Sarah Durst - The Lost

“You upset a lot of people when you left,” I say. “They blamed me. Why did you leave? I said my name, and you bolted. Why?”

He peers into the kitchen and the living room. “You’ve done well here. Most citizens never achieve this level of normalcy. I’d hoped you would like this house.”

I am about to ask why again, but his statement derails me. “You did? How do you know this house? How did you know I’d come here?” I follow him into the dining room. Claire stands proudly beside the table. She’s folded the napkins, tucking down the used parts. They’re McDonald’s napkins that we found stuck to the fence by the side of the road. Her two bears plus Mr. Rabbit have their own seats at the table, and she’s placed baby plates in front of each of them.

“Of course I know this place. I brought it here for you,” he says. “And I found your old friend so you would feel at home.” He points to Mr. Rabbit. “I am only sorry that I could not help you more.”

I have no idea what to say to that. A million questions war in my head, and I can’t articulate a single one. I serve the pasta and sauce. Colin digs in. Nothing ever stops his appetite.

We eat in silence. My pasta tastes like sand. I think about Mom. And how I’ve failed her. How I am failing her. If I’d found what I lost, I could be home right now.

Claire looks from one of us to the other. She squirms in her seat, and I can tell it’s only seconds until she talks for me. I put down my fork and ball my hands together in my lap. “Will you help me?” I ask. “Help me find what I lost? Send me home?”

He pauses, fork halfway to his mouth. Sauce drips in a glob from the tip of his fork back to the plate. Droplets spatter onto his crisply starched shirt. He lowers his fork. “I can show you how it’s done.”

Colin leaps to his feet. “Please! Sir! Pick me!”

The Missing Man raises his eyebrows. Everything about him is refined, as if he does deserve to be called “sir.” “Very well. Come here, son.”

Colin shoots across the dining room.

I feel frozen to my seat. I can’t imagine what is going to happen. But what does is so simple that it looks...easy. The Missing Man places his hands on Colin’s shoulder. He looks him directly in the eye. “You were lost; you are found.”

And Colin fades. First, he’s translucent, and then he’s like a shadow of brightness in the room. Colin is beaming, his smile so wide that it transforms the shape of his face. And then he’s like fine mist over the water that dissipates. He waves at me and mouths the words, “Thank you.” In less than a second, he’s gone. The Missing Man turns back to the table and takes a bite of spaghetti. I feel like crying.

Claire is crying.

I realize I’ve heard those words before—in the Moonlight Diner. I think of the overfriendly woman, Merry. She’d said she was ready, and then I’d heard those words. And I’d never seen her again. He must have sent her home.

His gaze rests on Claire. “Come here, child. Your turn to go home.”

“Scottsdale, Arizona,” I say. “That’s where her parents are. Can you send her there?”

“She’ll return to the world in the place where she left it,” he says. “I cannot control where that is or what happens next.”

“No!” Claire shouts.

“Will anyone be there to help her?” I ask. “Who will take care of her? She needs to get to Scottsdale. Her parents moved after they lost her.”

The Missing Man frowns, looking like a disgruntled grandfather. It’s obvious he doesn’t appreciate the questions. But this is Claire. I can’t simply let her disappear without being sure she’ll be happy! “I do not see details,” he says. “But this will help her leave. Surely, you want that for her, if you care for her at all.”

“Of course I care! I just want some guarantee that when you ‘send her home’ or whatever voodoo you do, she’s happy!” I am standing and shouting, though I don’t remember at what point I leaped to my feet.

Claire runs to my side and wraps her arms around my waist. “I won’t go without her!”

I wrap my arms around her and look at the Missing Man.

He shakes his head. “The loss inside Lauren has not been filled. She cannot accompany you.”

Claire cries more. “Then I’m not going!”

I stroke her hair.

“This is the little girl’s chance to have a future,” the Missing Man says to me. “You cannot stand in the way of that.” He’s right. I know it. He sees me accept this, and he smiles as if to reassure me. I decide that the smile that seemed so fatherly and loving before now seems smug and self-righteous, and part of me wishes I hadn’t opened the door. But he is right. This is no place for a little girl. She can’t grow up here.

I kneel down so I’m at her level. “Claire.” I brush her hair back from her eyes and I wipe her wet cheeks with the heel of my hand. “I’ll find what I lost. And then I’ll find you as soon as I’m back in the world. I promise. But you have to be brave and strong like I know you are.”

She throws her arms around my neck and clings to me. “No! I won’t leave you!”

Gently, I pry her off of me. “You’ll do all the things that you should do. Go to school. Make friends. Learn to play that violin. Have as much of a childhood as you still can. And then you’ll grow up, and you can make whatever dreams you want come true. You can be who you’re meant to be.”

She sniffs. “You’re only saying that because you think you’re supposed to. If the world was so wonderful, you wouldn’t be here.” I open my mouth to reply, and I remember how I swore to myself I wouldn’t lie to her. Thinking of Mom, I can’t think of anything to say. Prying herself away from me, she faces the Missing Man. He holds out his hand to her. She spits at him and runs.

Startled, he freezes. Claire darts out of the dining room and through the hallway. The door slams. For an instant, I think, Run, Claire! And then I think I’ve destroyed any hope for her future. I race after her. She’s left the door swinging open, and I run outside. I see her little head bob up and down between the weeds, and I run after her.

“Claire! Come back, Claire!”

My words echo over the landscape, as if the wind has taken them and turned them over and over like tumbleweeds. I have been so careful not to make any loud noises outside for weeks that I instantly wish that I could call my shout back and swallow the words whole.

I should have known she’d run. I knew what she’d lost. And what she’s found. It doesn’t take a Ph.D. in psychology to figure it out. She lost family, and she found me.

I aim for the alleys. I have a guess where she’d run.

It’s already dusk, and shadows lie layered over shadows. If I’m lucky, I’ll find her fast and we’ll be home before it’s truly dark. If I’m not... Images of the feral dogs spring into my mind, their teeth, their growls, and Claire’s small body. I firmly banish those images. If I’m not, then I’ll find her at Peter’s apartment on the oversize plush chair with her imaginary tea, and we’ll return home in the morning.

Ahead, I see them: the narrow apartment buildings. Crowded close, they remind me of bodies on a bus, shoulders mashed together. Dodging junk piles, I run toward the buildings, and then I plunge into an alley.

The alley is as dank and dark as I remember it. The brick walls lean in toward each other, cutting off the last vestiges of daylight. I feel buried in twilight. Beside me, a rat scurries past, and the cardboard boxes shift and rustle. I pick up what could be the same trash can lid that I had tossed weeks ago. The weight of it makes me feel better.