“That’s right. But I want you to know … it works the other way, too.”
“I know.”
“I don’t think you do. I’ve done something awful, Amy.”
“Uh-oh. What’s her name?”
“Nothing like that. What I’ve done … I’ve let you believe that if you ever left, that I wouldn’t make it. That either I’d hurt myself, or just crash and burn. I knew you believed that, and I let you keep believing it, on purpose. Because I wanted you to stay. Because I had come to believe that you were my little magical bubble of protection against all of the awfulness out there. All the awfulness inside me. But I want you to know I’d be okay. If you ever decided you weren’t happy and bailed on this, I’d be upset for a while but I’d move on, because I’m a grown-up and that’s what grown-ups do. They don’t hold people hostage.”
“I am happy, David. I love you.”
“That’s good. That’s great. But if that changes. If I change … go. Just, go. I saved your life once and now you’ve saved mine every single day after that, day after day, month after month, year after year. You don’t owe me anymore. In the grand scheme of things, I am an able-bodied white male with above average intelligence living in the richest civilization that will probably ever exist on this planet. I had every chance, and all of my problems are purely my own. But above all, I want you to be happy. Even if it’s with somebody else.”
“I know, you’ve said that before—”
“I never meant it. I mean it now.”
Amy started to answer, but instead let silence take over. They lay there together, a dry island in the rain, Amy feeling David’s chest lift and fall under her. She started to drift off to sleep.
He said, “There’s something else I need to confess. But I need to show it to you. So that you understand.”
“Oh. All right.”
“We have to go outside. To see it.”
“Can it wait?”
“It really can’t.”
* * *
David led her to the car again and drove them around the pond, to the church. Amy had a thought that he had arranged some corny marriage ceremony, but instead he parked and walked right past the church, to a winding gravel path that led down to the water.
Amy followed and near the bottom, David had said, “It’s here.”
“What’s here?”
“You’ll see.”
“You’re scaring me. Tell me what we’re doing.”
“Amy, I do things sometimes, and I don’t remember them afterward. But it’s still me. It has to be. It doesn’t make sense to think of it any other way.”
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Finally, he said, “John and I … we didn’t find the girl, Maggie. Everyone is still out looking for her right now. But I know where she is.”
Amy went cold. Without another word, David headed toward the water. He kept walking right into the pond, sloshing through until it was up to his knees.
Trembling, she followed him, her vision blurring as raindrops splattered off her glasses. David waded out toward the pile of loose rock that had been the mouth of the mine way back when. He approached a rusty NO SWIMMING sign that was now half-submerged.
She saw that tied to its post was a length of white plastic pipe, curved over at the top, as if to prevent rain from getting in. David stopped there and leaned his ear down toward the pipe, as if he was listening for something. Amy forced her feet to move, feeling like she was in a bad dream. The thought that swirled around her head was, You knew it was going to end like this. She waded out into the freezing water and arrived next to David, looked down, and screamed.
The pipe was connected to a hose and the hose was connected to a clear plastic bag about the size and shape of, well, the little blond girl that it clearly contained.
“She’s alive,” David said. “Sleeping. I gave her something.”
“You gave her something?” Amy thought she was going to throw up. But three seconds later, she swept that thought off the table and was up to her shoulders in freezing water, dragging up the bag, which had been weighed down with four cinder blocks. David was helping—knowing exactly how to disconnect the weights—and together they dragged the girl to shore.
David handed Amy his pocketknife and she sliced open the thick, watertight plastic. She cradled the little girl in the rain, Maggie’s breath coming and going softly. Amy muttered incoherent reassurances to the girl, and to herself, and to nobody in particular. It was just a noise she was making.
David said, “Amy, look at me. I need you to listen carefully. Are you listening?”
She didn’t answer, but met his eyes.
“I’m not David.”
Amy said, “We can … look, she’s unharmed, you didn’t hurt her, on some level you must have come to your senses, you must have—”
“Hey. Amy. This is not a metaphor. I’m not David. I look like him, I sound like him. I’m not him. David is at John’s house right now, still lost, still trying to solve this. You can call him. And in fact, I want you to do that, in a moment.”
“What? What are you talking ab—”
“I need you to acknowledge that you heard what I said and comprehend it. I know you don’t fully understand but I need to know you at least took in the words.”
“You’re not David. Then who are you?”
“I’m going to go now, I won’t harm or pursue you, and you’re going to make your phone call. Oh, and in all the excitement, you’ve forgotten to get your prescription refilled, you need to get David to pick it up today or else you won’t be able to move tomorrow morning when your back seizes up.”
“Uh … okay.”
“And Amy … you deserve better.”
“What? I—”
But he was gone. Vanished, like a popped bubble. The little girl moved in her arms. Maggie’s eyes were half-open, looking but not seeing, in a drugged haze. Amy pulled out her phone, called David, and he sounded frantic.
“Amy! Is that you!?!”
11. THIS ISN’T WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE, I SWEAR
Me
Coming back from Chastity Payton’s house, I was worried that when we pulled into the Venus Flytrap parking lot, we’d find Ted Knoll waiting for us again. He wasn’t.
Instead, it was Detective Bowman.
He stepped out of his cop SUV and met us at the foot of the stairs. His young partner stayed in the car.
As I approached, I said, “Are you here to give us our reward? For finding the girl?”
“I think you can guess why I’m here.”
I headed up the stairs and Bowman followed.
John said, “You don’t have a warrant. That means you can’t come in unless we invite you.”
Bowman said, “You’re thinking of vampires.” He walked into the apartment after us, shaking rainwater off of his jacket.
I said, “So, I take it you’ve heard from Mr. Knoll.”
“Actually, I had a long conversation with Maggie. Where were you last night, between the hours of two and three A.M.?”
“Asleep. In my apartment.”
“Anybody that can verify that?”
Amy said, “I can.”
I said, “No, she can’t, she was at work.”
“I came home at three. Night lunch. You were asleep.”
“Anyway, then I woke up in the predawn hours because you needed me to do your job for you. Remember that? You gave me the finger and drove merrily into the night? Then we solved your case?”
“And now I have the victim pointing the finger at you, and an extremely convenient failure of the victim’s Littleton alarm system, with your girl in position to sabotage it.” That clearly startled Amy. I hadn’t mentioned that part to her. Still, she said nothing. “And the father, he’s made an ultimatum—either we haul you in, or he buries you himself.”
“Then arrest him.”
“He hasn’t committed a crime yet. That would be for after he shoots your ass. And that’s only if he refuses my offer to help him get rid of the evidence.”