by L. Danvers
“Sure thing, sweetheart. I set some homemade chocolate chip cookies over there on the nightstand along with a glass of warm milk. I hope they’re to your liking. You holler if you need anything.”
“Thank you.” Cal waved goodnight, and Madge shut the door behind her. She collapsed on the bed and fell into a deep sleep. She didn’t awaken until rays of morning light splashed across her face.
She stretched and yawned, and when her brain no longer felt fuzzy she wanted to kick herself for wasting precious time sleeping. She took a quick shower and changed, grabbed her bag and inched the door open, trying to be quiet so as not to wake Madge.
“You up, sweetheart?” Madge shouted from across the house.
“Yes!” Cal called out as she followed Madge’s voice.
“You come on over now and have some breakfast before you get going. I made you eggs and bacon. Hope scrambled’s okay. You like coffee?”
Cal peered around the doorway and found Madge. She was in her housecoat and had her hair up in curlers. She piled sizzling, crispy bacon onto a plate.
“Thank you,” Cal said, taking the plate from her. “And yes, coffee would be great.”
Madge poured coffee into a large mug and placed it on the breakfast table. She brought over some cream and sugar and told Cal to help herself. Madge made herself a plate and sat across from her.
“It’s nice to have some company,” Madge said as she chewed a forkful of eggs. “Been lonely here since Lou died. That’s my husband. Was my husband.” She sighed. “We don’t get too many visitors around these parts. What brings you here?”
Cal wiped her hands with a yellow paper napkin and pulled her locket out from under her shirt collar. She pressed against it, and the holographic picture of her and Quinn appeared.
“Aren’t you fancy?” Madge said with a smile.
“By any chance have you seen this woman?” Cal asked, pointing to the picture of Quinn. “She’s my sister. I’m here looking for her.”
Madge shook her head. “Sorry, hon. Haven’t seen her.”
Although she knew it would have been too good to be true, Cal’s heart shattered into a million pieces. She had an awful gut feeling that she wasn’t going to find her sister here. But she had to look. She had to hope.
She thanked Madge for breakfast, put the dishes in the sink as she was told and hurried out the door.
Once outside, she pulled up the coordinates she’d saved on her wristband and entered them into the map on her FlexTab. It wasn’t too far away.
The lonesome street was lined with barren trees. There was no hustle and bustle of the city like in D.C. This was a quiet town, where kids went outside, as evidenced by two bicycles propped against the neighbor’s mailbox.
It wasn’t worth the money or the wait to hail a hovercab, which would have to come from Chattanooga again. She decided to walk.
She hiked down the street in the direction the GPS instructed. A couple of Madge’s neighbors waved as they collected their newspapers from the front porch. She had to remember to tell her dad about this place. He would feel so at home.
She took a right turn at the stop sign and trekked a while longer. She passed antique stores and dress shops, diners and family-owned grocery stores. The town was quiet, aside from birds chirping and the occasional purr of a stray cat that was following her.
She checked the GPS again. She was getting close.
She crossed the street at the next stop sign and found herself in an alley between a church and an auto shop. There were no more directions. This was it.
She looked over her shoulder to see if anyone was creeping up behind her. She hoped it was the cat again. She couldn’t shake the feeling she was being watched.
She rubbed her eyes and slid her fingers to her temples. She was being paranoid, she told herself. This town was dead silent. If someone else was around, she would hear them. She would know.
Cal slinked toward the set of dumpsters and sneezed as the offending odors wafted her way thanks to a gust of wind. She was grateful it was winter, and it wasn’t as humid as the summer she and her family had visited Alabama. She gagged, imagining the smells of the dumpsters sticking to the moisture in the air in the heat of summer.
As she rummaged through the contents of the garbage, craning her head to the side to help keep the stench from reaching her nose, it occurred to her that it had been four days since she’d last heard from Quinn. She could sift through the garbage the whole morning, but if the FlexTab had been dumped, it’d be in a landfill by now. She cursed herself for not thinking of that before going through the trash.
She wiped her grimy hands on her jeans and kept looking around the alleyway, trying to spot where Quinn’s FlexTab might have been dropped. She hoped if she couldn’t find Quinn, which was doubtful at this point, she could find another clue on the FlexTab as to her whereabouts, or what she came here to do in the first place.
Cal paced along the cracked pavement, scanning the ground as she walked. The sun peeked over the roof of the church, and its light bounced off something behind the rear wheel of the dumpster.
Cal crept closer to investigate. Her chest tightened. She crouched down into the shadowy corner and reached for the object.
A FlexTab. A broken FlexTab.
The screen was cracked into a thousand tiny pieces that fanned out like a spider web. Cal pressed her luck and tried powering it on, but the screen stayed black. She dropped her head and rested it against the brick wall. Then she saw it. Something else behind the dumpster.
She reached into the shadows and felt something hairy. She swallowed a scream and buried the instinct to toss it aside. Something told her to drag it closer. To see it herself. She pulled the object out from behind the bin, her arm scraping along the metal as she tugged.
She saw what she was holding onto. A Curly Shirley doll.
Silent tears raced down her cheeks. There was no holding them back. She hugged the doll tight and rested her head on top of its red ringlet curls.
Quinn had been right about everything the other night when they fought.
Life was messy. It was confusing. And it didn’t always end happily ever after.
Chapter Eight
When no more tears would come, when the town came to life, Cal trudged along the streets, clutching Curly Shirley to her chest.
She wandered until coming upon a bar called the Tinker Tavern. She cupped her hand around her eyes and peered inside the dim building. It was empty. She checked the hours listed in white sticker letters on the window to the side of the door. It didn’t open until noon. It was only 10:07 a.m.
She slumped into a ball on the sidewalk, resting her head against the door.
She sat there for hours. People passed by, wrinkling their noses and giving her funny looks. She couldn’t remember the last time she blinked. She stared at a fixed point in the road, her vision hazy and unfocused.
The tip of a boot nudged her hip. A guy with a plaid shirt covering his beer belly peered down at her. “You look like you could use a drink.” Cal didn’t say anything. She was too numb to think. “Come on, now. Get up.” He pulled out a keychain from his jean pocket and unlocked the door she was leaning against. “I’ll get you fixed up.”
He reached down and grabbed Cal’s hand to help her stand. He frowned at the doll, but decided it best not to question her about it. He pulled open the door. The lights flickered on, drawing attention to dust in the air. He marched behind the bar.
“Bud okay?” he asked, pulling a bottle from the fridge. Cal nodded. He slid the beverage to her and, keeping Curly Shirley safe in her lap, she wrapped her hand around the drink. It was wet from condensation. She chugged it until the bottle ran dry.
“Rough start to the day, huh?” The man chuckled.
Cal bit her lip. She couldn’t muster the words to respond. She looked at him, unblinking. He reached into the fridge and passed her another bottle. She took her time with this one, taking a swig now and then as she watche
d him clean the countertops and get the store ready for business. There was a chime as the front door swung open.
“Clarence!” the bartender shouted.
“You didn’t tell me you were openin’ early,” the man said. He trudged over to the stool next to Cal. “I’ll take the usual.”
The bartender filled a chilled mug with beer from a tap and set it in front of Clarence.
“What about my fries?” Clarence asked, his big brown eyes filled with disappointment.
“Fryer’s heating up. I’ll get them ready as fast as I can.”
Clarence looked at Cal and shook his head. His eyes caught a glimpse of the doll, and he leaned closer to get a better look. He looked at Cal with his brow furrowed. He was trying to decide if she was nuts.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said coolly.
“Hey.” He shrugged. “None of my business if you want to bring a doll to a bar.”
Another beer later, her wristband started flashing blue over and over again. For a minute she thought it was going haywire. There was a series of messages coming in from Claire Katz.
You’re late. Where are you?
You’re not missing work again today, are you?
You have twenty minutes to get here, or you’re fired. Twenty. I mean it, Cal.
Cal pressed a button, and the screen went black. There was no way she could get to Channel 12 in twenty minutes if she wanted to, and the truth was she didn’t want to go back. She ran the numbers in her head. She figured she had at least a couple months’ worth of expenses tucked away in savings. There were bigger things going on in the world than press briefings. She had to get to the bottom of what had happened to Quinn, of what had happened to everyone who had gone missing.
“Ready to talk about it?” Clarence asked, his full lips wrapping firm around the mouth of the bottle as he swigged.
Cal’s mouth ran dry. As hard as it was, she knew she needed to speak with someone. She had to if she had any hope of finding answers. If not, what was she doing in South Danport, anyway?
She ran her fingers through Curly Shirley’s hair. She then reached under her shirt collar. Clarence’s protruding eyes were unsure of what they were witnessing. She pulled out her locket as the door chimed and a couple more patrons strolled into the bar. Clarence didn’t turn around to check, though. He was focused on the locket.
“What is it?” he asked.
Cal pressed into it, and the picture of Quinn and her appeared.
“Is that one of those holler... holla...” he struggled.
“Holographic image,” Cal corrected. “This is my sister. She was here a few days ago. Buying this, I think.” She motioned to the doll. “We haven’t been able to reach her. I found the doll and her shattered FlexTab by a dumpster. I’m worried...” She wet her lips. Her mouth felt like she’d swallowed sand. “I’m worried something happened to her. Does she look familiar to you? Did you see her by any chance?”
Clarence narrowed his eyes and studied the image. He shook his head. He waved the bartender over to see if he recognized the woman and explained Cal’s situation.
“Check with Paige Hollings,” the bartender suggested, his hands busy drying glasses. “She sells all kinds of old stuff. Lots of things in mint condition, so she doesn’t like to mail them. She wants buyers to come to her. Your sister probably got the doll from her. It’s curious, though, that we didn’t see your sister. Hardly anyone comes in or out of South Danport unnoticed. It’s a small town.”
“I should check with the police.” Cal sighed. “See if there were any reports of anything suspicious.”
“I saw something su—su—suspicious.” Clarence hiccupped.
“I think you’ve had enough for the afternoon,” the bartender said.
“No, I’m telling the truth. I saw something a couple nights ago. Some lights darting across the sky.”
“What the hell does that have to do with her sister?” the bartender barked.
Clarence leaned in, gave a quick look over his shoulders and leaned further. “Aliens.”
The bartender whipped his drying cloth against the counter. “Now that’s about the dumbest thing I’ve heard come out of your mouth, Clarence, and I’ve heard a lot of dumb things from you. Even if you did think you saw something, what were the chances you were drunk as a skunk that night?”
“I wasn’t drunk. I was sober that night.”
The bartender burst into laughter. “Yeah. Right. Clarence, you’ve been drunk for the last six years.”
“I’m telling you,” he said, slamming his hands on the counter and sending his bottle shattering to the floor. “I didn’t have a sip!”
“Well,” Cal said, hopping down from the barstool. “This has been enlightening, but I need to get going. Do you, uh...” she motioned to her wrist.
“How backward do you think we are here?” the bartender said, pulling out his credittat scanner. She paid her tab and asked him where to find Paige Hollings. She was pleased to learn she owned the shop a couple doors down from the Tinker Tavern. She waved goodbye to the two men and went on her way.
She zipped up her jacket as she strode along the sidewalk. In less than a minute, she reached Paige’s antique store. She pulled the door open and went inside.
The bartender wasn’t kidding. This place was packed full of all kinds of things. Old lunchboxes. Clunky phones. Jars of marbles. Creepy dolls.
“Anything I can help you with?” a mousy voice asked from across the room.
Cal looked around, searching for its owner through the jungle of clutter. She held the Curly Shirley doll tight and followed the voice. This place was like a haunted house. She half-expected one of the toys to come to life and attack her. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, grating her nerves.
She found a petite woman with stringy brown hair and a catlike face peering up at her from behind the counter, which was stacked with trinkets.
“By any chance did you sell this doll to someone? A girl about my height with blonde hair?”
The woman studied the doll until her pencil-thin eyebrows arched. “Oh, yes, yes. I remember. She paid a pretty penny for it, too. She said she was buying it for her sister, if I recall.”
Cal’s heart skipped a beat. She knew it the instant she saw the doll, but to hear someone else say it... “Did she say anything about where she was going? Or what she planned to do after she left?”
The woman gave her a blank stare and pursed her lips.
“Look,” Cal said, trying to keep her voice steady. “This is important. Is there anything else you can tell me?”
The woman shook her head. “She came in, bought the doll and left. That’s all there was to it. Sorry, hon.”
Dejected, Cal started to leave. But she didn’t know how to get to where she planned on going. She turned and asked the woman where she could find the police department.
“Around the block to your right.”
“Thanks.”
Cal weaved to the storefront, trying not to look straight at any of the toys. It creeped her out how the dolls’ eyes followed her. She felt like she was being watched.
Chapter Nine
Cal burst through the double doors of the police station, then she came to a halt. She was taken aback by how small and unofficial it looked compared to the one in D.C. It was one big room—a couple desks, some filing cabinets, a few jail cells along the wall with no one inside. By the look of the thick layer of dust clinging to the bars, no one had been held there for ages.
A door creaked open as an officer strode out of the restroom, pulling up his sagging pants as he walked to meet her.
“Officer Braxton,” he said. “How can I help you, ma’am?”
Cal hadn’t been called “ma’am” before. She found it off-putting. She wasn’t old enough to be a ma’am.
She pulled the locket out once more and went through the same old spiel. The officer scratched his head, unsure of what to make of her story.
“I
’m sorry, ma’am. I haven’t seen her.”
“Has there been any suspicious activity around here in the past few days? Threats? Drug activity? Anything?”
“You really aren’t from around here, are you?” The officer chuckled and slipped his thumbs into the belt loops of his pants. “See those jail cells over there? Empty. Have been for months. We don’t have too much trouble around these parts. Most folks’ mommas see to that.”
“Can you at least look into it? I found this doll and a smashed FlexTab behind the dumpster between the church and auto shop. Can you check out the scene yourself? Look for fingerprints?”
“I suppose I could do that,” he said, like she was putting a damper on his plans to sit around and do nothing.
“Thanks.” She gave him her number so he could reach her if there were any developments. She doubted he would call, but it was worth a shot.
It was dinnertime by the time she reached Madge’s house. Cal told her she was fine sitting on the couch while she waited for the hovercab to pick her up, but Madge insisted she eat. She piled a homemade meal of pinto beans and cornbread into a bowl for her.
“No luck, huh?” Madge said after a long stretch of silence.
“No.”
She reached out and patted Cal’s hand. “Keep the faith, sweetheart. You’ll find her.”
BY THE TIME CAL CRASHED onto the bed in her own apartment, she was exhausted. Her eyes were as heavy as bricks, and despite the blue light emitting from her wristband, she no longer had the fight in her to keep them open.
She dreamed terrible dreams that night, inspired, no doubt, by the creepy antique shop. She woke up panting, clutching her chest. Her eyes darted around the room, like she was expecting someone to be there. Watching.
She forced herself to sit up and hugged the sheets tight around her torso. She glanced down and saw twenty-one missed texts from her mom.
