All the Missing Girls

by Megan Miranda

  “Hey,” I said, and Officer Fraize half looked at me, heading toward the next group. If he recognized me, he didn’t let on. “Did you contact her father? Her friends from college?”

  “Yeah, we’re on it. We know how to run an investigation. Or do you have something to add? Didn’t realize you’d moved back, Nic.”

  The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. “I didn’t. I’m just in town for a little while.”

  He paused, his mind grasping for something, sorting through the pieces. “You staying at your dad’s old place?”

  “Yes.”

  “Happen to see anything in the woods night before last? Hear anything unusual? Anything like that?”

  I shook my head. No sir, no sir, no sir.

  He focused on me for a moment too long. “Off you go, then,” he said. He scanned the crowd before moving on to the next group.

  I knew exactly who he was looking for.

  * * *

  WE STARTED NEAR THE back of Annaleise’s house, heading in the direction of the river. The search ended up being tedious work, exacerbated by an older lady who couldn’t keep up. We moved at a snail’s pace, and then she’d stop to pick up anything that looked out of place. A rock that had been displaced, a pile of sticks, a marker on a tree. The man in charge of our group by decree of holding the radio kept reminding her, “We’re looking for her. We’re not investigating a crime scene.”

  We weren’t close enough to talk to one another in quiet conversation; we were supposed to be listening, anyway. For calls for help or something. Every once in a while, the girl on the edge would call, “Annaleise? Annaleise Carter?” Because there might be more than one Annaleise lost in these woods.

  As we approached the river, we ran into another team. “We went too far,” I said.

  Our leader, Brad, examined the map. “Nah, we’ve got to the edge of the river. They’re out of their zone. Hey! You’re out of zone!”

  “What?” a man yelled back.

  “I said you’re in the wrong place!”

  They yelled across the expanse, then the two leaders walked toward each other, their maps out, arguing. I sat on a tree stump, waiting it out. This was a waste. We had no idea if the teams were covering the right sections. Not everyone was familiar with the woods. Not everyone knew the right landmarks.

  “I think I found something!” The old lady was crouched over a pile of leaves about ten feet from the river. The girl beside me rolled her eyes. The old lady picked up something that glinted in the sunlight, holding it over her head, squinting. “What is it?” she asked.

  I rose, slowly making my way toward them.

  “A buckle,” someone said. “For a fairy. It’s tiny.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Like from a bracelet, maybe?” She turned it over in her hands. It had two letters floating inside a circle, the edges coated in mud. “The initials are MK, so it can’t be hers.”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake,” I said. “Are we really pulling every piece of trash from the forest? This is ridiculous.”

  “Should you be touching that?” said a teen who had probably seen one too many cop shows.

  The old lady frowned, put it back down, moved the leaves around to make it look natural.

  “That doesn’t really work,” I said. I picked it back up, turned it over in my hand. “It’s from a dog leash. Did she have a dog?”

  “I don’t think so,” the kid said.

  Brad gestured for us to turn around. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s start back.”

  I trailed the others by a few feet, scanning the surrounding ground as we moved. I slid the buckle into my back pocket. It wasn’t from a leash or a collar or a bracelet. I recognized that logo. It was from a purse.

  * * *

  I TOOK THE LONG way home, stopping at CVS, buying a soda, using the bathroom, dumping the buckle in the trash can, waving to Luke Aberdeen on the way out.

  * * *

  I STOOD IN FRONT of my house, tilting my head to the side, trying to see it as a stranger might. Nothing special, nothing to make someone look twice. My feet started sinking in a spot of mud, and I pulled them out, the suction gripping my sneakers before dislodging. I walked toward the porch, my steps slow and labored, as if my feet were sticking to the earth. I waited by the front porch, willing myself to go inside.

  The secrets this house had kept locked away, mine included. Daniel’s and my father’s and those that belonged to the generation before. In the walls, under the floorboards, within the earth. I imagined Corinne shaking out a can of gasoline and me taking a match to the splintered edge of the porch, both of us standing too close as the wood warped and popped, the house igniting, turning to rubble, to smoke and ash. The flames jumping to the extended branch of a tree, taking the woods along with them.

  “What are you doing?”

  I peered over my shoulder, at Tyler walking from his truck, his legs moving as slowly as mine had.

  I turned back to the house—to my window above the sloped roof. “Imagining a fire,” I said.

  “Ah,” he said, his hand on the small of my back as he stood beside me. He watched the same splintered porch, the same window, and I could imagine him picturing the same thing. “When did you last eat?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “Come on. I picked up dinner.”

  * * *

  THE BAR WAS SOMBER, but it wasn’t empty. Tyler stood between me and the door, obstructing the view as we walked past the entrance, the bag of Chinese takeout tucked under his arm. I followed him up the narrow stairwell, took the bag from him as he unlocked the door and held it open for me with his foot.

  “So, this is it,” he said.

  I left the bag of food on the kitchen island directly to my left. The place could use some upgraded appliances, a fresh coat of paint, a throw rug or two over the scuffed wood floors, but in other ways, it suited him perfectly. It had what he needed: couch, TV, kitchen, bedroom. If something didn’t matter to Tyler, he didn’t do it for the sake of anyone else. He unloaded the food, serving it on ceramic plates, while I wandered the apartment, checking out the details.

  His bed was made. He had a queen, and the comforter was plain and beige. The dresser that he’d had growing up was in the corner, and there was a newer one that was so far from matching, it somehow managed to work. The bathroom door was open—shaving cream on the counter, soap in a dish. I checked the closet on the way out. Men’s clothes only, camping gear in the corner.

  “Does it pass inspection?” he called as I wandered back to the kitchen. He handed me a plate over the island.

  “You got my favorite,” I said.

  “I know I did.” He walked to the couch, slid to the floor, his back resting against the cushions, and placed two beers on the coffee table in front of him.

  I sat beside him on the floor. “Not a fan of chairs, I see.”

  “I’ve only been here six months. Chairs are next on my list,” he said, scooping fried rice into his mouth. “Nic,” he said, pointing his fork to the plate in front of me, “you really need to eat something.”

  My stomach clenched as I stared at the pile of food. I took a sip of the beer, leaning back against the couch. “What kind of purse did Annaleise use?” I asked.

  I felt Tyler tense beside me. “I don’t want to talk about Annaleise.”

  “It’s important. I need to know.”

  “Okay. It was . . .” He paused, thinking. “I don’t know, it was dark green.”

  “But do you know the brand?”

  “No, I definitely don’t know the brand. Are you going to tell me why you’re asking?”

  “We found something in my group. A buckle. From a Michael Kors purse. Down by the river.” I took a deep breath. “I’m pretty sure it’s hers.”

  He slid his plate onto the table, took a long
pull from the beer bottle. “And where is this buckle now?”

  I looked over at him, into his bloodshot eyes. “In the garbage can in the women’s restroom of CVS.”

  He pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “Nic, you can’t do this. You can’t mess with the investigation or people will wonder why. I really think she’s fine.”

  “I really think she’s not,” I said. “I think when people disappear, it’s because they’re not okay, Tyler.”

  “Hey,” he said. “Don’t cry.”

  “I’m not,” I said, resting my head on my arm, wiping away the evidence. “Sorry. God. I’ve barely slept in—what, almost three days?—and I’m losing it.”

  “You’re not losing it,” he said. “You’re here with me, and you’re fine.”

  I laughed. “That’s not the definition of fine. I feel like the whole world is off balance. Like I’m losing my shit. Like there’s this cliff and I don’t even realize I’m on the edge.”

  “But you do realize it, and that’s the definition of holding your shit together.”

  I shook my head but took a bite of the pork roll, forcing it down. “Are you okay?” I asked him.

  “Not really.”

  Our plates sat on the table beside half-empty bottles of beer.

  “I don’t know what I’m doing here,” I said.

  “We’re just friends having dinner after a really shitty day.”

  “Are we? Friends, I mean?”

  “We’re whatever you want us to be, Nic.”

  “Don’t do that.”

  “What?”

  “Lie,” I said.

  “Yeah,” he said. He rested his arm on the couch behind me, making space for me. I leaned in to his side, and he slid an arm around me, and we sat there, staring at the blank television across the room.

  “If it was from her purse,” I said, “she’s not okay. I should be out there. I should be looking for her purse.”

  “Nic, you need to relax.” I felt his slow exhale against my forehead.

  We sat in silence, but the sounds of people leaving the bar drifted up from the window.

  “I don’t know what to do about the house.” Taking a bite of the dinner had been a mistake. I took a deep breath, trying to hold my shit together. “I can’t sleep in that house,” I said.

  “So don’t,” he said. “This couch pulls out. You can have my bed. You really need to get some rest.”

  “People will—”

  “Just for tonight. Nobody knows you’re here.”

  I rested my head on his shoulder. Closed my eyes, felt his fingers absently near the bottom of my hair, which suddenly seemed too intimate, even though he was barely touching me.

  But maybe there was nothing more intimate than someone knowing all your secrets, every one of them, and sitting beside you anyway, buying your favorite food, running his fingers absently through your hair so you can sleep.

  “By the way,” he said, “I like your hair.”

  I smiled, trying not to think of tomorrow. One day I could come back here and he could be gone. One day I could walk through the woods, fade to nothing, leaving behind nothing but the buckle from a purse. All of us eventually stacked up in boxes in the police station or under the earth, passed over, passed by, with nobody left to find us.

  I lifted my head off his shoulder, shifting so I was on top of him, one leg on either side, my arms sliding behind his neck, my fingers working through his hair.

  “Wait. Don’t think this is . . . That’s not why I—”

  I pulled my shirt over my head, saw his gaze drift to the scar on my shoulder and then away, as it always did.

  Tyler gripped my thighs, holding me still. Rested his forehead against my bare shoulder, his breathing shallow.

  If there’s a feeling to coming home—something comforting and nostalgic: a mother’s cooking, a family pet sleeping at the foot of the bed, an old hammock strung between trees in the yard—for me, it’s this. It’s Tyler. Knowing that there’s someone who has seen all the different versions of me; watched as they stacked themselves away inside one another; knows all the choices I’ve made, the lies I’ve told, the things I’ve lost, and still.

  “Are you going to make me say please?” I asked.

  I felt his breath on the space between my shoulder and my neck, his lips moving as he spoke. “No,” he said, “never,” and he pulled my head down to his.

  Because the thing about Tyler is he always gives me exactly what I’m asking for.

  The Day Before

  DAY 3

  Annaleise was unofficially declared missing when the police station opened that morning, but the storms rolling through the mountains meant there would be no searching today. She was twenty-three years old and had been missing only a day, but it was the circumstances that got the police curious: Her brother said he saw her walk into the woods sometime after midnight. Her mother went to get her for their trip to visit a grad school around lunch, but she wasn’t there. Her cell went straight to voicemail. Her purse was gone.

  And then there was the text message. The one she sent to Officer Mark Stewart, the one that asked if they could set up a time to discuss the Corinne Prescott case.

  Tyler showed up at my place just after breakfast, dressed in khakis and a button-down. He was pacing the downstairs, leaving rainy footprints across the floor. “That message is going to make everyone uneasy around here.”

  “Do the police have any idea why she sent it?”

  “Not that I heard. Doesn’t matter, though. It’s one hell of a coincidence, don’t you think?” He opened his mouth to say more, but we heard tires crunching gravel under the rain.

  “Someone’s here,” I said, walking to the window.

  A red SUV I didn’t recognize had pulled into my driveway and parked behind Tyler’s truck. A woman about my dad’s age stepped out—hair gray like his, face round and soft—and pulled an umbrella over her head, keeping her eyes on the woods as she walked up the front porch steps. She was built thicker than Annaleise, but her eyes were as large and unsettling.

  “Annaleise’s mom,” I said, heading for the door. I pressed my back to the door, watched him stare at the wall past me as if he could see through it. “Why are you here, Tyler? Why are you here?”

  He blinked twice before responding. “I’m fixing the air-­conditioning,” he said.

  “Then go fix it,” I hissed before pulling open the front door.

  Her mother was facing the driveway, her umbrella still up even though she was under the protection of the porch; the rain dripped off the spokes in slow motion. “Hi, Mrs. Carter.” I pushed open the screen door and stood on the threshold.

  She turned her face slowly toward me, her eyes lingering a moment behind. She was looking at my driveway, at Tyler’s truck. “Good morning, Nic. It’s nice to see you home.” Manners first, always.

  “You, too. I heard about Annaleise. Any word?”

  She shook her head, let the umbrella rest against her side. “My son says he saw her walking in the woods. She’s like that, you know. Keeps her own company, goes for walks. I’ve seen her out there; it’s not too unusual, really. But she and I had plans yesterday . . . and her phone . . . Well.” She pressed her lips together. “It would’ve been late, after midnight. Since we share property, I wanted to check. Any chance you saw her? Or anyone? Anything?”

  “No, I’m sorry. I was cleaning the house, and I fell asleep early. I didn’t notice anything.”

  She nodded. “Is that Tyler Ellison’s truck, dear?”

  “Oh, yes. My brother hired him to do some work on the house for us.”

  “I don’t have his number, and I need to talk to him. Do you mind?” She moved forward, forcing me to back up, and stepped inside my house, placing the open umbrella on the ground.

  “Sure, I’ll
just go find him. Sorry about the heat. It’s the air-­conditioning unit. Busted. That’s why he’s here. Tyler?” I called from the hallway. “Tyler, someone’s here to see you!”

  He came down the steps, and before we could see his face, before he could see us, he said, “I think it’s the condenser fan. If you buy a replacement part, I can— Oh, hi,” he said, his steps slowing.

  “I’ve been trying to reach you,” said Mrs. Carter.

  “I’m sorry, I’ve been working. We’ve got a project with a crazy deadline. I’ve actually got a meeting at ten down at the county clerk’s office. I should probably be heading that way.”

  “Of course. I was just wondering if you’ve heard from Annaleise?”

  “I haven’t.”

  She took another step into the house. “When did you last see her? What did she say?”

  Tyler paused, removed his hat, ran his hand through his hair, pulled the hat back down. “We went to a movie after dinner Monday night. I dropped her off a little before ten. Had an early morning myself the next day.”

  “Did she mention anything else? What she was planning?”

  “No, I haven’t seen her since.”

  “Did she mention going to look at grad schools?”

  “No,” he said.

  “Do you know what she was doing in the woods?”

  “No. I’m sorry.”

  Her questions came fast, but Tyler’s answers came faster. “I’m so sorry,” I said, opening the screen door for her. “Please let us know if you hear anything.”

  “Okay,” she said, dragging her eyes from Tyler. “If she doesn’t turn up by tomorrow, they’re going to organize a search—” Her voice broke.

  “I’ll be there,” Tyler said. “But I’m sure she’s okay.”

  She picked up her umbrella, her eyes shifting between me and Tyler as she backed out of the house.

  * * *

  CORINNE’S MOTHER HAD COME to see me a week after she went missing, after we’d scoured the woods, the river, the caverns. “Just tell me, Nic. Tell me the things you think I don’t want to know. Tell me so we can find her.”