Alexandra Burt - Little Girl Gone - The can’t-put-it-down psychological thriller

‘I need to talk to someone,’ I repeated, even louder than before.

He stepped closer, reluctantly. ‘How can I help you?’

Words sped through my mind, then images of locks emerged, doors secured with bolts, hasps and locksets.

HELP , I screamed in my mind. I opened my mouth but no words emerged. I swallowed hard, the gulp in my throat echoed through the silent precinct hallways. I wanted to confess to whatever it was I had done, must have done, for no one disappears through locked doors or walls, especially not a baby.

Nausea overcame me. I welcomed the strangled retching, wanted to let go of the words, the confession of what I must have done. I refused to fight the heaviness in my throat. Saliva collected in my mouth and instinctively I pinched my nose to keep the vomit from ejecting through my nostrils.

He stepped backward, as if I was a contagious leper. ‘There’s a bathroom right over there,’ the detective pointed towards a door less than ten feet away.

The bathroom was vacant. I knelt in the stall and on all fours I convulsed with spasms. Ripples shook my body, my cold skin was covered in a layer of sweat. As I studied my reflection in the mirror, I rummaged through my mind for an explanation, never lifting my gaze off the stranger that stared back at me. I felt fury for the woman in the mirror, a woman with unwashed hair, her eyes sunken in and sad, the woman who had replaced the real me. I willed myself to leave the bathroom and to do what I had come here for; ask for help to find Mia.

Back in the hallway, the detective was waiting for me. ‘Ma’am?’ He seemed impatient, as if dealing with someone who had no real police business after all.

I didn’t know what to tell the detective anymore. Had someone walked through brick walls, had some ill-fated Houdini act occurred while I was sleeping? When a magician pulls an endless scarf out of a hat, everybody knows it’s a simple trick, but this was real. And I didn’t know if I was a victim or if I was guilty. A crime has been committed. But what kind of crime?

I don’t know where my daughter is.

An all-encompassing statement, implicating everything possible but not implying anything specific. No fault, no crime, no blame. Just a fact.

I don’t know where my daughter is.

I couldn’t fathom a single logical way of explaining how Mia had disappeared.

Say it, I kept telling myself, say it. JUST SAY IT. I pushed myself to speak but the woman I had become didn’t comply. There was nothing anyone could do for her.

No one can help me. No one can help me. No one can help me.

Like an oath, I repeated it three times, hoping the reiteration would conjure up some sort of sense and logic.

As I looked past the detective, down the hallway, the tattooed man from earlier darted for the front door. The detective’s eyes followed him and then he ran after him. The tattooed man, unsteady on his feet, had reached the glass door by the time the detective got a hold of him.

I focused on the floor and the tiny specks in the blue linoleum. I felt my knees weakening, I had to keep moving, keep the blood circulating through my body.

No one can help me.

I exited the precinct and kept on walking. I felt numb inside, anesthetized, yet somehow purged, ready to accept the facts. The numbness dissolved long enough to allow the gravity of what I must have done to sink in. As I passed a store window, out of the corner of my eye I saw a woman studying her hands as if she hadn’t seen them in a long time.

In that brief yet gruesome moment of clarity I realized those hands might just be the hands of a monster.

Jack arrives and he’s all business; his suit, his posture, his demeanor. The thing that strikes me is how in control he is. I used to crave his attention, his company. But not only am I disgusted by him, I can’t even conceive of ever having had feelings for him.

My hands shake at first, then my whole body trembles. Whether with fear or anger I don’t know. I fix my gaze on his anxious face. He whispers, yet his words pierce through me.

‘I came straight from the airport. I can’t even wrap my mind around this. What the hell happened?’

His comment feels familiar. Not the words, but the feeling it evokes. I’ve been belittled so many times. So many faux pas committed by me – little ones first, then major ones.

‘Someone took her, Jack.’

‘What do you mean someone took her? Where were you?’ He slides his briefcase across the nightstand sending a plastic cup tumbling over the edge and to the ground. ‘What the hell is going on?’

‘Jack, I—’

He swipes his hand through the air as if to dismiss me when I open my mouth. ‘Who loses a baby, Estelle? Who? Tell me who loses a baby?’

I press my lips together.

‘I leave for a couple of weeks and you get in an accident in … Dover? That’s hours from here! What were you doing there?’

I don’t dare make eye contact with him.

‘Why did you take her to Dover?’

The beeping and buzzing of machines behind me is the only sound in the room. ‘I didn’t, Jack, that’s the thing, I don’t know why I was even there.’

‘I was questioned by the police – no, wait – questioned isn’t the right word …’ His face twitches, then he steps closer. He lifts his index finger as if to scold me like a child, ‘I was interrogated . I was detained at the airport, taken to the police station and interrogated like a common criminal. Just what did you tell them?’

‘I didn’t tell them anything. I haven’t even spoken to police—’

‘ I was questioned by police.’

‘They always question the parents first, you know that.’

‘I was treated like a suspect. I’ve never been so humiliated in my life. Once my boss gets wind of this …’ He doesn’t finish the sentence. ‘Where is she? Tell me where she is?’

‘She’s missing, Jack!’ I’m alarmed by the distance in his eyes. I want to cry but that would only make him angrier. All this time with Jack has paid off. I’ve learned to hold back my tears.

‘I know she’s missing, they’re searching for her. I want to know how it happened, tell me everything. I talked to the police and the doctors, but I want to hear it from you.’

I start with how I found the empty crib. How it was a Sunday and none of the workers were in the house, it was empty and quiet. Lieberman was out of town, like every weekend. How nothing made sense. How I went to the police and left without saying anything. Jack doesn’t say, ‘It’s going to be okay’ or ‘we’ll sort it out.’ He just says, ‘Go on.’

When I’m done, he shakes his head. ‘I should’ve never left town. Never. You fooled me. You told me you were okay and I believed you. Did you leave her somewhere? Tell me where you left her.’

Jack’s got it all figured out, like always. In his world you put one foot in front of the other and you’re sure to arrive anywhere you want to be.

‘Jack—’

‘You promised me, promised me , you were okay, and now look at what you’ve done.’

‘I’m sorry, Jack. I’m so sorry.’ I don’t know what I’m sorry for but it seems like the proper thing to say.

‘Sorry isn’t going to cut it. My daughter is gone. Gone . Did that sink in yet?’

‘I wish I knew what happened. All I know is she was gone when I woke up.’

‘You don’t know where you left her?’

‘No, I didn’t leave her anywhere . I don’t know where she is.’

‘Did you leave her with a sitter? Did you leave her at an overnight daycare? Maybe—’

‘No, no, there was no sitter. No daycare.’