The Years Between Us

by Stephanie Vercier

  When I head to the house I’d dropped Claudia off at when I’d driven her home during the summer, I don’t have a lot of hope anyone will be home.

  And I’m right.

  With unanswered knocks and rings to the doorbell, my next move is the law firm her parents work for. While they let me know they’d been digging things up on me, I’d at least looked into where they worked and if they had as much clout as they were claiming. And indeed, Phil and Genevieve Cartwright are sought after divorce attorneys working for a high profile downtown Seattle law firm. They’re used to digging into the private lives of the people their clients are hoping to divorce and doing their best to destroy them. So I can see how Claudia had worried they’d do the same to me.

  The firm, on the forty-second floor of a high-rise building downtown, is about as opulent as you can get. The flooring is travertine, the walls adorned with expensive fixtures and covered in a polished, dark wood. I’m at a disadvantage in jeans—nice jeans, but still jeans—and a sweatshirt. If I’d known I’d be coming here, I would have worn a suit.

  “Hi, how can I help you?” the bubbly blonde at the front desk asks me while the dark-haired guy next to her scowls like that’s his permanent face.

  “I’d like to see either Phil or Genevieve Cartwright,” I tell her authoritatively. “I’m Luke Prescott, and they’ll know who I am.”

  “Certainly, Mr. Prescott,” she says with a smile and picks up the phone. “I’ll just call back and see if they’re available.”

  I’m not sure what I’ll do if they aren’t here or if they refuse to see me. I’m positive they know exactly where Claudia is, and beyond that, it’s time I had it out with them, make sure they understand that they can threaten me all they want, but it’s never going to keep me away from their daughter.

  “It will be just a moment,” the young receptionist says with a smile. “Can I get you something in the interim? Coffee, tea, water?”

  “I’m fine, thanks,” I say, relieved and ready to confront two people I should have gone after a long time ago.

  It’s her father who comes out to the lobby first, the expression on his face even less friendly than the guy sitting next to the accommodating blonde.

  “Mr. Prescott?” He lifts his brows and tilts his head toward the back. “Shall we?”

  I follow him through the door, seeing no reason at all to trade niceties. In fact I don’t say a word to him until he leads me into a small private room with a table and chairs and views of the Seattle skyline. This is likely where they attempt to reduce opposing attorneys and their clients to rubble.

  “Have a seat,” he tells me, choosing a chair at the head of the table for himself.

  “I’d rather stand.”

  He lets out an annoyed breath and shrugs as if to say, “Suit yourself.”

  “What, pray tell, is the nature of your visit, Mr. Prescott?”

  “I think you know, Phil. I’d like to know what you’ve done with Claudia.”

  “What I’ve done with her?” He laughs and eases back in his chair. “What ever do you mean?”

  “What I mean is that I was supposed to meet with her this morning, and she’s nowhere to be found.”

  “Meeting with her?” His attempt at shock is poorly acted. “I thought we’d agreed the two of you wouldn’t be seeing one another at all.”

  “Just be real,” I snap, stepping forward and slamming my hand on the table. “I know you had her followed yesterday, and you know damn well we saw each other. All I want to know now is where she is and if she’s safe.”

  He stands up, complete seriousness returning to his face. “I’m quite sure she’s safe, but I don’t think it’s any of your business where she’s at. Perhaps she simply doesn’t want to see you.”

  “Tell me… where… the fuck she’s at.” I step closer to him, wanting to grab the collar of his three-hundred-dollar shirt and shake the truth right out of him.

  “I most certainly won’t be telling you her whereabouts.”

  And he won’t. I’d like to at least try beating it out of him, but he’d have security here in seconds and likely have me arrested for battery. The last thing I need is to get booked into jail while I should be trying to figure out where Claudia is.

  “Will you let me speak to your wife?” I ask through clenched teeth. It’s doubtful I’ll have any better luck with her, but there’s the smallest of chances.

  “My wife is indisposed at the moment,” he says without missing a beat. “And as of this moment, I am too. I’d kindly ask you to take your leave and take my daughter’s unwillingness to return your calls as a sign.”

  “I have rights,” I remind him. “I’m the father of her child.”

  “Child? What child?” he laughs.

  A sick feeling washes over me. “What have you done?”

  “I have done absolutely nothing, and I’d again encourage you to take your leave before I have you escorted out.”

  “If you forced her to get an abortion, I’ll make sure you pay for it.”

  He opens the door to the room, walks out and stands waiting for me to follow. “I have no idea what you mean.”

  He’s a smug bastard, and it’s difficult to imagine he had any part in creating a woman as beautiful and kind as Claudia.

  “I’m not done with you… not by a long shot,” I tell him, meaning every word of it as I push past him and out of the office.

  “Good day, Mr. Prescott,” he calls from behind me, making me fume even more.

  But I have to keep a clear head. I have to stay focused if I’m going to find Claudia. Right now, that’s all that matters.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  CLAUDIA

  My head is foggy when I open my eyes. The light, though muted and gray, is at first too much for me. I’m in a bed that is not my own, and I have to keep squinting until my eyes adjust to a room that, while wall-papered with some kind of jute-like fabric and decorated with Asian paintings and décor, still feels incredibly sterile and without one bit of warmth to it.

  “Where am I?” I speak aloud, though there is nobody in this room to hear me.

  I sit up, dizzy, and look across the room and out what are nearly floor to ceiling windows, looking out onto water and, in the distance, a skyline.

  Seattle?

  I swing my feet over the bed, slide them to the carpeted floor and walk, unsteadily at first, toward the windows. It’s a beautiful view, of water, of trees, of that cluster of tall buildings in the distance, but it isn’t Seattle.

  “Vancouver.”

  Even if I hadn’t been to the city across the Canadian border on several occasions, I would have recognized it from all of the TV shows and movies that are filmed here. There is always that attempt to make it look like Seattle or some other place, but you can always tell it’s Vancouver.

  But what the hell am I doing here?

  It’s the not knowing that’s frightening, especially when my mind returns to last night, that strange woman standing over me and jabbing me with a needle. Instinctively, I touch my hand to my stomach, wishing I were further along, thinking only then I’d be able to feel the baby kick or somehow sense the heartbeat.

  The thought that my growing child might have been taken out of me brings a wave of nausea, and I barely make it through the open door of the attached bathroom before whatever food I’d had in me ends up in the sink. Just the sight of it brings another roiling from deep in my guts, and I just manage to slam the lid of the toilet open to catch the rest of it. I collapse on the cold floor and hug the porcelain seat, continuing to wretch even after my stomach has emptied.

  What have they done to me?

  “Oh, dear,” someone—a woman—says. “My goodness… this is not how we like our guests to spend their first day with us.” She appears at the bathroom door, dressed in white from head to toe—she’s short with flaming red hair and a face that I think she is trying very hard to make look friendly.

  I’m too sick to be startled. “Whe
re am I?” I ask, hopeful for an answer that will make some kind of sense.

  “You’re at Clear Water Psychiatric Institute,” she tells me, taking a look in the sink and turning the water on full blast. “Now, why don’t you let me help you back into bed, and we can talk some more.”

  “Psychiatric Institute?” That can’t be right. “I’m not crazy.”

  She smiles. “No, of course not. We don’t use that word around here anyway. Come on, now.” She bends down to me and threads her arm through mine. “Let’s get you back up and into bed.”

  Part of me wants to be difficult and demand she tell me exactly what the hell I’m doing here, but I do want to get off the cold bathroom floor, and maybe she’ll be more forthcoming if I follow her direction.

  She helps me back into bed and brings me a glass of cool water, which I drink mostly just to get the taste of vomit out of my mouth. “Why am I here?” I ask after I’ve set the glass down on the nightstand next to my bed. “And how… how did I get here?”

  Busy straightening my comforter, she pinches her lips, and I swear she rolls her eyes. “You’re here because you’ve had a breakdown of sorts.” Her voice is flat, emotionless, as she continues to busy herself in the room without looking at me. “And in your condition, it’s best that you be watched to ensure you don’t hurt yourself or others.”

  I look down to my belly that is now covered with the comforter. “They didn’t take it out?” I should be horrified at even asking, but there’s a numbness to my thoughts I’ve yet to muddle through completely.

  Finally looking at me, she smiles. “Oh, heavens no. You’re still pregnant, Claudia, unless you’d like to speak to one of the doctors about termination?”

  “No!” A protective instinct shoots right through the numbness, and I pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them. “And who are you, anyway?” I demand. “I don’t even know your name!”

  The put-on smile fades, a far more ominous expression seeping through. “My name is Lucille, and I’m one of the nurses here. We’ll be seeing a lot of one another, so it would be best if you didn’t fear me. I’m not here to hurt you, Claudia. The team at Clear Water is here to heal you.”

  “But I don’t need to be healed,” I argue. “I was taken… someone came into my room last night. They drugged me or something… that’s the last thing I remember.”

  I expect this Lucille woman to react, to ask me more about my experiences and maybe even to help. But all she does is stare blankly at me before picking up the empty glass from my nightstand and turning to leave. “I’ll be back with the doctor in a couple of hours. You can speak to her about the delusions you’ve been having. Until then, I think it’s best that you rest, okay?”

  Delusions? What the hell is she talking about? She doesn’t even give me a chance to answer before she’s through the door, the sound of a lock engaging following her exit.

  I climb out of bed as soon as she’s gone, still woozy, but needing to take another look outside. There is no phone in the room and none of my personal belongings as far as I can tell, but if there is something below, a road or a courtyard with people, I could pound on the window and get their attention, mouth to them to call the police, to get me out of this place that I’m sure my parents have had me committed to. They’d rather do that then allow me to be with the man that I love.

  Luke.

  It dawns on me just now that I was supposed to meet him this morning.

  “God dammit!” I pound on the windows even though there is nothing beyond them except for trees and a wide body of water.

  What must he think? That I changed my mind, that I’ve decided to turn on him? No. He wouldn’t believe that. He knows how much I love him. He has to know after yesterday.

  I slam my hand against the window again before turning to pace the room, wanting this to be a bad dream but knowing it’s not. Somehow, some way, my parents managed to have me drugged and taken across the border and locked up somewhere. It’s extreme, but it’s only a few notches above having me followed. And it has to be illegal. I have rights. And yet they’re too careful, too smart to have done this without a plan, without being sure they’d come through this unscathed.

  And that’s what frightens me. Even if I know Luke will try to find me, will do everything in his power to come for me, my parents would have considered that too. They’ll have calculated every contingency just the way they’d done in all of those cases they’d won for their clients.

  I’m a fighter, and there’s plenty of fight in me, for Luke and for this baby, but right now, right at this moment, all I feel is despair. Instead of going to the door and pounding on it and demanding to see that doctor this very instant. I climb back into the bed, slide under the covers and pull them up and over me.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  LUKE

  January

  It’s been nearly four months since I’ve seen Claudia. I’ve gone to the police, hired two private investigators, and the best lawyer money can buy. The only thing I’ve gotten out of all of that was a brief meeting with a detective in the downtown Seattle precinct three weeks after I’d gone to them.

  “Claudia Cartwright is safe, Mr. Prescott,” the man had told me, and at first I’d been overjoyed and relieved because I’d thought all kinds of things in those three weeks, including being worried that somehow she’d ended up hurt or dead.

  “When can I see her?” I asked him, just wanting to lay my eyes on her again.

  His expression was a regretful one. “I’m sorry, but Ms. Cartwright doesn’t want to see you. But as I said, I can assure you she’s safe. I met with her myself.”

  “Where did you meet with her?” I demanded, not believing she wouldn’t want to see me.

  “I’m not at liberty to discuss that,” he said, though I was almost sure he wanted to. “All I can tell you is that she doesn’t wish to see you.”

  “But the baby… our baby. I have rights, don’t I?” If I had to play that card to see her, I’d use it, along with hoping there still was a baby.

  He sighed. “You have rights when the child is born and you can prove that it belongs to you. But at the moment, there’s not a lot I can do unless you force the issue legally.”

  “Then I’ll force the issue legally.” I’d sure as hell force something because this wasn’t like Claudia. This was more like her being used as a pawn by her parents.

  “I’ve seen cases like this, Mr. Prescott, and doing a DNA test at this juncture could be harmful to the fetus, let alone detrimental to the mother’s mental health. My advice to you would be to wait until the birth.”

  “But how the hell will I know that if she won’t even contact me?”

  He looked at me like he knew just what I was feeling. His expression was sympathetic, but I could tell sympathy was about all I’d get out of him. “You have a lawyer, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you’ll have a lot to discuss with him or her. Unfortunately, your rights to this child aren’t nearly as strong as the mother’s. And I can almost guarantee no judge will force a DNA test until after the child is born.”

  “And she told you she doesn’t want to see me? She really said that?” I asked him, still unwilling or unable to believe that was truly what she felt.

  He nods. “It could be far worse. She could put out a restraining order or level charges of abuse against you, but she was unwilling to do any of that, even when I asked, even when her parents—”

  “Her parents what? They were with her?”

  “I’m not allowed to say more.”

  And that had been the end of that.

  My lawyer had reiterated everything the detective said. I was basically fucked, and because the detective had met with her, had determined she wasn’t under duress or being harmed, there was nothing I could do. But I hadn’t given up.

  And so today I find myself at the Denny G. Pike Day Academy. It’s a desperate move, one that is made all the more pressing as teenag
ers in uniforms start piling out of the private school. I check the pictures of Cory and Kyle Cartwright once more, the ones Danielle had helped me find. Like their older sister, they have reddish brown hair and blue eyes and are identical to one another save for the different haircuts in their photographs. But I doubt I’ll be able to tell them apart, that is if I’m even able to spot them among the groups of students and then be lucky enough to speak to them before they bolt.

  Bernard and Danielle had both offered to do this for me, being closer in age to the boys and perhaps looking less suspicious. But this was something I needed to do myself, and in a dress shirt, trousers and a fitted designer coat, I look no different than other fathers picking up their kids. One father who I know is absent is Phil Cartwright. I’d learned that much from the PI’s I’d hired, that Kyle and Cory always take the city bus home the way Claudia had from college.

  Damn if having teenagers followed doesn’t make me feel like a stalker, but to even have a chance at winning against the Cartwrights, I’m having to play by their less than aboveboard rules.

  My nerves spike when I finally spot them, two tall boys, nearly identical. Cautiously, I approach them, having rehearsed this a dozen times but still unsure of how I’ll come off. Espionage is not my thing.

  “Hey… it’s Kyle and Cory right?” I say before they pass, trying to look normal, like I hadn’t been lying in wait for them.

  I’m not sure which one it is that notices me and stops, but I’m glad one of them has. “Yeah… I’m Cory,” the uniformed boy with slightly longer hair than the other says. “You look familiar. You know my sister, right?”

  If he knows who I am, he might not give me a chance to say much more before bolting, might tell his parents I’d been here asking around. But I don’t see the point in lying.