Slipped

by Ira Robinson

  "Noah, help her out here." Bart stopped for a moment while the woman came away, letting the full weight go to the sheriff. The man he held up winced in pain but said nothing.

  Noah took her place at the side of the hurt man. "What happened?"

  "It's a sprain, I think," said Bart.

  "Tripped on a branch," the man said, wincing once again and gasping for breath. "Can't believe I didn't see it."

  They passed Liz, with Bart giving her a strange look. She watched as they went around the corner, then followed slightly behind them, her pace slow. Others passed her, as well, their voices hushed and tired.

  She watched as Bart and Noah helped the man get into the police car Noah started. Bart spoke to him for a moment before the deputy got into the driver seat and started down the road.

  Bart watched them drive for a moment before turning back to Liz and, as he approached, he nodded occasionally to the people passing him.

  They also got into their vehicles. She heard them start up.

  She glared at Bart as he came closer. What the hell were they doing?

  He stopped a few feet away from her and said, "We had to call it for the night, Liz. It's just too dark for us to do any good, and people were starting to get hurt."

  "But what about Cassie?" she shouted, stepping closer. "She's still out there, dammit!"

  "We know that," he said, keeping his voice even. "But people were hungry, tired, and making mistakes. Cassie does not need that."

  "How do you know what she needs? You're giving up on her!"

  "No, we're not. We're giving her the chance to have the best we can be." He turned away and started to walk to the front door of her house. She followed, the stairs pounding beneath her feet.

  "What is she supposed to do, Bart? Is she going to be out there all alone all night?"

  "She's not a dumb kid," he replied as he poured a little of the coffee into a cup and drank it down. "It's possible she found somewhere out there to hole up when things got dark. Maybe she was asleep, and we passed her right by without her being able to hear us and answer back."

  He pulled off his hat and put the cup into the small trash can Sally set up by the table.

  "We're going to come back at first light and start again," he continued. "We covered a lot of ground by the time we had to stop, and we'll do even more in the morning. In the meantime," he said, swiping back his hair and replacing his cap, "you need to get some rest, so you can help her when we find her."

  "I can't believe this," she said, her fists balling up. "What am I going to do?"

  "As I said, get some rest. We'll be back in a few hours, once people have had a chance to rest and get fresh."

  He pulled his keys from his pocket and walked to the door.

  "We'll be here at 7:00."

  "Don't give up on her, sheriff. Please don't give up on my baby." She felt fresh tears cutting through her anger.

  "I don't intend to."

  With that, he walked through the door and reached his car, with Liz staring at his back, unsure if she should believe him.

  He drove away, leaving her alone in the cold, empty house, with only her thoughts to keep her company.

  She closed the door and leaned her back against it, wondering how any of this could have happened, while the voice of her conscience screamed that it was all her fault.

  She banged the back of her head into the wood of the door, spiking pain traversing through her brain.

  Finally, she walked away from the door, trudging steps leading her to Cassie's room once more.

  She left the light off, allowing only the light streaming through the hallway from the front of the house to lead her to Cassie's bed. She lay down, letting her back rest against the mattress.

  She stared into the small cracks in the paint on the ceiling, her eyes drifting across each one as she tried to imagine the face of her little girl, smiling on a warm summer day.

  So much of her daughter’s life was troubled, from the hardship Liz had during labor to her father leaving one day out of nowhere. She had so few happy times, and now she was caught in a place worse than anything she had ever experienced.

  Maybe if Jack had been there, maybe if he had never left, none of this would be happening. If he had not been so selfish with his time with Cassie, maybe her child would not have chosen to leave in the middle of the night.

  But she knew, even as she thought it, she was being unfair to Jack. He was just being himself, his same old selfish 'for me' self, and she could not lay the blame entirely at his feet.

  Liz was the one she was with, after all, and Liz was the only one Cassie had to rely on. She failed her daughter in so many ways...

  How would they ever get through all of this?

  She closed her eyes, her exhaustion finally cutting past the adrenaline she had been running on since waking from her dream, her anger subsiding as she thought of Cassie playing in the park, doing her part to make Liz smile, as she always tried to do.

  She came awake with a start at the sound of the doorbell.

  Her eyes opened and her mind reeled, confused at the interrupted rest.

  She stood and tried to reach the doorway but stumbled as her legs tried to find purchase beneath her, still addled in sleep. Her head hit the wall, sending sparks of pain through her face and neck.

  She managed to get her footing again and ran through the hallway to the front door. The dim light of morning came through the windows and, as she flung the door wide, she had to squint against it.

  "You okay, Liz?" she heard a man say and, for a moment, she did not recognize the voice, her eyes just coming into focus. When they finally did, she was surprised to find Jack's face staring back at her.

  "Jack?" she asked, trying to get coherent. "What are you doing here?"

  "I'm here to help," he answered, bringing his hand up toward her face. "What happened to you?"

  She flinched away from him before he could touch her. She brought her own hand to her forehead and pulled it back, feeling something damp.

  She glanced at her fingers and noticed them tinged with red. She touched it again, wincing as pain throbbed through where he probed.

  "Great. Just great." She put her hand down and stared at Jack. "What makes you think we need your help?"

  "You told me she's missing. The sheriff even came to my house trying to find out what I had to do with it. What am I supposed to do?" He took a step forward, acting as if he wanted to come inside, but she did not move.

  "What, are you telling me you suddenly care about her, Jack? You’ve done nothing to show it before. Why now?"

  "How's it look if the father isn't out looking for her just like everyone else? It don't look right, is all."

  She shook her head, her mouth going wide. "Are you kidding me? That's all you care about. How's it look for you." She started to close the door. "Get out of here, Jack. Go back home. You let us both go a long time ago."

  Liz heard a car coming down the street and glanced past Jack to see a police car pulling in to the driveway. Jack heard it, as well, and turned around.

  As he did, Liz tipped the door most of the way closed, stepping back from it. "Go on, Jack. We don't need your help."

  "We'll see," she heard him say through the door.

  He stepped away from the porch as the door of the police car closed. She peeked through the crack she made in the doorway and saw Bart approaching, with Jack going to meet him.

  They stood there for a few minutes talking, with Jack's arms animatedly pointing the direction she was standing in, and Bart shaking his head.

  Finally, Jack stalked away, his shoulders hunched and hands in his pockets, while Bart watched him go.

  Liz waited until she heard the car start and speed away before fully opening the door again. Bart came up the small steps and nodded to her, before noticing the cut on her forehead.

  "Did he...?" he started to ask, turning back to the driveway, before she interrupted him.

  "No, I fell into
the wall." Stepping aside, she went back into the house, heading for the bathroom.

  "Are you okay?" Bart followed behind her.

  "I'm fine. It was just a stupid accident," she replied, reaching into the small counter beneath the sink to pull out a washcloth.

  She wet it and put the cold fabric to her forehead, wincing as it touched. Though it was painful, she put pressure on it, hoping it would stop the blood flow.

  "What did he say to you?" she asked, turning back to the sheriff.

  "He wanted me to put him somewhere in the search." Bart stared into her eyes for a few moments before continuing with a small shrug. "We could use the people, but I thought things were already stressful enough. We need everyone clear-headed."

  "He was here more for his own conscience than anything else," she said as she passed Bart to go to the living room. She plopped into her chair with a soft huff, still addled from her swift awakening and her encounter with Jack.

  The rest of the people who would be joining the search began showing up, with Sally being the first to come through the door. She raised her eyebrows at Liz, staring at the cloth she held to her head, but asked no questions. Instead, she attended to the coffee machine, getting things going.

  Liz went back to the bathroom and pulled out her small first aid kit, digging out a few bandages. She brought the bloodied cloth away from her head and stared at herself in the mirror.

  The bleeding had stopped, and she was grateful the cut was not any larger than it was. It bled worse than the cut belied, but there was already some bruising around it and she knew it would end up worse before it got better.

  She put two bandages across the cut to keep it protected, then washed out the cloth as best as she could, hoping it would not stain.

  Then she realized what she was doing and stopped mid-motion.

  What am I doing? she asked herself. Why am I bothering when Cassie is still out there?

  She dropped the cloth into the sink and turned the water off, angry with herself for doing something 'normal' when her child was not there and not safe.

  Nothing could be normal. She damned herself for even trying.

  The soft din from the living room as more people gathered was growing, disrupting her thoughts. She leaned against the sink with both hands on the counter, heaving a deep breath as she tried to center her thoughts.

  Even with so many people around, so many there who were volunteering to help find Cassie, she could not help but feel utterly alone.

  The noise was subsiding and she heard Bart's voice telling everyone to head outside.

  She crossed through the hallway into the living room. People were wandering outside, but as was the case the day before, Noah remained inside at the table they set up.

  She followed the sheriff outside but stayed on the porch as he spoke.

  "Okay, folks," he started, "we are going to push hard today. We've got plenty of daylight, but Cassie has been out there alone all night and that means she's going to be in a lot of trouble. We've got to find her soon."

  Liz watched as people nodded, some shuffling their feet. A few others sipped at their coffee cups. Unlike the day before, they seemed more organized to Liz. She saw a lot of people with backpacks.

  "Be aware, be careful. There's a lot of undergrowth out there and we need to go through as much of it as we can." Bart glanced her way for a moment, his eyes wide. "Do you want to say anything, Liz?"

  She stepped forward slightly, her hand on the banister. "Please, find my baby. I know she's still out there." Her heart broke at the words. "She's all I have."

  She heard murmurs from the crowd and saw some of them nod her way. "We'll find her," she heard one of the voices say, but could not catch the speaker.

  "Alright, everyone has their plans. Let's get moving." Bart led them toward the back of her house, and Liz tried to catch the eyes of each one who passed by.

  The men with the dogs went last. They, too, went past her but seemed to head in a slightly different direction.

  Finally, all of the people who gathered were gone into the woods.

  She spent the day not knowing what to do with herself. She had to fight against her instinct to run into the woods, herself, to join in the search for her little one lost, but she resisted, knowing, at the same time, she needed to be at home, in case they found her.

  She ate, but it was half-hearted and made her feel uncomfortable. It was not painful like the evening before, but the thought of eating set her on edge.

  Still, she knew she needed it and forced it down.

  Was Cassie able to find anything to eat? Was she sick from eating things she did not recognize? There were berries and mushrooms abounding in the woods, but not all were safe. Cassie would not know the difference.

  Was she wandering around? Or had she found a place to keep safe from the cold and the things Liz knew lived in the woods?

  She prayed throughout the day, as well, begging God to let her come back, to give her the strength to get through it all. She pleaded for the mercy she was afraid she did not deserve.

  She did not feel His presence with her. She did not hear his reassuring voice or a hand on her shoulder telling her everything was going to be okay and that her daughter was coming home.

  She was locked in a nightmare of stasis, trapped in a cycle of hopefulness, despair, agony, and anger, and she saw no way of it breaking without Cassie coming home.

  When night began to fall and the search was coming to a close once again, she railed against it. She grabbed the microphone from Noah and screamed that they had to keep looking. They had to find Cassie.

  Noah managed to get it away from her and pull her away from the radio, screaming in rage that they were giving up on her, giving up on her baby, they were leaving her to die out in the woods all alone and confused.

  Noah was patient, letting her scream at him without saying a word, but she could not stop herself. All of the pent-up emotions poured out onto him, a waterfall of words and passion, all focused on keeping the people out there looking.

  She cried in despair when she saw the first people walk past the corner of her house and begin loading into the cars on the street. She ran to the door, flinging it open and screaming at the top of her lungs that they were all damned for leaving.

  They said nothing in return.

  Finally, the last of them was Bartholomew Miller, the sheriff who started the whole thing out. He came around the corner and stopped short when he saw her standing on the porch with her hair wild and her eyes wide.

  She burst down the stairs, grabbing at the lapel of his uniform, hitting his chest with her outstretched palm.

  "Stop them! They can't leave, dammit!" she shouted, tears mixing with her angry tone.

  He grabbed her by her wrist and held tight, preventing her from hitting him further. He did it gently, with just enough pressure to keep her from laying into him. It did not seem much effort for his imposing figure.

  "Liz, calm down," he said, trying to keep his voice even, though he had to add volume to make sure she heard him over her own cries.

  "She's out there!" she screamed, wrenching her hand away from his grip. She backed away a step and he remained unmoving, putting his own arms to his sides.

  "We know she is, Liz," he said, as she took a heaving breath. "But we've got to start facing some unfortunate possibilities. Things we don't really want to admit."

  "What do you mean?" she asked, although a niggling voice in the back of her mind was already telling her the answers.

  "We've gone through a lot of territory, and I don't know if you've ever been out there, but there are a lot of places that are hard to get by. Places," he said, his gaze drifting to the dirt beneath her feet, "places where a little girl could get into and not be found again."

  "So, what are you trying to tell me, dammit? That she's gone? That there's no hope?"

  He took a deep breath; she heard it raggedly enter his lungs, and realized there was a tear in his eye. He nodded,
only once. "I'm saying there may be nothing else we can do. We could find no trace of her anywhere."

  "I can't accept that," she said, clapping her hands to her ears. "I won't!"

  "I won't tell you to stop or give up hope. Not ever." He swiped at his eyes. "But there's nothing else we can do, for now."

  She crumpled to the ground at his feet, the cold dirt meeting her hands. "Please, please don't give up on my baby."

  She felt him move away from her and a series of words came to her ears, but she could not understand any of them. Everything stopped inside of her, as she withdrew from the world, becoming a shell inside.