Richard Chizmar - Gwendy's Magic Feather

The doorbell rings again—and she almost screams.

Stepping back, she unlocks the deadbolt and swings the door open.

“Jesus, Sheriff. You could have called before you—”

“Another girl’s gone missing. Right down the road from here.”

“What? When?”

“Call came in about an hour ago.” Sheriff Ridgewick reaches down to his belt and adjusts the volume on his radio. “The girl’s father said she was ice skating at the pond with friends. Some of the older kids had a bonfire going and maybe twenty-five or thirty people were there. Another parent was supposed to be watching her, but she got to talking with a neighbor, and you know how that goes. No one noticed the girl was missing until it was time to go.”

“Your men checked the ice?” Gwendy asks, knowing it’s a dumb question even before it leaves her mouth.

“We did,” he says, nodding. “But it’s been solid for at least six weeks now. No way she fell in.”

“So now what? You search the area—and what else?”

“I’ve got officers combing the surrounding woods and side streets. We also set up roadblocks in a couple of locations, but if whoever took her stuffed her in the trunk and started driving right away, they’re long gone by now. The rest of my people are knocking on doors up and down View Drive, asking folks if they’ve seen anything suspicious the past few days.”

Gwendy’s face drops. “I think you better come in, Sheriff.” She takes a step back to give him room. “I have something I need to tell you, and I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

THE BLONDE REPORTER FROM Channel Five holds the microphone in front of Sheriff Ridgewick’s face as he speaks. She’s wearing a fluffy light blue winter beanie that matches her coat and her make-up is perfect, despite the whipping wind and freezing cold temperature. The sheriff, eyes watering and cheeks raw, looks tired and miserable.

“…is currently underway for Deborah Parker, a resident of the nineteen-hundred block of View Drive. Miss Parker is fourteen years old and a freshman at Castle Rock High School.”

A color photograph of a smiling teenage girl with metal braces and dark brown curly hair appears in the upper right-hand corner of the television screen.

“She’s five-foot-two-inches tall, weighs one hundred and five pounds, and has brown hair and brown eyes. She was last seen earlier this evening at approximately 7:30 PM. ice skating with friends at Fortier Pond. If anyone has any information as to Deborah Parker’s whereabouts or witnessed anything out of the ordinary in the Castle View area, please contact the Castle Rock Sheriff’s Department at…”

GWENDY HAS NEVER LAID eyes on the man standing outside of the sheriff’s office before, but she can smell his press credentials a mile away. It also helps that she can see the mini-recorder he’s palming in his left hand.

“Congresswoman Peterson,” he says, cutting her off by the entrance. “Any comment on the missing girls?”

“And you are?” she asks.

He pulls a laminated ID card out from under his jacket and extends it as far as the lanyard will permit. “Ronald Blum, Portland Press Herald .”

“I’m here this morning to be briefed by Sheriff Ridgewick. I’ll leave it to him to issue any official statements.” She starts to walk away.

“Is it true that there’ve been other unsuccessful recent attempts to abduct young girls here in Castle Rock?”

Gwendy pulls opens the door and lets it swing closed in the reporter’s face. He shouts something else, but she can’t make it out through the heavy glass.

The stationhouse is buzzing this morning. A handful of officers sit at their desks talking on the telephone and jotting down notes. Several others are gathered in front of a bulletin board, examining a large map of Castle Rock. There’s a line at the coffee machine and another in front of the Xerox copier. Gwendy spots Sheila Brigham in her cubicle and heads that way.

The veteran dispatcher is busy talking to someone on her headset, and judging by the annoyed look on her face, she’s been stuck on the line for quite some time. She sees Gwendy approach and covers the microphone with her hand. “Go on back. It’s a shit-show here today.”

Gwendy waves thank you and walks down the narrow hallway. This time the door to Sheriff Ridgewick’s office is closed. She knocks three times for luck.

“Come in,” a muffled voice says.

She opens the door and steps inside. The sheriff is standing at the window, staring outside. “That reporter get you on the way in?”

She nods. “I didn’t have much to say.”

“I appreciate that,” he says, turning around and looking at her.

“He asked if there’d been any other attempted abductions in Castle Rock recently. I almost fainted, but I don’t think he noticed.”

“He’s just fishing,” the sheriff says, leaning back against his desk.

“I guess, but it was very unsettling after what I told you last night.”

“He doesn’t know anything about that. Nobody does. Yet.”

“You’ll tell the others today?”

He nods. “The State Police are sending additional detectives later this morning. We’re setting up a task force, so I’ll be sharing your story during the initial briefing.”

“Let me know if you need me to be there to face the music in person.”

“That won’t be necessary,” he says almost casually. “What I’ll say is, you thought the whole thing was a prank until you got to thinking about it later on. That’s when you realized that maybe the guy had been wearing a mask. So you told me all about it this morning. You didn’t see a vehicle and are unable to provide a physical description of the man other than dark clothes and shoes with some sort of a heel.”

She looks at him with gratitude. “Thank you, Norris.”

“Don’t mention it,” he says, waving her off. “No need for the whole damn world to discover how hard-headed you are.”

Gwendy laughs. “Now you sound like my mother.”

WHEN GWENDY WALKS INTO Room 233 on the second floor of Castle County General and sees the tears streaming down both her mother and father’s faces, her heart drops.

Mrs. Peterson is sitting on the edge of the hospital bed with her bare legs dangling over the side. She’s holding hands with her husband and leaning her head against his shoulder. She looks very much like a young girl. Doctor Celano stands at the foot of the bed, reading from an open chart. When he hears the door open, he turns to Gwendy with a big, toothy grin on his face.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Gwendy says, confused. “I got held up in a meeting.”

Her father looks up at her. His eyes are watery and dancing and he’s also wearing a broad smile.

“What’s going on?” Gwendy asks, feeling like she just stepped into the Twilight Zone.

“Oh, honey, it’s a miracle,” her mother says, holding out her arms.

Gwendy goes to her and gives her a hug. “What is? What’s happening?” Her mother only squeezes tighter.

Mr. Peterson nods to the doctor. “Tell her what you just told us.”

Doctor Celano raises his eyebrows. “All of the scans came back clean. No sign of a tumor anywhere.”

“What? That’s great news, right?” Gwendy asks, afraid to get her hopes up.

“I’d say so.”

“But what about the blood results?”

The doctor waves the medical chart at her. “The blood work we took yesterday morning also came back clean. Your mother’s numbers are squarely in the normal range.”

“How is that possible?” Gwendy asks in disbelief.