Someone Was Watching

by David Patneaude

  “Sorry, Molly.” He loved hearing her say his name. He hadn’t realized how much he missed it.

  “I like it, Kis,” she said, and tightened her grip around his neck.

  Suddenly, Chris remembered. “Can I use your phone?” he asked Lucy. “I need to call my parents.”

  “That would be a great idea,” she said, “and I need to talk to them, too. Where are they?”

  “Wisconsin,” Chris said.

  “Wisconsin? We are going to have to listen to your story.”

  Chris picked up the phone. His fingers were so shaky that he had a hard time pushing the right buttons.

  “Hello,” a voice said on the other end of the line. It was his dad’s voice, but it sounded different: strained, anxious.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  “Chris—”

  “We’ve got her, Dad. We’ve got Molly.” He fought down the lump in his throat and waited for his dad to say something.

  “Molly?” his dad said finally. His voice was cracking, muffled. “She’s alive? She’s there with you? Molly’s there with you?”

  Chris heard a click on the other end, and then his mom’s voice on the extension. “Chris?” she said, barely whispering. “You’ve got Molly?”

  Chris tried to talk, tried to say yes, but he couldn’t get his throat to work. He held Molly closer, feeling her breathe.

  “Chris?” his mom said. “Is it really you? Talk to me. Say something to me.”

  “We’ve got her, Mom,” he said finally.

  “She’s…” His mom made a noise that sounded as if she was choking, or trying to catch her breath.

  “She’s fine,” he said, giving Molly a squeeze. She was squirming on his lap, reaching for the phone.

  “Where are you, Chris?” his dad asked.

  “In Florida. We’re at the police station in Westview. The town hall, I guess it is.”

  There was a pause. “Bud and Clover had her?” his dad asked.

  “They did,” Chris said. He pushed a tear away from his cheek.

  “Are you okay? And Pat?”

  “We’re fine,” Chris said. “And Molly wants to talk to you.” He handed Molly the phone, helping her hold it up to her ear. Pat hovered over them, smiling, listening. “Say hello to Daddy and Mommy,” Chris told Molly.

  “Hi, Daddy and Mommy,” Molly said. A tiny little voice. Calm. As if she’d last talked to them an hour ago. But Chris could see the light in her eyes. She nodded, answering questions, and Chris had to use his T-shirt to wipe his face. Now that the tears had started, he couldn’t turn them off.

  “You have to talk, Molly,” Chris said. “They can’t see you nodding your head.”

  “Fine,” she said finally, answering some question. Then more nodding. “I missed you, too. I love you, too.” Now tears were trickling down Molly’s cheeks, streaking her dirt-smudged skin, but Chris let them go. He handed the phone to Lucy.

  He felt tired and sore and—all of a sudden—hungry, but he had another feeling that overwhelmed everything else. It was something he couldn’t describe, but it warmed him and gave him chills at the same time; it made him happy—beyond happy—but tearful, too. It was a feeling he’d never had before, and somehow doubted he’d ever have again. He buried his face in Molly’s hair, wiping away the water from his eyes. She looked at him, a curious expression on her face, and touched him on the cheek.

  Lucy showed them to a quiet room, where they ate sandwiches and cookies and listened to voices and noises coming from outside the door. Alone in a big chair, seated across the table from Chris, Molly looked small and vulnerable—too vulnerable. Chris thought of her by herself for all those days and weeks—how frightened and lonely she must have felt—and suddenly the food in his mouth tasted bad. Suddenly he was angry. His hand, wrapped around a pop bottle, grew white-knuckled as he thought about Bud and Clover and how they’d turned Molly’s life upside down and broken the hearts of the people who loved her. He forced a smile in Molly’s direction and tried to tell himself that everything was okay now. She smiled back at him—a real smile—and he relaxed. He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes.

  It was after dark—nearly 10:30—when Chris’s parents arrived at Lucy’s house. Chris, Pat, and Molly had spent most of the afternoon and evening napping there; they were wide awake now, peering out the window as a car pulled up. Chris turned Molly toward the door, expecting her to rush to it when it opened, but when his parents hurried in past Lucy and spotted Molly, she hung back bashfully, staring at them from across the room. For a long moment, his parents just stood there looking, as if they were frozen, as if they couldn’t believe it was really her. Then his dad pulled his gaze away from Molly and found Chris. It was just a quick glance, but it said everything: concern and relief and thanks and love.

  Chris watched his dad’s eyes turn liquid as they focused back on Molly and then on Chris’s mom. Hand in hand, they started for Molly, inching forward, as if they thought they would scare her off. And then suddenly she was rocketing away from Chris’s side, flying to them, and they were down on their knees, hands outstretched, waiting for her. She jumped into their arms and they picked her up, sandwiching her between them, dancing around the room. They were laughing and crying and holding her so close that Chris thought she might be crushed. But her head was tossed back, and she was chuckling—a beautiful, musical sound he’d once thought he’d never hear again.

  “Chris! Pat!” his dad shouted. “Get over here. You’re not too big for a hug.”

  But for a long while, Chris just watched; it was a sight he wanted to savor. He glanced at Lucy, still standing by the door, a big smile on her face, and then his eyes blurred over.

  Pat walked up beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. “You did it, Chris,” he said. “You really did it.”

  Chris swallowed. “We,” he said. “We did it, Pat. I couldn’t have done it by myself.”

  They crossed the room to Chris’s parents. Chris put his arms around them and closed his eyes. He felt his mom’s face, warm and wet against his, and his dad’s arm around his shoulders. A small hand on the back of his neck pulled him close, and he could feel Molly’s breath, and then her lips, on his cheek. “Are we a family now, Kis?” she asked in his ear. He opened his eyes, looking at her face from inches away, drinking it in. “We sure are, Molly,” he said.

  “Patty’s in our family, too,” she said, smiling at Pat. She held out her hands and leaned toward him. He caught her and hoisted her high in the air before lowering her slowly back down, stopping when they were nose to nose.

  “Thanks, Molly,” he said, and wrapped her up in a bear hug.

  “We love you guys,” Chris’s dad said, his voice cracking.

  “We’ve got to thank you somehow,” said Chris’s mom. Her cheeks were flushed; her eyes blazed with life.

  “You don’t need to,” Chris said. He’d gotten his sister back. And his family.

  Pat grinned. “A new Ferrari would probably do it.”

  EPILOGUE

  CHRIS sat in the back seat with Molly and watched the countryside float by, waited for the river to come into view. And then it was there, sparkling through bare-limbed trees in the afternoon sun. He stared, remembering how he’d hated it for taking Molly, as if it had been some kind of hungry, cold-blooded monster. But now it was just a river again. Maybe not quite the same river as before Molly disappeared, but no longer a monster.

  They approached the house, but the car didn’t slow.

  “Let’s go to the park, first,” Chris’s dad said, as if it hadn’t already been decided. The only one not aware of the itinerary for this trip was Molly, who reacted to the announcement by taking Chris’s hand and looking longingly at the house as they passed it by.

  Chris would have been happy to stop, too, but he knew they’d be back. They just had to take care of some business at the beach. “We’ll be coming right back,” he told her.

  In the past two months, their lives had returned to norma
l—or nearly normal—but now they needed to tie up some loose ends, as Dr. Wilde had put it. Clover and Bud were locked up, undergoing psychiatric evaluations and awaiting trial, but Dr. Wilde wanted to make sure that any other bad guys—the kind you can’t see—were put away, too. She suggested that the four of them go back to the river as soon as they could. She thought it would be the best place for all of them—especially Molly—to put an end to any surviving demons.

  The parking lot was deserted when they pulled in. Chris felt uneasy, but he didn’t see any demons. Maybe Molly had, though. She had her jaw stuck out and her eyelids screwed down tight. He slid over and put his arm around her; her shoulders were stiff, unmoving. His mom looked back with a reassuring smile, but Molly didn’t see it.

  His dad glanced at Molly’s face and then turned to his window, staring out at the parking lot as if looking for his own bad guys. When he faced back again, Chris saw anger fading from his eyes. “We’ve got some bread for the ducks, Molly,” Chris’s dad said, smiling now. “Should we go see if they’re hungry?” He took her hand and held on.

  Molly opened her eyes and looked around, slowly surveying the lot, looking for—what? Chris wondered. Maybe a big white truck with an ice cream cone on its side. But the only thing she saw was an empty parking lot covered with fallen leaves. And now she had ducks on her mind. Now she was in a hurry.

  A minute later they were heading for the beach. Chris hung back, ambling along, taking everything in, remembering the day he’d last been here with Molly. Now that she was back, that day—the whole summer—seemed even more unreal, while today—what was happening right now—was all that was important. He watched her pad down the path in front of him, hurrying toward the water, with her bag of bread in one hand, her dad’s hand in the other, and her mom—as close as a shadow—on her other side.

  At first, Chris’s parents looked like bodyguards, trying to be casual while constantly glancing from Molly to every tree and bush they passed, as if something were about to jump out and snatch her away. But then they seemed to relax, and when she began tugging them along after spotting some ducks in the shallows, they let her run ahead, content to watch her sprint for the shoreline. Suddenly Molly—and her mom and dad—had decided that this place was okay again, that there was nothing left to bother her here.

  A cool breeze stirred, quickly draining the warmth from the sunshine, and Chris stopped in his tracks. From somewhere, the sweet autumn fragrance of burning leaves came to him, filling his nose. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, finding another smell: the river. It smelled fresh now, renewed by rain and wind and cold, crisp nights. He held his breath, not wanting to let it go. He listened to the rattle of swirling leaves slow and then stop as the breeze died. And then his dad’s voice, loud and strong, carried to him through the still air.

  “Molly!” he called. “Molly!” And for an awful instant, Chris went back, his heart in his throat, to that other day at the river. But then he opened his eyes and saw his dad and mom waving to Molly. His dad had a camera up to his face, trying to get her attention, but she was too busy with the ducks, out of the water now and crowding around her feet, scrambling for bread crumbs. And then she turned, searching for something, for someone.

  “Kis!” she shouted, finally spotting him. “Kis!”

  He waved and started toward her.

  “Kis!” she yelled again. “Hurry! Too many custards! I need your help!”

  He smiled, deep inside he smiled, and broke into a jog. In a moment he was sprinting, running over and around rocks and logs and bushes, racing for the shoreline, for Molly.

  About David Patneaude

  David Patneaude was born in St. Paul, Minnesota, but moved to the Seattle, Washington, area with his family when he was six years old. He still lives there, now with his wife and children.

  He holds a degree in communications from the University of Washington. Since getting his degree he has taken writing courses and attended writing workshops.

  David Patneaude enjoys running. He likes the outdoors and coaching little kids. When he isn’t writing, he loves to read.