Truly, Madly

by Heather Webber

  “Do you want to find him?” I asked, trying to keep my resolve. I couldn’t help but feel I was in way over my head.

  John O’Brien’s voice broke. “More than anything.”

  “Go get a police officer. Any one will do. But only one. Do not tell him any details. Bring him to me, and you need to be here as well. I’ll meet you by that tree,” I said, pointing.

  He took a hard look at me, blinked once, then sprinted toward the command center.

  I hurried to the oak tree, partially hidden by the refreshment tent. The more privacy, the better.

  Not a minute later, John O’Brien was back. “This is Detective Lieutenant Holliday with the Massachusetts State Police,” he said.

  “And who are you, ma’am?” Holliday asked me, a no-nonsense tone in his voice. He was older than me, probably by a good five or ten years, and stood about six feet, on the thin side. Probably a runner. His sandy blond hair was cut short. In the darkness, I couldn’t make out the color of his eyes, just the penetrating way they looked at me. Sizing me up. He might’ve been cute if not for the annoying machismo radiating from his every pore.

  “No names,” I said.

  “If you’re interfering in this investigation,” he began in that way only law enforcement could pull off.

  I held up a hand. “Please, please let’s skip the BS. I’m here to help. That’s all that matters.”

  “Not if you’ve—”

  “I’m here to help,” I told the detective. “I don’t have to be here, putting myself in this position. All I need is a minute. Okay?”

  “I don’t think—” Holliday began.

  “Let her talk,” John said, cutting him off. “What can it hurt?”

  After a moment, the detective lieutenant gave a brief nod.

  “Where is he?” John O’Brien asked. “Take me to him.”

  “It’s not like that,” I said, not sure how to explain.

  “Maybe you should come with me, miss,” Holliday said. The muscles of his jaw had clenched.

  “Give me a minute.” I looked at John. “Think about your sweatshirt.”

  “My sweatshirt?” he asked, dumbfounded. “Why in the hell—”

  “Yes,” I snapped. “Your sweatshirt. The one Max is wearing. The color, the size, any writing on it. Think about it. Now. Long and hard. Close your eyes and do it.”

  Holliday shifted foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable.

  “Okay,” John said. “What now?”

  “Give me your hand.”

  “My hand?”

  “Yes! And don’t stop thinking about that sweatshirt.”

  The detective looked over his shoulder at the visitor center. Probably hoping for backup to help take down the crazy lady.

  Reluctantly, John held out his right hand.

  I swallowed hard, and reached out.

  A cloud came over my vision as pictures flashed, images flying by. One by one, I took them all in. Frames of the boat ramp, of trees and trails and old stone bunkers. I zigzagged through the dark woods to a large oak tree, its trunk hollowed out. Inside, a little boy lay curled, wearing his father’s sweatshirt.

  My breath caught and my eyes fluttered open.

  John yanked his hand away.

  Dizzy, I leaned against the tree. I’d seen enough.

  I looked at the two men, who stared at me.

  And I smiled. Big. So big my cheeks hurt. Tears stung my eyes. Just like the ones I’d seen in Max’s eyes.

  I could barely find my voice to whisper, “He’s alive. Let me take you to him.”

  TWELVE

  Detective Lieutenant Holliday had gone on guard. “I don’t think that’s wise. Why don’t you tell me where he is? I’ll go get him.”

  His tone had switched to an “I’m dealing with a nutcase” voice.

  “I couldn’t,” I said. “The woods are too thick. I have to go by what’s in my head.”

  “What are you?” John asked. “Psychic?”

  I ignored the question. “He’s alive. Maybe two, three miles from the boat ramp. In the hollow of a tree. He’s crying,” I added softly.

  John grabbed me by my arms. “Show me!”

  “Hold up!” Holliday said, pulling John from me. “Let me get some backup.”

  Panic set in. The fewer people who knew about me, the better. “No!”

  “Why not?” Holliday asked.

  “No more people. Please.” I looked around. Two ATVs near the trailhead were being hovered over by a local cop. “Let’s take those four-wheelers and go. Once we find Max, you can call for backup.”

  “I’m not comfortable with your plan.”

  “What about my wife?” John asked.

  I couldn’t give in now. “She’ll see Max soon enough. I’m not comfortable with more people. We do it my way or I walk.” It was a lame threat, one I’d never follow up on. Not with Max’s life at stake.

  “Jesus,” John said. “Can we just go?”

  “All right,” Holliday conceded reluctantly.

  Across the street, in the parking lot, Holliday waved off the local cop, and I climbed onto the ATV. It had been a couple of years since I’d ridden one on the dunes of a Plymouth beach.

  John climbed onto the other one. Holliday stood looking at the two of us, obviously wondering who to ride with. After a minute, he climbed behind me and took a minute to figure out where to put his hands. He finally settled on gripping the seat.

  I tucked my dress beneath my thighs and kicked off my heels. I’d rather be barefoot than get my heels caught.

  I asked John to direct us to the boat ramp, since that’s where my vision started. Weary-looking searchers stepped out of our way as we passed by. At the boat ramp, I took the lead. Soon enough we were deep in the woods, bumping over tree roots, squeezing through narrow paths, uprooting underbrush.

  The headlights on the ATV cast an unnatural haze in the dark woods. Every once in a while the ghostly iridescent eyes of a nocturnal animal glowed at us from the brush.

  I was grateful for the heat of Holliday’s chest against my back. Truth be told, I was freezing. I kept reminding myself that my discomfort was minimal in comparison to what Max had been going through.

  I drove along, trying to follow the images in my head. The path seemed to narrow and I slowed.

  “What is it?” Holliday shouted to be heard over the ATV’s engine.

  “I need a minute!” I yelled back.

  “If this has been a wild-goose cha—”

  “Shh!” I said, cutting him off.

  Closing my eyes, I let the images wash over me. It was hard in the dark to pinpoint landmarks, but I knew instantly we’d gone too far. “We need to go back. We passed it.”

  “I thought you knew what you were doing,” he said dryly.

  “Shut up. Please.” I went off-trail to turn the ATV around.

  “What’s going on?” John asked as we doubled back.

  “We went too far!” I shouted.

  I saw a look of disappointment cross over his face. Followed closely by doubt. He thought I’d led him out here on a whim, that I was some whack job messing with his head.

  Before I dwelled, I motored off.

  “Maybe I should drive,” Holliday said, his voice rumbling against my ear.

  “No.”

  “It wasn’t a request! Pull over.”

  The beam of the headlamp shone on an old stump. I recognized it. Max wasn’t far.

  “In a minute,” I said, over my shoulder.

  Holliday’s body tensed against mine. “Do it now. I’ll use force if I have to. I don’t want to hurt you, ma’am.”

  “Too late,” I wanted to say. Why was I so sensitive to nonbelievers? Maybe it was wise my parents had always kept my gift a secret. From people who might label me a fake, a phony.

  I drove another ten feet and angled the ATV across the path and got off.

  John pulled up behind us.

  “You’ve wasted our time,” Holliday said. “What you di
d to this man was cruel beyond belief. You’ll pay for this, mark my words.”

  I looked at him, tears in my eyes, and shook my head. Gooseflesh pimpled my arms, and a lump clogged my throat. My gaze went over his shoulder. “Mr. O’Brien?” I said.

  “What?” Anger riddled that single word.

  “I think your son is waiting for you.” I motioned to where the headlights of the ATV lit the base of a hollowed-out oak tree about twenty feet from the trail. A little boy poked his head out of the tree, wide, scared eyes blinking against the bright light.

  “Max!” John cried, stumbling into the brush, tripping in his haste to reach his son. “Oh my God, Max! It’s Daddy!”

  “Holy shit,” Holliday said, reaching for his radio.

  As he made his call, I watched the reunion between father and son. John O’Brien’s sobbing nearly did me in, and I found I couldn’t look anymore.

  In the distance, a loud cheer echoed. Command central had just gotten the news. As waves of jubilation rolled through the darkness, tears welled in my eyes.

  This.

  This was what I’d been looking for most of my life. It made me feel, for once, that my life was worthwhile. That my gift had purpose.

  Holliday alternately spoke into his radio and to Max. Eventually, Holliday looked over his shoulder at me. “Where the hell are we?”

  Obviously, more emergency personnel were on their way. “I have no idea,” I said honestly. “But I can probably get us back to the boat ramp.”

  He spoke into his radio again.

  Max clung to his father’s shoulder. Tear tracks streaked the boy’s dirty face. I kept my distance, knowing intuitively there were some moments that just shouldn’t be disrupted, though I wanted nothing more than to give Max a hug myself.

  “Let’s head back,” Holliday said. He looked at me. “You can drive.”

  I had the feeling it was the closest thing to an apology I was going to get.

  I thought of the woman buried in Great Esker and wondered if the police had exhumed her body yet.

  Max’s disappearance had a happy ending; hers would not.

  I drove back slowly. The ATVs were loud, but not loud enough to drown out the cheers of the people gathered at the boat dock. Seemed like everyone in the park had gathered there.

  As we neared, I veered off to the side and motioned for John to pull up next to me. “You go first,” I said, nodding toward the opening at the end of the trail.

  “Let’s go see Mommy,” John said to his little boy. Max clung to his father, his dirty little fists balled against John’s back. The boy’s eyes still held a lingering fear. I suspected it would be a long while before he let go—of his father, and the fear.

  I waited a few beats, then followed. I’d like to say my letting them ahead was completely altruistic, but it wasn’t. A diversion was needed if I was going to escape without trying to answer prying questions.

  Just as I thought, chaos ensued as John and Max emerged into the clearing. I pulled the ATV off the path, on the fringe of the cheering crowd, and cut the engine. Holliday jumped off and offered me a hand. “I think I’ll stay here!” I shouted to be heard. “My feet . . .”

  They were a mess. Cut, bleeding, almost numb from the cold.

  “Stay put,” he said. “I’ll find you a blanket and see if I can find your shoes.”

  “Aye, aye.”

  As soon as he blended into the crowd, I immediately started the ATV and skirted the throng, headed for the main camp. Once free of the celebration, I gunned the engine, driving as fast as I could.

  The main gate area was completely deserted. I drove directly to my car, parked the ATV, and hopped off. My feet hurt like hell.

  In my car, I pulled off my hat and turned the heat on full blast. I turned toward home. I was freezing, my feet were cut and bruised, and I was worried about having my identity discovered. Yet . . .

  All I could do was smile.

  I pushed open my front door and found Grendel standing there, yelling at me for being so late.

  I listened for the creaking of Odysseus’s wheel, but all was quiet. Grendel continued his tirade. I slipped off my trench coat and tried to placate him as I tenderly walked into the kitchen and turned on the light.

  There was an empty bottle of wine on my counter. Obviously, Dovie had been here, probably lying in wait for me with another plan to set me up. I rinsed out the bottle and placed it in the recycling bin.

  I opened and closed cabinets until I found something I wanted to eat (a Twinkie) and shook some of Grendel’s kitty kibble into his dish. He ignored it, though he had to be hungry.

  “Suit yourself,” I said.

  “For God’s sake, could you be any louder?” a female voice called from my bedroom.

  I dropped my Twinkie.

  Grendel pounced on it.

  “Em?” I called out tentatively.

  She padded out of my bedroom, wearing a pair of my pajamas, her red hair pulled back in sloppy twin pigtails. Swaying a bit, she grabbed onto the kitchen counter.

  Looking a lot like Pippi Longstocking on a bender, she said, “Do you always make so much noise?”

  I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She really was okay. Someone hadn’t killed her and dumped her in the Charles River—a scenario my overactive imagination had created after Marisol’s second phone call.

  “What in the hell happened to you?” I asked. “You had us scared to death. And since when do you drink? I thought you stopped after what happened last time. Don’t you remember the seal exhibit at the Aquarium?”

  “Figured I was safe here.” She hopped onto a stool and nearly slid off but caught herself before she landed on Grendel, who was in the process of dragging the Twinkie under the dining table.

  “Safe from whom?”

  “Myself,” she muttered.

  That was certainly a telling statement. It wasn’t likely I’d get to the bottom of her binge tonight, so I let the comment go.

  “How did you get here? I didn’t see your car out front.”

  “Taxi. Here, kitty, kitty.”

  Grendel took a wide path around her.

  I didn’t need to ask how she got in—she had a key. We all did to each other’s places.

  I grabbed the cordless phone from the wall and called Marisol. She answered on the first ring, as though she’d been sleeping with the handset under her pillow.

  “She’s here,” I said. “Drunk, but in one piece.”

  “I’m going to kill her,” Marisol said. “Put her on.”

  I handed the phone to Em, who’d been waving it off. “Hi, Marisol,” she said reluctantly, slurring her words.

  I could hear the tone of Marisol’s voice but not the words. Her Latin temper was hard to keep under control.

  After a minute of just listening, Em handed the phone back, slipped off the stool, and thudded back to my bedroom, swaying the whole way. I watched her go.

  “Is she okay?” Marisol asked me.

  “She looks all right, but something is obviously wrong.”

  I thought about putting coffee on and sobering her up but decided I’d let her be. Tomorrow would be soon enough to get answers from her.

  “Should I come over?”

  “Nah. No use. She needs to sleep it off, I think.”

  “All right. Call me in the morning, okay?”

  “All right,” I said, and hung up.

  I foraged for another Twinkie and washed it down with a cup of milk.

  My health-nut father would have a fit if he knew I ate this way.

  It was late, past ten, but I took a minute to call Sean on his cell. I was surprised when he picked up—I’d intended to leave a voice message.

  “It’s Lucy,” I said lamely.

  “It’s late,” he countered.

  I hopped up on my counter and tried not to look at my feet. They hurt, and the sight of blood turned my stomach. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

  “Just doing surveillanc
e.”

  “A stakeout? Is it as glamorous as it sounds?”

  “Hardly. What’s up?”

  “I don’t know. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay,” I said, wondering if I had any Epsom salts to soak my feet in.

  Or perhaps soaking them in hydrogen peroxide would be a better option. If I didn’t give them a good cleaning I was bound to get an infection.

  “I’m fine. Did you watch the news?”

  “No.” I’d been a little busy.

  “The Weymouth police and state police from the Norfolk County DA’s office are investigating skeletal remains found in the park. The reporter said an eyewitness placed a couple with a little dog at the scene. There was a vague description of us, but not much else.”

  I breathed deep. “Good.”

  “You okay? You sound tired.”

  “It’s been a long day.”

  “Date didn’t go so well?”

  “It didn’t go at all,” I said.

  “Good.”

  “Sean . . .”

  “I know, I know,” he said.

  It was best to get off before thoughts of phone sex took over. I wished him a good night and hung up.

  Gingerly, I walked into my bedroom and flipped on the light in the adjoining bathroom. It cast enough of a glow to illuminate my bedroom without being too harsh on Em’s eyes.

  She groaned and pulled a pillow over her head. I took stock. Her clothes were in a pile next to my bed, folded neatly. Lying curled in a ball in the corner of my bed, she looked comfortable. I hated to disturb her, but there was something I needed to know.

  I sat down on the edge of the bed. “Em?”

  “What?” she growled.

  “Where’s the hamster?”

  She lifted the pillow from her face. “The rat is in the closet. Damn wheel made so much noise.”

  I smiled. She had such a way with words when she drank.

  Lowering the pillow, she curled even tighter into a ball. “Good night,” she mumbled.

  For one of us, at least.

  I rescued Odysseus from the closet, brought him into the kitchen, and fed him a couple of Cheerios. I offered some to Grendel, who refused until I dropped them on the floor so he could drag his “prey” away.