by Madeline Ash
“I like to travel.” Her words were dismissive.
Dee inched the door open further, frowning. She’d wondered about Jed’s past of constant moving. Ellie claimed she wanted her son to see the world, not tied to a single place his whole life. But Dee hadn’t believed her. Jed hated it. If it were all for him, Ellie would have settled years ago to make him happy.
“You’re running, Ellie. We know why.”
“I don’t know what—”
“You got pregnant. You have a child, which makes them next in line—”
“No!” Dee jumped as Ellie shouted. “I do not. You’ve stalked me, invaded my privacy, and now you’re making wild assumptions. Get out.”
“So you are not a mother?”
She hesitated, then said, “No.”
Unease prickled Dee’s spine. Surely the only reason someone would lie about having a child would be to protect them. Was Jed in danger? Who was this man? She held her breath as he spoke again.
“You were home all of thirty seconds before I arrived.” His tone was calm, shrewd. “I wonder whose sandwich that could be?”
Sprung, Dee thought, wincing.
There was silence.
“I’ll leave,” the man said, “after I check the apartment.”
“Don’t you dare.” Footsteps started down the hall and Ellie shouted again. “Don’t you dare!”
Before Dee could do anything but back away from the door, it flew open. A man in a suit burst in, expression firm as his eyes adjusted to the dim room. Ellie appeared at his shoulder, her face white and horrified. Her startled gaze ran over Dee; no doubt taking in the messy hair, swollen lips, and reaching a very obvious conclusion.
“My daughter,” she said after a moment, holding Dee’s stare. “Not that it’s any of your damned business.”
The man took a step closer. Completely confounded, Dee turned her attention to him and watched his gaze search her features. After several seconds, he asked, “How old are you?”
A simple question that Dee imagined had a right and wrong answer. She darted a look at Jed’s mother. Ellie latched onto her gaze and mouthed fourteen.
“Fourteen,” Dee lied dutifully. “Who are you and why the hell are you in my bedroom?”
He gave her a long look, narrowed eyes burying across her face. Then he discarded her and turned his back. “She looks nothing like Oscar.”
Dee asked, “Who’s Oscar?”
“For good reason,” Ellie answered him flatly. “Get. Out.”
With a final frowned glance at Dee, the man left.
Shock held her to the spot. Judging by the way Ellie sagged against the door frame, the situation would have ended differently had that man found Jed. Was this why she stayed on-the-move? Constantly running to avoid getting caught in Oscar’s net.
Finding her voice, she asked, “Ellie, what was that—”
“Forget it, Dee.”
“What does he want with Jed?” Fear fed on her heart. “Is Oscar dangerous?”
“I think it’s time for you to leave.” The words were shaky but clipped. The color hadn’t returned to Ellie’s cheeks and she gripped the doorframe.
“But who was that guy?” She moved forward, feeling shaky herself. “Is everything okay?”
Jed’s mother ignored the questions. “Go on. You know you’re not allowed in here.”
“We were just—”
“I know what you were just doing. Out, get out now. I’m not in the mood.”
It mortified Dee that her eyes filled with tears. The night had almost been so perfect. Jed was probably wrestling with the drop down ladder, clueless that he’d return upstairs to an empty bedroom and furious mother. Dee had to stay, explain to him what had happened. “I’d prefer to stay to make sure—”
“No, Dee, you’re to go home right now.”
“Then just to say goodbye, Ellie, he’s only popped out for—”
“I’ll tell him you had to leave. Now go, before I tell your parents what was going on in here.” The words left no room for argument.
So with streaks on her cheeks, Dee slunk out of Jed’s bedroom, his apartment, and out of the building. Too late did she think to check the fire escape, and staring up, she saw a shadow slipping out of sight through Ellie’s window.
Upset, she drove home, music cranked up loud. Ellie would ground him on the spot. There would be no phone calls or hanging out this weekend. She’d have to wait for school on Monday to ask whether he and Ellie were okay—whether they were on the run. There’d always been something unsettled about them, something he wasn’t telling her. Well, he’d have to tell the truth because she was involved now.
She’d take his hand and kiss him, because finally, blissfully, she could. She’d be happy on Monday, and every day after that.
But Monday came and Jed wasn’t at school. No one picked up his home phone that evening, and she cursed Ellie for being so cruel. Tuesday morning, Dee skipped Art class to visit. When she turned up at his apartment block, she was halted by the security guard and his apologetic hand on her shoulder.
Jed and his mother had moved out on the weekend.
Flattened by the impact, Dee knelt on the lobby floor. She wanted to cry—loudly, ungracefully—but no tears came. His sudden abandonment had snatched away her emotions, leaving her hollow. Only shock remained, lining her skin.
She should have done something. Refused to leave the apartment. Called the police, reported a stalker. She could have stopped Ellie panicking and fleeing. Unless the man had returned and seen Jed? Ice froze over her gut at the thought. If Dee had been there, she could have prevented him from taking them away; she’d have screamed and fought and gone for the man’s soft spots.
She could have stopped it happening. Instead she’d done nothing. She was empty and alone.
And Jed was gone.
Chapter One
‡
Dee sat at the desk in front of her apartment window, lost in the words on her screen. This script had a tight deadline—one week from today—and big expectations from an interested producer. Heart-wrenching was his only stipulation. “Mangle their views on love until all they’re sure of is uncertainty and pain,” he’d said, “and I’ll make it.”
Dee hadn’t hesitated to shake his hand.
Outside, the dull Los Angeles winter cloaked the sky and building opposite in grey. Nothing to distract her as she typed the final scene.
EXT. GOLDEN GATE BRIDGE – SUNSET
In the middle of the bridge, Adam stands, staring over the city and water. He is empty-handed and alone.
PAN OUT:
VOICEOVER (EMMA)
Adam didn’t stop searching. Sometimes he’d pretend he’d moved on. Sometimes that would last years. But those times were only because he was without a clue, a hint, a memory. When the next came, he pursued it until every stone was turned, every shadow lit. Emma lived in him like a ghost that hadn’t made amends. He knew she’d haunt him until he found her. So he didn’t stop, couldn’t stop, even though it meant he too might one day haunt this earth, a lost soul with unfinished business, always and forever searching for Emma.
THE END
“Are you serious?”
Dee glanced up, distracted by her best friend’s voice. She’d all but forgotten Alexia was in her apartment.
“I mean,” Alexia spoke again from behind her. “He never finds her?”
Dee turned to where her friend lay on the couch, a laptop on her thighs and what appeared to be Dee’s work-in-progress open on the screen.
She raised a brow. The oddities of cloud computing. “It’s creepy that you’re watching me write.”
“You shared the link.” Alexia’s head was twisted over the armrest, all the better to glare at Dee. In an apartment sized like a tool shed, the glare didn’t have to travel far. “Adam has to find Emma.”
Dee hooked an arm over the back of her chair and removed her glasses. Cleaning the lenses on the hem of her checkered dress, she said, “
I didn’t share the script so you could dispute plot points from my couch. I shared it so you can help me write myself out of a corner from across the world.”
Gone were the days of barging into Alexia’s own LA apartment, begging for chocolate and a brainstorming buddy. Almost a year now since her best friend had returned to Byron Bay to be with Parker—her tanned and gorgeous Aussie surfer. Dee didn’t blame her, but she sure missed her like hell.
Alexia had only returned to shoot her latest film. She and Parker were flying back to Australia tonight. Ice-cream and chick flicks had been stockpiled—best friend withdrawals would set in shortly.
“I’ve got another hour to kill.” Alexia shifted on the couch, long hair slipping off to graze the carpet. “Why not watch some real-time screenwriting?”
Dee slid her glasses back on. “Because boredom.”
“I may have YouTube open in another tab,” she added with a quick smile, looking around as Parker sauntered out of the spare bedroom. Blond hair askew and sheet lines on his cheek. Someone had been taking an afternoon nap.
“Hey, lazy,” Dee greeted.
He flicked her a bleary glance. “Hey, crazy.”
Alexia sat up and he collapsed onto the couch beside her. She then draped her legs over his lap as Parker rubbed his face.
“I still don’t get why he never finds Emma,” she said doggedly.
“Wait. He doesn’t find her?” Parker set his green eyes on Dee. “Why can’t your films end half-tolerably?”
Dee smiled. “Because I want to pop your bubble, honey.”
“Your last film did that.”
She dipped her head to the side. “I’ll consider it.”
No, she wouldn’t. But this ending mightn’t stick anyway. She was rarely certain of an ending until she’d finished an entire screenplay—and she didn’t write scenes chronologically. Despite just drafting a closing scene, she was only halfway.
“I’m not sure it’s believable.” Alexia was frowning at the laptop screen again. “I mean, people don’t just leave in the night. Not without a word, or a struggle, not when they’re in love.”
An old memory scoffed bitterly at that. Truth was stranger than fiction.
“Noted.” Dee leaned back, propping her feet on the bookshelf. Made of recycled shipping pallets with books bursting through the cracks. She nudged a classic back in with her toes.
“Speaking of love.” Her friend paused pointedly. “You haven’t mentioned anyone since I’ve been here.”
No, she hadn’t.
Dee was the first to admit that she went through lovers like she had teenage heartthrobs. She fell head over heels, convinced they were the ultimate, and then did it all again. And as it turned out, they cared about her as much as a man in a poster.
That particular disillusionment had struck recently.
Apparently she was fling material. Forthright, friendly, a little outrageous. She was a good time while it lasted—and it wasn’t meant to last long. She chose decent men, which was important, but decent didn’t mean they were keen on long-term.
She’d always excused it on bad luck, but when her latest lover had suggested they cool it, she’d broken down. The weight of years of short-term nothings finally crushed her. Twenty-six with no relationship longer than a few months—it bordered on distressing. Confounded, the guy had admitted he hadn’t thought she’d wanted anything serious.
“You’re fun,” he said, rubbing her naked back. “And you were okay moving fast. So I figured this didn’t mean anything.”
Such a surprise to find out it was her fault she’d never had a serious relationship. Yes, she liked sex. She’d freely admit it. But it wasn’t all she wanted. Connection. Companionship. Someone to love, who loved her back.
No man had ticked all those boxes.
One almost had.
Dee turned away, stacking the three empty coffee cups on her desk and swallowing an old ache. Almost, until he’d disappeared and she’d never heard from him again. His fate had shadowed her mind for years. Even now, he was a dark spot that grew like doubt during sleepless nights.
“I’m rolling solo at the moment,” she answered, back still turned. “Netflix is such an underrated bed partner.”
Silence from the couch. She envisioned an exchanged glance of shock horror.
Dee turned around, smiling. “One last coffee run?”
“You’ll end up in hospital,” Parker murmured, eyeing the stack of empty cups.
“I’ll get decaf.”
He looked unconvinced. “Yeah, hit me with one.”
“Tea for me.” Alexia smiled dryly. “That’ll avoid a war between caffeine and valium on the plane. Want company?”
“And disrupt your little love tangle?” Dee ran a hand over her friend’s hair as she headed towards the door. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
She tugged on her black boots and grabbed a scarf. A second before she closed the door behind her, Parker called, “Make your characters find each other and I’ll buy you a coffee machine!”
And write a romantic comedy with a happy ending?
Dee would if she could.
*
Jed was losing hope. It had taken all day to reach this point and he was only a few blocks out. Failure was extending its hand like an old friend, but the possibility of finding Dee stopped him from gripping and shaking. He wouldn’t acknowledge defeat, not yet.
Johnson was an infuriatingly common surname and Los Angeles wasn’t short on people. It was a slow task. Awkward, apologetic. And with the chance that she’d married and changed her name, potentially impossible.
But he needed to find her. He’d always needed to find her.
Jed climbed the concrete steps of the next apartment block door as a cool wind slapped at his face. Glancing at his phone to confirm the number, he pressed the buzzer and waited.
“Hello?” A man’s voice.
Jed had given up on an explanation hours ago. “Hi, I’m after D. Johnson.”
“Does Dee know you?” The voice was accented. Australian.
He stilled, hope stirring. Dee as a name, not an initial. “Yes. But it’s been a while.”
“You an ex of hers?”
Jed held the button down, running a hand over his mouth. They hadn’t reached the stage where she’d be considered his ex. “An old friend.” He looked down at a wad of chewing gum, black and flat on the concrete. “From school.”
“Come on up.” A moment before the door unlocked, Jed heard a woman exclaim, “Parker, you can’t just let some guy—” The speaker went silent.
He picked up his luggage and walked in. Not daring to believe this was it, he made his way to her door with minimal fuss. Just one moment where he paused on the landing, heart racing, struck by anticipation so fierce it felt like fear.
Then he knocked on the door.
The man who answered looked ready for a day at the beach, with a surf-branded tee and mussed blond hair. “Hey.” He leaned against the doorframe. “Sorry, man, but the past two minutes have told me that I shouldn’t have let you up while Dee’s not home.”
High possibility that “the past two minutes” were embodied in the form of the woman who had stepped into view, arms crossed.
“Fair enough.” He picked up his duffel bag. “I’ll try again later.”
“Hang on.” The woman also sounded Australian. She scanned Jed, frowning. “How well did you know Dee?”
“I might have the wrong address.” Considering the futility of his search, he almost definitely did. “But the Dee I’m looking for used to live in San Fran. She was a close friend in high school.” For a while.
Her eyes narrowed. “Describe her.”
After ten years, he hoped his memories hadn’t shifted too far from the mark. “Short. Dark hair, almost black. Blue eyes. She wore glasses, but might have contacts now.” He paused. She’d chased away the nightmares of another school, another city, another place where he knew no one and no one wanted to know him. “She
was enthusiastic. She liked testing people. Didn’t mind taking what she wanted.”
The man murmured, “Can there really be two of them?” and the woman fought a smile.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Jed.”
She paused, looking mildly put out. “She hasn’t mentioned you.”
He pretended that didn’t matter.
“Why are you here?”
“I have a few questions.” The reason that finally justified searching for her. Ten years too late. “About something that happened when I knew her.”
“That’s it?”
Not even close. “Yes.”
The blond glanced at her over his shoulder, brows raised in question.
“She’s grabbing coffee.” Reluctantly the woman gestured inside, her eyes tracking his body again. No mistaking the genuine curiosity in her gaze. Wondering why she’d never heard of him or whether he had any concealed weapons, he wasn’t sure. “Just don’t be a weirdo, okay?”
“Deal.”
The apartment was tiny. Enough space for a two-seater couch, coffee table, desk, bookshelf, and an old rocking chair of dubious weight-bearing ability. Small kitchenette scenario on the left. Two closed doors on the right.
It was also intensely decorated. Every surface was a display, wall, ledge, and floor. The front wall was covered in wooden crate shelving, most loaded with books, others with hats or shoes or glass jars of flowers. Movie posters, photographs, and hand-written quotes plastered the other walls. Strings of lightbulbs draped from the ceiling, crisscrossing their way from desk to dishwasher, and multicolored rag rugs covered the parquetry.
The couple sat on the couch, holding hands and not speaking. Jed stood half a dozen feet back from the door, which just about put him in the oven.
He waited, muscles set with tension. Seven minutes, eight.
The man broke the silence. “It’ll be weird if it’s not her, hey?” He offered a grin.
Jed nodded with a small smile. But what if it was? Dee. The girl he’d abandoned, ached for, and accepted that he’d never see again. He leaned against the kitchen counter, a pose of patience as doubt destroyed his mind. Then a sound came from the door and the wait was over.
