When I Find You

by R. A. Casey

  I open it. Step inside.

  He’s still standing there in the hallway, right where I left him. Staring at me. Like he hasn’t budged a muscle.

  I rustle around in my jacket pocket. “First, here’s a parcel for you.” I throw the parcel at him, watch as it tumbles from his chest, and hits the floor. I know I’m being petty, but I’m pissed. I’m pissed at not being believed. I’m pissed at not being taken seriously.

  He scrambles to pick it up, his cheeks blushing. “You’d better have a fucking good explanation for this.”

  “Oh, you’ll hear my explanation. Hell, you’ll see it. Because it’s in here. It’s…”

  I reach into the pocket even further, and my stomach sinks.

  “What…”

  I open the pockets.

  I search around in there, everywhere.

  The inside pocket.

  The ones at the sides.

  I search them, again and again, and again.

  “Well?” Freddie asks.

  I don’t know what to say.

  I don’t know what to do.

  Because the note.

  And the thing.

  The whole damned parcel.

  It is gone.

  Again.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Well, Sarah? Are you going to explain yourself, or are you going to stand there and keep on treating me like I’m a fucking idiot here?”

  I search the jacket pockets again and again and again.

  But all searching does is scare me even more.

  Because it’s not here.

  There’s nothing in my pockets.

  No parcel contents.

  No note.

  I KNOW EVERYTHING

  And no…

  No.

  I don’t want to even think about it.

  I don’t want even to contemplate somebody else finding it.

  “Sarah?” Freddie says. He’s standing there with his parcel in his hands. The veins on his temples are up, so I know he’s mad.

  And can I blame him?

  I see things from his perspective. Really. I do.

  I’ve pushed him away. I’ve buried my head in the sand and tried to handle my problem myself. And I’ve treated him like shit, isolating him from my problems and just expecting him to tiptoe around me, not to ask any questions.

  But I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do.

  Because I’m afraid.

  And I’m afraid now more than ever.

  “Moira,” I say. “It—it must’ve slipped out my jacket pocket.”

  I turn around to rush to the door again.

  This time, Freddie grabs me—but gentler, this time. Not as tight.

  “Sarah.” His voice is softer. Assertive, but soft. Caring. “I don’t want you running out there again. I don’t want you going next door again. Not now.”

  “I need to.”

  “No. What we need right now is… is to sit down with a brew and to chat. Okay?”

  I hear his desperation. I hear his love. And I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.

  Because despite everything, I can hear how much he cares about me.

  I can hear how much he loves me.

  And how do I repay him?

  By keeping him in the dark.

  He turns me around. Gently. No malice in his actions at all.

  He looks me in my eyes with his big brown eyes.

  Holds my shoulders gently with those hard, heavy hands.

  “It’s okay. We’re okay. Both of us are okay.”

  I shake my head. “But it’s not okay—”

  “We’re going to sit down on the sofa. Both of us. Together. We’re going to have a cup of tea. And we’re going to talk. You’re going to tell me everything that’s on your mind. And I’m going to listen. Not judge. Listen. And we’re going to get through this. Okay? Both of us are going to get through this.”

  I shake my head. Because I know I need to go to Moira’s. I know I need to search for the note and what I dropped in there.

  Because that’s the only explanation for it. I must’ve dropped it all.

  “Sit down. On the sofa. I’ll put the kettle on. Okay?”

  I nod. Take a few deep breaths. They don’t do much to stave off the nausea coursing through my body. Nothing will.

  But I walk over to the sofa. I sit down. I lean my thumping head back against the sofa, and I close my heavy eyes.

  I just want to sleep.

  I just want to drift off to a sleep where I don’t think of the school, and Charlie’s sweaty hand letting go of mine, and the stage, and Charlie’s disappearance, and Calvin, and the maize fields and—

  “I won’t be a sec,” Freddie says.

  I look around at my boyfriend, who I adore, and smile as he disappears into the kitchen.

  But I feel so sad.

  Because I’m about to betray him again.

  I wait until I hear the kettle click when I get up and run towards the front door.

  “Sarah!”

  I’m out of the door before he can stop me.

  I’m running over the flowers, knocking more of Moira’s garden gnomes over.

  I’m banging on her door. Hammering her doorbell.

  “Moira?” I shout through the letterbox. “It’s Sarah. Please. Let me in. Please.”

  I see people looking at me. Neighbours. Kids in the street. A man walking his dog, muttering something to the woman beside him.

  I see their eyes on me, and I feel like I did back then.

  Not just then but the other time, too.

  The time when they judged me.

  The time when they—

  “Moira!”

  I hear no movement, see no movement inside.

  So I turn the handle.

  It lowers.

  I stagger inside Moira’s house just as Freddie steps through our front door.

  I rush through the lounge. Scouring every inch of the floor.

  I barge into the kitchen and search the floor. Every inch of it.

  But there’s nothing.

  Nothing at all.

  I turn around to check the lounge again when I hear movement upstairs.

  I look up the stairway.

  Moira is standing at the top of the stairs.

  She isn’t on her Zimmer.

  And I can’t help noticing the stairlift is right here, right at the bottom.

  “Where are they?” I say.

  “Sarah? What—”

  “Tell me where my things are!”

  “I gave you your jacket back. You’re—you’re scaring me, love.”

  She grabs her Zimmer, now. And she pushes something in her hand, too. A button. A button that brings the stairlift right back to the top of the stairs for her.

  And I can’t help feeling stupid at that moment for suspecting Moira of any wrongdoing.

  But then what am I supposed to think?

  That’s when I swear I hear a voice.

  “Who—who are you speaking to?”

  “I—I’m not speaking to anybody,” Moira says.

  “I heard—I heard movement up there. Is there somebody up there?”

  She looks at me like they do when they think you’re crazy.

  She shakes her head as she settles into her stairlift, keeping her eyes on me. “I—I’m sorry, Sarah. But you didn’t hear a thing. Now, can you—can you leave my house, please? Before I… before I phone the police.”

  Before I phone the police…

  I hear those words then see myself standing here, almost as if I’m above myself, looking down.

  And I realise how this looks.

  I realise exactly how it looks.

  “I… I’m sorry,” I say. It’s all I can say. All I can manage.

  And then, before I can do anything else, I bolt out of Moira’s house, out to the onlooking eyes of the neighbourhood…

  Chapter Twenty

  I think of my life in two distinct segments.

  The days before
Charlie went missing.

  And the days after he went missing.

  I lie in bed. The sheets are wrapped around me. Freddie is by my side, stroking my hair, my back. Whispering in my ear. Telling me everything is going to be okay.

  But I am not here.

  I am elsewhere.

  All the bricks of my life have tumbled out of place. All the carefully organised compartments have burst at the seams, their contents spilling out, mixing up with each other. Infecting each other. Polluting each other.

  I am in so many places right now. So many places, other than where I really, truly am.

  I am on the school field at the fete, Charlie’s hand in mine.

  I am standing opposite Calvin as he smiles at me with those yellow teeth, with that onion breath.

  I am in Glynn’s arms.

  I am arguing with Gregg.

  I am begging the police not to give up searching for my son because he’s alive out there, he’s alive and he’s still out there and he’s—

  I am in the maize field again.

  The summer heat burning down on me.

  The weight on top of me.

  The neck mole pushing against my mouth.

  “Everything will be okay, my angel. Everything will be okay…”

  I feel a burning pain on my wrists where he holds me.

  And then I hear a baby crying as I hold it close to my chest, part elated, part terrified.

  I hear cries and tears and feel pain, and I want to run away; I want to escape.

  But I don’t know where to run to anymore.

  Freddie is holding onto me. I wonder why he’s shaking; then I realise it’s me. He whispers things in my ears. Sweet things. Reassuring things. Things I want to hear.

  And I am so grateful to have him here beside me.

  I am so thankful that he is so loving.

  So loyal.

  I let him hold me, let him comfort me. And I hope we can move on from this. I hope all the bad stuff of the last couple of weeks since moving here can just disappear.

  I want to sink into his arms and let him take all my worries and fears away.

  And I feel ashamed. I feel pitied. I am not a pitiful woman. I am a strong woman. I am a fighter. I am so, so much stronger than this.

  I am not this pathetic, wailing mess.

  I have been through hell.

  I have been through worse than this.

  But I am tired. And I feel destabilised.

  And I don’t know what the fuck’s going on anymore.

  He holds me. Strokes me. Softly. And I know he wants to talk. I know he wants to understand. I know he wants to help me so much, and I wish I could let him. I really do.

  And I wonder whether perhaps the items being lost might not be such a bad thing after all. Even though I can’t understand it. Even though I can’t make sense of it. How does it go missing from my house?

  How does it go missing and then turn up right by where I lost Charlie?

  And how does it go missing from my pocket when I swear it’s there?

  I entertain the most logical explanation.

  A man who lives on a road that doesn’t exist.

  A man who nobody knows.

  Delivering a parcel nobody has seen.

  Nobody but me.

  My stomach knots.

  I don’t want to think about the likeliest option here.

  I don’t want to entertain it.

  “You don’t think I’m crazy,” I say. “Do you?”

  Freddie doesn’t respond. He just strokes his fingers against my back. Softly. Gently.

  “Babe?” I say.

  “I… I don’t think you’re crazy, no.”

  “But…”

  He sighs. And that sigh is enough to tell me all I need to know. “Let’s just say there’s some inconsistencies. Even you see that.”

  “I get it. I know what it looks like, and I get it—”

  “There are some inconsistencies,” he continues. Calmly. “But I don’t for a minute think you’re crazy. I think… I think you fully believe what you are seeing. I don’t think you’re lying. I don’t think you’re being deceitful. I think you’re telling the truth. But it’s… it’s your truth.”

  There’s nothing I can say. He puts it as sweetly and sensitively as he possibly can, in that sweet and sensitive way that is so typical of him.

  But he says what he says, and I hear him loud and clear.

  “Which means you don’t believe me,” I say.

  He takes a deep breath. Sighs. “It would help if you actually told me what it is we’re supposed to be looking for.”

  And there he has me, again. He has me caught.

  I KNOW EVERYTHING

  And the other thing.

  The questions they will prompt…

  No. I can’t go there.

  I just can’t.

  I wonder if maybe I am going insane. If I am losing my grip on reality.

  But no.

  I am certain.

  I am convinced.

  I am—

  “I didn’t want to show you this. And I wasn’t going to. I’m still not sure it’s a good idea. But I think I should probably be honest with you.”

  My stomach lurches.

  He knows.

  He’s found it, and he knows.

  He gets up. Walks to the other side of the bedroom.

  And all I can do is lie there.

  All I can do is stay totally still as he goes to his top drawer.

  As he pulls something out of there.

  A box.

  A little blue plastic box.

  Not what I’m expecting.

  He turns around. Doesn’t look at me. But looks into this box.

  And then he walks over to me.

  Holds the box out to me.

  “I’m not doing this to make you suffer. I didn’t want to do it at all. But… Sarah. You need to look at what’s in this box. And when you do, I think you’ll realise why I’m so concerned about you. I think… I think you’ll agree with me. About what needs to happen next.”

  I am frozen solid.

  I don’t want to look.

  I don’t want to see.

  But I know I have to.

  I reach for the box with my shaking hand.

  I look inside it.

  I don’t understand. Not at first.

  But then I see.

  I see what is staring up at me—at what it means—and I understand.

  “I think you’ll agree it’s probably wise we get the doctor called tomorrow,” Freddie says. “Don’t you?”

  And the hardest thing to swallow of all?

  I can’t even disagree anymore.

  Part Two

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I am standing outside the doctor’s surgery, and I want to be anywhere but here.

  It’s nice. Bright. Sunny. Warm. Too warm. I’m overdressed for the occasion, in a nice skirt, a black T-shirt, a little cardigan over my shoulders. It’s weird, though. Firstly, the idea of getting dressed up to go to the doctor’s. Grandma used always to be the same. She was in and out of hospital, and she was always adamant that no doctor or nurse could see her without her makeup on.

  She died putting her lipstick on in the bathroom mirror one morning. Fell over, cracked her skull on the sink. Massive aneurysm. But nobody was quite sure whether it was the fall or the aneurysm that killed her.

  Kind of poetic in a sinister way.

  Or at least, that’s how I remember it.

  Sometimes my memory isn’t so good.

  But regardless, I’ve got this weird way of always needing to get dressed whenever I feel rough. Even when I was absolutely wiped out with COVID last year. My head ached. My muscles felt like little knives were stabbing into them repeatedly.

  But still, I got up.

  Still, I took a walk.

  That’s exactly why I’m here today. Dressed so nice.

  Because even though I feel deep down like I’m complet
ely well, completely okay, I know I am not well.

  I can’t even deny it anymore.

  I can’t even run from it anymore.

  Not after what Freddie showed me in the little blue box last night.

  I wince at the thought. My stomach turns. My skin crawls. Because at that moment, I knew I must be losing my mind. Much as I’ve tried to insist I’m not. Much as I’m convinced someone is after me, someone is following me, someone knows something about my past… and that someone knows something about Charlie.

  As much as I am certain of all these things, I can’t deny what Freddie showed me in that blue box.

  I stand at the door to the doctor’s surgery. Heart beating faster. I don’t want to go in. Don’t want to step inside. I want to turn around. Walk away. I want to step on the bus and go to Broughton. Or just anywhere, really. Somewhere that isn’t here. A day to myself to really think things through. To really mull things over.

  But I know how pissed Freddie will be if I go down that road.

  I know how adamant he is for me to go to the doctor’s.

  To get myself “sorted out.”

  Poor Freddie doesn’t know a thing.

  I scratch my arm without even realising I’m doing it when I feel a sharp pain under my nails. I look down and see it is bleeding.

  And seeing the blood there, feeling the sharp pain there, it brings it all back.

  The tight pain around my wrists.

  Trying to fight free. Trying to scream.

  The hand over my mouth.

  “Quiet. It’ll be over soon. It’ll be all…”

  And then running through the maize fields.

  And then…

  No.

  The place I don’t want to revisit.

  The place I don’t want to return to.

  I shake my head as my heart starts racing, and I hear footsteps behind me.

  “Scuse me. You waiting to go in?”

  I jump. Turn around. An Asian man, nice smile, standing there behind me.

  I open my mouth to apologise. I must’ve drifted off. Must’ve got lost in my thoughts. “Sorry,” I say. “I…”

  I want to tell him I’m going inside. I want to do the right thing for Freddie. He dropped me off here and told me he was just nipping off for some decorating supplies from Anji’s Emporium at the top of the road. He offered to drive me home, but I can text him. Tell him I’m meeting Cindy. Anything to get him off my case.