Chris Mooney - The Missing

'I'm not going to hurt you,' Darby said. 'I just want to talk.'

The woman didn't look at her so much as through her. Vacant eyes, Darby thought.

Then, incredibly, the vacant sign disappeared. The woman's eyes came into focus, narrowing first in recognition, then widening in surprise mixed with, what, relief? Was that it?

'Terry? Terry, is that you?'

Use it. Whatever it is, use it.

'It's me.' Darby's mouth was dry. 'I'm here to -'

'Lower your voice, he's watching.' The woman pointed with her chin at the porch ceiling.

There was nothing on the ceiling but spiderwebs and the dried-out husk of an old hornet's nest.

'I'll shut off the flashlight,' Darby said. 'That way he won't see us.'

'Okay, good. That's good. You were always smart, Terry.'

Darby turned off the flashlight. The flashing blue and whites blinked through the spaces between the latticework. The woman was still holding on to the barrel, still using it as a barrier.

Ask her name? No. She already believes I know her. Darby didn't want to risk breaking the connection. Better off going along with the delusion.

'I thought you were dead,' the woman said.

'Why did you think that?'

'You were screaming. You were screaming for me to come help you and I couldn't reach you in time.' The woman's face crumbled. You weren't moving, and you were bleeding. I tried to wake you up and you didn't move.'

'I fooled him.'

'I did, too. I fooled him real good this time, Terry.' The woman grinned and Darby had to look away. 'I knew what he was going to do when he put me in the van, and I was ready.'

'What color was his van?'

'Black. He's still out there, Terry.'

'Did you see a license plate?'

'He's looking for me – for us.'

'Who's looking for us? What's his name?'

'We've got to hide until the screaming stops.'

'I know a way out,' Darby said. 'Come on, I'll show you.'

The woman didn't move, didn't answer. She continued her examination of the porch ceiling. She was crouched behind the other side of an overturned barrel, holding it in a way to keep anyone from getting close to her.

Two choices: She could go in there and see if she could somehow guide the woman out, or she could let the patrolmen take care of it.

Darby moved the barrel blocking the door. When the woman didn't scream, Darby slid underneath the porch.

'I'm going to come closer so we can talk,' Darby said. 'Okay?'

Darby crawled across the muddy ground of spilled trash, soda cans and newspapers. The most atrocious body odor she had ever smelled hit her. She dry-heaved, coughed.

'You okay, Terry? Please tell me you're okay.'

'I'm fine.' Darby was breathing through her mouth now. She leaned her back against the wall. She sat less than two feet away, on the other side of the barrel. The woman wasn't wearing pants or shoes. Bones jutted out from underneath her skin.

'Did you see Jimmy?' the woman asked.

Darby had an idea. 'I saw him, but I didn't recognize him at first.'

'You've been gone away for a long time. I bet he's changed a lot.'

'He has, but it's… I'm having trouble remembering things. Small things, like my last name.'

'It's Mastrangelo. Terry Mastrangelo. Will you introduce me to Jimmy? After everything you've told me, I feel like I know him as much as you do.'

'I'm sure he'd like that. But first, we have to get out of here.'

'There's no way out, only places to hide.'

'I found a way out.'

'You've got to stop that foolish thinking. I tried, remember? We both did.'

'I came back for you, didn't I?' Darby took off her windbreaker and held it across the barrel. 'Put this on. It will keep you warm.'

The woman went to grab the jacket, then pulled her hand away.

'What's wrong?'

'I'm afraid you'll disappear again,' the woman said. 'I don't want you to disappear on me again.'

'Go ahead and take it. I won't disappear, I promise.'

It took several minutes of thinking, but finally, the woman touched the jacket. The terror, the pain and fear – all of it seemed to collapse. She hugged the jacket against her chest, burying her face in the fabric and rocking back and forth, back and forth.

The ambulance was here now. It had pulled up to the bottom of the driveway without the sirens or spinning red lights. Thank God for small favors.

'You really found a way out?' the woman asked.

'I did. And I'm going to take you out with me.'

Every part of Darby's body screamed at her not to do it, but she ignored the warning and held out her hand.

The woman gripped it fiercely. Two of her fingers had been recently broken and had healed at sharp, painful angles. Splinters covered her arms.

The woman was watching the ceiling again.

'There's nothing to be afraid of anymore,' Darby said. 'You're going to hold my hand and we're going to walk out this door together. You're safe.'

Much to Darby's surprise (and her considerable relief), the woman didn't scream or put up a fight when she stepped out into the driveway of blinking lights. She squeezed Darby's hand.

'Nobody here is going to hurt you,' Darby said, reaching for her umbrella. She didn't want to risk having the rain wash away any potential evidence. 'Nobody here is going to hurt you, I promise.'

The woman pressed the jacket against her face and started sobbing. Darby slipped an arm around the woman's waist. Her bones felt as frail and as delicate as a bird's.

Taking slow, careful steps, she guided the woman toward the waiting ambulance. Standing by the front doors were two EMTs. One of them was holding a syringe.

There was no way around this part. They had to sedate her. Best to do it out here, in the open, in case things turned nasty again. It would be harder to confine her inside the ambulance's tight space.

Both EMTs circled behind the woman. Cops were hovering close by, ready to intervene, if necessary.

'We're almost there,' Darby whispered. 'Just keep holding my hand, and everything will be fine.'

The EMT sunk the needle into the woman's buttock. Darby tensed, bracing herself for the worst. The woman didn't flinch.

When the woman's eyes fluttered, the EMTs took over.

'Don't strap her in yet,' Darby said. I'm going to need her shirt and to take some pictures.'

Coop was already standing outside with his kit. There wasn't much space to work in the ambulance. Darby, small and petite, got inside while Coop stood near the back doors. They wore masks to help with the odor. The woman's sick, raspy breathing could be heard over the rain pelting the ambulance roof.

Mary Beth handed Darby the camera. She took pictures of the woman lying on her back, then closeups of the tear marks on the black T-shirt.

Using a pair of scissors, Darby cut a straight line up the T-shirt's neckline, and then made two more cuts, one to each armpit. She slid the T-shirt off the woman's body, exposing her chest. The pale skin, marred with thick scars and sores and cuts that hadn't healed, had sunken far below the ribs.

'It's a miracle she didn't die of heart arrhythmia,' Mary Beth said.

Darby moved the woman onto her side. She folded the T-shirt and dropped it inside the evidence bag Coop was holding.

'Let's get fingernail scrapings,' Darby said.

Darby did an oral swab on the insides of the woman's cheeks. Coop used a wooden toothpick under the woman's thumbnail. It tore in half and started to bleed.

'What the hell happened to her?' Coop asked.

I wish to God I knew.'Let's get her fingerprinted,' Darby said.

The Serology Lab is a long and airy rectangular room of black-slab countertops often referred to as benches. The high windows overlook some green hills, twin basketball courts and, directly below them, a concrete promenade with picnic tables where people ate lunch in the nice weather.