Carissa Ann Lynch - Without a Trace

A sudden memory fluttered through my mind, then dissolved.

“Um, yeah, I did. Woke up around one in the morning, I guess it was. A second car was out there. Thought it might be her boyfriend, or someone helping her move. Not my business, you know? But I did think it was a little late for visitors…”

“What sort of make and model was this second car?” Officer James looked alert now, and she started writing something in that notebook of hers.

“I couldn’t say. Too dark. Aren’t any flood lights out there, you know? And the porch light wasn’t on either. I heard the car pull in and the door slamming shut. Never saw a child. I guess it might have been a truck I saw…”

“Did you see anyone get out of this truck? This is important, ma’am.”

I closed my eyes, thinking. “I only looked out there for a second. Didn’t want to look like a peeping tom. I think they were wearing a hood. Like a hoodie sweatshirt. And they were carrying something. Maybe she was carrying her daughter in her arms. Not sure though. Why? Something happened?”

“Your new tenant’s daughter is missing. Please, if you see anything, or think of anything else, call me.” She snapped her notebook shut then dug around for a business card. “Oh, and we may need to come back and search your property. All this land, if it comes down to it. Right now, we’re still waiting to hear from the husband.”

I tried to keep a straight face as I nodded obediently, but my throat felt like it was closing up completely. Despite feeling like I couldn’t breathe, I was itching for a cigarette.

Officer James added, “Most likely, the husband took her. They recently split up. Divorces are so messy…” The young officer bit her lip, as though she’d said too much, then handed me a stiff business card.

“I will call you if I do. Thanks.” I closed the door, letting out a long whoosh of breath.

I listened to the sound of the patrol car pulling out as I straightened up the kitchen. Cleaning was one thing I liked to do when I got nervous. Smoking was another.

Back in the kitchen, I gathered up the mug, discovering that a small chunk of ceramic had come loose. I threw it away, then went into my bedroom to search for some sort of carpet cleaner. Anything to take my mind off smoking, and the jarring police visit.

The stain would be hard to get out. Usually, I was careful, rarely needing cleaners to fix my mistakes.

I stopped for a moment to smooth out the edges of my bedspread, my fingers trembling. My pack of Camels was tucked away in my bedside drawer, within reach.

But instead, I picked up one of the stuffed bunnies my husband made for me, squeezing it tightly to my chest.

I guess it all started on the day I was born. Choices. I tend to make the wrong ones. Specifically, I’ve always been drawn to the wrong people, and it started with my mom and dad. Mama didn’t want me. Even before she met me, she wanted to get rid of me. Somehow, my dad talked her into having me, but when she left the hospital after giving birth, she didn’t take me with her.

I guess I should have been grateful toward him. If not for him, I’d be a goopy mass of medical waste. But truth was, he didn’t really want me either. Sometimes, I wondered if I would have been better off if mama would have gone with her choice, instead of his.

A psychiatrist could psychoanalyze me pretty quickly—I was that cliched patient, the one who made it easy to set forth guidelines and criteria for dysfunction—mama left me, and daddy abused me, so I was destined to choose shitty partners as a result. Simple as that. My entire psychiatric profile wrapped up in a neat little bow.

But there weren’t any warning signs when it came to Martin, not really. He was sweet, tender even, for those first two years we dated…but looking back, he wasn’t the only bad choice I made. In high school, I chose the wrong friends. My dating life before Martin was a nightmare.

How could I have chosen so wrongly? How could I have been so blind?

Moonlight slithered through the open window above my bed. I had an upside-down view of the stars. There were so many of them, more stars than I’d ever seen from my window back home in Tennessee.

They made me feel insignificant. And that’s exactly how I wanted to feel when I brought Lily to the cabin—like particles of dust in the wind, floating around unseen and unkept. Forgotten.

Why couldn’t Martin just forget us? Why couldn’t he let us go?

Back in Granton, our home was like a battleground. But I guess, for Martin, it wasn’t so bad because he was the one waging war. I was just a casualty.

And now Lily is a casualty too.

I could still taste the bottle of wine I’d drank before bed. Turning on my side didn’t help. I curled my knees to my chest, fighting back the urge to throw up.

It wasn’t morning, but it wasn’t night, I could tell from the slant of the moon. It must be two, maybe three, in the morning now? Where is my daughter? Is she sleeping? Is she safe?

My mouth watered with nausea as I fumbled around with the covers, searching for my cell phone in the dark. Instead I found my pack of Listerine strips. I slid one out and tossed it on the back of my tongue. I’d gotten into the habit of using them. Martin preferred fresh breath at all times.

I’d called Martin’s phone nearly a hundred times today, asking him to call me back. Begging him to bring me my daughter. There was no point in keeping my location a secret anymore—he obviously already knew we were here. He’d taken my Lily. Oh, god…Lily…

I’d expected him to answer the phone, to demand that I come home if I ever wanted to see her again. But the calls went straight to voicemail.

He’s not going to give her back.

I was too drunk to cry and too drunk to panic. My limbs felt numb and I hated myself for enjoying the nothingness I felt inside.

My entire soul was numb .

I’m like a chunk of ice, pieces chipped away .

How much of me is left? Is there anything worth saving if I don’t have Lily?

What if he took her and moved away, just like I tried to do? What if he decided that he didn’t need me anymore? Now he can focus on Lily—a younger victim, a younger me…

I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I leapt from the bed and ran for the bathroom, barely reaching the commode before vomit sprang from my mouth and nose.

What am I going to do? How will I get Lily back?

I’d tried to reach that cop on her phone, but she hadn’t been available.

Dammit. I’ve lost Lily, and no one can help me save her. Not even the police.

An Amber Alert wasn’t issued. The cops wouldn’t return my calls.

What else can I do?

Wiping the back of my mouth with my robe sleeve, I drifted down the hallway and back to my bedroom. Suddenly, I felt sober again. Dark shadows danced on the walls. I stared at one; it looked just like the dark silhouette of a man.

Panic slammed against my chest as I flipped on the bedroom light.

Nothing. No one is in my room.

I yanked the covers off the bed, my cell phone smacking the floor as it fell out of the crumpled blanket.

I stared at the screen, squinting sleep and drunkenness from my eyes, willing Martin to call me…to give her back…

I’d searched the woods and wandered around the property today, feeling helpless. But I couldn’t look for long because every time I tried to go outside, invisible walls came crushing in and I couldn’t breathe…

But hunger is a disgusting thing—after a while, it supersedes all rational thought. I’d barely eaten in two days, so I’d gone out to the supermarket at dusk. I’d ran up and down the aisles, like a madwoman, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth, finally settling on some booze and peanut butter.