Джордан Шор - The Search

“Are you all right, dear?” Irene asked Trisha.

Trisha Boyle wiped the tears from her eyes, before she stuttered, “Yes, I’m fine . ”

Mrs. Daniels seemed relieved. “I’m glad, dear.”

“What a lovely dog you have,” Trisha said. “And what a great name by the way.”

George realized he must have dozed off sometime during the previous conversation because he had no idea what the dog’s name was.

“It’s not my dog,” Irene said, and kept her eyes on the dog.

“Oh, is it David’s dog?” Trisha asked.

“No, the dog belongs to her.”

George detected a deeper tone in Mrs. Daniels’s voice, and Trisha Boyle looked startled by the drastic change in the elderly woman’s mood.

“She didn’t care about the dog before, but now, she suddenly wants him back,” Irene said in the same deep tone. “She never cared about David either. She lured him. She’s the devil in disguise and sinks her claws into whatever comes her way.”

Trisha looked genuinely frightened. “Are you all right, Irene?”

“There will come a day when she can’t hide no more. Hide behind all her lies. She can lie in court, but she can’t lie in front of our Lord,” Irene said, and kept her focus on the dog. “There will be a reckoning, and on that day, she will get all she deserves.”

George felt as if he’d witnessed a reverse exorcism, and a demon was now in possession of Mrs. Daniels’ body. Trisha looked at him as though she asking for his assistance. George cleared his throat before he spoke for the first time in the past hour.

“His ex-wife gets the dog?” he asked the demon .

“They’re still married. The divorce isn’t final.” Mrs. Daniels turned her head slowly and looked at George. “Oh, I bet she’s having a laugh now.”

George understood perfectly what Mrs. Daniels meant by the last remark. If the divorce wasn’t final, then the wife could claim the insurance policy as well as any potential legal claims against the airline.

George swallowed. “David only listed you as his emergency contact. We didn’t know about his wife. May I ask what her name is?” He tried his best to disguise his nervous tone.

“Sharon . ” Irene pronounced the name only with her lower lip.

“Sharon Daniels?” he asked.

“No, she’ll go by her maiden name now,” Irene responded. “Her name is Stone. Much like her heart.”

Trisha looked as if she’d have seen a ghost. “Sharon’s maiden name is Stone?”

George got the impression the elderly woman didn’t understand the reference to the famous American actress. He also thought Trisha Boyle looked as if she was about to be sick, or possibly burst into tears.

“Irene, may I please use your bathroom?” Trisha asked in a quivering voice.

And just like that, Mrs. Daniels was suddenly loosed from the demon’s spell of hatred, and her nurturing side returned. Now, the elderly woman smiled at Trisha.

“Yes, certainly, dear. It’s the second door on the right, just past the hallway.”

George watched Trisha walk through the living room. Then, she suddenly stopped in the hallway and desperately searched through her purse. At first, George felt curious as to why she would go through the content of her purse on her way to the bathroom. But then, he saw his reflection in the hallway mirror, and noticed Mrs. Daniels’ condescending stare in the background. At that moment, he realized he was invading Trisha’s privacy.

George quickly averted his eyes. “Thank you again for the apple pie. It was truly amazing, Mrs. Daniels. May I ask if you made it yourself?” George felt confident he already knew the answer to the question.

“Call me Irene. Yes, I made it from scratch. I use apples from my own garden,” Irene said. “David loves apples. Even as a grown man, he loved to bake an apple pie with me, whenever he came to visit. At least when he came on his own.”

For a second, it would appear that the demon was back. But then, Irene lowered her eyes, only to suddenly raise them again and look at George with a stiff smile.

“David used to sell apples by the side of the road when he was a young boy. He was very creative as a child. He’d always find some use for whatever came his way.”

George’s phone vibrated in his pocket. Even though tempted to read the text message, he decided not to when he saw the judgmental look on Irene’s face. He made sure to smile politely at her, to underline his courteous manner.

“The secret is to brush the crust with egg whites. It makes the crust crispy.”

George pretended to care and nodded his head accordingly. He was just about to ask for the recipe when his phone vibrated once more.

He reached for his phone. “Excuse me.”

“Oh , I’m sure you’re a busy man,” Irene said.

George wondered if the last remark was meant as an insult, or as a gesture of understanding. However, as soon as he saw the message, he couldn’t care less. He recognized the phone number from this morning. The message however, was blank, completely free of words.

George turned his head and saw Trisha standing in the hallway. She appeared to be hiding from Irene, and was out of the elderly woman’s view. She had her cell phone in her hand, and the screen was facing George’s way. It was too far away for him to make out the words, but he could tell she wanted him to see a list displayed on a white background. Trisha kept staring back at him with a face of horror and disbelief. She looked like a young child who’d stumbled into the wrong bedroom and caught her parents in the act. She seemed appalled and terrified at having discovered the truth. Then George noticed his reflection in the hallway mirror, and realized he had the same look on his face.

George then looked at the first text message Trisha Boyle had sent him.

Tuesday evening

Her eyes were wide open, but she had nothing to see except for darkness; the moonlight couldn’t penetrate the clouds.

She sat with her back against the sloping tree trunk, her hands tight around a large branch she held across her chest. Hearing a low, cracking sound escaping the dark woods, she shuddered and rose to her feet. The branch high up in the air, she was ready to swing.

She feared wolves were closing in on her, so she leaned directly against the tree trunk and kept swinging the branch back and forth.

“Go away!” she screamed as loudly as she could.

She eventually lowered the branch and sat down, her back once again against the rough embrace of the tree.

Suddenly, she heard another cracking sound, but this time, the sound was closer. She jolted once more and jumped to her feet, ignoring the sharp pain assaulting her ankle. The sound was too loud to have been caused by wolves.

“Is that you?” Her voice shook.

She was met with silence.

She dropped the branch on the ground as she knew she would have no chance to defeat him in a fight. And she couldn’t run away from him—she could hardly walk. Her only chance was to swallow her pride and beg for her life, hoping he would forgive her.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she lied.

She tried her best to cry as loudly as possible, hoping he’d feel sorry for her.

“I was just so angry with you,” she said in a quivering voice. “I wasn’t thinking straight.”

She made sure to breathe frantically, so she would sound as she were sobbing.

“I’m so sorry. Can you forgive me?” she said and kept pretending to cry.

Tuesday evening