Last Wrong Turn

by Amy Cross

  “I'm going to find you,” I whisper, hoping against hope that somehow Pete and Hugh will understand that I'm not giving up. “Just hold tight. I'm coming to get you out of that place. I promise.”

  Penny

  Six years later

  My hands are shaking so much, I can't even get the goddamn cigarette to light properly.

  “Come on,” I mutter, trying to focus as I turn my back to the wind and hunch my shoulders. Finally with a lot of coaxing, I manage to get a flame, and then I take a drag on the cigarette.

  It's not much, but at least my hands should stop shaking soon.

  Turning, I look across the pub car park and see that darker clouds are rolling in from the south. The weather forecast said the rain would hold off until early evening, so I figure I can spend a few more hours out on the road. I've got a new plan to scour the countryside to the immediate north of Wexham, and I can't afford to fall any further behind. Every day I stick to the schedule, and every day I tell myself I'm getting closer.

  I have to be.

  Checking my phone, I see another two missed calls from my mother. She and Dad must have noticed by now that I'm not returning their calls very often. The truth, however, is that I'm really not in the mood to hear another of her oh-so-subtle lectures about how I should think about moving on, and how I should start to grieve for what I lost instead of clinging to the idea that I can get it back. They don't understand. No-one understands.

  Taking a deep breath, I look down at my hands and see that they've stopped shaking. Reaching into my pocket, I take out two crumpled photos. One shows Pete, back on our wedding day, and the other is an ultrasound scan of Hugh.

  “I'm going to find you,” I whisper, holding back tears. “I know you're still out there. I'm going to bring you home, and we're all going to be together again. No matter how long it takes.”

  And then I take another drag on the cigarette. I need to calm my nerves a little more before I get back into the car. I also need to stay awake.

  ***

  A few hours later, with rain having arrived early, I bring the car to a halt and switch the engine off. I should head straight back to Wexham, so I can take the chance to review my documents and come up with a new plan for the search, but instead I've stopped at the old, shuttered Happy Eater restaurant.

  I don't know why, but I feel the need to come back here every so often. After all, this is the one place where I know Enda has been, which means I feel somehow closer to the farmhouse. Sometimes, this empty, desolate car park almost seems like a link between two worlds.

  Mrs. Latimer was found naked, wrapped in a blanket, near a payphone at the side of the building. That's what the police report stated. I've read it so many times, I know the entire thing by heart. A call was place to the emergency services, presumably by the individual or individuals who left Mrs. Latimer in the car park, but the call was silent. A patrol car was sent to check the area, at which point two officers from Wexham discovered Mrs. Latimer's unconscious body.

  I don't remember any of that, of course. Still, I've imagined it over and over. Even now, in my mind's eye, I can see Enda setting me down on the ground. Did she carry me all the way here? She's just a kid, but I guess she must be pretty strong. Then again, maybe she drove me here in that beat-up old truck I remember seeing in the yard.

  Getting out of the car, I zip my coat shut and hurry to take cover under the awning at the front of the restaurant. Fumbling for a cigarette, I manage to get one lit and then I take a long, slow drag. I never used to smoke, not until about two years ago when I figured I needed a new way to calm my nerves. I was starting to develop a slight drinking problem, as a means of getting my thoughts straight, and I made a conscious decision to cut out the alcohol and find some other way to hold myself together. The cigarette habit won't be permanent. I'll stop as soon as I find Pete and Hugh, but until then...

  Taking another drag, I feel myself already starting to calm down.

  Not a lot, but enough to keep from falling apart.

  Feeling a buzzing sensation in my pocket, I slip my phone out and see a familiar number trying to get in touch. I hesitate for a moment, before accepting the call. At least it's not Mum or Dad again.

  “Penny Latimer,” I say cautiously.

  “It's me,” Detective Palmer replies. “I'm just following up on your call from last week, Penny. How are things going?”

  It's a blast from the past. The police investigation hasn't moved much in recent years, but Palmer still keeps in touch whenever he can. I think he might actually care.

  “Penny?” he says after a moment. “Are you there?”

  “I had an idea,” I tell him, before taking another drag on my cigarette. “What if the farmhouse is only reachable under certain meteorological conditions? I was looking through the case reports of the other disappearances, and I noticed it was overcast in each of them. But when you had helicopters out searching for the place, the weather was a little better, so maybe that was what we were doing wrong. I know this probably sounds totally crazy, but I think maybe the weather is key to all of this.”

  I wait for a reply, but all I hear is silence on the other end of the line. I guess he does think the idea sounds crazy after all. All those words just tumbled out of my mouth in a mad torrent.

  “Are you still there?” I ask finally.

  “I'm still here,” he says with a sigh, “but Penny...”

  Again I wait, hoping against hope that he might see my point of view.

  “That's not going to be enough for me to get another search team together,” he says eventually. “Believe me, if there was any chance at all, I'd be right on it. My boss is never going to authorize the use of resources to carry out a search based on some theory regarding -”

  “You can't give up!” I hiss. “Pete and Hugh are still missing!”

  “And the case remains open, but -”

  “But what? But the police have no intention of actually doing anything about my missing family?”

  “All open cases are reviewed once a year, Penny, and I'm personally -”

  “And then nothing happens!” I snap, interrupting him. “It's been six years since they vanished, and five years since any of you people lifted a finger to help. Meanwhile, I'm out here every day and every night, keeping the search going without any help at all.” I take another drag on my cigarette, but I can feel the anger rippling through my chest. “How can you live with yourself?” I ask. “How can you sleep at night, knowing that my husband and my son are still out there somewhere?”

  “It's a question of resource allocation,” he replies, sounding exhausted. “If you want my personal opinion, I believe -”

  “Why would I give a damn what you think?” I ask, although I immediately realize that I'm being way too harsh.

  “We need a fresh development in the case to get things moving again,” he continues. “Something that I can take to my superiors. I get stone-walled every time I even mention the farmhouse.”

  “Maybe you're not trying hard enough,” I suggest.

  “How are you doing, Penny?”

  “I'm fine. I just -”

  “You don't sound fine,” he adds, interrupting me. “Maybe we should meet up again. It's been a while since I last saw you, I'd like to sit down with you some time and go over our notes. I've been working on -”

  “We'll meet up when you can actually help,” I tell him. “Until then, I don't have any time to spare.”

  “I've been going over the case files in my spare moments,” he continues. “Even though nothing is moving officially, I haven't given up on this. I've also -”

  “What do you want?” I ask. “A medal?”

  “I want to find this farmhouse,” he replies. “Listen, I'm deep in several other cases right now, but in a couple of weeks I have some time off. I was thinking I could come down to Wexham and join you for a few days. Maybe a fresh set of eyes will help, and you sound like -”

  “Like what?” I snap. �
��What do I sound like? Like a mother whose son has been missing for six years? Is that what I sound like, you fucking...”

  My voice trails off as I realize that this conversation is getting us nowhere. In fact, it's draining me of what little energy I have left.

  “I need to go,” I tell him. “I'm going back to the pub to work on some new strategies. Please, don't call me again unless you've got something to offer. It's just a waste of my time.”

  “But -”

  “Good luck with your other cases,” I add, before cutting the call.

  Leaning back against the wall, I take another drag on my cigarette. The rain is falling harder than ever and I know I should get back to Wexham, but when I'm here at the Happy Eater car park I feel as if I'm somehow a little closer to Pete and Hugh, as if at some moment I'll spot the farmhouse in the distance. I've lost count of how many hours and days I've spent loitering here, but I still can't get rid of that little spark of hope that flickers in my chest. Most days, I even manage to hold back the tears, although today I feel a little weaker.

  Finally, crouching down, I start sobbing. I drop the cigarette as I bury my face in my hands, and I quickly realize that this isn't going to be one of those times when I force the tears back. Every so often, it just has to come rushing out.

  I should call back and apologize to Palmer. He was only trying to help, and I was a total bitch to him. I can't call back, though. He's so reasonable and rational, and I'm terrified that one day he might persuade me to give up.

  Penny

  “Someone's looking for you.”

  Stopping next to the bar, I turn and see Stan, the pub's landlord, taking some more glasses out of the dishwasher.

  “There's a woman asking around,” he continues. “I told her you'd be back this evening. I hope that's okay.” He checks his watch. “By the way, can you do another shift tonight? It's just, Charmian's called in sick and I was kinda hoping to watch the game. It's Liverpool, so... Well, you know.”

  “Sure,” I reply, figuring I owe it to him. After all, he's been kind enough to let me stay here for free while I continue my search, and he's even hired me as a relief bar-worker so I have some money in my pocket. I dropped everything else – my whole life – when I moved here to focus on the search for my family. “This woman who asked after me,” I continue cautiously, “did you get her name?”

  “I did better than that,” he mutters, grabbing a notepad from next to the cash register. “I got a number for you to call. Her name's...” He squints as he reads from the pad. “Lindsay Collins. Ring any bells?”

  ***

  “They finally let me out two weeks ago,” Lindsay explains as she sits on the other side of the bar, picking at a salad. Holding her wrists up, she smiles. “It's been a whole year since I tried to kill myself!”

  “That's... great,” I reply cautiously, although my eyes are drawn to the scars on the side of her neck. I still shudder when I remember the moment she started stabbing herself with the pen-lid all those years ago.

  “So they figure I'm no longer a danger to myself,” she continues, as she shovels more lettuce into her mouth. “I guess that's true,” she adds as she chews. “As long as I keep taking my meds, anyway. You should see my pill box, I'm on, like, seven pills in the morning and another eight during the rest of the day. Can you believe that? It takes fifteen pills each and every day to keep me like this!”

  She grins, but I can't help noticing a faint twitch on one side of her face.

  “It took a while to track you down,” she tells me, as I grab some glasses from the other side of the bar. “To be honest, when I got out of hospital, I didn't really have anywhere to go. Six years is a long time to spend in the loony bin, and my parents are... Well, they've been gone since all of this started. I got given a place in a hostel, and that's fine, but it's full of junkies and weirdos. Plus, I kinda wanted to come and see how things are going. When you and that cop came to visit me a few years ago, I got the feeling that you...”

  I wait for her to finish.

  “That I what?” I ask finally.

  “That you're not going to give up,” she continues. “I mean, I understand. You've got a husband and a kid out there somewhere, and you want to find them.”

  “I'm going to find them,” I tell her, angered by the merest suggestion that I might fail.

  “Sure, but...” She pauses. “You might find the kid, maybe, but you've gotta realize that your husband...” Her voice trails off.

  “They've both alive,” I reply, as I start loading more glasses into the machine. There's a part of me that already wants to ask her to leave.

  “I don't think Enda has much use for adults,” Lindsay tells me after a moment, with more food in her mouth. “I know this might sound a little blunt, but it's true. I think she's lonely up there. She's more interested in getting brothers and sisters for herself.”

  “My husband's alive,” I reply firmly.

  “You should focus on -”

  “They're both alive!” I add, cutting her off.

  She opens her mouth to argue with me, before nodding. “Sure. Whatever. You've gotta keep your hopes up, right?” She eats another forkful of salad. “My parents are gone. I know that. I'm not here 'cause I think I might somehow get them back. I'm here 'cause I want to find Enda again. I want to help her.”

  Flinching at the suggestion, I slam the dishwasher door shut so hard, all the glasses rattle inside.

  “She saved my life,” she explains. “When I was trapped at the farmhouse, her brother was going to kill me. Enda didn't want that to happen, so she smuggled me away. Despite everything else, she has a good heart.”

  “Apart from stealing babies,” I reply darkly.

  “So I figure we have a better chance if we work together,” she continues.

  “How do you figure that?”

  “Well, we've both got a connection to the farmhouse,” she points out. “And to Enda. I've done a lot of research into this thing, and it looks like you and I are the only two people who've ever come back from that place. That's gotta count for something, right? Plus, if your kid's still alive out there, maybe that'll help too. Between us, we can kinda... I dunno, establish a link and find the farmhouse again.”

  “I doubt it works like that,” I tell her.

  “Then how does it work?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “And you've tried everything else?”

  I open my mouth to argue with her, but no words come out. I'm too exhausted.

  “So we might as well try,” she continues. “I mean, unless I'm reading the situation wrong, you've spent six years scouring the countryside around Wexham and you haven't turned up a damn thing, have you?”

  “Not yet, but I will! It's just a matter of time.”

  “You're just going round and round in circles, never getting anywhere, never getting so much as a sniff of that place, never -”

  “Your point being?” I snap.

  “I want to help,” she continues. “Hell, I've literally got nothing else to be doing with my life.” She pauses, before reaching a hand toward me across the bar. “Do we have a deal, or not?”

  I hesitate for a moment, before spotting my reflection in the side of the coffee machine. I try not to see myself too often, and once again I'm struck by how old I look now. Six years ago I was a pregnant woman looking forward to the future. Now I have bags under my eyes, and bags under the bags, and I look unhealthily thin.

  “I just want to find Enda and help her,” Lindsay explains, with her hand still reaching out toward me.

  “I don't care about helping Enda,” I reply. “All I care about is finding my husband and my son.”

  “Then it sounds like we need each other,” she continues. “We'll start tomorrow. We'll get out there and we'll track the farmhouse down. One way or another, that place can't hide from us forever.”

  I pause for a moment, before finally shaking her hand.

  Penny

  “It
's kinda hard to tell,” Lindsay mutters as she trudges back over to join me at the edge of the muddy field. “That's the problem with being out in the countryside. Everywhere basically looks the same.”

  “Not to me,” I reply, turning and looking back the way we just walked. “I've spent so long out here, I know the place like the back of my hand.”

  “It's cold,” she continues, zipping her coat shut. “I remember it was cold back then, too. When Enda helped me get away from the farmhouse and took me to the Happy Eater, it was freezing.”

  “And you don't remember the route you took?”

  “Just a bunch of fields,” she replies. “Plus, I was in kind of a bad way. How about you?”

  “I was unconscious,” I tell her, stepping out across the field, even though my feet are sinking into the mud. “One moment I was in the farmhouse, trying to get Hugh back, and then the next thing I knew, I was waking up in the hospital.”

  “You see?” Lindsay asks, as she follows me. “Enda cares. She didn't have to let you go, but she did. She's not some evil, psycho monster.”

  “She tried to feed me to her pigs,” I point out. “Although she apologized later. She said she panicked.”

  “I don't envy the psychiatrist who has to work on her,” she mutters. “When we get her back to civilization, she's gonna have a hard time adjusting. It's gonna be like one of those Tarzan movies where they get the dude back from the jungle. Hell, Enda'll probably get freaked out by cellphones and computers and all that shit. It'll be kinda fun showing her around the modern world.”

  “You sound like you want to be her friend,” I reply.

  “It's not like that!” she bristles. “I just... Someone needs to help her.”

  “I'm sure you can visit her in jail.”

  “Jail?” She sounds shocked. “There's no way Enda should go to jail!”