by S. R. Grey
I take it all in for another minute, and finally I say, “I don’t know, babe, but I hope like hell that the girl is buried in the old barn. Otherwise, she’ll probably never be found.”
Jaynie makes a face, a very unhappy face. Her enthusiasm seems to be waning.
In a dull tone, she says, “If that happens, then Allison will be released from prison for sure, Flynn. Possibly as early as this summer.”
“Fuck.”
I wave the detective back over and gesture to the barn, which is only a short distance from where we’re stopped. “Hey, look,” I say. “I’m good now. Let’s go search that goddamn barn for hiding spots.”
“Okay,” he says. “Let’s go.”
Christ, it’s imperative that we find that body, now more than ever. Because now there are two reasons, at least for me. 1) I need Allison to stay in prison. And 2) I need to keep Jaynie safe, physically and emotionally.
Well, she doesn’t know it, but if we fail today I may just have a backup plan.
Of course, it’s a plan I hope to never have to resort to.
Jaynie
Yep, the barn is as creepy as ever, all dark and musty-smelling. Water is dripping from various places, the result of a dilapidated roof. This structure is definitely an unpleasant place in which to walk around.
But walk around, we must.
“I can’t believe Mandy was brave enough to come in here on her own last year to search for candles for the twin’s birthday,” I muse as I step over a fallen rafter.
“She told me she was quick about it,” Flynn, following behind me, replies.
“I bet she was.”
“Don’t worry. It shouldn’t take us too long to go through this place,” he says reassuringly. “It’s not that large.”
Flynn is trying, like always, to make me feel better about what we have to do. But the truth is we can’t simply race in and out. We made a promise to Detective Silver to help conduct a thorough search. And that, unfortunately, is going to require more than a few minutes of traipsing around, looking to and fro.
The detective already told us that first off the entire dirt floor needs to be examined for uneven places. That could indicate an old burial location. Next, there are stalls to check around in. Plus, there’s a few old trunks strewn about that need searching.
One of those old relics is probably where Mandy found those birthday candles.
It’s then that I notice a lid on one of the trunks is not completely closed. Shiny holiday items, various colors of tinsel and a homemade foil star, are spilling out through the opening.
Flynn, following my gaze, says, “Detective Silver said we need to go through all those old trunks.”
“Yeah, I heard him, but I really don’t know why,” I counter. “They’re too small to hold a body.” I motion to the trunk with the tinsel and star. “See, it’s all holiday stuff.”
“I know. But he thinks there could be a weapon, or something relevant, stowed away in all that junk. Or…” He looks away, then mumbles, “Never mind.”
“Wait.” I grab his arm. “What were you going to say?”
Sighing, he says, “He mentioned that Allison could’ve cut up the body and tossed the pieces in a trunk.”
“Ugh! Flynn, that’s a hideous thought.”
He shrugs. “If the girl was killed, then it was obviously a hideous crime. What do you expect, Jaynie?”
“I don’t know. Just…not that.”
“If you ask me, this whole task is disgusting.”
He’s not wrong about that.
“Okay, Flynn and Jaynie.” The detective, thankfully, comes over and interrupts our unpleasant discussion. “Let’s get to work.”
He and Flynn start by canvassing the dirt floor, while I am assigned to go through the musty, old trunks.
Thankfully, I find no body parts.
Aside from some other antiquated holiday decorations, I come upon nothing more than a few ratty blankets and a bunch of old tools.
“Nothing of interest in any of these,” I announce when I’m finished.
“We should check up in the hayloft,” Flynn suggests.
He and the detective have just finished with the barn floor, so up the old rickety ladder the three of us go, with the detective in the lead.
In the hayloft, there’s nothing to be found besides mountains of dust.
After a succession of sneezes, I clear my throat and ask, “Where to now?”
“Let’s go back down the ladder,” the detective says.
“Works for me,” Flynn replies, suppressing a sneeze of his own.
Back in the base of the barn, we look around one last time, hoping to find something we missed.
But when it’s clear there’s nothing more to search, Flynn says, “That’s it, I guess. There’s nothing left for us to do. There are no other areas to search. We covered everything in here.”
Sighing, I dejectedly add, “I don’t think there are any bodies buried in this barn.”
Rubbing the salt-and-pepper stubble on his chin, Detective Silver blows out a breath. “You may be right,” he says. “But then again…” He digs the toe of his shiny dress shoe into the dirt floor, creating a divot. “Maybe our victim is buried below where we’re standing.”
“Uh, we just canvassed the whole floor,” Flynn reminds him. “You said yourself there’s no indication anyone’s dug around in this old barn in years.”
“Yes, but the body could be buried much deeper. If the killer—”
“Allison, you mean,” I mutter.
“—took it upon him- or herself to rake the dirt every day, after a while any sign of a disturbance would have been whisked away.”
“Gross.” The detective sure has a colorful—and vivid—way of explaining things.
Flynn, obviously eager to see this case resolved for my sake, says, “Should we grab some shovels?”
Detective Silver thumps him on the back. “No, son, I think you and Jaynie have done enough for the day. Though it’s generous of you to offer, I believe this is a job best suited for our excavation crew. I was hoping we’d have more luck today, but all in all I think we did well. I appreciate you two coming in to town to help. The authorities can take it from here on out.”
Panicked that this is our last chance to keep Allison behind bars, and it’s slipping from our grasp, I hastily inquire, “You’ll keep us updated on any and all progress, right?”
“Sure, sure, I can do that.” The detective shares a meaningful glance with me alone. “Of course, there’s always the option of you telling your own story, Jaynie. Especially if we don’t find anything after the excavation is complete.”
“Does that mean Allison is off the hook if you come up empty-handed?” I inquire.
“No body and no evidence equal no case, I’m afraid.” The detective peers at me, kindness in his blue eyes. “Think about making a statement, okay? Think of it as a backup plan, if nothing else.”
I know people, including this man, only want to see me receive the justice I deserve. But the thought of making an official statement and, worse yet, having to testify in court—telling my story to complete strangers—is something I prefer to avoid.
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “Maybe.”
“Hey,” Flynn says, jumping to my defense. “Can she think about it for a while?”
“Yes, of course. Let’s see what comes from the excavation before any decisions have to be made.”
“Can’t you just excavate the whole place?” I ask. “Like, why not tear down the house, dig up all the fields, check everywhere for the body of that girl?”
“I wish we could.” Detective Silver’s tone is apologetic. “But without probable cause, there’s no way a judge will ever approve something as extreme as that. The cost factor alone is prohibitive. That’s why I needed you to come to the property today. Now, because of your assistance, I can justify a more thorough search. At least, one of this old barn. But beyond that…”
“
We’re fucked,” Flynn finishes for him.
Flynn
Days pass, and the next thing I know it’s been a whole week since our search of the barn.
Even so, Jaynie and I hear nothing from Detective Silver. There are no updates at all regarding the excavation. And that’s frustrating as hell.
Fed up with waiting, one afternoon when work lets out early, I decide to go up to the Lowry property and check on shit for myself. Since I don’t have a car, though, that involves giving Crick a call to ask him for a helping hand.
“Whatcha up to, kid?” my old friend inquires when I hit him up.
“Not much,” I reply. “How’s shit with you?”
We proceed to shoot the breeze for a minute or two, until I finally get around to asking, “Hey, any chance you have time to drive me up to the old Lowry property today?”
“You just can’t stay away from that place, can you, my friend?” Crick replies. I envision him shaking his head, perplexed by my fascination with a home that brought me so much misery.
“It’s not that,” I insist. “I just need to, uh, check on something.”
Crick agrees to help. The best part is he doesn’t ask questions; he just picks me up out at the jobsite and drives me up to the old Lowry homestead.
We actually don’t do much talking at all on the way there. We’re comfortable enough with one another to handle the silence. Plus, with all I’ve got on my mind, I’m good with keeping the chatter to a minimum.
When we reach our destination, I hop out of Crick’s truck. Striding to the front gate, I shade my eyes from the glare of the setting sun.
Through the wire fence, I peer down at my once-upon-a-time home. “And a crappy home it was,” I murmur, feeling like the world is against us, once more.
But then I spy heavy construction equipment, parked up by the house, and my mood is lifted. “Thank Christ,” I mumble.
Shit, I still have so many trust issues. Even though I truly believe he’s a good guy, a part of me didn’t fully believe Detective Silver. Especially since I haven’t heard from him since the day we were up here. That’s why I felt so compelled to come back today, to see if he’d kept his word.
Once I’m back in the truck, Crick, sensing my better mood, finally gets around to asking me why I was so amped to come up to the Lowry property today. Since I trust Crick—he’s one of the few people I do trust besides Jaynie—I quietly share with him the details of the missing girl case.
Leaning back as I finish my tale, Crick lets out a low whistle. “Shit,” he says, rubbing his forehead with his hand. “I used to hear the rumors about what was going on up at this place. You know, all the child labor shit and whatnot.”
He shoots me a mea culpa sidelong glance, and though it’s not necessary, I do appreciate the sentiment. “Thanks,” I murmur.
“Anyway,” he continues, “I’ll tell you one thing.”
“What’s that, Crick?”
“I sure feel bad now. Fessing up to the fact that I never really put much stock into all that talk makes me feel lower than garbage. It’s just that I never thought about it much. Not till I met you, and you started telling me how fucked-up things were for you and the other kids who lived here. It was too late by then, though. The place had already been shut down.”
“Crick…” I blow out a breath. “There’s no reason in the world for you to feel bad.”
“No crying over spilled pop, yeah?”
I don’t correct him that he probably means ‘spilled milk.’ I just simply say, “There was nothing you or anyone else could have done, not really. Before she went to prison, Mrs. Lowry was looked upon as a godsend to this town. The state foster care system sure saw her in that light, that’s for sure.”
“Still, kid… If a girl lost her life up here… Well, shit, man. Let’s just say it doesn’t leave me feelin’ too good about myself for blowing off those rumors.”
Crick appears truly stricken. But there’s no sense in him suffering too. Mrs. Lowry and Allison have hurt enough fucking people.
I focus on what’s really important and say, “Hey, at least something’s being done about it now.”
“Better late than ever, I guess.”
Chuckling, I do correct him on that one, if only to simply lighten the mood. “I think the phrase goes ‘better late than never.’”
Crick starts up his truck. “Yeah. That too, kid,” he replies.
Back at the apartment, I give Jaynie the update.
“So there’s definitely excavation equipment up there?” she inquires, double-checking.
I shake my head. Jaynie is as distrustful as I am. Maybe someday we’ll get past this since it’d sure feel good to take people at their word.
“Flynn?” she prompts.
To which I assure her, “Yes, there’s equipment there…lots of it. Detective Silver kept his promise to us.”
We’re both relieved.
But the waiting game continues.
While we await word of any progress, good or bad, Jaynie and I try to get on with our lives. And, after a while, something interesting begins to happen—life starts to become, well, kind of normal.
Jaynie mentions exactly that one afternoon, and I say, “Normal is good, babe. We need normal.”
Our days soon take on a comforting routine, one in which we find a tiny thread of solace. And that’s good. We can work with a thread. A thread leads to two, then three. Soon enough, that happens and we start sewing together the normal pieces of a life we’ve never known.
We build something.
We work and we love and we play.
And we heal more and more.
We learn to have fun again, finding joy in even the smallest of things.
An example…
One Friday afternoon, a light snow begins to fall. By four o’clock, it’s blizzard-time. When the bus drops me off around seven, there must be six inches on the ground, maybe more. Lawrence is a ghost town, but I kind of like it.
After trudging down a slippery sidewalk, thankful that I have on my heaviest of work boots, I tromp into the sandwich shop.
Jaynie is closing out the cash register and yells up to me, “Take off your boots!”
Chuckling, I do as she asks, and then I pad to the back in my wooly socks.
There’s not a single customer in the shop, so I’m not the least bit surprised when Jaynie looks up from the register and informs me, “Bill went home early because of all the snow. He told me to go ahead and close up. No one is coming out in this mess.”
“Not likely,” I reply, yawning as I take a seat on a stool.
“You want some coffee?” she asks.
I take off my gloves. “Yeah, sure. That’d be great, babe.”
Jaynie finishes with the register, pours me some coffee, and then starts wrapping up cold cuts and cheeses she pulls from a case under the counter.
“You want any help putting that stuff away?” I ask.
“Yeah”—she pushes a roll of salami and two cheeses my way—“sure.”
My stomach starts to growl, which makes Jaynie smack her head and declare, “Crap. I forgot all about dinner.”
“I am kind of famished,” I state. “Lunch was hours ago. I’m probably pretty close to starving about now.”
I’m teasing around, but I realize my mistake immediately when Jaynie’s eyes meet mine. “You’re just kidding, right?” She chews at her bottom lip. “You’re just a normal kind of hungry, I hope?”
Despite making progress, there are still days, for both of us, when no amount of food is enough. But today I’m okay, and I assure Jaynie, “I’m just regular hungry. It was a bad joke on my part.”
She breathes a sigh of relief. And then there’s this moment of stilted silence, where I meticulously wrap up Swiss cheese and she fidgets with a stack of plates, straightening them all in until they’re in an even pile.
Reminders of the past, and the fact we’ve not yet erased our demons, always tend to dampen our moods.
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But Jaynie seems determined to keep us forward-focused, when, in a cheery tone, she says, “Speaking of dinner, I can easily throw some ham and cheese sandwiches together. We can even press them into paninis if you want.”
I smile at her. “Yeah, that sounds like fun.”
She continues. “There’s also some leftover potato salad. We can finish that off too. I doubt it’ll stay good for much longer.”
“Works for me,” I reply.
Part of our rental agreement with Bill is that we’re allowed to eat anything we want from the sandwich shop. It works out nicely too, since we have no kitchen up in our room. Yet another reason why we need a larger apartment.
All in due time. A car comes first.
After pressing paninis and polishing off two sandwiches each, along with that soon-to-expire potato salad—which actually tastes perfectly fresh to me—Jaynie and I move to the front of the store so we can watch the snow fall outside the big picture window facing the street.
We settle into one of the plushiest sofas, and nestling back against me, her auburn hair fanning out across my chest, Jaynie says, “It really is beautiful, Flynn.”
She means the snow, but I only have eyes for her.
Reaching down to lift a strand of her shiny hair, I hold it up to the light. As I admire all the shimmery hues of copper, I murmur, “Yes, definitely beautiful.”
She twists around to face me, her hair falling from my grasp like a liquefied precious metal. “I meant the snow, silly,” she says with a chuckle.
Urging her to lay face-down against me, I wrap my arms around her back. “I knew what you meant,” I say lightly. “But as pretty as the snow is I’d much rather look at you. You’re far more gorgeous.”
To me, that’s the God’s-honest truth. A lot of guys would serve up lines like that, well, as lines. But corny as it sounds I genuinely feel that way about Jaynie. I see the purest of beauty when I look at her.
“Flynn, Flynn, Flynn…” She rests her cheek against my chest, her fingers sliding beneath the hem of my shirt. A move made simply to give us more of the skin-to-skin contact we never stop craving. “Did I tell you I love you yet today?”
