It had been so long. Everything he wanted had always been just beyond his grasp. Finally, it was getting closer. Soon he would have everything the years had denied him. And Emma. She wouldn’t have to be afraid or unsure anymore. She wouldn’t have to keep chasing shadows and reaching into nothingness. All the questions she’d been carrying with her for so long would finally be answered.
Chapter Ten
My carry-on bag is still mostly packed from my trip to Iowa. I knew I’d be leaving on vacation soon, so there was no point in unpacking things I wasn’t going to use in the interim, just to put them all back in. I find the few things I need to add, including the small bag I put in the zippered compartment and put them in the bag, then turn to finish my suitcase. The house is too quiet, so I have the TV on in the background. I’m not really paying attention to what’s on, and I don’t register any of the sounds coming from it until I hear a word I didn’t want to hear on the news again.
“Sherwood.”
I hurry into the living room and snatch up the remote. The news is on, and I rewind to watch the report from the beginning. The woman giving the report looks drawn and solemn, not the expression of someone who is going to announce the joyful return of a missing child to her family.
“At the top of the hour, we return to a story we’ve been watching develop in Sherwood. Police there say there is still no sign of Alice Brooks, the ten-year-old girl who disappeared from summer camp late last month. Despite exhaustive searches of the camp property and her home, teams have found nothing to suggest what might have happened to her or where she might be now. This is particularly upsetting in light of the disappearance of another child from the area. Caleb Donahue was last seen just one day after Alice disappeared. For more on this case and what police are asking of the community, we go on location to Sherwood and Sheriff Samuel Johnson.”
My breath catches in my chest, and I slowly lower down to sit on the couch. The image on the screen shifts to a podium perched in front of a large crowd of onlookers and reporters. Several police officers stand to either side of the podium, and in a few seconds, another man steps up behind it. He’s wearing a sheriff’s uniform and a drawn, exhausted look on his face.
“Thank you for joining us this afternoon. As of today, Alice Brooks has been missing for two weeks. Camp has continued on as planned in hopes Alice will return, or someone will notice something that leads us to her. The search for her has become even more urgent, as we’ve recently become aware of another missing child. Caleb Donahue just turned eleven three days before his disappearance. He has a very large extended family and frequently spends time with both of his parents, and his aunts and uncles, as well as his adult siblings. An unfortunate miscommunication left the various members of the family believing Caleb was with different people. He was thought to have joined different groups of his family for trips, as he commonly did during breaks from school. It was not until his mother made contact with Caleb’s father to remind him of an upcoming dental appointment that she discovered he was not where she believed him to be.”
He flips the page of his notes and rubs his mouth.
“Both parents reached out to the family, as well as friends throughout the area, but no one knew where Caleb was and had not heard from him since the day he left a sleepover at a friend’s house to return home. Though there is little to go on with either case, the similarities between the disappearances have led us to believe the two may be related. We’re asking for the community’s help finding these children and bringing them home safely. If you know anything about either child, have seen anything suspicious, or have any information you think may be helpful, please do not hesitate to call the department. A hotline has been set up specifically for this case. Keep in mind that even a small detail may be the exact bit of information we need. Alice Brooks is ten years old, white, with dark blond hair and green eyes. She is four feet, eight inches tall, and weighs seventy-eight pounds. Caleb Donahue is eleven years old, black, with short black hair and brown eyes. He is five feet tall and weighs eighty-three pounds. Right now, we are considering both children in serious danger.”
The sheriff waves off questions from the rapid reporters gathered around the stage and steps away from the podium. A second later, the image flashes back to the newscaster. She makes the kind of generically sympathetic and concerned statement that wraps up the story and acts as a transition to the next, but I don’t hear what it is. I can’t pull myself out of the statement I just heard. One child missing could be a fluke, a little girl who walked away from camp and got lost. Two children missing from the same small town so close together is something much more. It can’t be a coincidence. The fear and concern in his eyes are justified.
* * *
I haven’t shaken the feeling of watching Sheriff Johnson make that pleading statement the next day as I make all the last-minute preparations for leaving. He was doing everything he could to sound strong and be the leader of his community. He knew everyone was looking to him for guidance and reassurance. Even if he didn’t have the right words to say or the answers to give them, he would show them he could be steady during the tumultuous time. I know that very well.
I’m expecting Bellamy’s call when my phone rings. She’s supposed to be coming over for dinner to see me off, which means she’s going to go through at least four different ideas for what she’s going to pick up. The times in our friendship when she has an idea of what to grab for dinner and that actually being what she ends up with by the time we got together have been very few and far between.
“Yes, Bellamy?” I answer.
“I’m torn between Indian food and Thai. Curry sounds so good right now. But so does rama,” she tells me.
“Thai.”
“Okay. I’ll be there soon.”
I hang up and start my tour around the house to check all the entrance points the police identified for me. They gave me a list and made me promise to go through and specifically check each one of them twice before leaving. Once today and once just before Eric takes me to the airport. They even suggested I place bits of tape or small objects on the windowsills so I can quickly tell if someone came into the house and how they got in.
I understand the sentiment behind it, but it seems unduly complicated. Besides, if this person is going through the effort of slipping into my home so I can’t tell, I highly doubt a strip of tape or sugar scattered on the windowsill is going to go unnoticed. They could just as easily figure out a way to put it back into place. I tell myself at least it would be another hint, another clue as to what is going on. If we can figure out where they were getting into the house, it will make it easier to create more effective surveillance.
My phone rings in the bedroom when I’m in the guest room. I don’t mind the excuse to get out of the room as fast as I can. Until five years ago, this space held a desk, swivel chair, and bookshelves brimming with true crime books and case files. Even with those things gone and a bed with bland, neutral colors paired with an almost unused reading chair taking their place, I can feel my father in it.
Emptying the room took days. Every item I carried out felt weighted like it was trying to drag itself back to where it belonged. I felt like I was betraying him by removing his office from the house. It was the last thing I changed during the transition from it being the home I shared with him, to mine. The day I put that chair into place was the day I sat in it for hours and cried. Without an office, there was nowhere for my father to come back to work. I still hold out hope he is put there somewhere but taking away his office meant admitting nothing was ever going to be the same.