The Forgotten Child

by Melissa Erin Jackson

  With a calming breath, she knocked.

  Seconds later, a middle-aged, portly man pulled open the door. And mere moments after that, a barking, snarling little puff of white fur came tearing toward them. Riley and Michael jumped back a few steps. Riley couldn’t tell if the dog was excited to see new people or if it was ready to go to the mat to protect its owner even though the thing couldn’t have weighed more than ten pounds. He wore a collar fashioned to resemble a red bow tie.

  “Mr. Marbles!” the man yelped, lunging toward the dog who was now jumping and snarling and circling Riley and Michael like a crazed canine tornado.

  The man—Scott, she guessed—scurried out the door, which clanged shut behind him. He alternated between chastising the dog and apologizing for him being a “little hellion,” all the while stooped over with his hands out, trying to snatch up the dog. Riley and Michael stood helplessly in the middle of the hallway while they were circled by dog and man.

  Mr. Marbles stopped abruptly, lifted his leg, and peed all over Michael’s shoes. Michael yelped, not able to get out of the way in time. He shook out his leg; Riley tried not to laugh. Then the dog sat, tongue hanging out, like he’d just had the best time imaginable with his new friends. Riley could have sworn he was smiling.

  “Oh my god. I’m so sorry,” Scott said, grabbing the dog and tucking him under his arm. “He’s the most godawful creature to ever live. I swear. But Pop finds it hilarious that Mr. Marbles hates damn near everyone and particularly hates most of the staff here. He’s peed on almost everyone. I think Pop is hoping one day they’ll tell him he either needs to get rid of the demon dog, or he has to go.”

  “He mentioned not being terribly fond of the place,” Riley said.

  “I hear about it on a daily basis,” said Scott, absently running a hand over the dog’s head, who still panted, tongue lolling, as if he’d just run a marathon. “Anyway … ready to go in? Pop is excited to meet you.”

  The dog attack had startled most of her nerves away. “After you,” she said, gesturing to the door.

  When Scott got it open, he called out, “Pop! Riley’s here!”

  Michael shut the door behind them and Scott dropped Mr. Marbles to the floor. The dog trotted off and turned toward a bedroom as if nothing happened. Scott handed Michael a handful of paper towels and apologized again.

  They had stepped into a kitchen area which was nothing more than a little swatch of linoleum flooring, a fridge, a sink, minimal counter space, and a handful of cabinets. A microwave and a toaster were the only cooking appliances.

  Linoleum gave way to thin carpet. The living room was big enough to fit a two-seater, a recliner, a small coffee table, and a TV stand in the corner. A local news station was on, the sound muted.

  A slightly hunched-over man with age spots on his bald scalp came shuffling into the room. “Hidee ho! Sorry about the delay. I had to use the little boy’s room. Have a seat, have a seat,” he said waving his arm in the general direction of the couch. “My wife will be back shortly. She went to the store.”

  Scott let out a dramatic sigh from the kitchen, like he resented his mother for being out shopping while he was stuck with his father.

  Riley and Michael made their way to the sofa.

  “Did you offer them refreshments, Scottie? You always forget to offer refreshments.” Walter hobbled to his recliner, took his time getting his body angled just right in front of it, then dropped back with a satisfied, “Ahhh.”

  “I was too busy making sure Mr. Marbles didn’t do anything too embarrassing.”

  Walter chuckled. “I love that stupid dog.”

  “Did you two want anything to drink?” Scott asked, in the kitchen now with the fridge open and his rather significant butt pointed in their direction as he took inventory of his father’s assortment of beverages.

  “I think we’re okay,” said Riley. “Thank you.”

  They managed some awkward small talk about the short half-hour drive over and the general state of the weather. Scott hovered halfway between the bedroom doorway and the living room. Riley wasn’t sure if it was the lack of space on the couch for his large frame, or if he was usually poised to be at his father’s beck and call.

  “Why don’t you go fetch that box of Renee’s things for Riley here, Scottie?”

  “Sure thing, Pop,” he said. “You said it was in the closet in here? You never got it down, did you?”

  “It’s too high.”

  Scott gave an exaggerated sigh as if this was the final straw and he could take no more. But he headed for the adjacent bedroom, the same room Mr. Marbles the Terror had wandered off to.

  “You’re taller than me,” Scott said to Michael, as if it was a personal affront. “Maybe you can help me? Pop hasn’t sorted through all the crap in this room yet—we might need the Jaws of Life to get us back out.”

  That didn’t sound promising.

  When they’d left the room, Riley perched on the edge of the couch with her knees pressed tightly together and her hands placed on either one.

  “Been meaning to get that box for you all week, but Scottie usually only comes to see me on Tuesdays. My wife’s a spry old gal, but her back isn’t too strong, so we’ve had to wait for Scottie to get here.”

  “It’s no problem,” Riley said, managing a small smile, her gaze focused into the bedroom opposite from where she sat. A cane leaned up against the far wall by the bed.

  “So when did you know you were a medium?”

  When she looked over at him, she found him staring at her, head cocked like the human version of Mr. Marbles.

  “The first time I was contacted, I was about ten.”

  “That young!”

  Riley nodded. “I was in denial for a long time.”

  “I think it’s a gift, if you want an old man’s opinion,” he said. “You came right when I needed you. Like someone sent you to me.”

  Riley didn’t know what to say to that. She wasn’t sure what to say, period. Now that she was finally here, she was clamming up.

  “Pop!”

  “What!”

  “The box isn’t here!”

  “The hell it’s not.”

  A long pause.

  “It’s not here!”

  Walter shot her a long-suffering look so identical to the expression she’d last seen on Scott’s face, she laughed. “Dagnabbit,” he muttered to himself as he slowly scooted to the edge of the cushion, preparing to stand.

  Mr. Marbles came trotting into the room then and gave the tips of Riley’s shoes a sniff, tail wagging so hard, his whole back end moved. If he lifted his leg on her, she would dropkick him into the bedroom. Instead, he hopped up on the couch next to her, turned in three circles, and plopped down, head resting on his paws.

  Riley glanced over at Walter to gauge his progress. She had visions of him trying to get up and breaking a hip. “Do you need help?”

  He waved her off, muttering to himself as he finally got up and started shuffling toward the other room. “Damn kid acts like he forgets I’m seventy-damn-eight years old. Making me walk over to find something when I can barely see my hand in front of my face. What good is it having a son if he can’t help you when your body starts to fall apart?”

  Riley was left alone in the small living room, listening to the muffled, slightly raised voices of the three men coming from the other room. What was she was doing here? Weren’t mediums supposed to be able to “read” the room? Feel the energy? The only thing she could sense was the faint aroma of old food. A plate of congealed mashed potatoes and gravy sat on the counter.

  Sighing, Riley held out a hand near Mr. Marbles, wondering if he’d let her pet him. He merely rolled his eyes in the general direction of her hand, not moving an inch.

  “Every man in this house is difficult—beast or human.”

  Startled, Riley looked toward the kitchen to see an older woman standing near the fridge. Riley had been so distracted, she hadn’t heard her come in. She walked o
ver.

  The “spry old gal” was in her early-to-mid-sixties, much younger than Riley had expected. She wore khaki pants Riley suspected had an elastic waist, a salmon-colored top, a white, unbuttoned cardigan, and a small brown handbag hung from a bent arm.

  “I’m Riley,” she said, holding out a hand.

  The woman slightly wrinkled her nose at it; Riley geared up to be highly offended. “’fraid there’s not much use in that gesture for me anymore.”

  Riley dropped her hand. “Because you’re not actually here.”

  “’fraid not,” she said. “But I’m Gladys. It’s nice to meet you.”

  Walter’s memory definitely had begun to fade if he thought his wife was out shopping, not that she had actually passed. It explained Scott’s reaction to Walter mentioning his wife.

  Mr. Marbles hopped off the couch, nose to the ground as he loudly sniffed his path to her. Riley recalled Michael asking if he’d be able to see an entity if he stood in the same room with one. Could animals?

  The dog stood by Riley’s shoe, still actively sniffing the ground. Then his head jerked up. His ears flattened against his head, he let out a low growl, then, with his tail between his legs, scampered off.

  Well.

  “I never met the dog in life.”

  Riley was at a loss for what to say again.

  “They won’t find it where they’re looking,” the woman said. “Walter put the box in the closet in his bedroom a couple months ago but doesn’t remember doing it. You’ll find it in a plastic container with a green lid. It’s underneath a pile of old quilts.”

  Riley pursed her lips. She honestly wasn’t sure if the woman spoke to her as any other person would, or if these ideas just popped in her head while she looked at her. Would she ever get used to this?

  “The locket he lost when he first moved here is in a bottom cabinet in the bathroom. It’s tucked far in the back and the chain’s clasp has slipped behind the cabinet’s backing. You’ll have to do some finagling to get it loose.”

  Raised voices from the other room caused her to turn toward the sound. Walter came shuffling into the living room, still muttering to himself, though he looked more dejected than miffed now. Michael and Scott followed behind him. When Riley turned back, Gladys, as expected, was gone.

  “I think I might know where it is,” Riley said.

  Walter, who had his head down, looked up, a small smile on his face. “Was Renee here?”

  Riley lightly shook her head. “Gladys.”

  Scott sucked in a breath. “She was here?”

  “Here in the kitchen, yes.”

  “Where is she now?” Walter asked, not as interested in this revelation as Scott had been. “She go down to the car to get the groceries? We needed milk.”

  Scott’s sigh was less aggrieved this time. “Pop, you know Mom died. Been five years.”

  Walter frowned at this. “She’s not at the store.” A statement, not a question.

  “No, Pop, she’s not.”

  He shuffled off to his chair, plopping down again. His shoulders were slumped, his bottom lip sticking out. “I keep waiting for her to come home.”

  Scott came over to sit on the armrest of the chair, putting an arm around the older man. “I know, Pop.”

  Riley and Michael stood on opposite sides of the living room. When they made eye contact, he offered her a small shrug.

  “Is it okay if I go get the box, Walter?”

  “Sure, sure,” he said.

  She walked into Walter’s bedroom and went for the closet, immediately spotting several plastic containers inside when she trundled open one of the sliding doors. When she felt someone come into the room, she knew it was Michael even though he didn’t say anything, just watched her.

  The only container with a green lid sat underneath two others. She pulled them out, placing them on top of each other behind her, and then put the green-lidded one on the stack.

  Michael and Scott both stood in the doorway now.

  Her heart hammered in her chest, but she realized it was due to giddy anticipation, not fear. The contents of the container smelled a little musty, like wet towels. She pulled out a pair of thin handmade quilts—old and threadbare.

  Walking over with his arms out, Scott said, “I’ll take those. My mom made them for Renee when she was first born.” He peered into the box when he reached her. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  An old shoebox sat on the base of the container. Riley grinned.

  “She found it, Pop!”

  “Of course she did!” came the reply from the other room. “Gladys was always better at finding stuff than me.”

  “Oh, there’s one more thing,” Riley said, leaving the shoebox where it lay, and headed into the bathroom. A small set of drawers lined the left of the credenza, with a drawer above a cabinet on the right. Riley squatted before the cabinet and pulled it open. Bags of cotton balls and gauze, pill bottles, and boxes of Band-Aids came tumbling out. There were old hairbrushes and half-empty bottles of dog shampoo and an unopened package of adult diapers.

  Riley piled it all up in front of her feet.

  And then she saw it. The oval pendant. The cabinet was slightly deeper than the length of her arm, so she dropped onto her knees and stuck her head inside. After pushing against the back panel of the cabinet with one hand, and gently pulling on the locket with the other, she wiggled the chain free.

  Scooting out, she sat back on her haunches and examined the golden pendant. Clicking the side button, the locket popped open, revealing a picture of a young, dapper Walter on one side, and a smiling, radiant Gladys on the other.

  She closed it with a tiny snap, then hurried past Michael and Scott—who still held the old quilts—and stopped in front of Walter, letting the necklace hang from her fingers, the pendant swinging in the space between them.

  Walter let out a sputtering sob at the sight of it, putting a shaking hand to his mouth as his eyes filled with tears. He reached out and took the necklace, the locket in his palm. It took him a few seconds to get his fingers to work right and get the pendant open. When he saw his young wife looking back at him, his bottom lip quivered violently.

  Wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater, he looked up at Riley who watched him with tears in her own eyes. Lucidity took him over. “I gave this to Gladys on our one-year anniversary. We’d been married fifty-three years by the time she passed.” He sniffed, attention focused on the pictures in the locket again as he ran a single finger over her picture. “This is my favorite picture of her. I’d thought I’d lost this thing back at the old house. Thought I’d never see it again.”

  “Gladys wanted me to find it for you.”

  Sitting up a little, he grabbed one of her hands, the locket firmly clasped in his other. “I don’t know who sent you to me but thank you.”

  “It was all Gladys. She told me where to look.”

  He smiled, letting her hand go and sitting back. “Sounds like you’re still in denial.”

  Laughing, she said, “Oh, your memory’s not as bad as people say.”

  “Hear that, Scottie!” he called out. “Still sharp as a tack!”

  “I heard it, Pop.” He sounded amused this time, rather than upset, at least.

  Riley glanced over to find him and Michael watching her from yet another doorway.

  When Walter requested a box of tissues and a glass of water, Scott sprang into action. Michael and Riley ducked back into the bedroom.

  Wordlessly, they shuffled through the contents of the box. All the worldly possessions of Renee Palmer that remained.

  There were a handful of newspaper clippings, some of the words smudged from repeated handling. After taking pictures of the articles, Riley texted herself with all the names of associated police officers and reporters. Some of them might have been deceased or retired by now, but she’d be taken more seriously if it was clear she’d done her homework.

  While Michael returned the items to the box, and placed
the quilts on top, Riley shoved all the odds and ends from the cabinet back in, hastily shutting the door before it could all come tumbling out.

  When they walked back into the living room, Walter was passed out and snoring in his chair, locket still clasped in his hand.

  Riley caught Scott’s attention and motioned for the door. The three of them slipped out.

  “We should probably go now,” she said. “Thank you for letting us come by.”

  “Of course,” he said, arms crossed, hands holding his elbows. He stared at her for a few moments. “I’m kind of unnerved by all of this, to be honest.”

  “I am too if that helps,” she said.

  He managed a laugh, but it was strained.

  “We’ll be sure to let you know if we come up with anything,” Michael said.

  Scott nodded. “You can keep in touch even if you come up empty. Pop would love it.”

  “You got it,” Riley said.

  Before she had the chance to react, Scott had enveloped her in a tight hug. It was over just as quick, and then his arms were folded again. “I haven’t seen Pop this happy since before Mom died. Even if you can’t help get closure on my sister’s case, I think you gave him more than he could’ve asked for. So … just … thanks.”

  “Glad I could help.”

  It wasn’t until they were inside her car, Michael in the driver’s seat, that he said something. “You’re a freaking medium, dude!”

  “Don’t call me dude!”

  “Dude, it’s like my cousin in England who’s doing this kind of thing for a living. You could do that. You could talk to spirits and help families. This could be your thing. Everyone needs a thing.”

  “You seem very excited about this.”

  “I just …” He shrugged. “You’re good with people, Ry, even though you think you’re not. You said things happen for a reason, right?”

  She side-eyed him for using her own words against her.

  “You said yourself you don’t want to be a waitress forever. Maybe this is what you’re supposed to do.”

  “Finding lost heirlooms?”

  “Bring something positive to people who are grieving.”