Chevy Stevens - Still Missing

It was during that endless confusion of questions, an over-attentive mother, and drug-happy doctors that Luke and I had our awkward reunion. Christina was spared the same treatment since she was on a Mediterranean cruise at the time. Aunt Val also made the trip, delivering an enormous bouquet of flowers, but Mom allowed her only fifteen minutes of small talk before she told her I needed rest. I actually found Aunt Val more sensitive than usual, even asking if there was anything she could get me, “anything at all.” She must have said something that pissed Mom off, because I didn’t see her again until I got home.

I’d been there for about eight days when Mom and Wayne headed back to Clayton Falls—the hotel was too expensive for them. Once they were gone I realized I’d been letting Mom, the cops, and the doctors decide what was best for me. It was time I made a few of my own decisions.

The next morning, I stopped the nurse about to give me more drugs. The doctor who was called in said either I took them or I consented to see a shrink. I’d been refusing to see one up to that point, but by then I’d have agreed to anything just to get the hell out.

They were such a small hospital they didn’t have a psych ward or a resident psychiatrist, so they brought in some kid who must have been straight from shrink school. Even though his questions were ridiculous, I made myself sound sane while still managing to shed enough tears so he wouldn’t think I was handling things too well. I’d rather have walked over hot coals than tell that guy how I really felt.

The doctors wouldn’t let me have any newspapers, and boredom was making me bitchy. Gary started to bring me fashion magazines, probably in self-defense, when he came to talk to me.

“Want me to cut out some photos of designer suits for you?” I said the first time he handed me one.

He grinned and tossed a couple of chocolate bars on the bed. “Here, maybe these will keep that smart mouth of yours busy.”

He also started to bring me coffee laced with hot chocolate, and one time he brought some crossword puzzle books. I didn’t mind the questions so much when he came bearing gifts. In fact, he was becoming the highlight of my day. It didn’t hurt that his voice was so low and smooth. Sometimes I just closed my eyes, focusing in on his voice. He had to repeat a few of his questions more than once, but he never sounded annoyed—amused, but never annoyed.

When I asked him to explain about his job and rank, he told me he had a sergeant, two corporals, and a few constables working under him. So he was the top dog—not of the whole office, but of the Serious Crime Unit, and that was reassuring. He always clammed up when I asked him specific questions about the investigation, though, and said he’d tell me when they had “concrete information.”

Once he came in during the tail end of one of my shrink sessions and turned to leave, but I asked him to stay. The shrink said, “Do you think you might have some anger towards the man who abducted you?” Gary raised an eyebrow at me behind his back, and I had to struggle not to laugh.

After about two weeks of doctors, hospital Jell-O, and pacing my room, the shrink gave me a final assessment and said he didn’t see any reason why I couldn’t go home, but the doctors had to review the assessment before I could be released. I didn’t have any more freedom than I’d had on the mountain.

Apparently the shrink said my actions were “consistent” with the trauma I’d endured, and the Crown had officially decided not to put forth any charges. Guess the pipsqueak was good for something, after all. But still no word from the doctors about when I’d be released.

Gary told me the RCMP was paying close attention to my case because they needed to learn everything they could about The Freak, not only to help solve cold cases but for future investigations as well. Sometimes we took a break from talking about the mountain and instead he caught me up on world events, or we just sat and did crossword puzzles together. It had been days since the shrink’s assessment.

“You have to get me out of here,” I said when Gary waltzed in with two coffees one morning. “The shrink said I was fine to go home, the doctors are just dicking around, and I’m going crazy . I’m being treated like a goddamn prisoner. I’m supposed to be the victim here—this is bullshit.”

He set the coffees down on the bedside table and with a decisive nod strolled back out the door. Within a half hour he was standing at the foot of my bed.

“You just have to hang on for one more night. You’ll be out in the morning.”

Pulling myself up into a sitting position, I said, “You didn’t shoot someone, did you?”

“Nothing that drastic, I just lit a little fire under them.”

Something told me there was more to it than that, but before I could press for details he picked up the crossword book from the bedside table, lowered himself into the chair, and said, “Hmmm. Maybe you’re not so smart after all—couldn’t finish this one, huh?”

“ Hey , you came in and interrupted me, I was doing just fine.”

As he stretched out his long legs in front of him and crossed them at the ankles, I caught a suppressed smile on his face and realized he’d just done a great job of changing the subject.

Mom told me in the hospital my house was rented out, and I was so glad to hear it wasn’t sold I didn’t think about having nowhere to live until Gary said I was getting released. I thought about asking Christina if I could stay at her place, but her ship still wasn’t back in port, then Mom called and said they were coming back up to get me. I knew it would be a huge scene if I told her I didn’t want to stay in the trailer, so I figured I’d just deal with it when I got home.

The morning of my release Gary warned us photographers were probably waiting outside and suggested we go out the back, but Wayne and Mom had come in the front and Mom didn’t see any. Of course the second we left, a swarm descended upon us. Mom walked in front of me and pleaded with the media to “give us some time.” But you could barely hear her as we fought our way through the surging crowd.

We pulled into a gas station just outside of Port Northfield, and Mom went inside to pay while Wayne pumped. I hid in the backseat. When Mom got back in the car she tossed a newspaper over the seat and, shaking her head, said, “Someone has a big mouth.”

MISSING REALTOR RELEASED FROM HOSPITAL! Underneath the front-page headline was an old business photo of me. While Wayne pulled away from the gas station, I read on in shock. An “unidentified source” had informed them I was being released from the hospital today. According to Staff Sergeant Gary Kincade of Clayton Falls, I wasn’t under investigation, I was a brave young woman, they were working hard on identifying the deceased perpetrator….

I’d never told the cops my baby’s name, but someone had told the newspapers I’d had one, because the article quoted a specialist’s opinion on the effect my baby’s death might have had on me. I chucked the newspaper onto the floor and ground my feet into it.

Good thing you were able to fit me in today, Doc. If I’d had to deal with this latest shitstorm by myself for much longer, you’d have been visiting me in the nut house. Then again, it’s probably a hell of a lot safer in there. I’m sure you’ve seen me in the news again. Who the fuck hasn’t?

A couple of nights ago I pulled out the older photo The Freak had of me. Didn’t seem to be any tack marks and I still couldn’t for the life of me think why I’d have had that one at my office. But no matter how much I’ve tried to focus on where else it might have come from, the only image that ever comes to mind is The Freak holding it up like a prize.