Chevy Stevens - Still Missing

I started thinking about how The Freak timed his abduction of me, arriving at the end of the open house on a hot summer day when he knew things would be slow. The Freak, who said the cabin hadn’t been easy to set up. The Freak, who might have needed help—

What if he had a partner?

He could have had a friend or, for all I know, a freaky brother who was pissed off that I killed him. I just assumed the person who broke into my house saw me leave. But what if he thought I was home ? My car was in the driveway and it was pretty early. But why come for me after all this time?

By Monday I was so obsessed by the idea I decided to call Gary and ask him if there was any chance The Freak had some help. This crap is like cancer—if you don’t get every last thread and cell of it then it’ll grow back into an even bigger tumor. But his phone was off and when I called the station they said he was away until this weekend.

I was surprised he hadn’t told me he was going away, since we generally talk a couple of times a week. He’s always friendly when I call, never says anything stupid like, “What can I do for you?” Luckily, since I’m not always sure why I phone him. In the beginning it wasn’t even a conscious choice. Everything in my world would feel like it was spinning out of control, and then the phone’s in my hand. Sometimes I couldn’t even speak—good thing there’s caller ID. He’d wait a couple of seconds and if I was still quiet he’d start talking about the case until he ran out of new information. Then he’d tell me funny cop stories until I felt better and hung up, sometimes without even saying good-bye. One day he was reduced to describing the proper way to clean a gun before I finally let him go. Can’t believe the guy kept answering.

Our conversations have been dialogue instead of mostly monologues for a few months now, but he never reveals anything personal, and something about him stops me from pressing. That’s probably why he’s away, something to do with his personal life. Guess cops have those too.

The cops I fired left me in that room by myself for a couple of hours, long enough for me to count every concrete block more than a few times, and I wondered whether they’d called my family and who was coming to talk to me. I took the packsack off and held it on my lap, stroking its rough fabric—somehow the motion was comforting. None of those meat-heads bothered to ask if I needed to use the ladies’ room, and it’s a good thing I was trained to hold it, because it never occurred to me to just get up and leave.

Eventually the door opened and a man and a woman walked in, both wearing serious expressions and dark suits—a very good suit in the man’s case. His short hair, more salt than pepper, had me figuring him for early fifties, but his face looked more like he was in his forties. He was over six feet for sure, and the way he held his shoulders squared and his back straight told me he was proud of his height. He looked solid. Calm. If this guy had been on the Titanic , he’d have finished his coffee.

He met my gaze and walked toward me with a smooth, unhurried gait and his hand held out.

“Hello, Annie, I’m Staff Sergeant Kincade with the Clayton Falls Serious Crime Unit.”

Nothing about this guy said Clayton Falls, and I had no idea what a staff sergeant was, but it clearly was a step up from Jablonski and his sidekick. His grip was strong, and as his hand slid out of my mine I felt calluses and for some reason was relieved.

The woman waiting just inside the doorway now walked briskly toward me. She was slightly plump with huge boobs, I’d say somewhere in her later fifties, but she carried her curves well in her skirt and blazer. Her hair was cut short and neat, and I was willing to bet she rinses out her pantyhose every night and always wears a full support bra.

She shook my hand, smiled, and with a hint of a Quebec accent said, “I’m Corporal Bouchard. It’s really good to finally meet you, Annie.”

They sat down across from me. The staff sergeant’s eyes turned toward the doorway, where the old guy was trying to wrestle a third chair in.

“We’ll take it from here,” Kincade said. Jablonski paused in the doorway with the chair. “Some coffee would be great.”

Kincade turned back toward me. I swallowed a smile, the closest I’d come to one since my baby died.

They had called me by my first name, like we were buddies, but they hadn’t given me theirs.

“Can I have your business cards, please?” I said. The two looked at each other. The guy held eyes with me for a second, then slid his card across the table. She followed suit. His first name was Gary, and hers, Diane. Gary spoke first.

“So, Annie, like I said, we’re both members of the Serious Crime Unit in Clayton Falls, and I was the lead investigator in your case.” Fat lot of good that did me.

“You don’t look like you’re from Clayton Falls,” I said.

One eyebrow rose. “Don’t I?” When I didn’t respond, he said, “A physician will be here shortly. He’ll want to—”

“I don’t need a doctor.”

We held eyes for a moment. He launched into general questions like my birth date, address, job, things like that. The tension in my shoulders eased.

He started to lead into the day I was taken, then stopped.

“Do you mind if we turn the video recorder back on, Annie?”

“Yes, Gary .” The way he kept using my first name reminded me of The Freak. “And I don’t want anyone behind that mirror, either.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you.” His chin down and his head tilted to the side, he looked up at me with blue-gray eyes. “But it would make my job a lot easier, Annie.”

Nice manipulation. But seeing as how I had just done his job by finding my own way back, I wasn’t inclined to help him out any further. They were both silent as they waited for me to agree, but I said nothing.

“Annie, what were you doing on August fourth of last year?” I couldn’t remember the date I was taken.

“I don’t know, Gary. If you’re asking about the day I disappeared, I was doing an open house, it was a Sunday, and it was the first weekend of the month. I guess you’ll have to figure it out from there yourself.”

“Would you prefer I not use your first name?”

Caught off guard by his respectful tone of voice, I searched his face for signs he was messing with me. All I found was sincerity, which left me wondering if it was just a trick to gain my trust or whether he actually gave a shit.

“It’s fine,” I said.

“What’s your mother’s middle name, Annie?”

“She doesn’t have one.” Leaning across the table, I said in an exaggerated whisper, “Did I pass the test yet?”

I understood his need for verification, but shit, they had pictures, and I’m pretty sure I didn’t look like a girl who’d just had a great year. I was skin and bones, with ratty hair and wearing a sweat-stained dress.

He finally got around to straight-out asking me what happened. I said The Freak grabbed me at the open house. I used his real name, though, or at least the one he’d given me. I was going to explain more, but Gary jumped back in.

“Where is he now?”

“He’s dead.” They both stared at me intently, but I wasn’t going any further until they answered some of my questions.

“Where’s my family?”

“We called your mother, she’ll be here tomorrow,” Gary said.

I started to tear up at the thought of seeing my mom again, so I stared down at the packsack and counted the lines in its fabric. But why wasn’t she here now? It had been hours since I walked into the joint. How much of a drive was it? It hadn’t taken these guys that long.