David Bell - The Hiding Place

“Do you remember me, Janet?” he asked.

“I’m trying to figure that out.” She tried to keep her voice level. “Who are you?”

“I lived here in Dove Point when I was a kid. I have to admit I didn’t really like it very much.”

“You didn’t like Dove Point?”

“I guess I didn’t like being a kid,” he said. The man smiled a little, but it looked forced, like some pressure existed behind his lips he was trying to hold in. “People control us when we’re kids. They hold us back. They do things to keep us in line.”

“I wish you’d tell me what you know about Justin.”

The man looked at Janet, considered her. “I didn’t always meet people who had my best interests in mind when I was a child. It wasn’t easy at all.”

“I’m sorry.”

“My mother died. My father didn’t care.”

“I’m sorry. My mother died, too.”

“Yes,” he said. “I saw that in the article. That must have happened after I left town.” He looked around again. His lips were dry and cracked. They looked painful to Janet. “I thought that was…particularly sad.”

“Why?”

“Mothers.” He shrugged. “Are you and your daughter close, Janet?”

Janet squirmed in her seat. “I’d prefer you didn’t ask or talk about her.”

The man shrugged again. “The newspaper mentioned her. It must be difficult-”

“You need to tell me what you came to tell me, or I’m going to leave. I might leave anyway, but I’ll leave even sooner if you don’t start telling me about Justin. You said you knew something.”

“I do. But I have to tell you something about me first.”

“Why? What’s the connection between you and Justin?”

He held up a finger, asking for patience.

Janet wanted to bolt. She shifted her feet. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She couldn’t walk away from him. Janet told herself she needed to let go of the notion that this man was Justin-but she couldn’t. His face, the similarities…the hints he dropped in conversation…There was something there.

“We’re a lot alike, Janet. You and I. We share certain experiences from our childhoods. We’ve both lost things. Precious things. Pieces of our families and of ourselves.”

“Because we both lost our mothers? What does this have to do with-?”

“You lost a member of your family,” the man said. “He was taken away.”

“What do you know about that?”

“I was taken away from my family,” he said.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“I was taken away from them,” he said. “Taken.”

“Kidnapped?” Janet’s control slipped. She moved closer to the man. “Who took you? You mean in the park?”

“I’ve seen you, Janet. Your house, your family.”

“You have been to my house-?”

“I never had that. A home like that one.”

“Why didn’t you? Do you mean the house I live in? Is that what you’re talking about? Tell me.”

She reached out and took his hand. Squeezed it inside her own. The man didn’t return the squeeze, but he didn’t back away or seem put off. He left his hand in hers for long moments, their flesh touching. Connection, Janet thought. There was something there, something she felt about this man-

Janet couldn’t stop herself.

“Justin?” she said. “Is it you? Justin?”

The man’s eyes widened. He did pull back. His hand slipped out of Janet’s as he stood up.

“Not yet,” he said. “Not yet.”

“Now,” Janet said. “Tell me what you know. We’ve been waiting a long time.”

But the man was backing away from the bench, his pace increasing with every step. He turned and started jogging away, across the quad.

Janet didn’t think. She simply acted.

She kicked off her shoes and started after the man, running through the dry grass. She thought she’d never catch him, but he didn’t seem to be running all out. She closed the gap between them quickly, reaching out her hand until she took hold of his shirt.

Did he want to be caught?

He stopped running, and Janet stopped next to him. She was out of breath from the short, intense burst across the quad. She hadn’t done anything like that in years. It felt like being a kid again. Running, chasing, tagging-

Janet looked the man right in the eye, worked up the ability to speak.

She managed to get a fractured, breathless sentence out.

“Tell me what you know,” she said.

“We need to be closer before I can tell you,” he said. “We need to know each other better.”

“Bullshit. You’re a liar, and I’m calling the police. My friend is probably calling the police right now. She probably saw me running after you.”

The man shook his head. “That won’t help,” he said. “That won’t do anyone any good at all.”

He started running again, faster than before and away from her. He didn’t look back.

Janet didn’t go after him this time. She was too tired. She couldn’t will herself to give chase.

But she managed one more word. She called it but doubted the man heard her.

“Justin!”

He kept on going.

When the man was gone, his body disappearing out of sight as he ran across the quad, Janet didn’t know what to do. She noticed her legs were shaking, her knees loose as though someone or something had removed the tendons and ligaments that held them in their proper place.

She needed to sit down.

Janet went back to the bench she had sat on with the man and let her body fall onto it. Her back thumped against the wood slats. At another time, it might have hurt, but Janet didn’t even notice the contact.

It couldn’t be, she told herself. It couldn’t be.

Michael was right. There was a body and a grave and a funeral.

Justin was gone.

So then why did this man come to Janet saying Justin’s death didn’t happen the way she thought it happened-the way everyone thought it happened? And why did he say he knew her but wouldn’t give his name?

Janet’s mouth felt dry. She needed water. But she couldn’t move. She sat on the bench, staring at the grass.

What did it all mean?

A hand touched her shoulder. Janet whipped her head around.

“Hon? Are you okay?”

It was Madeline. She looked down at Janet, a confused and concerned look on her face.

“What?” Janet asked.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did that man do something to you?”

“I’m fine.”

“Do you want me to call campus security?”

“No,” Janet said. Her voice came out strong and harsh, like she was correcting a child. She moderated it when Madeline looked like she’d been slapped. “It’s okay. Thanks. I’m fine.”

Madeline sat down on the bench close to Janet.

“Hon, who was that man?” she asked.

“He was-he just wanted money.”

“He’s a beggar?”

“I guess,” Janet said.

“But you ran after him. You looked like you knew him.”

“I thought he needed help.”

Madeline didn’t look convinced. Her brow furrowed. “I saw things getting weird between the two of you, so I came out. I heard you say something to him when he ran away. I heard your voice.”

“I told him to go away.”

“You said a name, Janet. You called him by a name.”

“I didn’t. I don’t know the man’s name.” Janet patted Madeline on the knee, a gesture of thanks. “He just freaked me out, but I’m fine. Let’s go back to work, okay?”

Stynes recognized the symmetry of it all. He’d started his day in East, easily the worst part of Dove Point. He headed west in the late afternoon to the neighborhood a few blocks outside of downtown where the oldest and nicest houses in Dove Point stood. Those homes didn’t change much, nor did the types of families who lived inside them. The names changed in some cases, and generations came and went. But by and large the occupants were still doctors and lawyers, prominent insurance agents and bankers. The homes rarely sold, and when they did, they went for a price that Stynes could only dream of spending.