Finding Jessie: A Mystery Romance (22 page)

Sam brought her Earl Grey tea and cinnamon toast, as if she was ill, and when she ate it ravenously and softly thanked him, hope sprang anew. He next brought her a tuna sandwich, Lay’s potato chips and a Diet Coke and she consumed it all, down to the potato chip crumbs. At least she was eating now. And communicating better.

“Sweetie,” he began, “I know you’ve had some kind of an emotional breakdown.”

“You didn’t cause it,” she said. “It’s been simmering in me for a long time. I’ve been holding it in and it just came to a head and blew that day.”

“I’m sorry, dearest. I want us back the way we were.”

“We can’t go back to that, Sam. It was a fairy tale. A beautiful fairy tale love story. But now, it’s reality. And it’s not going to end happily.”

“It doesn’t have to be over between us. We can still be happy.”

“I don’t know how now.”

He took a deep breath and let it out. “Please tell me this: When you got to this point in your other love relationships, did you run away?”

She nodded, her eyes sparkling with tears. “Exactly.”

“Look, I don’t want you to go. I care about you too much.”

“I know.
Too much
being your key point.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it. Do you care about me?”

Tears slipped down her cheeks. “You mean the world to me. I just don’t know how to proceed from here. What to do. Where to go. It’s the story of my life, over and over. I finally admit that I am unable to even identify myself and then I run away. And then the cycle starts over again.”

“Stay here. Please.”

“I need to think.”

Sam was almost afraid to leave her alone. He feared for her mental health. He piled a bunch of cat toys near her and thankfully, the Twins engaged her in some feline playtime.

He went upstairs and made a phone call. After some time, he came back downstairs. “I need to go out for a little while. I’ll be back soon,” he said. “Please, please don’t leave or harm yourself in any way. I’m bringing back professional help.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know what to say except that no one can help me.”

“She can. She’s really good at her job. We’re going to get through this. I swear!” He didn’t know if he should still call her Jessie.

Within the hour, he came home with a tall silver-haired woman in a navy pantsuit and penny loafers.

She put down her book—it was a vintage copy of
The Little White Horse
by Elizabeth Goudge—and sat up. Her hair was brushed and she had showered and changed clothing, all good signs.

Sam said, “Sweetheart, this is my old friend, Dr. Linda Jacobs. She’s a forensics scientist and her I.Q. beats mine by quite a few points.”

Linda laughed in a deep contralto.

“Oh!” Jessie said. “Like on CSI?”

The woman held out her hand and they shook hands. “Not that glamorous, I assure you. I’m a part-time lab geek for a second-rate private investigator. But you can call me Linda,” she said.

“I guess you can call me Jessie.”

“Is that your name?” Linda said.

“It might be. I don’t know for sure.”

“Sam asked me if I would try to help you.”

“What’s your specialty of forensic science?”

“DNA profiling. But I also do other things. Whatever they need me to do in the lab, I aim to please.”

“So, you are the one who figures out if two people are related?”

“That’s an apt description of one of the things I can do. But today, I am mostly here as Sam’s old friend, trying to help with my logical brain instead of my emotional side. Sam thought a woman’s touch was called for, but not a therapist, not at this time.”

“Wow. And here I thought that Sam was going to bring home a shrink.”

“I take it you’re relieved that I am not one.”

“That’s right. I’ve been down that road. It’s a dead end for me. No answers equal no comfort.”

“I mostly work with the tangible world, not the intangible world of analyzing dreams and psychobabble. But first, I need your help with some of the details. Do you want to talk to me about your search for your identity?”

Jessie hesitated. “Yes, please. Don’t write stuff down, though. It makes me nervous. Like it might be used against me in a court of law.”

“No problem. I have a good memory.”

Sam cleared the books from the third cushion of the couch and put them on the coffee table. Linda sat on the couch next to Jessie.

“I’ll just leave you two alone,” Sam said.

“No, it’s okay,” Jessie said. “I have some things to say and I don’t want them explained second-hand to you, Sam—no offense to you, Linda.”

“None taken,” Linda said.

Sam moved a pile of books and took the recliner chair in the corner.

He ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. “Can I sit here? I’ll just listen unless you need me, okay?”

Jessie nodded.

Linda took charge. “Okay, Jessie. Do you know your last name?”

“No.”

“Do you think you might have amnesia?” Linda asked.

“No. I remember everything, from when I was little until now.”

“Really? When you were in diapers?”

“Not that long ago. I wish I didn’t, but I remember things from the cartoon underpants era and onward.”

“Great. I’d like to help you find out who you are.”

“I’d like to know who I am, too, but I’ve been through this before.”

“You have?”

“Sure. I’ve been trying to find out who I am for my entire life. I’ve been all over the internet. I’ve been to therapists. The police were of no help either. My case fell through the cracks. I’m not kidding.”

“Why did all of this effort fail?”

“Because I don’t know my name. I’m pretty sure that my first name is Jessie. I don’t know my last name or how old I am. I don’t know my birthday or when I was born. Or where. I don’t know my parents or their names. I’ve been on a lot of adoption and missing children’s web sites looking and I can’t find any leads.”

“If you don’t have amnesia, why don’t you know any of this critical information?”

“Because I was kidnapped as a baby.”

Chapter Fifteen

“Why do you think that?”

“I just do. The people I lived with? We didn’t bear any familial resemblance. And the way they talked to me and about me was like I was not ever theirs in the beginning.”

“Tell me,” Linda said gently.

She filled them in on some of the sordid and painful details of her captivity and then stopped when her throat tightened up.

Sam snapped a pencil in half. “Sorry,” he said softly.

“Did they eventually let you go?”

“No, I escaped.”

Linda said, “I’m sorry to put you through this. How did you live after you escaped?”

“I was in temporary foster care for a while as a Jane Doe—but nobody could find out who I was and the other kids bullied me for not having any identity. I ran away when I was old enough to get work.”

“How did you work without any identification?”

“I worked at jobs that paid under the table, or cash. Like waitress or bartender for tips only. Mowing lawns, raking leaves, babysitting. Anything for cash. Well, almost. I never sexually exploited myself by becoming a stripper or a hooker. That was Sam’s worst fear.”

“Did you ever get help for your mental health?”

“On suicide hotlines, walk-in free clinics, places like that.”

“Did you ever go to the police?”

“Of course. As soon as I escaped, I went to the police and took them to the place where I was last held, but my captors had fled. They left their clothes and the food in the fridge. The shackles, the plastic bucket with the lid that I used for a toilet were there. Everything was taken into evidence. There was nothing on the premises that identified them. Or me.”

“Do you have documentation of that police complaint?”

“Not anymore. Everything went down in the river with the motorhome. I suppose the Stanton police have a paper record of it down in their cold-case archives.”

“Stanton. How long did they hold you prisoner?”

“Years. I don’t know how many.”

“Sorry to ask you this, but do you have any proof of your captivity?”

“I carry it with me, everywhere I go.”

“Could I please see it?” Linda asked.

Jessie stood up and turned her back to Linda and briefly lifted the back of her shirt to reveal the long thin white scars crisscrossed on her flesh, and then pulled her shirt down again.

“Sweetie, I didn’t know that’s what you meant.”

“I know.”

“I’m so sorry they beat you.” Linda looked at Sam. “Did you know about that?”

“I’m her lover, so of course I’ve seen the scars. She wouldn’t tell me how it happened and because it made her sad for me to bring attention to it, I didn’t press for details. But now…we
have
to.” He nodded at Linda. “I don’t want to lose Jessie.”

Jessie flung up her hands in the air. “But that’s the point, Sam. I
am
lost. And there is no
finding
me. I’m doomed to wander the Earth without an identity, working jobs for cash and couch surfing, until my hosts learn my terrible secrets. And then I run to the next situation.”

“I don’t agree,” Sam said. “This
has
to be solvable.”

“I think if the three of us work on this mystery together, we can find out who you are,” Linda said.

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, why do you even think your first name is Jessie? Did your captors call you that?”

Jessie sighed. “No. Never. Not to my face anyway.”

“So, what did they call you?”

“The C word.”

There was complete silence for several moments as Linda and Sam digested that horrid piece of information.

“They called you that when you were a child?” Linda finally asked.

“Yes. I didn’t know it was a bad word until I went to the police.”

“Where did you see or hear the name Jessie?” Linda asked.

“Shortly before I escaped, I heard them talking about me in another room. I was listening through the vent and the man said, ‘Little Jessie’s getting some titties on her.’”

Sam tightened his fists. “I want to knock him dead right now.”