The Night She Disappeared

by Kevin O'Brien

  “You didn’t tell me you and Anna were listening to music!” she barked, signing vehemently. “Was the music something romantic, Russ? Something for just the two of you?” She kept talking—but only to Russ. She mouthed her words and gestured wildly. She kept nodding in Anna’s direction.

  Anna could almost hear the accusations.

  That was when she started to feel really sick.

  “All right, that’s enough, okay?” Russ finally yelled, signing as he spoke. It was the first time he’d gotten angry and raised his voice all night.

  Courtney laughed, sat back down, and sipped her wine.

  Anna cleared her throat and announced she wasn’t feeling well. The room seemed to be spinning.

  Russ said he’d drive her home. Out of politeness, Anna said he needn’t bother. It was only about a ten- or fifteen-minute walk. But Russ insisted on taking her home. “It’s almost eleven o’clock,” she remembered him saying. “And that street along the lake is awfully dark. I’m driving you.”

  As the two of them headed for the door, Courtney remained slouched in her chair with her wine. She called out: “Don’t forget to tuck her in, Russ!”

  “She was still wearing her brown sleeveless dress,” Anna heard herself say—as if narrating her own dream. “She hadn’t changed her clothes. That’s what she had on when I left.”

  She recalled Russ holding her arm as they walked up the dock. “I’m so sorry about the Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf ? show in there,” he said.

  “With pantomime,” she added, covering her mouth. “I’m definitely the blond woman who threw up. What’s her name, Sandy Dennis? I—I feel really sick, Russ.”

  He opened the car windows as he drove her home, and Anna felt better for a few minutes. But then she was wobbly and light-headed again as they headed down her dock to her house. Once inside, she ran to the bathroom and barely made it to the toilet before she fell to her knees and threw up.

  Russ came into the bathroom and held her hair back and patted her shoulder until her stomach was empty. Then he helped get her undressed and cleaned her up. He made her gargle with mouthwash and gave her aspirin. “Let’s put you to bed down here, close to the bathroom,” he said, guiding her to the daybed in the study.

  He gave her a T-shirt to put on. She was too out of it at the time to notice it was one of her best tees. But Anna remembered crawling into bed. Russ sat beside her, on the edge of the bed, stroking her hair and promising her that things would be different after this.

  Anna remembered waking later. He’d left the living room light on and let himself out. She staggered into the bathroom to pee and then returned to bed. She fell asleep immediately.

  The next thing she knew, the phone was ringing. It was after nine in the morning, and she was horribly hungover.

  “There’s more to it than that, Anna,” she heard Gloria say with quiet authority. “Go deeper. It happened while you were sleeping.”

  Anna tried to remember. Suddenly, she was in the studio—at the TV station. They wanted her to anchor the news. She’d just woken up and knew she looked horrible. She was wearing the expensive J.Crew top Russ had mistaken for a pajama top the night before. She’d slept in it. She was totally unprepared to anchor the news, but took her seat at the news desk and tried to be professional. They had her reading everything off a teleprompter as the cameras rolled. All the while, she kept thinking that her career was going to be over because of this. Still, she kept reading the words—until the teleprompter went haywire. Everyone in the studio panicked. Then Anna noticed Courtney, standing beside the broken teleprompter. Russ’s wife started whispering and signing the news text to her. With uncertainty, Anna repeated the words for the camera. She started to perspire. It seemed to go on forever.

  “Can I stop now, please?” she finally asked.

  Then she heard Gloria’s reassuring voice. “Everything’s all right, Anna,” she whispered. “You were feeling a little sick earlier, but you’re fine now. You’re good. We’re in your friend Taylor’s living room. You’re listening to my voice, and you’re waking up. You’re opening your eyes, now.”

  Anna was obedient. She realized she was sitting on Taylor’s sofa. In the easy chair across from her, Dr. Tolman slipped the digital recorder into her purse. “How are you feeling, Anna?” she asked—almost warily.

  “Fine,” Anna murmured, blinking. “I—I remember everything now. That night with Courtney, it was just as Russ—just as Dr. Knoll described. I left there around eleven o’clock, and she hadn’t changed into a purple robe. She was still in the dress she’d worn at the restaurant. I didn’t come back. Nothing happened.”

  Anna felt so utterly relieved, elated, and vindicated. In her euphoria, it took her a moment to realize that Dr. Tolman seemed guarded—as if it was too soon to celebrate. Clutching her purse in her lap, she looked anxious to leave.

  “What’s wrong?” Anna asked.

  Dr. Tolman got to her feet. “Nothing,” she said stiffly. “The session took longer than I expected, and I’m late for another appointment. But you—you seem like you’re in a good place. I’m glad we were able to unlock some of those memories.” She gave a perfunctory nod and headed toward the door.

  Anna stood up—a bit too fast. She had a head rush and had to wait a moment for it to pass.

  “Dr. Tolman?” she heard Taylor call. Then she heard the door open and shut.

  Grabbing her purse, Anna started toward the door and almost ran into Taylor coming from the dining room, where she had her laptop on the dinner table.

  “Is everything all right?” Taylor asked and signed. “Where was she going in such a hurry?”

  “Um, she was late for another appointment,” Anna said, puzzled. She checked her wristwatch: 5:10. She’d been under for over two hours.

  “Was it a good session?” Taylor asked.

  Numbly, Anna nodded. “I can’t believe I was out that long,” she murmured.

  “I’ve been back for a little over an hour,” Taylor remarked. “Did you remember anything? The purple robe?”

  “Yes, I remembered everything,” Anna said, smiling at the thought. She’d gotten over a huge hurdle, and she could say without any hesitation that she had nothing to do with Courtney’s death. “When I left there that night, Courtney was fine, and she was still wearing the dress she had on from the restaurant. This Bud creep who called into your mother’s show, he was wrong about when Courtney put on her robe. She must have had on the purple robe when he killed her.”

  “But didn’t the police say there was no sign of a break-in?” Taylor asked, signing as she spoke. She shook her head. “Courtney wouldn’t have let him in.”

  Anna considered it. Taylor was right. Courtney wouldn’t have opened her door to a stranger who came knocking after eleven o’clock at night—unless Courtney had already known this Bud guy.

  “Are you seeing Dr. Tolman again or are you all finished?” Taylor asked.

  Anna was stumped for a moment. “You know something, I’m not sure. She left in such a hurry, we didn’t discuss it. In fact, I didn’t pay her.”

  “I’ll tell her to call you,” Taylor said, moving toward the door and opening it.

  Anna realized she’d probably overstayed her welcome. After all, Taylor had expected her to have finished her session over an hour ago. She started to leave, but stopped in the doorway. “You don’t have to call her, Taylor. If you give me her number, I’ll call her myself.”

  Taylor nodded. “I’ll text the number to you. Let me walk you to the stairs. Do you mind going out the back way? One of my mother’s private investigators is watching the front of the building, and I don’t want him to know you’re visiting me.”

  “No problem,” Anna said as they headed down the hallway together. “And thank you so much for all your help and letting me have these sessions here.”

  “Before I forget,” Taylor said. “I heard from my friend who’s a writer on Sally’s show. My mother hopes to provoke Bud into calli
ng tonight. Her guest is a special consultant psychologist who’s going to analyze his personality. As far as I could tell, Sally’s leaving you alone.”

  “Well, that’s a blessing,” Anna said, stopping at the back stairwell door. “At least, a temporary one—I’m sure your mother’s not finished with me yet.”

  Taylor touched her arm. “Anna, if you’re not doing anything tomorrow night, would you like to get together for dinner?”

  Anna nodded and smiled. “Sure, that would be nice—as long as you’ll let me pay. I owe you.”

  “You don’t mind me taking you away from your brother for a night?” Taylor asked. “How is he, by the way?”

  “He—he’s just fine,” Anna lied. “And I’m free tomorrow night, so dinner with you would be great.”

  “I’ll text you,” Taylor said. Then she gave Anna a hug. It was slightly less awkward than their last two good-byes.

  The back stairwell to Taylor’s building had cement steps and gray cinder block walls. As Anna headed down the stairs, her footsteps echoed. She felt strange lying to Taylor about Stuart, but she didn’t want to deal with it just now. She’d explain tomorrow night over dinner.

  She thought about her session this afternoon—and how good it felt to remember everything from that night. But the way Dr. Tolman had practically run out of there was bewildering.

  She recalled Dr. Tolman saying something to her in the middle of the session: “There’s more to it than that, Anna. Go deeper. It happened while you were sleeping.”

  As Anna reached the exit door, it occurred to her that Tolman had taken the digital recorder with her.

  Just when she thought she had remembered everything, Anna had to wonder: What exactly was on that recording?

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Friday, July 24—10:22 A.M.

  “You’ve reached the offices of the Seattle Counselors Association. No one can answer your call right now. Please leave a message and one of our associates will get back to you. Your call is important to us. You can also reach us through our website: www-dot-Seattle-Counselors-dot-com.”

  Seated at her desk in her mother’s old bedroom, Anna held her phone and waited for the beep. “Yes, hello, my name is Anna Malone,” she said on cue. “I’m trying to get some contact information for one of the therapists listed on your website, Dr. Gloria Tolman. I’m not having any luck finding her phone number or e-mail address online, and it’s imperative that I get ahold of her. So if you could get back to me as soon as possible, I’d really appreciate it. My phone number is area code two-oh-six, five-five-five-eight-three-four-nine.” Anna repeated her phone number, thanked them, and hung up.

  “Shit,” she muttered, slumping in the swivel chair.

  With a sigh, she set down the phone and pulled up her e-mail account on her computer. Sitting straight again, she started to type on her keyboard:

  Hi, Taylor,

  I’ve sent you 3 texts (2 last night and one today) and I still haven’t heard back from you yet. So I’m starting to worry. Please text or e-mail me as soon as you can, just so I know you’re all right.

  As I mentioned in my texts, I’d like to get ahold of Dr. Tolman. I can’t find any contact information for her online. I need to talk to her about paying her and whether or not we should have another session. Finally, she has been recording our sessions and I’d like to listen to those recordings . . .

  Anna stopped typing for a moment. Thanks to Dr. Tolman, she had a clear recollection of everything that had happened on the night she’d last seen Courtney. In real time—from when they’d arrived at Russ and Courtney’s floating home until Russ had put her to bed here in this room—those events had unfolded in just over an hour. Yet, Anna had been under hypnosis for almost two hours. She couldn’t have gone into that much detail describing what had happened. It didn’t make sense.

  She needed to listen to that recording and hear exactly what was on there.

  But Anna didn’t go into all this analysis in her e-mail to Taylor. She just needed to get Gloria’s contact information and make sure Taylor was all right. She wrapped up the correspondence on a friendly note:

  I’m still up for dinner if you are. Being a Friday night, we should make reservations. I was thinking of The Harvest Vine or Voila (both not far from you) or That’s Amore (in Mount Baker). Do any of those strike your fancy? We can discuss it when you text me.

  Hope to hear from you soon (please!). Thanks, Taylor!

  Take Care,

  Anna

  Anna sent the e-mail.

  She hadn’t mentioned Taylor’s mother in the note. But Anna had watched The Sally Justice Show last night. Bud hadn’t called in. He’d been the topic of discussion for most of the program, which included—as Taylor had said—a “special consultant” psychologist who analyzed Bud based on the brief on-air phone conversation Sally had had with him on Tuesday night.

  Sally had still managed to work some Anna-bashing into the show. It had been a small segue from the purple robe cloaking Courtney’s corpse—a detail which meant Bud had to be taken seriously—to the spot where Courtney’s body had been discovered. “I’ve lived in Seattle for sixteen years,” Sally had announced, “and I’ve only sort of heard of Lake Bosworth. I certainly couldn’t point it out on a map. But you know who could point it out? Anna Malone, that’s who! She did one of her sweet little news stories from Lake Bosworth last year. I find it a strange coincidence that Courtney Knoll’s body was discovered in this remote locale where her husband’s mistress did one of her news stories. That’s something to think about, folks. Now, getting back to Bud . . .”

  Anna had wondered how long it would be before Sally Justice saw that connection. But it wasn’t as if Lake Bosworth was this totally obscure spot. It was only an hour away from Seattle. Still, Sally was probably right. It was a strange coincidence. Anna couldn’t help thinking that whoever had murdered Courtney had set her up. How long before her missing old sneakers and jeans showed up with blood on them?

  The computer chimed. Her e-mail inbox was still up on the screen. She could see a new e-mail at the top of the list:

  TaylorHofstad322@gmail.com—Fri, 7/24—Subject: Re:

  Where Are You?

  Hunched close to the computer screen, Anna clicked on the e-mail and started reading:

  Hi, Anna,

  I’m sorry I haven’t responded earlier. Something very disturbing has happened, and I didn’t know how to explain it to you in a text.

  Last night, Dr. Tolman came by again and gave me the digital recording from your session yesterday. She said it contained extremely sensitive data. She told me that I should have it since I arranged the sessions and I’m your friend. I didn’t understand.

  I told her you wanted to get in touch with her about paying her and scheduling possible future sessions. She said she doesn’t want to be paid and would rather you not contact her again.

  I’m sorry this is so harsh, but she was adamant about that.

  I would never invade your privacy, but Dr. Tolman insisted that I listen to the recording, which she left with me (along with her recorder). I have a Live Transcribe app on my phone, so I was able to play the audio recording and read the text as it came up on my phone. Now that I’ve read the transcript of your session, I understand why Dr. Tolman was so upset. There’s one section, which starts 51 minutes into the recording (according to the machine) that’s most disturbing.

  I’m not sure what to do, Anna. I consider you a friend. But this is so horrible. If you call me (regular phone, not text), I can play the section for you over the phone so you can hear for yourself.

  Then maybe we can figure out together what to do. I repeat, I’m your friend and you’re not alone in this. Call me as soon as you can.

  Taylor

  “Oh no,” Anna whispered, feeling a sickly twinge in her gut.

  She’d known yesterday that something was wrong from the way Gloria Tolman had practically run out of Taylor’s apartment. Fifty-one minutes into
the recording was probably after she’d described what she now recalled from that night. Whatever she’d said that was so horrible must have come up on the recording sometime after Dr. Tolman had prompted her: “There’s more to it than that, Anna. Go deeper. It happened while you were sleeping.”

  Anna nervously reached for the phone and pulled up Taylor’s number. Her hand was shaking.

  It rang twice before someone picked up: “Hello, Anna,” Taylor said. “When you speak to me, it’ll go to text, so expect a tiny delay before I reply, okay?”

  “Okay,” Anna said. Her stomach was still in knots.

  There was a second of silence. “So you got my e-mail,” Taylor said. “I hope I’m doing the right thing here. This is the section of the recording I was talking about. If you can’t hear, or if you want me to turn the volume up or down, just tell me. I’ll see that you’re talking. The text will show up on my phone screen. Okay, here it goes.”

  Biting her lip, Anna listened. It sounded like Dr. Tolman was talking, but the words were muted and muffled. “Taylor? Could you turn it up, please?”

  After a moment, the volume increased, and Gloria’s voice was much clearer: “Go ahead, Anna”

  “It never would have happened if I hadn’t had so much to drink,” Anna heard herself say. She sounded tired, listless, and vague. “There was nothing premeditated about it. But I guess things had been building up for a while . . . That night, she was so nasty and abusive—first at dinner, and then when we came back to their place. I got so angry that I couldn’t sleep. I had to go back there. I just wanted to tell her off. It wasn’t supposed to happen the way it did. But she wouldn’t shut up, and she was so goddamn mean. If she’d been able to hear herself, maybe she would have stopped barking all those insults at me. A part of me was so glad for the silence after I bashed in her skull.”