One Way Or Another You Will Pay (9 page)

“We’ll
get through this, Arena. Hang in there, okay?”

“I’m
so glad you’re here, Boet (bro). I don’t know what we would have done without you.”

My
younger brother, who I love with all my heart, hugs me harder.

****

Five minutes after we arrive back home, the detectives visit to grill me some more.

“Did
Savannah cry all the time?”

“Was
her crying annoying to you?”

“What
religion are you?”

“Meredith
Simon, your neighbour spoke of shouting coming your house the day before Savannah disappeared. She heard your kids screaming?”

“Yes,”
I answer. “Warren received his skeleton costume for Halloween. Bear had bought him from eBay, and when it arrived, they decided to test it on us girls. Of course, Amy and I screamed, then Savannah screamed and…” I lift and drop my shoulders, “that was it.”

“Mm.”

Déjà vu.

But
I understand – two toddlers disappearing from my life? Even I would be suspicious of me.

“Were
the two of you having financial problems?”

“Were
you happy she was born a girl? I mean, did you prefer that she be a boy?”

“Did
any of you shake her?”

“Look,”
I say, as advised by Bear, “just let me take a polygraph so you rule us out and move on. I know how it works, so let’s just do what needs to be done, okay?”

They
get me to take one, and, of course, there is no deception. But judging from the surprised look on their faces, I think I ruined their day. My polygraph results, that is.

At
home, I’m unable to function. Will Tom really give us back Savannah? Is she okay? What about the blood? Is she hurt, near death? Will he spite me and return her back dead?

I
fight to keep the image of Sasha, bloated, grey and cold, lying on a slab in the morgue out of my mind.

I
fight harder to keep Sasha’s face from morphing into Savannah’s.

When
I look for Bear, I find him in Savannah’s room, sitting on the floor, back against the floor, knees to chest, hands covering his face. For a while, I stare at him. Big, strong, capable man reduced to this.

Tom
did this.

I
did this.

Shrouded
in helplessness, I quietly back out of the room and leave him to his grief.

The
day crawls. The clock takes forever to change hands, evening doesn’t show its face and my frustration compounds at the dawdling of …everything!

Those
birds outside my house chirping merrily, I wish they would just shut up!

Doesn’t
the universe realize that 9 o’ clock needs to hurry?

8
PM. Bear and I pace in different parts of the house.

We
don’t speak to each other, we don’t even talk to Amy and Warren; we just keep looking at the clock, clinging to hope.

Never
in my whole life have I ever looked this much at a clock.

9
PM.

When
the clock finally strikes nine, I freeze.

Clasping
my hands to my chest, I squeeze my eyes tight, hold my breath, and wait…

For
the doorbell.

For
the phone to ring.

For
Savannah to appear in front of me.

For
…anything!

But
nothing.

Bear
peers through the window, eyes straining at the dark.

Maybe
the clock is fast? I hurriedly pick up my phone and for the umpteenth time, check the time.

Both
the clock and my phone show the same time.

Hope
dwindles inside of me.

9:15.
Nothing.

Be
patient, be patient, be patient.

Bear
and I resume our pacing.

9:30.Nothing.

Hope is dying.

Tom
lied.

Bear
sinks into a couch and covers his face with his hands. His shoulders sag and his head hangs.

I
shoot him an angry glare.
Don’t you adopt that stance. That I-give-up look!

9:45:
Nothing.

10
PM: Nothing.

Eventually,
I sink into a couch, my shoulders slumped.

Tom
lied.

Damn
you to hell, Tom!

10:02:
There is a loud knock at the door. Banging.

Bear
and I exchange startled looks before we both scramble to our feet.

Through
the windows, we see flashing blue and red lights.

Bear
beats me to the front door.

What
does it mean? They’ve found Savannah alive? They found Savannah dead?

They’re
calling off the search?

I
stand with my hands clamped over my mouth as I look at the female officer standing at our front door talking to Bear.

Her
arms are empty.

Please
God…please….

“ARENA!”
Bear whirls around.

I
stand and look at him like a wax dummy.

He
grabs my shoulders. “They’ve found her, Arena! Somebody dropped her at a petrol service station. She’s okay, but she’s at the hospital being checked up. They found her! They’ve got her, Arena!”

They
found her.

As
he talks, my legs give. He grabs me and hoists me to my feet. “Oh, no, you don’t. Not now, baby. She needs us.” He gives me a quick hug then releases me. “Later, not now, okay? Keep it together!”

“Is
she okay?” I whisper. “The blood on the knife…?”

He
hesitates. “She’s
alive
, Arena. That’s all that matters.”

“Warren!
Amy!” he calls. “Grab your jackets! We’re going to get Savannah! They found her and she’s okay!”

Within
sixty seconds, we scramble into Bear’s SUV and race to Hornsby hospital, a police car with flashing lights leading the way.

“They
found her!” we all take turns to mutter.

At
the hospital, all four of us rush at Savannah, even though we’re fearful of what injuries she might have.

We
find her sitting on the bed, surrounded by doctors and nurses.

Bear
gets to her first and hugs her as tears stream down his face.

“Too
’ard, Dadda,” Savannah says. “Too ’ard.”

We
all laugh, borderline hysterical laughs.

I
take stock of my precious daughter. The dress she’s wearing, a little, pink, used, summer dress does not belong to her. She is not wearing shoes. In her hand is a giant lollipop that’s full of fluff and her pink pacifier is missing.

When
a nurse tries to remove the lollipop to clean it, Savannah goes hysterical, so the nurse quickly gives it back to her.

She
looks fine and she is fine.
Thank you, God!

“See,
M’ma, ‘Ponge Bob, ’Quare pants.” She points to a grubby band aid on her arm.

“She
has a little cut,” a doctor says. “Nothing serious.”

I
don’t care about that. If all it needs is a bandaid…

“She’s
fine,” the doctor says to Bear and I. “No injuries, no trauma, just a small clean cut on the arm, probably by a knife.”

Knowing
that someone could cut a child,
my
child at that, is hard to handle. But my baby is okay. Well and alive, and in my arms.

None
of us can talk, we just smile as we fight back emotions and come together for a group hug.

Everyone
in the room is crying at the same time. Even the cops and detectives, when they are not back slapping each other, surreptitiously wipe away tears, and shake Bear’s hand.

The
man they almost charged with the killing of his daughter with his fishing knife.

It
no longer matters; Savannah, my baby, who I never thought I’d ever see again, is alive and well. It is by far one of the most poignant moments in my life; I got
this
baby back.

Tom
kept his word.

Now,
I have to keep mine.

A
certain sickness, a certain putrid disease inside of me, probably the result of years of abuse, makes me feel grateful to Tom for giving us back our child.

Stockholm,
if you must.

Tom
is still my captor. He’s behind bars and I am free, yet, I’m his prisoner.

Go
figure, I’m still trying to.

Evidently,
two years of therapy isn’t quite enough as long as Tom is alive.

****

Even though we have our precious baby back, our interrogation continues, especially since a white Mazda dropped off Savannah and guess what? We too have a white Mazda!

It’s
a spare vehicle we purchased some time ago. We lend it to women who exit an abusive home in a hurry, only to find themselves without a vehicle.

But
it’s not with us. It’s out on loan and we forgot to inform the detectives about this car.

That
excites them and right now, forensics is dusting the Mazda for fibers and whatnot. They are particularly interested in the trunk of the car. As if Savannah was placed in it at some time.

They
believe the blood on Bear’s fishing knife is from the tiny cut on Savannah’s arm, so they are searching the car for blood as well.

I
don’t recall Savannah being in the white Mazda but if I say she hasn’t been in it and they find fibers from her clothes or hair, then I’m in trouble.

So
my answer is, “Yes, I do believe she may have been in the car.”

I
really don’t mind what they think of Bear and I, or how much they investigate us; I got Savannah back and that’s all that matters.

“So
you’re saying that your ex-husband befriended someone, someone from the prison, in all probability, and that
someone
then found out where you live, snuck into your house in the middle of the night, and…took your baby. Then that ex-husband of yours, who is
behind
bars, got back your baby, the very one he took from you?” Detective’s Holmes voice has an undisguised sneer to it.

“Yes,
Detective,” I say, my voice mildly indignant. “That is
exactly
what happened. It may sound ridiculous to you, but …”

“We’ve
investigated him, Mrs. Shaw, the story you told us, and we can find nothing to corroborate your, eh,
story
.”

In
other words,
we can find nothing to corroborate your lies.
Maybe even wag a finger at me.

“We’re
not saying you’re
lying
or making it up; we’re just saying we need more information before we can act on those accusations. Prison authorities …” he shook his head. “We’re accusing them of a glitch in their system, of being corrupt. It’s defamatory and if you cannot prove or substantiate what you’re saying, then…”

I
zone out. He doesn’t believe me, how do I expect others to?

“Do
you see him often?”

I
look up. “Who? Tom? No, no, no. Just last week.”

“Okay.”

“Oh, and then yesterday morning.”

“That’s
twice
in what…five days?” His eyes dart to Bear, then back at me.

Bear’s
eyes are on the floor, his lips a thin line.

An
air of accusation permeates the room.

“What
made you believe he has cancer?”

I
tell them about the letters.

“Can
I see them?”