Slipped

by Ira Robinson

  By the time she fell asleep in the chair, she felt more relaxed than she had in a long time. The prospect of making some positive headway in her life was better than anything she could have hoped for.

  Dull ache met her consciousness as she clawed her way out of the dark and opened her eyes.

  She glanced around the room, the edges of the objects in the room glimmered slightly in the dim morning light coming through the window, fighting past the sheer curtains draped from the tops.

  A few of her joints popped as she moved, unkinking herself from the strange position in which she slept the night through. She winced as the ache of the joints arguing against her movement pierced through the already aching head foisted upon her.

  Her hand drifted to her forehead, swiping back some of her long hair which had fallen into her face and smacked her lips a few times, trying to rid herself of the dry rug that had somehow replaced her tongue in the night.

  She made her way to the kitchen, taking slow, deliberate steps so the dizzy feeling in her head did not overwhelm her sense and cause her to trip. She downed one glass of water quickly, then a second for good measure.

  Putting a wet washrag on the back of her neck helped more, and, despite it being cold, she kept it there for a few minutes while the haze cleared from her eyes and mind.

  She glanced at the clock. Her stomach lurched when she realized it was after eight o'clock.

  Her eyes fluttered as she remembered her decision over wine. Could she really do it? In the light of day and responsibilities laid out before her, could she really drop it all and escape the madness she felt her life had become?

  She tossed the washrag against the counter and turned around, letting her butt rest on the edge. She let her weight relax into it as the minutes ticked away.

  Thoughts swirled, a morass of chaos as her mind raced against itself, arguing that doing something like that would be crazy and irresponsible of her, especially with a kid involved. She should just get Cassie ready to go to work with her and resume her normal life. It was the best thing she could do.

  But a nagging voice kept creeping through, whispering in its own way that there was no other real option for her. She had to go. She had to make a change in order to survive. How much longer could she last if she kept things status quo?

  Liz understood that little part of herself was right. It, however, did not make it any less frightening a proposition to face.

  Finally, she nodded, acquiescing to the decision. She would do it because if she did not, she would be stuck in this dingy, tiny town for the rest of her life.

  She would be stuck with no prospects of bettering herself, rapped in the same cycle of self-destruction.

  Most of all, she had to do it for Cassie. If her daughter was raised in this town, as Liz, herself, had been, she might find her own future locked in place before she even had a chance to make a decision.

  Just do it. Pull the bandage away and get it over with.

  She glanced around the kitchen, taking a quick inventory of what she might want to pack along and what she could easily leave behind.

  At least when you're poor, she thought, you don't have that much to pack.

  She started toward the back of the house. Cassie would be confused about it all, but she would deal with it.

  The door to her daughter's bedroom was open all the way. Liz thought she must have gotten up in the night to go to the bathroom.

  She stepped into the room, saying Cassie's name as she did. The room was darker than the rest of the house since the curtains across the window were much thicker. Liz installed them last year when she realized Cassie would sleep a little longer if the morning light kept at bay.

  She walked across the room, stepping on a hard toy laying on the floor while she walked. She hissed a little as the brief pain spoked into her leg, but it faded by the time she reached the window and flung open the curtain.

  "Come on, Cassie, time to get up," she said, turning toward the bed.

  There was no one there.

  Her eyes widened as she glanced around the room, instantly thinking Cassie was hiding from her after their argument the night before. But she was not there.

  Liz left the bedroom and walked down the hall to the end, where her own bedroom door and the one to the bathroom waited. Both were wide open and there was no light on in the bathroom.

  Still, she flipped the switch and blinked as the harsh white light of the bathroom light came on, revealing nothing more than the bathtub, sink, and toilet. The counter, full of her makeup and hair gels, showed no sign of Cassie having been there.

  Liz crossed into her room, calling out her name loudly. "This isn't funny. Stop hiding." Her tone was harsh from the worry beginning to eat through her empty stomach.

  She searched her room but saw no sign of her little girl.

  It took her only a moment to sprint back to the living room, once more calling out for her. But there, too, was no sign of Cassie

  Tears began to flow as Liz realized how bad things were. Instantly an image of her daughter, taken in the night by some stranger, came to her mind and she crossed to the front door, flinging it wide open.

  She stepped through, mindless of the chill morning air. She called out once, then twice. The third was at the top of her voice.

  There was no answer. Only her own voice echoed back to her, with the stirs and flapping of disturbed birds fluttering in the trees.

  She stepped back through the doorway but left it open as she frantically searched the house again.

  Finding her nowhere, she returned to the living room and was just about to pick up the phone when she saw a piece of paper sitting on the floor near her chair. She did not remember putting it there.

  She bent to pick it up and read the note her daughter wrote.

  "Mommy mad at you"

  The writing was Cassie’s, carefully scribed onto the paper in red crayon, her favorite color.

  She read it again before her mind latched on to something she missed before.

  When she pulled open the front door, she did not have to unlock it. Instead, it had come away freely from its frame, as if the latch had not engaged at all.

  Had Cassie written the note for her and then left it on her lap or beside her before walking out of the front door?

  Worse, had someone made her write it before taking her out themselves?

  Though her mind raced with terrible ideas, she tried to keep them down. She did not want to think in those particular directions. She wanted to think Cassie had walked out herself. The alternatives were beyond anything she could handle in that moment.

  She put the phone to her ear and dialed.

  A soft click came from the other end. "Tanglewood Police, can I help you?"

  The woman on the other end sounded tired but was familiar. Liz did not remember her name, but she was the same one who answered every time she had to call while Jack still lived with her, when things got particularly out of control.

  "I need someone here right away. Please. My daughter... she is missing."

  "How old is your daughter, ma'am?"

  "She's only four. Cassie. Cassie Barlowe. My name is Liz. Elizabeth."

  "I'll let the Sheriff know right now. What is your address?"

  After Liz gave it to her, she stepped away from the phone for a minute. Liz bit her lip as she waited and kept glancing around herself and out the front door, hoping to catch a glimpse somehow of Cassie. The only movement was the soft swaying of the leaves in the branches of the trees as the breeze caught them up.

  Come on, hurry, she thought as the seconds turned to ages.

  "Sheriff Miller is on his way, ma'am. He should be only a few minutes." The woman hesitated for a moment before saying, "You've checked everywhere she might be? Favorite hiding spots?"

  "I wouldn't have called you if I hadn't," Liz replied, rolling her eyes. She bared her teeth at the phone, her disbelief at the question grating.

  "Just something we have to ask,
ma'am."

  "Tell him to hurry." She replaced the receiver into the cradle and stepped away from it, returning to the still-open doorway.

  The chill air caused goosebumps to swirl along her arms as the breeze picked up pace. Anxiety twisted in her as a thought struck her.

  She went to the small closet near the door and opened it. She filed through the few belongings stored there and stepped back again with a new set of tears beginning.

  She had not taken her coat. It was still sitting there, pretty and red like her favorite color, on the hangar she usually kept it on.

  Oh God, Cassie, no.

  A few moments later, she heard a car door close and ran to the door. A tall man was already walking toward her steps, putting on a brown Stratton hat, matching his uniform, as he did.

  "Mrs. Barlowe?" he asked as he came closer and saw her standing in the doorway.

  "Yes. Liz, please. Sheriff Miller, thank you for coming so fast."

  He nodded, strands of the dark blonde hair on his face moving around. "What's going on?"

  "It's my daughter, Cassie." Liz twisted her hands together, waves of nausea beginning in her gut. "When I woke up, she was gone. I've looked everywhere."

  "When was the last time you saw her?" The Sheriff stepped closer still, glancing inside the house surreptitiously.

  "Last night, when I put her to bed."

  Liz told him about Cassie falling asleep on the way home and how she put her daughter to bed, then ended up falling asleep on the chair, herself. She did not mention the wine, though. Something in her gut told her she should probably leave that part out.

  It only took a few moments to get to the end. He listened intently, keeping his blue eyes pinned to her face to watch for any reactions she might make. She knew it, knew it was part of the technique most police officers used to take reports, but it still ached for her to think he might find some accusation against her.

  "I just don't know what to do, sir. I'm really scared. She's never been alone like this before."

  "Can I come in and take a look around?" he asked, stepping forward before she could reply. She moved aside for him to pass.

  "Sure."

  "Where's her room?" he asked as he glanced around at the disarray her house was in. She had little time to clean things up, there were papers everywhere, as well as Cassie’s toys, and clothes needing washed.

  "I'll show you." She hurried past him, leading him to her daughter's door.

  "Have you touched anything?" He stepped into the room, his thick frame taking up most of the doorway.

  "Just the curtain to open it this morning. That's when I realized she was not in bed."

  He nodded, taking in the room. He crossed to the bed and moved the blanket around a little, though Liz was not sure what he might be looking for.

  He turned to face her. "Ma'am, where's the father?"

  Liz furrowed her brows. "Jack? He doesn't live here anymore. What do you...? You don't think..." Liz stood with her mouth open as thoughts dawned on her.

  He shrugged, but, as she stared into his eyes, she saw confirmation there. "It's possible. In cases like this, most of the time it's someone the child knows. Family, usually."

  Liz ran to the front room again and picked up the phone. She took only a moment to dial the number.

  Many rings later and when she was about to hang up, she heard someone pick up.

  "Hello?" A sleepy-sounding female voice made its way through the phone.

  "Jack. I need to talk to Jack, right now." Liz knew who it was but she did not have the patience to deal with Jack's new fling.

  "Who is this? Is this Liz?" The voice sounded more awake. "What the hell do you want now?"

  Liz heard steps behind her and whirled around. It was just the officer coming back into the room.

  "I want you to put Jack on the phone right now." Liz tried to keep herself controlled, but the thought of Jack having done something to Cassie, taken her away from Liz somehow, made every bit of anger and resentment she held toward him come to the surface, unbridled and raw.

  "Seriously, Liz? It's too early for this shit."

  Liz could hear a male voice mumble in the background and said, "If you don't give him the phone right now, I'm going to make your life a living hell."

  A snort was her only reply, but she heard the shuffling of fabric and skin across the receiver and a little more mumbling, none of which she could make out.

  Finally, she heard Jack's familiar voice. "Liz? What do you want?"

  At the sound of his voice, Liz became frantic. "Did you take her, Jack? Did you do something to my little girl?"

  "What are you talking about, Liz?"

  "Where is Cassie?" Liz yelled into the phone. She heard another step or two behind her and knew the Sheriff was coming closer, but she did not care.

  "How should I know? She was with you. I don't know what you're talking about."

  "Jack," Liz said, her anger grasping her voice and shutting down the passion. Her tone was even and sure. "If you have done something to her, I swear to God, I will kill you."

  "She heard a gasp on the other end and felt the Sheriff take the phone out of her hands. She tried to resist but he had better position and the shock of the moment made her lose control of it. "That's enough of that," Sheriff Miller said.

  He then put the phone to his own ear. "Jack? This is Sheriff Bartholomew Miller. I will be there in just a few minutes. You better be, too."

  He put the phone to the cradle. He faced Liz and said, "I understand you are worried, but there will be nothing like that said around me again. Understood?"

  Still seething but more under control, nodded, shaken at her own words. They just popped out, out of her control.

  The imposing man stared her down for a few more moments before nodding slightly. "Now, what is his address?"

  After she told him, he walked toward the front door but paused when he noticed the empty wine glass sitting on the end table. He turned back around and raised his eyebrows.

  "Were you drinking last night?"

  "I had a glass," she answered, feeling a little defensive. "But that has nothing to do with this."

  He grunted. "Do you have any photos of Cassie I can take with me?"

  She nodded, glad he let it go without pressing further. "One moment."

  She went to the bedroom and found a few photos she had recently developed, ones that showed Cassie up close, along with another with the both of them. She brought them to Bart and handed them over.

  "Those are the most recent."

  He stared at them for a minute, then put them into the breast pocket of his uniform. "Is he your ex-husband? Or just the father?"

  "Jack is my ex," she replied. "We've been divorced a while now."

  "I'll go check things out, but I recommend you stay home for now. If Cassie wanders back home, she is going to need you here for her."

  "Thank you." She walked him to the door and watched as he reached his car and sped down the road. He did not turn the siren on, but he was hurrying, which made Liz feel slightly better.

  She was too anxious to just sit and do nothing, but she knew he was right. If she left, and Cassie did come back home on her own, what would happen to her if Liz was not there? She might just wander away again and be lost to her forever.

  The thought sent sparks through her, and she collapsed into the chair with her head in her hands, the emotions finally breaking completely through.

  She did not know how long she sat there crying, but she felt exhausted by the time she could gather herself back under a semblance of control.

  What happened to her? Where the hell could she be? She did not know if he was capable of coming and taking Cassie from her, but no matter what Jack was, she did not think he really could do it.

  He might be a lying, cheating, scumbag, but he was no kidnapper. And why would he do it, to begin with? He made it clear he did not really want her to be a part of his life. His girlfriend certainly wanted him to ha
ve nothing to do with that old aspect of his life, and he seemed too enamored by her to go against her, even if he wanted to.

  No, it really made no sense.

  But what did, in this whole situation? How could she do this?

  What really ate at her core was knowing the last things Cassie heard her mother say to her were in anger. Her little girl, the adoration of her life, really, was out there, somewhere lost and confused with the angry words of her mother being the last thing she heard from her.