The Missing

Bleary-eyed and weary, Darby stumbled into her mother’s room. Sheila was asleep.

A peculiar sadness gripped her. On the way over here, Darby had hoped her mother would be awake. Darby needed to talk. The selfishness of a child needing her mother. Darby wondered if she would ever outgrow it.

Sheila’s eyes fluttered open. ‘Darby… I didn’t hear you come in.’

‘I just got here. Can I get you anything?’

‘Some ice water would be nice.’

Downstairs, Darby filled a plastic tumbler with ice and water. She sat on the bed and held the cup while her mother sucked from a straw.

‘Much better.’ Sheila’s eyes were clear and focused, but she was having trouble breathing. ‘Did you eat? Tina made something resembling egg salad.’

‘I grabbed a sandwich at the hospital.’

‘What were you doing there?’

‘Visiting Jane Doe,’ Darby said. ‘Her name is Rachel Swanson. She woke up today.’

‘Tell me about it.’

‘Why don’t you rest? You look tired.’

Sheila waved it off. ‘I’m going to have the rest of my life to sleep.’

Darby wondered where her mother found the source of her bravery, what images she used to comfort herself for what was awaiting her.

She helped her mother sit up. When Sheila was comfortable, Darby told her about what had happened at the hospital.

‘What about Carol Cranmore?’ Sheila asked.

‘We’re still looking.’ Darby realized she was holding her mother’s hand. ‘We have something, though. Something we might be able to use to help find the person who has her.’

‘That’s good news.’

‘It is.’

‘So why don’t you look happy?’

‘If we don’t do it the right way, he’ll probably kill her.’

‘You can’t control that.’

‘I know, but I pushed for this plan we’re going to use tomorrow. Now I’m wondering if I made a mistake.’

‘What you want is for someone to assure you it’s all going to work out.’

‘I smell a lecture.’

‘You were like that since the day you were born. You had to be in control of everything.’

‘Who says I’m not?’

Sheila gri

‘The person we’re after is smarter. He’s been doing this for a long time. The other thing is, he might have other women besides Carol. They might still be alive. And if we don’t catch him tomorrow, he might kill them.’

Her mother’s eyelids fluttered and then shut. ‘Promise me one thing.’

‘Yes, I’ll save myself for marriage.’

‘Besides that,’ Sheila said. ‘Promise me you won’t blame yourself if something goes wrong. You can’t blame yourself for things you can’t control.’

‘Sounds like good advice.’ Darby kissed her mother on the forehead and stood up. ‘I think I’ll try some of that egg salad. You want anything?’

‘I would love some gum. My mouth is so dry.’

When Darby came back, she was asleep. Darby checked her mother’s pulse. It was still there.

She went to the spare bedroom and tried reading the case file, but all Darby could see was Carol Cranmore in the pictures – Carol walking through her dark prison cell, hands outstretched; Carol bumping into walls, trapped, terrified.

Darby shut the file and brought her Walkman with her to the recliner. She listened to the conversation with Rachel Swanson and stared out the window, at the trees shaking in the breeze under the dark sky. Carol Cranmore was somewhere out there, swallowing darkness and fear in equal measures.

Hang on, Carol. Find a way to fight and hang on.

Darby thought about the listening devices and felt a flicker of hope spark inside her. It was small, but it would do. She shut off the Walkman, wrapped the blanket around her and waited for sleep.

Chapter 38

Carol Cranmore lay curled on her side on the hard floor underneath the cot, the wool blanket wrapped around her for warmth. She had stopped shaking, but her rapid heartbeat wouldn’t slow down.

The man with the mask hadn’t hurt her. He had pulled her up by her hair and told her to stop fighting and shut up or he wouldn’t let her talk to her mother.

He stepped up behind her and pressed something sharp against her throat. It was a knife, he said. He told her what to say and then had her repeat it back to him. She did. Then he told her to repeat the words again, this time into a tape recorder.

Carol was still speaking when the tape clicked off. He removed the knife and told her to lie down on the floor, on her stomach. She did. He told her to close her eyes. She did. The door slid open and slammed shut, the loud sound vibrating through her chest. Locks clicked back and then she was alone again, trapped in the awful darkness.

At some point, she dozed off. Her head felt foggy, and her blanket was wet with drool.

She thought about the sandwich she had eaten earlier. The sandwich had left a fu

And why did he take those pictures? Was he pla

Carol didn’t know, but she was sure of one thing: the man with the mask was going to come for her again, and the next time he might hurt her. He might kill her. How was she going to defend herself?

Was there something in the room she could use?

Moving her fingers along the cot’s edge, Carol felt the rough polyester fabric wrapped around the aluminum tubing. Was there a way to get a piece of that tubing out? She gave the cot a good shake, but it wouldn’t budge. Why wouldn’t it move?

Her fingers found the brackets and screws pi

Carol spent the next half hour struggling to break off a piece of metal tubing. No luck.

Her heart was pumping hard from the exertion and brought on new waves of fear, making her skin tingle. She pushed her fear aside. She had to keep her mind clear. She had to think. Okay, what else is in here?

Carol mentally pictured the room: shower, sink, toilet and cot. What she needed was something sharp, something she could use to stab him –

The toilet. She had helped one of her mother’s boyfriends change some plastic thing inside the toilet tank, and she recalled the things inside there – the handle and the lever. They were both made of metal. Attached to the handle was a long piece of metal with a pointed end. She could use it to puncture skin. She could stab him with it, but it wouldn’t do any serious damage.

She could use it on his eyes. Let him try to find her without his eyesight.

Carol navigated her way to the corner. Her shin bumped up against the edge of the toilet. She reached down and felt the toilet seat. She moved her fingers toward the tank. There was no toilet tank, just cold metal pipes dripping with moisture.

Panic set in. The voice inside her head, the one that sounded a lot like her mother’s voice, urged her to push these thoughts aside, to calm down and think.

Carol didn’t want to think. She stumbled through the dark until she found the steel door.

‘Tony, can you hear me?’ She banged her fists against the door. ‘Tony! Where are you? ANSWER ME.’

A piercing sound, like the ringing of a school bell, made her jump.

The door was opening, clank-clank-clank.

Carol ran back to the cot and scrambled underneath it, grabbing the blanket and twisting it into a rope, hoping she could use it to defend herself if he came at her with something sharp.

The man with the mask didn’t come inside.

Carol stared into the hallway of dim light. Lying on the floor, about ten or so feet away from her cell door, was a bottle of water and a sandwich wrapped in plastic.