’d both eaten, I ordered another cup of coffee and Natalie ordered tea again. I left a 500 percent tip on the table in open view, in case we had to stay at the table for a while.
“Karen?” Natalie asked.
I handed her the original note. Natalie read through it. When she finished, I went through the latter part of it.
Trevor…help care…and…if you can…collapsed…sick…like Rose…find family…go to hell…and run away…love you…you came…now go…please
“It seems clear that he was talking about her.”
“He doesn’t mention the name Callie.”
“No, he doesn’t. But if you combine the words care and and while changing some of the pauses, you come up with this.” I handed over the reinterpretation I’d scribbled earlier.
Trevor…help Karen if you can. Collapsed. Sick like Rose. Find family. Go to Helen. Runaway. Love you. You came. Now go. Please.
She read it before looking at me. “How did you come up with this?”
“I guess I must have been inspired.”
* * *
It took less time than either of us anticipated. Forty-five minutes later, Robertson entered the coffee shop holding a manila file. There were extra seats at the table and he took one of them. Without prompting, the waitress returned to the table with a cup of coffee for him. I guessed he was a regular. In the meantime, he slid the file across to me.
“I think I might have found her.”
“Already?”
“Karen Anne-Marie Johnson,” he said. “From Decatur. Age sixteen. Ran off at age fifteen last May, which means she’s been missing a little more than a year. That sounds like your girl, doesn’t it? I wanted you to check it out before I keep going.”
I opened the thin file and my eyes settled on a copied photograph of Callie. For a moment, I didn’t believe it. Though I’d been hopeful, the sense of relief I felt was overwhelming.
“It’s her.”
“Are you sure?”
“No question,” I said. Natalie leaned toward me, her eyes examining the photograph as well. I had to remind myself that—other than the hectic night of the trailer fire, and maybe not even then—Natalie had never seen her.
“I can’t believe how quickly you found her,” I said.
“It wasn’t that difficult. She was on the GBI missing persons list, which was the first one I checked. It took me less than ten minutes. It’s on their website, photos and all, so you really didn’t need my help. You could have stayed in North Carolina and done your own search.”
Except I hadn’t known the GBI had a website. Until that morning, I’d never heard of the GBI at all.
“I appreciate your help.”
“It’s what we do. I’m hoping there will be a happy ending to all this.”
“Is there anything else you can tell us?”
Robertson nodded. “I spoke to the people in Decatur and they pulled the file. You have the copy in the folder there, but it’s a typical story. She�
�d told her parents she was going to spend the night at a friend’s house. When they hadn’t heard from her by the following evening, the parents contacted the friend and learned that Karen had never gone there in the first place. As far as the parents knew, she didn’t have a boyfriend, so it wasn’t about that. You’ll note in there, too, that she has two younger sisters.”
Which meant possible bone marrow matches.
“If she’s from Decatur, how did Helen come into the equation?” Natalie asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “But I have a hunch that I’m going to find out.”
“As for me,” Robertson said, “I’m going to have to contact the GBI and let them know Karen’s whereabouts. Decatur police, too. I’m sure the parents will be relieved.”
I thought about that. “Would it be possible to hold off on that until tomorrow?”
“Why would I do that?” Robertson frowned.
“Because I want to talk to her first.”
“That’s not the way we do things in Georgia.”
“I know. But I’d like to know why she ran off in the first place. If it was because she was being abused, I want her to be prepared.”
“My gut is telling me that her running off had nothing to do with abuse.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Take a peek at the last page,” he said. “After talking to the Decatur folks, I printed out a news article that I was able to find. You might want to peruse that.”
* * *
Originally printed in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, the news article was short, only a couple of paragraphs long, and as I read it, I found myself agreeing with Robertson’s hunch.
To me, it explained just about everything.
With a bit of pleading from both Natalie and me, Robertson agreed to give me twenty-four hours before he contacted the GBI and the Decatur police. He also swore to hold me personally responsible if any aspect of my plan went sideways.
My first call was to Dr. Nobles. After a long hold, she let me know that Callie was still in the hospital, and that her condition had deteriorated slightly overnight. I told her that I’d found her family and planned to speak with Callie that afternoon. After that, I rebooked our flight so I could be at the hospital by midafternoon. Natalie and I discussed the best way to handle the situation as we made the drive back to Atlanta. We dropped off the rental car, checked in, and eventually made our way to the gate.
Once aboard, Natalie grew quiet, as did I. Both of us knew our time together was almost over, but neither of us wanted to talk about it. I noticed Natalie had been surreptitiously studying the other passengers as they arrived at the gate, no doubt concerned again that someone might recognize her. I understood her rationale, but it still left me feeling empty inside.
In the terminal back in New Bern, as we were walking through we both heard someone call out her name. Another woman, roughly her age, was approaching and clearly wanted to chat. I was torn between waiting for her or simply walking on, but I could see the plea in Natalie’s eyes, begging me to go.
I continued toward the parking area alone, fighting the urge to glance over my shoulder, and wondering if that was the final memory I would have of her.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, I was at the hospital, walking toward Callie’s room.
Her door was open and I entered, noticing that the bandage around her head had been removed, leaving her hair a tangled mess. As usual, the television was on and after Callie noted my presence, she turned her attention back to it. I scooted the chair closer to the bed and took a seat.
“How are you feeling?”
“I want to go home.”
“I spoke with Dr. Nobles earlier.”
“She was here this morning,” Callie said. “She said they’re still trying to find donors.”
I watched her, trying to picture how hard the last year must have been for her. “I was in Georgia this morning,” I finally said.
She turned toward me, wary. “So?”
“I know who you are.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Your name is Karen Johnson, and you’re sixteen years old. You ran away from your home in Decatur, Georgia, last May, when you were fifteen. Your parents are named Curtis and Louise, and you have twin sisters named Heather and Tammy.”
After the shock passed, her eyes narrowed. “I suppose you’ve already called my parents? And they’re on their way?”
“No,” I said. “I didn’t. Not yet, anyway.”
“Why not? Because you plan to have me arrested?”
“No. Because I’d like you to contact your parents before the police do.”
“I don’t want to talk to them,” she said, her voice rising. “I’ve already told you that.”
“You told me a lot of things,” I continued, remaining calm. “But you’re a minor and technically a missing person. The police will contact your parents no later than tomorrow, so all of this is over no matter what you decide. They’ll find out where you are and I’m sure they’ll come to see you. I just think it would be better if they heard everything from you first. I’m sure they’ve been really worried about you and they miss you.”
“You don’t know anything!”
“What don’t I know?”
“They hate me.” Her voice was half sob, half cry of rage.
I stared at her, thinking about the news clipping I’d read. “Because of what happened to Roger?”
She flinched at the name and I knew I’d unleashed a tidal wave of painful emotions. Instead of answering, she drew her legs up, her knees to her chest, and began to rock. I wished that I could somehow help her, but I knew from experience that guilt is an individual battle, always waged alone. I watched as she began to cry before swiping angrily at her tears with the back of her hand.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked.
“Why? It won’t change what happened.”
“You’re right,” I admitted. “But talking about sadness or guilt can help let out some of the pain, and sometimes, that leaves more room in your heart to remember what you loved about someone.”
After a long silence, she finally spoke, her voice ragged. “It’s my fault that he died. I was supposed to be watching him.”
“What happened to Roger was a terrible, terrible accident. I’m sure you loved your little brother very much.”
She rested her chin on her knees, looking absolutely drained. I waited in silence, allowing her to make her own decision. I’d learned in my own therapy how powerful silence can be; it gives people time to figure out how they want to tell the story, or whether they want to tell it at all. When she finally began, she almost sounded as though she were talking to herself.
“We all loved Roger. My parents always wanted a son, but after Heather and Tammy were born, my mom had trouble getting pregnant again. So when Roger finally came along, it was like a miracle. When he was a baby, me and Tammy and Heather treated him like a doll. We’d change his outfits and take pictures of each one. He was always so happy, one of those babies that always smiled, and as soon as he could walk, he would follow us everywhere. It never bothered me when I had to watch him. My parents didn’t go out all that much, but that night it was their anniversary. Tammy and Heather were staying over at a friend’s house, so it was just me and Rog. We were playing with his Thomas the Tank Engine set and when he got hungry, I brought him to the kitchen to make him a hot dog. They were his favorite. He ate them all the time and I cut it into small pieces, so when my friend Maddie called, I thought it would be okay to talk to her on the porch outside. She was upset because her boyfriend had just broken up with her. I didn’t think we talked that long, but when I came inside again, Roger was on the floor and his lips were blue and I didn’t know what to do…” She trailed off, as if caught up in the paralyzing moment all over again. When she continued, her expression was dazed. “He was only four years old…I started screaming and eventually one of the neighbors heard me and ca
me over. She called 911 and then my parents and the ambulance came, but by then…”
She took a long, uneven breath.
“At the funeral, he wore a blue suit that my parents had to buy for him. We each got to put a toy in the casket with him, and I picked Thomas. But…it was like this horrible dream. He didn’t even look like Rog. His hair was parted on the wrong side and I can remember thinking that if his hair had been parted the right way, then I would wake up and everything would be back to normal again. But of course everything was different after that. It was like this blackness settled over us. My mom cried and my dad spent all his time in the garage and Heather and Tammy fought all the time. No one was allowed in Roger’s room and it stayed exactly the same as when I’d been playing Thomas the Tank Engine with him. I had to walk by that room every time I went to my room, or to the bathroom, and all I could think was that if we’d stayed in the room a few minutes longer, then Maddie wouldn’t have called while he was eating and nothing bad would have happened. And my mom and dad…they could barely look at me because they blamed me for what happened. And it happened on their anniversary, so I killed that, too.”
I hesitated, wondering how to make sense of such a terrible tragedy. Finally, I said, “Callie, I’m sure they know it wasn’t your fault.”
“You’re wrong,” she said, her tone suddenly rising. “You weren’t there. I heard them talking one night, and they were saying that if I hadn’t been on the phone, then Roger would be alive. Or that maybe if I’d called 911 right away, they might have been able to save him.”
I tried to imagine how devastating it must have been to overhear those words.
“That doesn’t mean they stopped loving you,” I offered.
“But it was my fault!” she cried. “I’m the one who went outside to talk on the phone and left him alone and every time they looked at me, I knew what they were really thinking. And then…everything started going bad. My dad got laid off, my mom got skin cancer, and even though they caught it in time, it was just one more thing. Finally, my dad found another job, but we had to sell our house and Tammy and Heather were really upset because they had to leave all their friends. All I could think was that I set it all in motion and suddenly I knew I had to leave. If I left, then things would eventually return to normal.”
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