by Tim Kizer
Kathy was kidnapped by a pervert, Kelly ran away with a lover, and the question is: why are you, Frank Fowler, so quiet and imperturbable? Actually, for all you know, your wife might have fallen victim to the same maniac rapist that throttled your daughter. Kelly eloping with a neighbor must be the most implausible explanation of her disappearance there is, buddy. It shouldn’t be so hard to admit the truth to yourself, should it, pal?
And what was the truth?
Seriously, why was he so tranquil as if nothing had happened? He hadn’t even shed a few tears just for the sake of preserving his good reputation with his Josephine.
What was the truth about Kelly’s vanishing?
He had nothing to do with it, had he?
“This is terrible,” said Frank in a low voice. He cleared his throat. “Do you have any theories about where Kelly could be?”
“We thought you might have one. We’ve been hoping you’ll give us some clues, Frank.” Josephine stared at Frank with pity. Obviously, she assumed she had staggered him with the harsh news about Kelly and Kathy. “It’s so terrible! So terrible!” She shook her head in anguish. “It must be so painful for you to even think about it. Poor Kathy. Poor Kelly. We believe in you, Frank. I’m sure you can help us find her.”
Poor Kathy... Poor Kelly...
They had been hoping he’d give them some clues. Who the hell were ‘they?’
“I’m shocked. I don’t know what to say,” Frank said and shut his eyes. He thanked God for having deprived him of his memories about the last six years of his life.
4.
When she was about to leave, Josephine asked, looking at him tensely, “Do you have any idea what happened to Kelly?”
There was anguish and sincere hope in her eyes, which made Frank feel ashamed that he was unable to help her.
“I’m sorry, Josephine, I remember very little about the time she went missing,” Frank said. “To be honest, I don’t remember anything about it. I have yet to remember Kelly herself. I’m sorry.”
Josephine spent half a minute digesting his words, nodded as if agreeing with something her internal voice had told her, and then said, “We would much appreciate it if you could recall something useful in the next couple of weeks. You were very close to Kelly. You have to know something that can help us find her.” Again the undying hope flickered in her eyes. “Something only you could have known. Just do your best to remember it, okay?”
Frank kept silent for a while to show Josephine that he was pondering her words and replied, “I’ll try, but I can’t promise you anything right now. It might take me a very long time to recover those memories.” He paused, the feeling of guilt still lingering in his heart. “I will certainly do my best; I can promise you that.”
“What if something terrible happens to her in the meantime? What if it takes you weeks, or even months to get your memory back?”
“Let’s hope everything will be fine. There really isn’t much we can do about it.”
What a heartless cynic you are, pal! Your wife and daughter are missing (or should one say: dead and gone?), and all you do is twiddle your thumbs? Strain your fucking memory, man. Start digging in it and keep digging until you find something useful.
But it had been a week since she vanished. If they had been unable to find her after a week, chances were they would never find her alive. For all he knew, Kelly could be rotting somewhere at the bottom of Lake Erie.
As Josephine rose from the chair, she said in a calm and at the same time resolute voice, “Frank, we have to find Kelly, do you understand that?”
“Yes, I do. We’ll find her.”
“Try to remember as much as possible as soon as possible. She could have told you about her plans for the day she disappeared. We need to find out what she was going to do, where she was going to be, whom she was going to meet that day. Don’t waste your time, please. Think as hard as you can. That information has to be somewhere in your head, Frank.”
“It’s my number one priority now. I want to find her as badly as you do.”
“I’m glad to hear that. This is a matter of life or death, Frank.” She paused. “Life or death. I mean it. We are all counting on you.”
When Josephine was about to open the door and step out into the hallway, she turned her face to Frank and asked, “Did you and Kelly argue?”
Frank felt so excited about seeing Josephine finally go away that he decided to ignore any subtext which might have been hidden in this question. With a solemn air, he answered, “I’m sorry, Josephine. I don’t remember. I don’t remember anything.”
Wow, this looks like a very convenient way to answer the most tricky questions! You remember nothing, and, therefore, they can’t expect a word of substance from you. It’s your personal get out of jail free card, buddy.
“Yes, that’s right,” muttered Josephine.
5.
Frank spent the rest of the day pondering over all the rediscovered details of his life and attempting to remember Kelly and Kathy as well as anything that could help him find his wife. It appeared he had a lot of thinking to do in the coming weeks, or even months.
He had been told he had a wife, and he believed that in his mind there now was a phantom of a memory of his wife’s name sounding similar to ‘Kelly.’ He had no clue when this phantom would turn into a firm recollection. He also thought that he still remembered, though vaguely, having a daughter. He had begun to gradually get used to the idea of being a husband and a dad. Or was it a former husband and a former dad? Chances were he would never see Kelly or Kathy again, let’s be realistic about it.
It was so weird: he had a wife and a daughter whom he actually didn’t have anymore.
By the way, what did Josephine mean when she asked if he and Kelly had argued? What the hell was she getting at?
Had he and Kelly argued? Even if they had, it was none of Josephine’s business! Every couple in the history of mankind had argued, there was nothing special about that.
Frank made a wry face, revolted by Josephine’s arrogance. Did she suspect that he had beaten Kelly with a bat or put out cigarettes on her skin? Or did she believe he had killed his wife?
Was that what she had meant by her question?
Frank heaved a sigh, realizing he was about to get distressed by his own conjectures about Josephine’s hidden agenda. However, these conjectures seemed to be awfully close to the truth: he’d bet dollars to donuts that Missis Buckhaus had been seriously considering the possibility of him being her beloved sister’s killer. As the older sibling, Josephine must see herself as the wise, all-caring protector of the family—the Godmother, if you will.
But your charm and wit will surely help you crush all these insinuations against you, right, buddy?
He hoped so.
Like in a movie. Frank burst out laughing. He had forgotten half of his life just like in a goddamn movie (okay, it was an exaggeration, but still)! Years of memories erased, just like that. He had forgotten his wife’s name; he had forgotten his daughter’s name. Just like in a movie. Or some cheesy soap opera.
So what did he know about Kelly’s plans for the day she disappeared? And now that the question arose: had he argued with Kelly and how often?
He fell asleep close to midnight. He had no idea what a curious surprise was awaiting him in the morning.
6.
Imagine for a moment that Kelly Fowler was indeed murdered and Frank was the killer. Now picture Frank in kabuki makeup. In case you didn’t know: kabuki is classical Japanese dance-drama, whose actors paint their faces completely white, making themselves look as if they have just survived an explosion at a flour factory. Yes, picture a face white as paper: that was the image Michael Bluth must have had in his mind while trying to predict Frank’s reaction to his letter in a sealed envelope, which Frank found on the nightstand next to a disposable plastic vase with a bouquet of pink roses and lilies when he awoke in the morning. The letter had apparently come as an attachment to the flow
ers.
That’s right, after reading Bluth’s message, Frank would have turned extremely pale with fear had he been the psycho that had murdered Kelly Fowler. However, he was not the killer and the color of his face did not change as he read the letter from Bluth.
Michael Bluth wrote:
“Dear Frank, I know you killed your wife, and I can prove it. You are a reasonable person. I’m sure you don’t want to go to prison. All I need is a $20,000 loan. Please think about my request very carefully.”
Mister Bluth had been polite enough to put his name at the end of his message, and it might have been his real name, too, although Frank wouldn’t have bet the farm on it. The letter was typed: the author either had poor handwriting or wanted to leave no evidence behind. Frank read Bluth’s note three more times, digesting its meaning and enjoying its absurdity, and then laughed quietly.
‘All I need is a $20,000 loan.’ What a smartass.
‘Please think about my request very carefully.’ Was this idiot trying to play it safe? Why hadn’t he just said point-blank that he would go to the police if Frank didn’t pay him? Was he afraid that he could end up in jail for extortion or something?
What are you going to do about this letter, buddy?
Well, it depended on whether he believed these charges were true.
Do you believe they are true?
Did he think he had murdered his wife? Hell no! He shouldn’t even dignify such a preposterous question with an answer.
Excellent response, buddy! Now rip this letter into a hundred pieces and flush them down the toilet.
Yes, that was exactly what he ought to do. And he wasn’t doing it to keep Bluth’s ridiculous accusations under wraps; he didn’t care if anyone else read the letter. He was doing it to show his contempt for this lying son of a bitch.
Besides, he already had too much on his plate to bother with delusions of someone he didn’t know. And it was not an established fact yet that his wife was dead, okay?
Did he believe that Kelly was dead? Well, he wouldn’t be surprised if she was. He hadn’t really dwelled on this issue since it was hard to be emotionally invested in a woman he barely knew.
By the way, it was a very smart move to ask Marilyn to keep from visiting you in the hospital again in order to avoid any rumors.
“Her sister is here almost every day,” he told Marilyn last night. “I don’t want her to see you.”
It would certainly be a disaster if he was exposed as a cheating husband, taking into account that his wife had gone missing. He would hate to have his reputation compromised: a tarnished reputation could land you behind bars or on the death row when your spouse mysteriously vanished. And there were also Josephine and her clan. As a matter of fact, Frank was unsure who he feared the most: his sister-in-law or the cops.
Chapter 6.
GEORGE
1.
“It’s vengeance,” said Albert, waiting for George to drift off and fall into his arms.
He had uttered those words at a quarter past one in the afternoon, eighteen and a half months before Kelly Fowler went missing.
Two hours earlier, George Frey had said he had to take a leak and headed for the bathroom. Josephine watched him leave the living room and, once his steps could no longer be heard, turned to Kelly, who was playing with the key to the Ford Expedition she had rented last night for this trip.
“Is your husband pissed off yet?” Josephine asked with a grin. “I bet George was driving him nuts.”
Kelly began to chuckle, put the car key in her jeans pocket, and said, “I haven’t heard any complaints from Frank, but I think the old man was getting on his nerves. The old fucker just doesn’t know how to shut up.”
“Frank is probably too polite to bitch about his in-laws.” Josephine cast an inquiring look at the doorway. “Is he taking a shit?” she wondered aloud. “What’s holding him up? I hope he doesn’t stink up my bathroom.”
“It must be his giant prostate.”
“Have you decided what you want to do about your daughter? Little children are such a pain in the ass.”
“I’m seriously thinking about your suggestion, Josephine. It’s very tempting.”
“As I said, we’ll help you every step of the way. You won’t even have to lift a finger. I know it will take some time, but eventually you’ll see how much happier your life will be without this burden.”
“I’m almost sold. Just give me a few weeks.”
“Sure.” Josephine patted Kelly on the shoulder. “Did you tell Frank where you're going?” She got up and signaled Kelly to follow her.
“No.” Kelly shook her head, rising from the couch. “He doesn't seem to care. He’s very busy with his work.”
They walked out onto the terrace.
“Is he going to ask where your father went? Is he a curious type?” Josephine lit a cigarette. “If Frank asks, tell him George went hiking with a buddy.”
“All right. But I doubt Frank gives a rat’s ass about the old fart. He’ll be glad to have him out of the house.”
“He’s definitely taking a shit,” said Josephine. “Or he simply forgot about us.”
Half a minute later, the door swung open and revealed a smiling George.
“Lades, I'm ready,” he declared. “Let's go see the mountains.”
They headed for the car. George wrapped his arm around Kelly’s shoulders and said, “I’m so happy we’re spending this time together, sweetheart. I haven’t hiked in years.” He kissed Kelly on the cheek and then turned his face to Josephine. “You should consider quitting, Josephine. I’m sure you don’t want to die of lung cancer.”
“I'm doing my best, George,” replied Josephine, getting in the front passenger seat. “I’m in a great shape, and I’m not planning to croak any time soon.” She took a deep puff and put the cigarette out. “You will love those mountains. It will be an unforgettable experience, I promise.” She exchanged glances with Kelly, who was starting the engine.
When the Expedition pulled away from the curb, George said, “I wonder how Jane is doing without me. I wish she came with me.”
“I wish so, too, Dad,” said Kelly.
“I hope she’s not missing me too much,” said George.
“She’ll be fine,” Josephine remarked. “I bet she’s enjoying her alone time.”
“Besides, she's got a hundred friends,” Kelly added. “She's having a good time, Dad. And she’ll tell you all about it tomorrow, when you get back home.”
“Women do need a break from their husbands every once in a while. And husbands need a break, too. Enjoy your break, George,” said Josephine.
‘It's a bat,’ that man said. ‘It’s just a damn bat. Leave it there, George. Let's go.’
‘I’m coming.’
Josephine touched Kelly's hand; they exchanged glances again.
“Where's the food?” asked George. “We're going to get hungry there real soon.”
“Graham and Albert are waiting for us in Salamanca. They have a lot of food with them,” answered Josephine. “I asked them to take care of this.”
“I'm already hungry,” said George, rubbing his stomach. Josephine stole a glance at George's face and winced slightly. The old man's wrinkly mug disgusted her.
“It’s only an hour away, Dad,” said Kelly. “If it gets too bad, we’ll find a diner on a highway, okay?”
“Here.” Josephine opened her purse and fished out a Snickers chocolate bar. “I bought it for myself, but I’ll let you have it if you’d like.” She handed the bar to George.
“Next time I’ll get Jane to go with us.” The old man ripped open the chocolate bar wrapper and starting eating.
“Watch those dentures, George.” Josephine giggled. “The nougat in those bars is very sticky.”
“I sure will.” George nodded with a smile.
At a quarter past noon, they arrived in Salamanca. As they crossed the bridge over the Allegheny River, George asked how far the motel was where Graha
m and Albert were waiting. By the way, Ron had volunteered to stay at home with Tony; someone had to mind the store, you know.
“It’s further down Interstate 86,” Josephine explained. “Just six or seven miles from the mountains.”
“Very good.” George leaned forward to Josephine's seat, making her smell his rotten breath. “When do you plan to go back to Buffalo?”
“Early in the morning, Dad,” replied Kelly.
2.
They arrived at their final destination around half past three.
“Is this the hotel?” George sounded surprised. “Is it some sort of bed and breakfast joint?”
No, it was neither a hotel, nor a bed and breakfast.
The last ten minutes of the drive, Josephine had been stealing glances at the old man’s face and reflecting on the old age. She loathed the changes caused by aging; there was nothing pretty about an old person’s face. A man in his late sixties was a caricature of himself at thirty, and the same was true for women as well. Deep ugly wrinkles covered every square inch of George’s face, his hair was white and scarce, his teeth were crooked and gray. The wrinkles were disgusting; Josephine's heart skipped a beat when she imagined herself at George’s age: her face and body all creased up, her skin blemished with bizarre blotches, her toothless gums hiding behind her pursed colorless lips. She would look pitiful. Plus, don’t forget the frequent body malfunctions that came with age.
“They wanted to stay close to the mountains,” said Kelly. “It’s a fine place, Dad.”
Yes, this farmhouse was a great find. Josephine had spent half September looking for a secure venue for their final encounter with George. The ideal place was supposed to meet two requirements: first, it had to offer a spacious garage or a barn, and second, the nearest neighbor had to be at least a mile away.
“We’re having a family reunion,” she told the prospective lessors on the phone. “And we need a really quiet location.”
In this farmhouse, which was located five miles west of the gorgeous Allegheny State Park, they could be confident that no one would hear George's screams, which were unavoidable since they were not going to drug the man up. Josephine’s place, on the other hand, didn’t provide such peace of mind. By the way, they hoped the old man would squeal like a stuck pig because that would mean they were not going too easy on him.
