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“No,” Nora said, “tell us.”
“The old saying is the eyes are windows to the soul. That soul was blank. I don’t know how to say it. Blank. But not like drunk blank. Just unsettling. Empty wrapped up in pretty, you see?” The bouncer cleared his throat.
“Fascinating,” Nora said.
“I would say she gave me a chill, the kind you get from having to deal with an extremely unkind person. I remembered her immediately after the story about this boy broke. She gave me the creeps, and I’m sticking by my story.”
“You saw them leave.”
“Yes. He staggered a bit; she held him. I asked if they needed a cab, and she shot me a rather nasty glare. She said she was fine. She. Not they. A bit cold toward the boy, I thought.”
While the bouncer spoke, the police sketch of the mysterious woman came up, with the caption Last seen with Jason Kirk.
“And the security tape, did it show her?” Nora asked. She already knew the answer.
“Um, we didn’t put cameras in until after all the attention you gave us from Mr. Kirk disappearing.” A bit of anger colored the bouncer’s tone. “There was no tape. But when they were leaving, I heard him say he was at the Hotel Sint Pieter but in a room adjoining his folks’, and I laughed a bit, because I thought, Dude, you will have to find another bed for you and that lady.”
Nora thanked him, turned back to the camera, and said, “Next, the final stop on Jason Kirk’s tragic night.”
THE bar at the hotel where Jason Kirk stayed was called the Eclipse, for no good reason. But Nora, touring it with the camera following, pointed out that eclipses had once been seen as portents of doom and approaching evil. The bar was not busy, and people cleared out when the cameras started rolling. As if the tragedy might be contagious.
The hotel manager stiffly told Nora that several people saw the couple having a quiet drink in the corner, locked in conversation, heads close together. Jason charged a bottle of pinot noir to his parents’ room account. They drank half the bottle, then headed out the rear of the hotel toward the private beach.
“And no one has seen him since?”
“No, ma’am.”
“And the hotel security cameras at the entrance and exits?” Again she knew the answer, but the facts bore repeating.
“The tape malfunctioned . . . It showed mostly white static.”
“Bizarre timing,” Nora said, and while they spoke, the hotel’s mangled footage of Jason Kirk and the woman, flooded with digital snow, played on the screen. “You can make out Jason, and the outline of the tall woman, Jason leaning close to her as they stumbled out the back door.”
“Yes. Then the static clears up a few minutes later. We can’t explain it.”
Nora thanked him and turned to her final guest, who had joined them at the last stop. “The recent alleged sighting of Jason Kirk near Marysville, on the northern tip of the island, has suggested one theory: that Jason is hurt, suffering from amnesia. I’m here with Dr. Kevin Bayless, an expert on amnesia and author of Still Here But Not Sure, an exposé on amnesia that argues memory loss is actually quite common.” The camera pa
“It certainly can’t be discounted as a possibility. If he was intoxicated and suffered a blow to the head, he might not know at all where he was, who he was.” Bayless had a breathy voice that reminded Nora of the soft hiss a radio made, not quite tuned to a station.
“How long could the amnesia last?”
“Anywhere from minutes to hours to weeks,” Dr. Bayless said, as though giving Nora a gift.
“We know his torn shirt was found on the beach. He might have been attacked. Describe to me and our viewers what kind of injury could induce amnesia.”
“Well, there are several, and as I point out in my book, just out last week, amnesia is far more common or likely than we know . . .”
Nora saw Molly waving frantically at her, the cut sign. Molly had never gestured so wildly during a broadcast.
“We have a breaking situation, ladies and gentlemen, we’ll be right back.”
“Um, will I get to mention my book again?” Dr. Bayless asked.
Molly ignored him and looked stricken. “A
THEY rushed to the cars, drove the fifteen minutes to A
“I’m not calling, I’m staying on the line with A
Nora cursed. She’d forgotten about the Kirks. Oh well, but the police might well bundle up Jason and haul him off to the hospital. Surely not before the happy reunion. A strange flood of emotion coursed through Nora: anticipation of the greatest story in her career, and a sincere relief that he was okay. That a story of hers could have a happy ending. It was so rare.
“Uh-huh, A
“Is he still there?” Nora screeched.
“Yes, well . . .” Molly started, and Nora seized the phone.
“A
“Yes.” A
“Is Jason still in your yard?”
“Yes. Standing by the trees. I’m not sure he knows I saw him. My outside light’s off. But I saw him, in the moonlight, I can tell it’s him again. What should I do?”
“Leave the lights off; I don’t want the neighbor’s dog to frighten him off again. He may not be well. He might be confused. Don’t approach him.”
“I’m afraid,” A
“We’ll be there in just a few minutes.”
“I’m going to hang up and call the police,” A
“No, sweetheart, stay on the phone with me,” Nora said. A dread touched her heart. “We’re handling calling the police, okay? We’ll be there in just a few minutes.” Then she added: “You don’t happen to have a camera, do you? I suppose the flash might send him ru
A
“We’ll cut off our lights before we get there so he doesn’t run,” Nora said.
A
“A
“Don’t scare him?” A
“A
“He’s at the door,” A
“A
“Help him,” A
The phone clicked off.
THREE minutes later, they were at the small bungalow. The clouds had scudded to the south. Bright moonlight spilled across the eaves, the flat glass of the windows, the bent shadows made by the divi-divi trees. Nora was out of the car before it stopped, heading around to the backyard.