Transience (17 page)

Laura smiled at the picture.
 
Fond memories, stored for safe keeping years ago, floated to the surface.
 
Her eyes welled up.
 
She didn't realize how hard she was gripping the photo until the edges started to curl inward from the pressure.
 
She placed it back in the book and opened her mouth to breathe again, emotional.
 
She tucked the book back into the box and folded the top over.

Each step creaked as she climbed the staircase.
 
The old house had a real personality, especially at night.
 
Every floorboard made a sound, every door had its own unique whine.
 
Rebecca's was especially loud.

Laura opened it as slowly as she could to mute the sound.
 
Rebecca had climbed into bed herself.
 
Peacefully asleep, she seemed so alone.
 
A wave of guilt washed over Laura, she felt useless.

"Sleep, baby.
 
Just, please sleep," Laura whispered.

Laura crept back into the living room and lay down on the couch.
 
She checked the clock on the wall, 9 P.M.
 
She closed her eyes.
 

The house was silent.
 
Laura's thoughts drifted to work, doctor bills, all the things she was putting off.
 
She could hear the wind wheezing through a small crack in the sill.
 
It breathed a lonely song.
 
She, too, felt lonely.
 
She tried to block it out of her mind —
how selfish
— with the way Rebecca was suffering.
 
The emptiness of her situation was like pangs of hunger with no food to satisfy it.
 
No other adult to talk to, confide in.
 
No one to unload her problems to at the end of the day.
 
No strong shoulder to lean on, gentle hand to caress her cheek and tell her it was going to be alright.
 
No one to share her burden.

She drifted in and out.
 
Thoughts became moving images, dreams.
 
She entered a rare, peaceful sleep.

Something itched at the tip of her nose, she scratched it and suppressed a sneeze.
 
She looked over at the clock on the wall.
 
1 A.M.
 

4 hours?

It felt like she had only closed her eyes for a moment.
 
She snapped up off the couch and went to the kitchen to check the clock above the sink.
 

1 A.M.
 
She rubbed her eyes.
 
"Shit…"
 

Her thoughts immediately went to Rebecca.
 
It was the longest she'd gone without waking the dead with her blood curdling shrieks.
 
Laura headed for the stairs quickly.
 

As she opened the door to Rebecca's bedroom, Laura had to silence a gasp.
 
Rebecca was wide awake–sitting up in bed, her eyes big and dark, her stare almost catatonic.
 
The sight gave Laura a shudder.
 

Rebecca's vacant eyes slowly turned, finding Laura in the doorway.
 
Her glare made every hair on the back of Laura's neck stand up straight.
 

They stared at each other a few moments.
 
Rebecca didn't blink, no expression at all, like some animatronic doll with no soul.
 

"…Becca?" Laura said, as if asking permission to speak to her daughter in there, half expecting some demon to answer.

Rebecca slowly raised her hand towards her chest, gently feeling around her throat.
 
"I can't find my necklace," Rebecca said, soft and monotone.

Laura stood frozen in the doorway.
 
She swallowed.
 
"…What necklace, baby?"
 
Rebecca didn't answer.
 
"Becca?
 
What necklace?"
 

Rebecca's eyes were open, but she wasn't present in the room.
 
Her spirit was somewhere else — speaking to someone else.
 
The fact she was currently staring at Laura was mere happenstance.
 

Laura sprinted down the hall to the bathroom.
 
She threw open the medicine cabinet and grabbed the bottle of pills Doctor Hellerman had prescribed, the ones that were supposed to help Rebecca sleep — the ones she'd stopped giving her.
 
They never worked before, what makes you think they'll work now?
 

Laura desperately shook two into her trembling hand and filled a Dixie cup with water.
 
She caught a brief glimpse of the black circles under her eyes in the mirrored cabinet.
 
She closed it, afraid Rebecca's ghostly image might be standing behind her waiting to shout
boo
!

She raced back down the hall and re-entered Rebecca's bedroom.
 
Rebecca was now on her back, sound asleep.
 
Eyes closed this time.
 

Laura crept towards her.
 
She slowly extended her hand to pull Rebecca's blankets up, half expecting her eyes to suddenly
pop open
like at the end of some B horror movie.
 
But they didn't.
 
Laura ran her fingers gently through Rebecca's wavy hair.
 

She watched her a moment, then gazed around the room at her artwork.
 
The paintings took on a slightly different appearance in the dim glow of the night.
 
Rebecca's easel was off to the side, turned away.
 
What’s she trying to hide?
 

Laura inched towards it and snuck a peek.
 

The picture of the tree had been replaced with a portrait.
 
In the soft light, Laura couldn't quite make it out.
 
She turned it silently towards the window to better see in the moonlight.
 
It was a pixel perfect replica of Carmen.
 

Laura covered her mouth.
 
She looked down at her feet and noticed she was standing on top of yesterday's newspaper.
 
Rebecca had spread it around to prevent ink from damaging the floor.
 
Carmen's picture was visible on the front page.
 
The headline read:
Missing girl’s
body found
after ten years
.
 

The portrait seemed so lifelike that Carmen's voice — her memory of it, came rushing back.
 
Laura looked at Rebecca, still asleep. She quietly picked the newspaper off the floor and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her gently.
 

Laura returned downstairs and entered the kitchen.
 
She flipped open the wastebasket lid, crumpled the newspaper and tossed it in - right on top of Jack's card, the name slightly blotted out from her recently discarded tea bag.
 
She reached in and retrieved the card, wiping away the smudged brown tea stain with her finger.
 
Jack's number was still legible.

CHAPTER 32

Jack took two pills and was going to return the bottle to its hiding place behind the book, but the pain was especially bad today, so he tucked them into his front pocket.
 

He sat forward at his desk and picked up his pen, placing it firmly between his teeth, before pressing play on the tape machine.
 
Leonard's voice cued up.

"Rebecca?"

"It's getting dark,"
Rebecca said in her deep other voice, "
Church bells.
 
I hear church bells.
"
 

"
Where are you?
" Leonard asked.
 
There was a brief silence, the tape player's motor buzzed and squeaked.

"
Santa Maria, Madre de Dios, ruega por nosotros pecadores, ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte.
 
Amen.
 
The fruits of our labors
…
find Jesus on the hill
…
find Jesus
…
"

Jack pressed rewind.
 
He listened to that passage again.
 
The first part sounded like a prayer, but the other part felt more like a warning.
 
It was vexing him.
 
He replayed it over and over.

"Ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte.
 
Amén.
 
The fruits of our labors
…
find Jesus on the hill
…
find Jesus."
 
Rewind.
 
"Find Jesus
…
"
 
Repeat.
 
"Find Jesus."

It almost sounded to Jack like she'd reverted to Rebecca.
 
She wasn't reciting prayer, she was observing something in the moment.
 
To his ears anyway.
 
He was about to press play again when the phone rang.
 
He'd been playing the tape very low — keeping his word to Leonard.
 
The interruption of the quiet made the phone's ringer seem terribly loud.
 

"Hello?"

"Detective Ridge?"
 

"Laura.
 
How are you?"
 

"Not so good."

"What is it?"

"You still want to talk?"

"Very much," Jack said, sitting up straight.
 
He hadn't noticed that his office door had crept open.
 
Someone stood behind him waiting patiently for his conversation to finish.

"I'm home, can you come here?" Laura asked.

Jack checked his watch.
 
"It's about 6 o'clock, I can be there in an hour?"

"That's fine."

"Okay.
 
Thank you, Laura."
 
He hung up and leaned back in his chair, chewing his pen as he began to formulate all of his questions in his head; there were so many.
 

"Heard you were dead."

Jack spun around in his chair, startled.
 
Robert stood before him.
 
He was neatly dressed, with a long tan coat and a white dress shirt.
 
He resembled Jack, only younger.
 
Jack's expression turned cold as ice.
 

"What are you doing here?" Jack said, his jaw clenched.

"You don't return my calls."
 

"We have nothing to talk about."
 

"All these years and we have nothing to talk about?
 
At least-"

"Get out," Jack said with a calm that belied his volcano of emotions underneath.

"I just thought you'd like to know… you're going to be an uncle.
 
Trish is pretty far along now.
 
We tried for years.
 
I guess God finally decided we were ready."

Jack stared through him, his gaze like a magnifying glass in the sun, burning a hole into Robert's being.
 
His hatred was palpable, he had to fight to suppress the urge to leap out of his chair and strangle him.
 

Robert returned no such malevolence towards his brother.
 
He stood silently, itching at a deep old scar above his left eye.
 

Jack turned his back and started stacking and shuffling papers for no reason.
 

"We're gonna be relocating to Austin," Robert continued.
 
"Got a good job lined up."
 
Jack took a deep breath, adjusting his collar, straining to retain his composure.
 
"Trish has family there so it works out great."
 
Jack balled his fists and bit down.
 
"You know how it is when people move very far away.
 
You say you're gonna come visit, but…well, I guess with the way things are, you and I might never see each other again."
 

Robert leaned forward and tossed a small invitational envelope onto Jack's desk.
 

Jack's eyes found it.

"We're having a little get together, a little celebration.
 
It would really mean a lot to Trish and me if you could make it."
 
Robert wiped at his mouth, waiting for Jack's response.
 
Jack didn't move.
 
He might not have even breathed during the awful silence.

"Jack… there isn't a day goes by I don't feel sorry about what happened."

Jack spun around, venom behind his eyes.
 
"Are you finished?
 
Are you through?" Jack spoke so harshly it set off one of his coughing fits.
 
He hacked three or four times brutally, his eyes bulging, veins surfacing in his neck and forehead.
 
Robert leaned forward to help, but Jack's watery eyes screamed hate — maybe even
death
— if he took another step closer.
 

Robert instead took a step back in retreat.
 
"Alright."
 
He turned and opened Jack's office door.
 
The din of the station spilled in, breaking the silence, letting in air.

"Hope you change your mind, Jack."
 
Robert exited and closed the door.
 
Jack sat motionless for a few moments.
 
He abruptly turned and slammed his fists down on his desk, scattering neatly stacked papers in all directions.
 

Jennifer was walking by at precisely that moment and witnessed Jack's tantrum through the glass windows of his office.
 
Jack reached for his jacket and nearly opened the door into her.
 

"Sorry, Jen."