Anonymity (23 page)

LEO WOULD know where to look. Of this she was sure. He had found her in L.A. and he would find her in Austin. He'd hang around the shelters. He'd learn where all the soup kitchens were and which churches were open to street culture. He'd ask people about her. He'd hand out money to anybody who would give him information.

So even if she had felt safe from the bum hunters at the drop-in, she couldn't go anywhere near there now.

She had no choice. She had to get out of Austin. She needed transportation, but she wasn't likely to find a ride this late. Everybody was already bedded down. She needed some place safe to sleep, a location Leo wouldn't consider. It only took her a moment to decide.

She headed out of Emily's neighborhood toward Group Therapy. She could wait outside until the bar closed and then slip over the back fence again. She walked slowly. There was no need to rush since Group didn't close down until two. She had some granola bars, so she wouldn't have to dumpster dive. The thought of what she had eaten her last time there made her nauseated.

At the mouth of the alley, she assessed her situation. She could go hang out across the street as she had done before and watch for Angel and Tino to leave, or she could wait in the alley and hope they would come out and offer her another warm sandwich and glass of juice. She could scale the fence later.

The alley was sour with garbage stench. She moved past the reek into the depths of darkness. When she was sure she was out of site from the street, she crouched against a wall. She reached into her pack and took out the new knit cap and a thick pair of gloves. She took off her boots and pulled on clean wool socks. She put her boots back on. Using her backpack as a seat to buffer the cold ground, she leaned against the wall and waited.

A few people stumbled by the alley's entrance. They stopped and laughed, then moved on, happy silhouettes against the bright streetlights, their breath fogging the night around them.

She closed her eyes. Her adrenaline rush had faded, and now she felt drained, sad, exhausted and lonely. If only she could sleep, maybe she would feel better. She pulled her jacket around her, thankful for the newfound warmth.

As she began to doze, she told herself it would only be a few hours until she could climb the fence and make a fire. Then she could really sleep. And in the morning she would try the train yards. She could always find fellow travelers at train yards.

She heard the crunch of gravel under boot heels, but it didn't alarm her. She thought she was dreaming. She often dreamed of her father's footsteps, how he would pause outside their door to scrape snow from his boots, the solid thud as they thunked to the floor in the mudroom. As she floated in the twilight of her dreams, he spoke her name.

“Lorelei.”

Panic shot through her like a flame, and she was on her feet.

“I told you I'd find you.”

“Leo.” His name was bitter on her tongue.

“Baby. Why'd you run away from me?”

“How…how'd you find me?”

“It doesn't matter.” He stepped toward her, but she cowered into a corner. “All that matters is that I've come to take you home.”

“Leave me alone, you obsessive freak.”

“Now baby. Is that any way to talk to your old man?”

“You are not my old man. Get away from me.” She lunged for her pack, but he was on her and had her in his arms. She fought him, kicked and clawed, but he held her tight.

“Go on. Get it out.” His breath was sickening in her ear. “I'm here. I understand.”

“Get off!” she screamed. “Get off me!”

“I love you, Lorelei. You're my girl.”

“No!”

“Don't you miss me?” He forced his tongue into her mouth and she screamed.

“Stop!” A deep masculine voice bounced down the alley.

Leo tensed. Lorelei stopped struggling. Angel stood in a shaft of light streaming from the open kitchen door.

“Let her go,” Angel growled. “She's just a kid.”

“This is no business of yours, hombre,” Leo said.

“I make it my business.” He untied the apron at his waist and tossed it to the side.

“I've got no fight with you,” Leo said. “We were just leaving.”

“You'll have to come through me.”

Leo let her go, turned and held his hands in the air. Lorelei snatched her backpack and moved toward Angel, but Leo grabbed her arm and jerked her back. He was strong, and her arm throbbed in his grip.

“Owww,” she whined. “Stop it.”

“I'm going to kick your ass,” Angel said as he advanced toward them. He pushed up the sleeves of his shirt and bent forward into a fighting stance.

“You don't know who you're messing with, man. Back off,” Leo said. He reached into a pocket with his free hand. The blade of a knife appeared with a snap. Leo didn't hesitate, but began to slowly circle around Angel, dragging Lorelei with him toward the exit.

Angel drew his fist up and swung. Leo jumped back.

Lorelei laughed and he jerked her arm. “Shut up.”

“He won't use it,” Lorelei taunted. “Go on. Punch him, Angel.”

“Let her go,” Angel said.

“Fuck off.”

“Last chance, amigo.”

Leo shoved her behind him and she fell back into the alley. The men were suddenly shoving and swinging, arms and legs flying. There was the smack of flesh when a hit landed. They grunted and cursed. They fell, kicking each other, grabbing for a hold. Leo's bulk was not an advantage in a brawl. He was bigger and stronger, but Angel was swift and knew how to fight.

Lorelei scrambled to her feet. She dodged the fray and took off for the mouth of the alley.

The men slammed into the dumpster with a hollow, resounding thud. She looked over her shoulder in time to see Angel jump to his feet. Leo stayed down. He wiped blood from his nose. They were frozen, panting, hurt. Each man's eyes darted her direction and then back to his foe.

“Run, chica, run!” Angel yelled. “Get away!”

Leo made a move toward her, but Angel swept a quick leg beneath him, and Leo went down again. They tumbled against the dumpster, and the fight raged. Leo banged Angel's head against the gray metal, and blood appeared over an eye.

Lorelei fled down South Congress toward the river. Angel had saved her, but for how long? He couldn't keep Leo occupied forever. She had to find an escape. The train station was her only option. She needed to find the train station.

Run, chica, run
, she repeated to herself.
Get away.

DAVID HAD warned her that the parents might not come. He said that often parents decided at the last minute that they just couldn't do it. But Lorelei's parents had been on a plane mere hours after David contacted them.

Emily and David waited at a four-top in the Driskill's opulent dark wooden bar. It was neutral ground, a popular location to meet in Austin. It was still early. Emily felt as if she hadn't slept in days and was grateful for the coffee their waitress brought.

She was admiring the bronze sculpture of cowboys and horses galloping through the bar when the Kimballs appeared, hesitant and out of place. Maggie Kimball's frumpy pastel sweater and pleated slacks channeled the 1980s. Her soft brown hair was held back in a pale blue bow more common to toddlers. Elias Kimball wore khakis and a frayed-collared sport shirt stretched over his paunch. He had a military-style haircut. “We should have met at a pancake house,” Emily whispered before the couple approached them.

They shook hands, and introductions were made.

“Please, have a seat,” David said.

Mrs. Kimball looked uncomfortable at the prospect of sitting on the hairy black-and-white cowhide chairs. The waitress returned, and Elias ordered water. Maggie said, “Nothing for me.” Emily wondered if the woman had ever been in a bar.

“So,” David said. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Kimball.”

“Call me Elias,” he said. “And my wife's Maggie. Where's Rose?”

“We're not sure,” David said. “She's disappeared again.”

“If you don't know where she is then why are we here?” Elias asked.

“We lost her since we spoke.”

Emily wondered if David had misrepresented their knowledge of Lorelei's whereabouts on purpose. They had looked for her everywhere, but she had eluded them.

“This isn't just another run around is it? I don't have any more time for rigmarole and dead ends,” the father said.

David reassured him. “We'll find her. I had friends in the Austin police force put a BOLO out on her.”

“BOLO?”

“Sorry. It's short for ‘be on the lookout.’ If she's in town, they'll find her.”

The older man said, “Let's just make sure we are talking about the right girl here before we go on.”

Emily had printed out a clean copy of Lorelei's cover photo. David handed it to the mother. Maggie grabbed at her neck as if clutching imaginary pearls, and tears gushed out of her.

“Mercy,” she wept. Elias put an arm around his wife.

Emily felt her own push of hot tears. She wished desperately to be less sensitive to other people's feelings, to have a more stoic side. David took her hand and squeezed softly. She managed to choke back her sympathy.

“The police told us they thought it was her, but we can't believe it. Could it be wrong? That police face identification thing?”

“It's possible I guess, but I doubt it.”

He shook his head. “Put that away. Maggie doesn't want to ever see that again. That permanent, what she did to her face?”

“It can be removed with a laser,” David said.

“What would that cost?

“I wouldn't know, sir.”

“I don't know,” he said. “I don't know. This thing she's done to herself. What else? There's no telling what else she's done.”

Maggie took a tissue from her drab department store bag.

“Right now, we have to think about what we can do to help Rose,” David said.

“We already done just about everything a parent could possibly do,” he said, defeat underlying his words.

“Ask yourself why she would run away, get these tattoos,” David said. “People do things for a reason. Something has to have pushed her to make these decisions.”

Anger ignited in the father. “Are you saying this was our fault? ‘Cause I can tell you right now that none of this is our fault. None of it!”

Emily was shocked by the man's sudden vitriol. His anger was such a stark contrast to her own father's gentle nature. Emily could see how Lorelei could feel threatened and controlled by this man.

“No, sir. Not at all,” David said calmly. “I'm just asking what the reasons could be.”

“Well, we've been asking ourselves the same thing for about three years now. And I can tell you…”

“She's sick,” Maggie interjected.

Everyone waited.

“Mentally ill. That's what the doctors said.”

“I understand,” David said. “It's quite common for mental illness to run in families.”

They both looked at David blankly.

“What do you mean?” Maggie asked in a tender voice.

“Your son, Noah. Rose tells us he's schizophrenic.”

“You must be mistaken,” Maggie said. “We don't have a son named Noah.”

It was now David and Emily's turn to be confused.

“You do have other children?” David said.

“We have four boys,” Elias said. “All married with children, living happy lives in Salt Lake. We don't have a schizophrenic son named Noah. Whatever gave you that idea?”

“Why would she say that?” Maggie asked her husband. “That's strange.”

“She did, didn't she? Told you she had a brother named Noah. That's a new one.”

David lowered his head in contemplation. The Kimballs looked at each other, at Emily, at David, then at each other again, waiting for somebody to make sense.

“Okay,” Emily said. “She told us that she has been moving around the country looking for a long-lost brother, but you say there is no lost brother?”

“She lies,” Elias said. “She lies all the time. You blame us. I know you do. Everybody always blames the parents. But she's very hard to control.”

“There is no reason to place blame, Mr. Kimball,” David said.

“Do you have any idea what it's like to watch your child change into a stranger? A kid making straight A's and then suddenly she's flunking? A kid who used to be all the teachers’ favorite, and she starts getting in trouble for not paying attention and speaking out of turn in class? Don't act like you understand.” His voice had continued to rise. His wife laid a hand on his leg. He got up and walked toward the lobby.

“Give him a minute, he'll come back,” she said. “He's not a bad man. He just can't grasp why she won't just snap out of it and act like she's supposed to.”

“You have to be her advocate,” David said. “If your husband finds it difficult to be an effective parent, he could use some counseling of his own to help him deal with things.”

She shook her head. “You can forget that.”

“How old is Rose?”

“She'd be seventeen by now.”

“She's seventeen?”

“She was fifteen when she left. Didn't even have her driver's license. I don't know how she's made it all over the country like she has.”

“What was her diagnosis?” David asked. “Is it bipolar? We get a lot of kids who struggle with manic depression.”

But before she could answer, Elias Kimball returned. He appeared much calmer.

Maggie took a big breath and whispered, “Yes. The doctors say it's bipolar.”

When her husband spoke, Maggie demurred. “We just thought she was really moody, just acting out. Those tattoos. She really went overboard with those. They're hard to take. We're LDS. We believe tattoos defile the temple of your body. Why would she do that to herself? To us?”

“Many people with bipolar defy authority. It could be that. It could be that she enjoys the sensation of getting the tattoos. She could find it pleasurable. People with bipolar are high-level pleasure seekers. Anything that gives an adrenaline surge would be attractive to them. Addictive even.”

“Like sex,” the father said.

“Yes,” David said quietly. “Sexual promiscuity is one of the most common symptoms of bipolar disorder.”

“She did that. At home. We were afraid she was getting a reputation,” the father hung his head as he spoke. “It all started about the same time, her school problems, her interest in boys. It's shameful. We raised Rose to be respectful of herself and others. But she turned out…” He couldn't continue.

“Mr. Kimball, Elias. Rose has a disease just like diabetes or cancer. She needs treatment and support. This is not a character flaw.”

The mother twisted a tissue into corkscrews in her tiny hands. “We know you're right. She has crazy mood swings—one minute she'd be buzzing around the kitchen helping me. She'd cook a dozen dishes and bake pies and cookies and read. Lord, that girl could read two books a day. She never slept. Then, like somebody pulled a curtain over her, she'd take to bed, and I couldn't get her out, not to go to school or anything.”

“Sounds like she's a rapid-cycler,” David said.

“That's what the doctors called it,” the mother said.

“At first we thought she was on drugs, so we sent her to counseling, but that didn't change a thing. It just seemed to make her mad,” the father said. “The counselor said he couldn't tell if she was using or not. Big fat waste of money.”

“So,” the mother continued, “Elias decided to send her to one of those wilderness camps for troubled teens. He said it would straighten her out. When she came back, she seemed calmer, but that wore off too.”

“So I had her committed,” Elias said. “It was a last resort. She's old enough to drive, but I wasn't going to let her get her license until she calmed down. I couldn't have her out all wild, driving around, out of control. I have a responsibility to the community.”

“Of course, that upset her,” Maggie went on. “She was supposed to get her learner's permit, but Elias wouldn't let her until she shaped up. We thought for sure that would be something that would make her fly straight.”

“But it was like she couldn't help herself. And lie, that girl would lie to your face and not blink. So I sent her to a mental hospital,” he said, emotion tickling his voice.

“We did,” Maggie said. “We sent her to a mental health facility for a month. That's when they told us her diagnosis. They started prescribing all these medications that caused all these side effects.”

“But they calmed her butt down,” Elias said defiantly.

“They did,” the mother said, nodding agreement, looking at the twist of tissue in her lap. “But she hated them. She'd drag around like a zombie half the time. I don't know which was worse. As long as I controlled her pills it seemed like she came back into balance, but when we tried letting her do it herself, she'd always forget, or she'd say she felt fine and then she wouldn't take them, and in no time she'd be right back where she started.”

“Then she ran away,” Elias said. “She ran off after the hospital stay. This whole illness has been a financial disaster for us. We can't leave Rose alone. My wife lost her job because of absences. The older she gets, the worse it gets.”

“It's the most desperate feeling in the world to watch your child destroy herself,” Maggie said, her voice pleading for understanding. “Mood disorder. They called it that. A mood disorder.”

“It sounds like you've done everything you could,” David said. “Bipolar is difficult to recognize in kids. Sometimes, the depressive part of the disease shows up first, so people just think their children are depressed. When the manic part shows up later, it can seem like ADHD.”

Mood disorder. It all made sense—Lorelei's abrupt arrivals and even quicker departures. Her fluctuating tides of energy. Her sexual advances. Quick anger. The tattoos.

And the brother story. There was logic to creating Noah to take the blame, a brother with all the same problems. Why not tell a story where Lorelei is the savior instead of the rejected one? She was convincing. Had she told the story so many times that she'd begun to believe it herself?

“Every time the phone rings,” the mother said, “I never think it means my daughter is coming home. I always think someone is calling to tell me that they found Rose dead.”