Authors: Marc Buhmann
“I don’t know what to tell you.”
“Please!”
A few years ago Maggie Johnson was diagnosed with Lesch-Nyhan Syndrome. “What you provide… it helps calm her. You can’t take that away from her!” Over the counter medications could only do so much, so the good doc had sought out Stavic for something more helpful that he couldn’t get on his own.
“I’m sorry.”
Stavic stayed quiet as he watched Doctor Johnson wrestle with his dilemma. “Fine,” Johnson conceded. “What’s his name?”
“David Rottingham. Elderly man, eighties, thin… he was probably admitted within the last couple days. Not sure if he’s a John Doe.”
The doctor loaded up the computer in the room, typed something on the keyboard, and scrolled down a list. “Room 217. Coma. No immediate family.”
“What happened?” Stavic asked instead.
“Don’t know. He was found in his hotel room. You know him?”
Stavic stood, grunted, hobbled to the door. “I’m going to go find out right now.”
* * *
Willem had decided he couldn’t stay in the hospital. What if it got out a paramedic had been hopped up on drugs? Not only would his reputation be in jeopardy but so would the company he worked for.
With no way home he picked up the phone and dialed a number. There was a
click.
“Hello?”
“Justin? It’s me.”
“Willem? Where did you go? I was worried as fuck, man! You say you’re going to take a leak and then just up and disappear? Not cool.”
Willem made up an excuse, apologized, and asked for a ride. Justin was happy to help. Probably felt somewhat responsible, Willem thought.
He collected his things, making sure everything was still in the box, and left the room. He felt naked wandering the halls in just a gown, but what choice did he have? Who knew how long they’d try to keep him here, and at this point he just wanted to go home, nurse his wounds, and try to get back to some sort of normality. Maybe he was losing his mind, and if he was he preferred to do it away from the confines of doctors and nurses.
He wound through the corridors trying valiantly to find the way out. He followed the glowing exit signs but still managed to get turned around twice. Several times he’d almost gotten caught by a nurse or doctor. Hard to look like he belonged dressed as he was, and he knew one look and they’d know he wasn’t where he was supposed to be.
Willem passed a stairwell then saw the elevators. Pausing, he wondered what the safer bet was. Less likely to bump into someone in the stairwell. He headed back and opened the door a crack, waited. Relieved by the silence on the other side, he pushed through and closed the door. He headed down the single flight of stairs to another door and peered out. When he didn’t see anyone he stepped out.
“Oh!” a woman gasped.
He turned and was shocked to see the woman from his dream.
“My God, it’s you! What are you doing here?” she asked.
“Y—you’re real?” He sized her up, noticed she was in a hospital gown as well.
“Of course I’m real.”
Willem shook his head and headed toward the entrance.
Claire followed after. “Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“But my daughter… I think us bumping into each other… it must be a sign.”
“I don’t believe in signs. Right now I just want to go home.” Willem walked faster wanting to be rid of Claire. He didn’t want to be rude, but he also didn’t want to get sucked into helping her. He hoped she’d take the hint.
“But something unusual is happening.”
“No doubt.”
“Emily—”
“Is not my problem. Besides, you have no proof she’s in any danger—”
“I know.”
“Mother’s intuition?” he asked with disdain.
She frowned. “I know the same way I know about that box you’re carrying. The toy soldier within. I know just like I do the reason you left River Bend in the first place, the feeling of abandonment.” She stepped closer. “I know because I’ve been there. Just like I know all that, I know my daughter is in danger, so if you want to call it mother’s intuition that’s fine, but I believe it’s something more.”
“Why did
you
come back here?”
She shrugged. “I’m not sure. I felt something pulling at me. When my husband and I came here for vacation it felt like home.”
It had been the same for him in many ways. When he’d left River Bend he’d felt aloof, and it wasn’t until he’d returned, no matter the pain, he’d still felt at home. He knew then that this was where he belonged.
Still, he had his own past—his own demons—that he needed closure on, and didn’t want to get involved in someone else’s.
“The best I can do is get you home,” he asked. “If you need a ride, that is.”
Claire deflated a little, but nodded. “A lift would be good.”
Together they made their way to the exit.
* * *
Room 217 had good lighting from the beautiful day filtering in through the open window, and while the fluorescent lights were on they weren’t necessary. The morning news was on the television, its volume barely audible. White noise is what Stavic figured. Probably using it to keep the old man company.
Stavic wondered if he should be feeling something. A vision within a dream was a far cry from fact.
“Father,” he mumbled, the word sound foreign. He looked down at the frail old man. He’d met him only briefly but knew more of his past than he should thanks to… what? A psychic connection? What was it they’d experienced? If it hadn’t been a dream and was in fact real then there was a good chance that woman’s daughter was in trouble.
He sat in the chair next to the bed, stared at David. Everything he’d recently experienced screamed insanity. It made no logical sense. How could he share memories with complete strangers? So odd, too, that they had a connection. He hated enigmas.
You’re a cop. Figure it out.
Assuming everything they’d experienced was true—and he had no reason to doubt it—then it wasn’t much of a stretch to assume they’d all been pulled into some web that revolved around David’s wife. She seemed to be the catalyst. What was her name?
Lilly.
Then there was her husband, a man she’d met as a teenager. They fell in love and got married; nothing unusual there. DeMarcus pursued her from this other place—Turmoore
.
Why hadn’t DeMarcus aged? He should be as old as the frail man before him. Unless that place—the cabin—stopped aging. Either there was something about that place or DeMarcus himself. Since Lilly had aged his assumption was it was that place.
Stavic ran a hand across his face, massaged his eyes. This was all maddeningly confusing. No matter… he wasn’t going to accomplish anything feeling the way he did at the moment. He needed to go home, shower, take some of his non-prescription drugs, and figure out his next move. Maybe work in a couple hours of sleep too.
Time’s ticking.
He decided it could tick a little while longer.
* * *
“Emily?” Claire called out. She knew she wasn’t here; the house felt empty. She ran up the stairs, the footfalls echoing through the stillness.
Claire pushed opened Emily’s bedroom door. The bed was made, room tidy. Nothing amiss.
She made her bed before heading out this morning is all. Claire knew it was a lie the moment the thought popped into her head. The room had an unslept in feel. No… Emily hadn’t been here since she’d left last night.
She’d tried repeatedly on her trip home to get through to Emily, and each time it rolled over to voice-mail.
Claire beat back the panic. How was she supposed to track her down?
Stavic. Maybe she could appeal to his to serve and protect instinct. Maybe he could do something if she could get through to him. She ran downstairs, pulled out the phone book and looked up the police department’s number.
“River Bend Police Department. How may I direct your call?”
“Detective Stavic please.”
“Please hold.”
Soft music floated through the ear piece. She knew it was meant to keep her calm but she was anything but. There was a click and the music cut out.
“I’m sorry, but he’s not in today. Is there something I can help you with?”
Not unless you’re willing to give me his address. “No thank you.”
“Would you like his voice-mail?”
“Please.”
“One moment.”
There was another click as the connection transferred. She was greeted by a robotic female voice until Stavic said his name. Weird going from robot girl to Stavic. A final tone sounded alerting her to start. “Hi. This is Claire.” How to word it? “You may not know me, but I really need to talk to you… it’s about Emily. I came home and she’s gone. I could really use your help. Please call me back.” She gave him her number and hung up.
Claire’s next call was to Emily’s two closest friends. The first didn’t answer, and the second said she hadn’t heard from her in a couple days. Claire thanked her and hung up.
What else could she do? If Stavic was out for the day he probably wouldn’t check his voice-mail until he went back in. She opened the phone book and flipped to ‘S’. A quick scan revealed one Stavic, N. in River Bend. She dialed the number and waited. A recorded message answered, and it was the same voice. Hanging up, she tore the page out of the book. Since her car was gone, either at the impound or junkyard, she needed a ride. Claire flipped to the yellow pages and looked for a cab company and called one. She was told one would be there in fifteen minutes—plenty of time to throw on a fresh pair of clothes.
She ran to her room and changed in two minutes flat. In her hurry her leg knocked over the box with
DEVON
on it, the contents spilling out.
“Shit,” she said, kneeled, and threw everything in haphazardly. As she tossed in the manila envelope the divorce papers flew out. “God dammit!” she screamed. Why was it when you were in a rush everything seemed to try and slow you down? She picked up the papers and was about to toss them in the box when two words at the top of the page caught her eye.
Death Certificate.
What? She shuffled the papers, flipped them over. This had to be a joke! Devon wasn’t dead! An asshole, maybe, but not dead!
Claire looked over the page again and saw his name. The date of death was… No. It couldn’t be.
She searched her memory. But… he abandoned them after the accident. But according to this he died around the same time. She couldn’t remember the exact date but knew it was around what was printed on the certificate.
He left you. You divorced him.
But he was dead.
Has to be a joke.
Yet she knew it wasn’t. It felt right. All this time she’d hated him for leaving her and Emily but he hadn’t. And suddenly it was as if a veil dropped and the painful memories of what had transpired returned.
She had become increasingly paranoid he was having an affair, and she had confronted him in the car about it. The paranoia was from her own insecurities, the feeling she wasn’t beautiful or sexy enough, that he would find someone else on his business trips. The poisonous thoughts contaminated her the nights she lie awake alone in their bed, wondering…
She’d started to drink to curb the fear, and that night at the party it escalated. She’d yelled at him in the car, then slapped him, then attacked him. But that was where her memory changed. He hadn’t just disappeared and run off like she thought, but had been thrown from the car. She saw it now, his body slamming into the steering wheel, blood exploding from his mouth.
Oh God. It was her fault. His death… it was on her.
How had she forgotten?
Why?
Tears flowed down her cheeks, fifteen years of emotional buildup pouring out.
Her husband hadn’t cheated on her or abandoned her like she thought. Her husband was dead.
Outside she heard the faint sound of a car horn, then her doorbell, but she needed time to process this, needed time to understand, to accept.
Claire needed time to wake.
* * *
After dropping Claire off Justin took Willem to the auto pound where he got his car. Justin wanted to follow Willem home, but he wouldn’t have it. After he promised to call Justin later that night, Justin begrudgingly drove off.
Now Willem was home and try as he might Willem could not fall asleep. His head was spinning. His mother, his brothers, the old man…
David Rottingham.
He turned on his back, stared at the ceiling.
Sleep unobtainable, Willem sat up and pulled out the box. He was still kicking himself for not thinking to look in the junk drawer when he’d gotten back from visiting Elliott. Where else did you put shit you didn’t know what to do with? Idiot.
He didn’t know where the key was now—probably washed away when he fell—but, thankfully, he hadn’t relocked the box after he’d rediscovered it. Willem opened it and stared at the contents.