Beyond the Roses

by Mary Cantell

  Trees morphed like chameleons out of their summer greenery into ripe shades of amber and crimson. Lissa loved this time of year. Though the trees were losing their leaves as winter dormancy loomed on the horizon, the showy display of electrified colors signaled the power of life within them. One last hurrah.

  Becca Robson and her family lived on the other side of town in a well-to-do enclave of McMansions named Golden Meadows Estates in Elmdale. Lissa drove through the main entrance, admiring each of the houses—one just as ostentatiously huge as the next. She pulled up to 808 Larchmont Drive and parked in front of the Robsons’ immaculate Tudor, the kind of house her mother would admire and say, “I couldn’t afford the front door.”

  Floodlights the shape of tiny lanterns lined the stone walkway leading to the front door of the two-story stucco home and several more dotted the sprawling fieldstone borders. Lissa kept her eyes peeled on the black double doors graced with a cluster of fall-colored leaves and pine cones. A large spider web clung to the door frame; orange and black streamers hung from the trees. How could anyone with a legal job afford such an immense house? Becca’s father had to be either a CEO or a drug dealer.

  In the dim early evening light, she tuned the radio to a Christian station. A CeeCee Winans’s song played. Presently, a silver minivan idled in front of her and two children dressed as Spiderman and Darth Vader climbed inside. Another couple of children bounced down the Robsons’ driveway—one wore a mouse costume and the other dressed as an elf. Behind them, a little ballerina came rushing past them and headed toward a gray Mercedes parked across the street. Some older trick-or-treaters sauntered along the sidewalk smothered in greasepaint and gothic clothing. Good timing, she thought.

  Minutes ticked by. She glanced once again at the house. The stream of party goers dwindled and silence followed after the last of the vehicles pulled away. With her impatience rising, she fought the urge to get out and knock on the door, not wanting to embarrass her daughter by appearing too motherly.

  A male figure came out of the Robsons’ garage. Becca’s father. She met him once along with Becca’s mother at the school’s first PTA meeting earlier in the month. They were older than most of the parents of grade school children and appeared closer to the age of grandparents.

  Lissa turned off the engine and got out of the car. After surveying the well-heeled neighborhood from all angles, she decided to fetch her daughter who, more times than not, could easily overstay her welcome. Lissa proceeded toward the house.

  “Mr. Robson,” she called to him cheerily as he came down the driveway wheeling two large trash receptacles. “Hi, I’m Lissa Logan, Lacy’s mother. How are you?”

  Startled, he stopped short. “Oh, yes, hi. Please, do call me Jay.”

  “Oh, yes, of course. Lovely home you have.” She raised her arm in a sweeping gesture toward the stately Tudor.

  “Thank you,” he replied, modestly dipping his head.

  “I’m just here to pick up my daughter.”

  He cocked his head.

  “Lacy…from the party,” she offered.

  “Hmmm.” He lifted his hand to his chin. “Well, I think the party is over. In fact, my wife just told me to start cleaning up.”

  “You mean she’s not still inside?” Lissa quickly cast her eyes over the man’s property.

  “I don’t think so…now maybe I could be wrong.”

  Lissa’s insides cinched and her thoughts scattered. “I dropped her off this afternoon around four and—”

  “You know what?” he interjected. “She might just be using the bathroom or something. You know how little girls are,” he added with a stiff chuckle. “Would you like to come in and wait?”

  A wave of relief passed over her. Of course. She nodded. “Yes, could I?”

  “Absolutely. I was just going to take these down to the curb,” he said of the trash receptacles, “but they can wait.” He made his way toward the house and beckoned her to follow. Jay led her into the garage and then through the door leading into the house. “Jan,” he called out pleasantly from the kitchen while ushering Lissa inside.

  The spacious hardwood floored kitchen was large enough to dance in. The cluttered table held the remains of what once had been a large vanilla sheet cake topped with chocolate icing, along with plastic liters of soda and fruit punch. Nearby, a trash container filled to overflowing revealed soiled paper plates, napkins, cups, and empty soda containers. Moments later, a tall grayish-haired woman appeared from around the corner.

  “Honey, this is Lissa, Lacy’s mother,” he said, gentlemanly palming the back of her denim jacket.

  Lissa lifted the corners of her lips and extended her hand. “Lovely to meet you, Mrs. Robson. I think we met once before—at school.”

  “Yes…yes, I do remember you,” she replied with her own version of a polite barely-there smile.

  Lissa cast a nervous glance around the room, hoping to catch a glimpse of her daughter or a note of her voice before announcing, “I’m here to pick up my daughter.”

  A flicker of uncertainty flashed in Jan’s eyes. “Lacy?”

  “Yes, I’ve been waiting outside but I decided it best to…” Lissa’s words faded when she sensed her initial instincts come into play again. She mentally revisited dropping Lacy off in front of the pristine residence. The late afternoon light burnished the neighborhood in gold. She’d been awed by the lovely homes as they drove along the winding macadam. When they got to Becca’s home, Lissa pulled up to the curb and watched her daughter get out and turn to go up the driveway, but did she actually see Lacy go inside? She couldn’t remember. Exactly when she took her eyes away became a blur. She felt like a character in a Twilight Zone episode.

  Jan lent a quizzical look to her and then to her husband. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head apologetically, “but I don’t think any of Becca’s friends are still here.”

  Lissa’s knees started to tremble. Her worried expression must have given away her feelings as right then, the woman held up a finger. “But wait.” She slowly stepped back, still signaling with her index finger to hold on as she retreated. “Let me check with Becca just to make sure. She’s upstairs in her room. Lacy could be there, hold on a moment, would you?” She backed out of the room in what appeared to be slow motion.

  With her whole body on edge, Lissa longed to follow her, or better, race right past the slow-moving woman who seemed to abide in a state of perpetual calm. Sometimes she wished to be the kind of person who exuded an unruffled grace instead of the tightly coiled state she often found herself.

  Jay pulled out a tall hardback cane chair and pointed to it. “Please, sit down. May I get you something to eat or drink?”

  Eat, now? People offered their hospitality at the most ridiculous times, she thought.

  Jittery, she shook her head nervously back and forth like it was spring loaded. “Oh, no, that’s okay, but thanks, I’ll be all right.” Her words came out fast and quivery.

  She stood in the kitchen watching him clear the table. He shuffled back and forth to the sink and then ran the garbage disposal all while attempting to make polite small talk. She understood his need to put her at ease and admired his effort, but every word he said had little effect on her, and she went through the motions of conversation without really being present. Was this man blind to the fact that her daughter could be missing? The only thing on her mind was where was Lacy and why was this taking so long?

  A strawberry blonde-haired child appeared from around the corner of the kitchen. “Hi, Mrs. Logan,” the little girl offered weakly. The child stood diminutively next to her mother at the threshold. One look at their sober expressions and Lissa knew Lacy wasn’t here.

  “I’m afraid—” Jan began.

  “Then where is she?” Lissa choked out. “Where could she be? She came to your house and now she’s—she’s gone?” She hated the rise in her voice. Not that it was impolite but that she had to raise it at all.

  Jay reached for
a paper cup on the table and moved swiftly to pour water and hand it to her in the manner of a peace offering.

  “Where is she?” Lissa heard her voice as though it were disconnected from her body. The reality of the moment mirrored a scene from a Lifetime movie. This wasn’t real.

  “She left,” the little girl said in a hushed voice.

  “What?” Bile rose in her throat. “Left…when?”

  “What do you mean, Becca?” her mother said, emotion rising in her voice. “When was this?”

  Becca looked down at the floor. Her feet, dressed in fluffy pink socks, squirmed restlessly on the smooth hardwood floor. Silence.

  “Becca?”

  After another long pause, the child replied, “She left when we were playing pin the tail on the witch game.”

  “Why?” Jan asked, her curiosity mounting. “Why did she leave, Becca?”

  Silence.

  Lissa’s insides bottomed out. Within seconds, she dropped the cup onto the table and ran out of the house. In the distance, she heard Mr. Robson calling after her. He’d been so calm and collected before but now there was urgency in his voice. In mid-stride, she kept going. No time for decorum now. She had to find her daughter.

  Lissa looked up and down the street, straining to catch a glimpse of Lacy in the darkness. Lord, wherever she is, please let her be safe. How could she have run off? Though this wouldn’t be the first time. Sounds of nearby children caught her attention. Their sweet, lighthearted voices pitched through the air with one in particular ringing familiar. They came from a neighbor’s yard, but which one?

  She ran across the street and rushed toward the gray-stone colonial. With her heart in her throat, hoping to find Lacy, relief flooded her, thinking sometimes she worried for nothing. Approaching the house, the gate to the back yard was unlatched. The handle lifted easily. She moved toward the voices growing louder with each step. “Lacy,” she called. Laughter spilled from the opening of a large playhouse in the backyard enclosure. “Lacy?” No response. Lissa darted up to the playhouse. Inside two little girls and a playful cocker spaniel huddled over bags of candy. Her heart sank.

  Lissa raced back to her car. She hopped inside, stuck her key into the ignition, and said a quick, panic-stricken prayer. It was all she could muster before pulling away in a complete frenzy. A full moon shone like a white coin through a stretch of patchy clouds. The sight couldn’t have been more cliché. Halloween with its eerie glow appearing more like a manufactured stage background out of central casting.

  Coasting down the street in the semi-darkness, punctuated by the golden-yellow light of the old-fashioned lampposts, Lissa’s hands shook at the wheel. Which way did I come in? The homes at Golden Meadows sat just outside of Pinewood in a borough called Elmdale. By day, this wouldn’t be an issue. Now, at dusk, the world took on an unfamiliar patina.

  Her mind spun. Lacy, where are you? The creepy image of the white SUV suddenly came to mind again, and she shivered at the thought that she’d been followed here. He could be parked outside like the other cars and snatched Lacy when she came to wait at the curb. He could have enticed her with candy or…? Lissa didn’t want to think about it. Then the maintenance guy, Mike Hemstead, flew into her head. He seemed innocuous with the cover of having a little girl. Double life? A pervert? Lissa shook off the thoughts.

  Frantically, she scanned the area. Her eyes darted back and forth checking both sides of the street. The last house in the development sat on the crest of a hill above a scruffy patch of untended land adjacent to a grove of trees. Beyond the owner’s property line, she glimpsed something. There. What was that? She slammed her foot on the brake and strained in the low light for what caught her attention. Empty beer cans and fast food wrappers littered the clearing at the edge of the development. She set the parking brake and jumped out. She ran through the weeds and debris and braced at what she saw. Three holes and black markings took the shape of an eerie grin. Lacy’s costume.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Lissa’s breath caught. An invisible punch hit the pit of her stomach and she couldn’t breathe. On the verge of hysteria, she consciously talked to herself. Just breathe…you need to keep breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth. She learned the technique in an article she read online. The practice worked well in the past whenever anxiety reached a fever pitch—whether having to speak in front of a group of people or an impromptu request to appear in her boss’s office. Stay with me, Lord.

  Lissa leaned over to wretch. Her head throbbed. With every ounce of her strength, she screamed for Lacy. Her voice keened; her heart palpitated. “Lacy,” she yelled. Over and over until her vocal chords strained and felt ripped from her throat. She ran, trembling, toward the wooded area off the main roadway. Her gelatinous legs hardly keeping up with her overwhelming need to find her daughter. She raced along the perimeter, stepping over broken bottles and other trash like a wild woman. The sheet clutched to her breast. With each pathetic scream, her voice evaporated, barely making a dent in the thick night air. There was not a soul in sight. No cars. No movement. Only a surreal sense of dread.

  ****

  “911, what is your emergency?”

  “I want to report a missing child.”

  “Where was the child last seen?”

  “At a home. In Elmdale.”

  “Where in Elmdale, ma’am?”

  “Um, uh…I’ve got the address right here—okay, yes, it’s 808 Larchmont. Larchmont Drive,” she nervously repeated.

  “Description?”

  “My daughter?”

  “The missing child.”

  “That’s my daughter.”

  “Are you the guardian of the missing child?”

  “I’m her mother,” she said in frustration.”

  “Description?”

  Lissa drew a blank and struggled to focus despite the chaotic whirlwind going on in her head. Think. “Yes, um, she’s 4 ft. 3 inches, and 60 lbs. Her hair is reddish-brown—a shortish bob—and she has green eyes.”

  “Age?”

  “She’s eight.”

  “Birthday?”

  “Her birthday is…is December 3, 1996. But—but she left there—the address I gave you. She’s not there. She’s gone.” Lissa’s voice broke. “Please, just send the police.”

  “Your location, ma’am?”

  “Hold on, let me check.” She twisted around to get a look at the street sign. “It’s Castleview Court in the Golden Meadows Estates in Elmdale. I’m right at the entrance just off of I-70.”

  The light drained away from the sky and the evening air sent a chill to her arms now prickled in goose flesh. A full moon shrouded in misty clouds hung like an all-knowing eye. The white sheet that was lying crumpled on the ground now eerily glowed on the front seat. The black marker smiled mockingly. This was your idea.

  Her heart thumped wildly, and she feared she’d have a heart attack. Just breathe…keep breathing. The scene mirrored her eighth-grade gym class after running around the half-mile track. Toward the final lap, her lungs stretched to the max to take in oxygen, and she worried her next breath would be her last…each inhalation barely enough to satisfy her need for air. The searing ache those many years ago was no match for the emotional agony she experienced now. How much stress could a heart take?

  A set of headlights traveling down Rt. 70 quickly interrupted her thoughts. The police. Adrenaline pulsed through her veins. In through the nose, out through the mouth. She ran her tongue over her raw lips, tasting blood, and envisioned rushing onto the road, signaling her location to the officer—anything to speed things up. There was no time to waste. Her anticipation rose as the headlights approached. The car barreled down the highway, not more than 300 yards away—then 200, 100, 50— The speeding car took the curve and then passed through the darkness.

  Disheartened, she got back inside the car. Her mind reeled. Should she go back to the Robson home or knock on doors to see if anyone might have seen her? Head into the woods wi
th a flashlight? Sit still and wait for the police? With every passing minute, Lissa became more desperate, like a tightrope walker without a net.

  Chapter Twenty

  “I’m coming right out there,” Robin exclaimed.

  “No, no, it’s okay, Robin, I appreciate the offer, but please don’t come. Brian’s on his way. I just called him.” Lissa didn’t want or need any more confusion to dilute her attention away from the situation at hand. She could barely focus on anything as it was. More than anyone, she needed Brian. Her whole body convulsed. Her speech came out in a quiver. The sound of her best friend’s voice did nothing to lessen the fear churning inside her like poisoned stew, something she needed to vomit up but couldn’t. Her life spiraled into a mad descent. The hollowed out feeling inside of her could be comforted only by the sound of her daughter’s voice.

  “I’ll be there in a heartbeat. I want to—”

  “No, no, please,” Lissa pleaded, hating to fend off the kind offer. “Please. I don’t want you to uproot yourself on account of me. Really, I’d feel awful. I have Brian to lean on. He should be here soon.”

  “Okay.” Robin blew a breath into the phone. “But you know I would be there for you. If you change your mind, please call me Liss.”

  “Yes—yes, I know.”

  “I understand what you’re going through, honey. I’ve been there myself, remember?”