Chevy Stevens - Still Missing

“Was he attacking you at the time?”

“No.”

“Why did you kill him, Annie?”

I looked up and met his eyes. What a stupid fucking question.

“Maybe because he abducted me, beat me, raped me pretty much every night, and…” I stopped myself before I said anything about the baby.

“Would you feel more comfortable talking with just Constable Bouchard about this?” Gary’s face was grave as he waited for me to answer.

Staring back at them, I wanted to smear Diane’s sympathetic expression across her face. I knew I’d rather deal with Gary’s tough, no-muss-no-fuss approach than get one more understanding look from her.

I shook my head and Gary made another note. Then he leaned in so close across the table I smelled cinnamon on his breath.

“When did you kill him?” His voice was quiet but it wasn’t soft.

“A couple of days ago.”

“Why didn’t you leave right away?”

“I couldn’t.”

“Why not? Were you restrained?” Gary’s fingers tapped on the table and his head was cocked.

“That’s not what I meant.” I wanted to get up and walk out the door, but the firmness in his voice had me nailed to my chair.

“So why couldn’t you leave?”

“I was looking for something.” Bile rose in my throat.

“What?”

My body grew even colder, and Gary’s edges blurred in front of my eyes.

“We found a basket,” he said. “And some baby clothes.”

The stupid rickety ceiling fan creaked as it went around and around, and I wondered for a minute whether it would crash down on my head. There were no windows, and I couldn’t get a deep breath of air.

“Is there a baby, Annie?”

My head pounded. I would not cry.

“Is there a baby, Annie?” Gary wouldn’t shut the fuck up.

“No.”

“ Was there a baby, Annie?” His voice was gentle.

“Yes.”

“Where’s the baby now?”

“She… my baby. Died.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that, Annie.” His voice was still gentle, soft and low. Sounded like he meant it. “That’s a terrible thing. How did your baby die?” He was the first person to express condolences. The first person to say it mattered that she’d died. I looked at all the little ripped-up pieces of Styrofoam on the table. Someone answered him, but I didn’t feel like it was me.

“He just… I don’t know.”

I clung to the calm in Gary’s voice as he said, very gently, “Where’s her body, Annie?”

The strange voice answered again. “When I woke up, he had her. She was dead. I don’t know where he took her, he wouldn’t tell me. I looked everywhere. Everywhere . You guys have to look, okay? Please, can you find her, can you—” My voice broke, and I shut up.

Gary’s shoulders stiffened, his face flushed under his tan as his jaw tightened, and his hands balled into fists on the table like he wanted to punch someone. At first I thought he was mad at me, but then I realized he was furious at The Freak. Diane’s eyes were shiny in the fluorescent light. All the walls closed in. My body was drenched in sweat, and sobs tried to come out of my throat but I couldn’t breathe and they piled up, strangling me. When I tried to stand, the room tilted, so I dropped the packsack and gripped the back of the chair, but it started to slide. My ears rang.

Diane rushed to my side and lowered me slowly until I was lying on the floor, halfway across her, with my head on her chest and her arms encircling me. The harder I tried to suck some air into my lungs, the more my throat closed up. I was going to die there on that cold floor.

Crying and gagging at the same time, I pushed Diane’s hands off me and tried to pull away from her, but the harder I struggled, the harder she hung on. I heard screaming, realized it was me. I was powerless to stop the screams, which bounced off the walls and echoed in my head.

Up came the coffee and muffin, all over myself and Diane. She still wouldn’t let me go. My head rested on her huge boobs, which smelled like warm vanilla cookies. Gary crouched in front of us, saying something I couldn’t hear. As Diane rocked me back and forth in her arms, I wanted to struggle and take back control, but my mind and body wouldn’t cooperate. I lay there, sobbing and screaming.

The screaming finally stopped, but I felt so cold, and everyone’s voices seemed to be coming from far away. Diane whispered, “Everything’s going to be okay, Annie—you’re safe now.”

What a crock. I wanted to tell her I was never going to be okay, or safe, but when I tried to form the words, my lips froze. Then there was a new set of feet in front of me next to Gary’s crouched figure. A voice said, “She’s hyperventilating. Annie, my name is Dr. Berger. Try to take some deep breaths.” But I couldn’t. And I don’t remember anything after that.

So I finally heard from Gary at last, Doc, but I’m not sure I feel any better. He didn’t tell me where he’d been—I didn’t ask and he didn’t offer—which annoyed me a little. When I told him about the timing of the robberies and my new “freaky friend” theory, he said the kid could be changing his pattern to throw off the cops, or it could be a crime of opportunity—he might have just been walking by and seen me leave with Emma.

I was still mulling that over when he said, “These guys usually work alone.” Usually? I asked him what the hell that meant, and he said he knew of a couple of cases where two guys worked together—one the finder and one the doer—but he doubted that was the case here because it didn’t fit with The Freak’s profile. Then he said, “And other than his comment about the cabin being hard to set up, he never did or said anything to make you think he had a partner, right?”

“Guess not. But he had an older picture of me, and that’s weirding me out big time.”

“What photo? You never mentioned a photo.”

Then he started hitting me with the same questions I’ve been asking myself. Where could The Freak have gotten it from? Why would he have wanted that one in particular? And then he said something that still doesn’t make sense. He said, “So anyone had easy access to the photo if it was at your office.” His final question was, “Does anyone know you brought it back with you?” When I said no, he told me to keep it that way.

It was the first time I can remember feeling worse after talking with him. Put me in such a bad mood I took it out on Luke. I just don’t know what’s going on with us these days anyway. I figured our visit and honest talk would bring us closer, but when we’ve chatted lately there was a lot of dead air, and the last time he phoned I ended the call, told him I was heading to bed. I wasn’t even tired.

I can’t seem to let go of the fact that Luke was late that day. Was he being nice to some customer while I was being abducted? Why didn’t he drive to the open house as soon as he realized I wasn’t home? And why the hell didn’t he call the cops the second he knew something was wrong? Calling Mom could have waited. It’s horribly judgmental, because God only knows how I’d have handled things if I were in his shoes, but I keep thinking every second he delayed lessened any chance of my being found.

During our relationship I saw him as laid back but now I’m beginning to wonder if he’s just passive. He’ll complain about a waitress or one of his cooks, but he doesn’t do anything about it.

The whole time Luke and I were together he was never anything but patient, loving, honest—just so nice. Sometimes, like right before I was abducted, I wondered if I should be wanting something more than nice, but on the mountain all I ever thought about him was how wonderful he was. Now he’s still being patient, loving, and honest—he’s the nicest man I know. So what the hell’s wrong with me?