Shackled (4 page)

“Why does she talk like that?”

“Like what.”

“All bitchy.”

I came very close to laughing. “Because, dude. I taught her well.”

“You're not bitchy.”

I came very close to crying. “Thanks.”

“Pelly?”

“What.”

“Why do you hate me?”

The bowl slipped from my fingers and shattered on the floor. It may as well have been my spine. “What? I don't hate you.”

Jeffrey shrugged. “Whatever.”

“I don't,” I said. “I just—”

With those two extra words, I'd said too much. I could see the question in Jeffrey's eyes.
You just what?
And I didn't have an answer. Not one I could explain to a ten-year-old.

I left the broken dish on the floor and went to my room, closing the door behind me. I heard Jeffrey getting out the broom and dustpan—to clean up
my
mess—while I turned my phone on again. No new messages.

I happened to see David's text from earlier in the day. Decided I wouldn't have to spend so much money on a cab if I was willing to deal with a little potential awkwardness, and if it wasn't bitchy of me to even ask.

So I sent a text to David.
Could you maybe give me a ride to the police station tomorrow before work? I will pay for gas.

It took him fifteen minutes to reply. Probably he was thinking it over as opposed to not getting the text right away. But then again, I didn't know what he did outside of work. School, I guess, but what else? And school was out for break anyway.

Maybe,
he finally wrote.
What time?

Any time that works for you,
I wrote back.

Another ten minutes went by. Maybe he was talking it over with his girlfriend. If he had one. Did he?

Noon okay?
he wrote at last.
Don't worry about gas.

That's great thank you very much I appreciate it,
I wrote.

I really needed to be nicer to him.

FIVE

David thought Jeffrey was hysterical. Just what I needed. He was even nice enough to agree to drop Jeffrey off at a friend's house, which is where Jeffrey usually spent his days during school breaks. David and Jeffrey liked the same video games, of course, and compared notes all the way to this kid Liam's house.

“Are you picking me
up
, too?” Jeffrey asked excitedly as he climbed out of David's rust-encrusted red Chevy pickup. The Chevy sounded like it had a lawn mower engine under the hood. Or maybe a Weedwacker.

David looked at me. I shrugged. “It's your car.”

“Totally,” David said right away. “We'll see you later this afternoon, man.”

Jeffrey's face lit up with pride. No longer merely
little
guy
, or
dude
, or
little
bro
. He was
Man
. Like the big kids. Plus David
said it with such ease and casualness, like he really was talking to one of his best friends or something.

Liam was the only ten-year-old I'd ever seen with a Mohawk. I shouted “hi” to him through the window. I owed Liam a lot. Not that he knew that. Me and Mom had brought Jeffrey to Liam's birthday party a while back, and watching all those kids . . . it made me realize it'd been six years since I'd had a real party of any kind, or even been to one. That night I started forming what would eventually become the Hole in the Wall Plan of Salvation and Normalcy.

Not the kind of thing I could or wanted to explain to a ten-year-old.

David waited until Liam opened the front door and let Jeffrey in before pulling away from the sidewalk.

“You're real lucky,” I said as I watched my brother go into Liam's.

“What makes you say that? Not that I disagree.”

“I don't know. Just that . . . nothing.”

What I didn't say was,
You're lucky you can just be cool with my brother like that. I've never had it and never will.

God. I was jealous of David. How did that happen?

I felt him looking at me, studying. I kept my face aimed at the window. Watching Phoenix go by. We headed toward downtown.

We both let a few minutes pass in silence before David said, “So what's going to happen today?”

“At the police station?”

“Yeah.”

“I'm not sure. Looking at photos, I think. Of the guy. And age-enhanced pictures of Tara.”

David must've heard something in my voice that I didn't mean to let out, because his tone dropped. “You were really good friends.”

I managed a strained nod, nothing else. And snapped my rubber band.

“I hope they find her,” David said a minute later.

Nod.
Snap.

I'm not sure myself whether I meant for my silence to be a hint. David took it as one and didn't say anything else until we pulled up to the police department. Once we did, somehow the truth of how I'd been acting toward him seeped in. Guilt made my stomach burn.

“Thanks for driving me, David,” I said as he pulled into a parking space.

I hated myself for the fact that he looked surprised. “It's no problem,” he said. “Of course, I'll be wanting something in return.”

“Um. Okay. Like what?”

“You like Will Ferrell?”

“The actor?”

“No, the dictator-of-Uganda Will Ferrell. Yes, the actor.”

“Um. I guess.”

“Does he make you laugh?”

“I don't know.”

“Does
anything
?”

“I forget,” I said. And then: laughed. Not a lot, barely a chuckle, but no mistaking it.

David actually smiled. “Okay, you realize you just laughed when you said that.”

“Yeah. I'm pretty much a fruit basket.”

“Fair enough,” David said. “So, that's what I wanted.”

My surprise laugh stopped as quickly as it had started. “I don't get it.”

“Just for you to laugh, or at least relax,” David said. “I mean, I'm sorry if I made you feel bad at all yesterday. I didn't know about your friend. No one does. I didn't tell anyone either, by the way . . .”

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome. But I think people should know. I wish you could just take it easy, you know?”

“Yes,” I said. “I do know. I'll see what I can do.”

“You want me to wait out here?” David asked.

He'd do it too, I realized. He wasn't just saying it. If I wanted to go alone, he'd let me. He'd wait out here, in a cold car, until I came back. I didn't deserve that kind of sacrifice.

“Actually,” I said, “I wouldn't mind a friend right now.”

Something in his eyes tweaked, like he was suspicious. Then he nodded once and said, “You bet,” and we got out of the car.

I hadn't wanted a friend in years. Not apart from people on message boards and whatnot. Figures the first time I actually
invite someone in, so to speak, it's David Harowitz. Barista, video game geek, and chauffeur extraordinaire. Well, he looked nice today, anyway. I don't mean he was dressed up, because he wasn't. But the right T-shirt makes all the difference, you know? Maybe he had plans later.

Snap.

Get in the game, Pelly,
I thought.
Focus. Get Tara back so that you can . . .

“I've been meaning to ask you, what's up with the rubber band?” David asked as we neared the imposing glass doors of the police department.

“Oh, it's a reminder thing,” I said. David opened the door for me. “Thanks. It's supposed to remind me to change my thought pattern.”

“From what to what?”

A blast of warm air smelling mostly like Clorox but a little like pee rushed out to meet us. Like a kindergarten classroom without the comforting scents of Crayolas and paste. I flinched. It was the exact same smell as six years ago.

“Anything to anything else,” I said, dodging the question. Maybe I could count on David to drive me all over town or come into a police department with me. That didn't mean I was going to drag him into my emotional toilet.

We checked in at the front desk and got directions to Detective Larson's desk. It hadn't moved. I wasn't sure whether it was a good or bad thing that everything was the same as the last time I came here.

Larson met us at the entrance to the big room full of cubicle desks where other detectives were on phones, talking to people or each other, or, in one case, sleeping.

“Thanks for coming by,” Larson said after I introduced David. “Come on in here.”

He led us into a small conference room with a folding table and a few folding chairs. We sat opposite him. Larson got right to work, handing me a sheet of color headshots. They all looked like driver license photos.

“Can you pick out the man you saw yesterday?”

I appreciated that he didn't phrase it like “the man you
think
you saw.” That might've broken me in half. I studied the six photos. Two of them looked like the guy I'd seen. I wasn't about to tell Larson more than one looked like him.

Larson chitchatted with David while I studied the photos. Had David seen anything; no sir, but I was working that day; did you see anything suspicious at all; no, not really, sir . . .

“This one,” I said, pointing.

Larson took the paper back. “Number three?”

“Yes,” I said. “That's him.”

But what if I was wrong? Eli kept the Hole in the Wall pretty dark, as part of its moody, quirky indie snarky ambience.

Larson made a note. “Okay,” he said. “Now, I'm going to show you—”

“Was that him?” I asked, and immediately thought,
That sounds terrible and uncertain.
“I mean, I got it right, didn't I?”

Larson waved me off. “Don't worry about that,” he said.
“Even if you didn't identify the owner of the car, we're still looking into this.”

“But
did
I?”

The detective's face hardened just a fraction. “Don't worry about it, Penelope,” he said. He handed me several papers. “Here's some age enhancements we have of Tara. Do any of them look familiar?”

My hand shook as I took the papers from him. I saw David frowning a little as he watched me. But he was looking at my face, not my hand.

The printouts of the age enhancements were spooky. It was Tara, for sure, but—not. They seemed like high-tech caricatures; the features were right but exaggerated just a little. I went slowly through the stack, trying to merge the images with the girl I'd seen yesterday.

Merge them with
Tara
, I mean.

I'm not sure how long I'd been staring at them when Larson said softly, “What do you think?”

“I don't know,” I whispered. No point in lying. “This is her. And so is the girl I saw at the coffee shop. But they're not the same.”

“Not the same by a pretty wide margin, or not exactly identical?” Larson asked. “Because age enhancement is never exact. It's just an approximation.”

I shook my head and gave him back the pictures. “I don't know,” I said again. “But I know that girl was Tara.”

Larson took the pictures and slid them into a file. “Well,
like I said, we are looking into it. We know where the car owner lives, and we're working with other agencies to see what we can find out.”

“Agencies?” David said, and I immediately wished he'd shut up. “Like, the CIA?”

Larson smiled toothlessly. “No no, nothing like that. Just other law enforcement agencies.”

“Are you telling her parents?” I said. “Maybe they know something, maybe they know the guy?”

“We'll bring them in when the time comes,” Larson said, which was about as nice a brush-off as I'd ever heard.

“Okay,” I said, defeated. My head hurt.

Larson stood up, so David and I did too. “I'll keep in touch,” Larson said. “And if you think of anything else, don't hesitate to call me.”

“Thanks,” I said.

David and Larson traded nods, and we made our way back out the way we'd come. Once we were outside, David said, “How did that go, do you think? I couldn't tell.”

“Dunno,” I grumbled.

“That good, huh?”

“Whatever.”

I felt him wanting to ask more, but he didn't. We walked back to the car and climbed in. It took a massive force of will for me not to slam the door. No reason to take out my frustration on his truck.

“We've got some time before work,” David said hesitantly
as he pulled into traffic. “Where should we—I mean, where do you want to go?”

“Doesn't matter,” I whispered.

“Pelly? Are you okay?”

“No, I'm not okay,” I said. “My best friend got kidnapped and I didn't do anything about it and now she's out there somewhere and
no one
's doing anything about it, including me, and if I could just find her and get her back then I could—”

Stop. Shut up.

I crammed my hand against my mouth to stanch the flow of words bleeding from me. I wanted to roll up my jeans right then and there. Bleed for real, bleed the hate. I'd just said more to David Harowitz about Tara than I'd told anybody since my therapist.

That shows how much I enjoyed sharing. David, however, didn't seem put off at all.

“You could what?” he asked.

“I don't know,” I said. Which was a lie.

David gave me a little snort. “In other words, ‘Shut up and stop bothering me, David.' ”

“That's not what I meant,” I said. “I just . . .”

We were at a stoplight. David took his eyes off the road and turned to me. His hazel eyes, dotted with kelly green, were so sincere I felt my resolve slipping.

I couldn't stomach looking at him. Stared out my window again instead.

“That's when it all started,” I said quietly, hoping maybe he
couldn't hear me and would give up listening. “When Tara got taken, everything went to hell. I got scared. Thought someone would take me, too. Or Jeffrey. I couldn't even look at him anymore. I just stayed inside. I couldn't go to school. I faked sick so much my mom thought I really had something bad, like cancer or something. And Mom and Dad didn't understand at all, I mean, they tried to, but I couldn't make them see . . .”

I stopped. The car behind us honked, and David hit the gas to carry us through the green light. He didn't say anything. Neither did I. I'd already puked out more secrets than I ever wanted to, anyway.

I zoned out, not paying attention to where we were going. When we stopped, I lifted my head and glanced around.

“Is this cool?” David asked. He'd stopped the truck, but hadn't shut off the engine yet.

We'd ended up at this little park called Arcadia. A couple of fields and a decent-size playground, plus lots of concrete picnic tables and grills.

“Um . . . sure,” I said. I had no idea what we were doing here.

David shut off the engine and climbed out, and I followed. Without a word, he led us toward the empty playground. I would've thought it would be crowded since the schools were closed.

“You're on break from school, right?” I asked.

“Yeah,” David said. “But I've only got about half a schedule next semester, and a terminal case of senioritis.”

“So, what, you ditch a lot?”

“Actually, no, not excessively. I'm kind of a goody-goody. You?”

Oops. Hadn't meant to go quite that far. “I'm taking classes online. Ditching doesn't have quite the allure.”

David looked like he wanted to ask more, but he didn't say anything else about it.

Instead he marched onto the sand and said, “Swings?”

I stayed on the sidewalk. “I don't think so.”

“Whatever,” he said. “You're missing out.”

David slipped himself into one of the rubber seats and launched backward with both feet. In just a moment he was arcing high into the air, back and forth.