No Return: A Contemporary Phantom Tale

by Pope, Christine

  That much was true, he knew suddenly. For the first time during this interview, he heard the ring of sincerity in her voice. Oh, she was a good actress, no doubt about that—no big surprise, considering she wanted to be an opera star. But here she was speaking no more than the simple truth. Whatever might have happened—and he had a feeling he might never really know for sure—he realized that she loved this man, or at least thought she did.

  What Deitrich had seen in her, he wasn’t sure, aside from the fact that she was beautiful and talented. But Southern California was full of beautiful and talented girls—they flocked from all over the country to be here, after all. Somehow Deitrich had singled her out, made her the object of his interest. He supposed a girl like Christine, alone in the world as she was, would be an easy mark.

  Anger flared at the unknown Erik Deitrich then, that a man with that kind of wealth and power would exert such influence over a woman as to make her forsake the few friends she had—and good friends, too, the sort who hadn’t abandoned Christine but had fought to help her, to take care of her even when they had no idea whether she was even alive or dead. He felt a sudden rush of sympathy for Randall and Meg; the truth would not be easy for them once it was known.

  In fact, Christine’s sudden appearance had thrown Ortiz off a bit—he’d forgotten that he told Randall to come by the station when he was done at school for the day, just so he could listen to the tape of Christine’s message and possibly hear something in her voice that Ortiz, as someone who didn’t know her, wouldn’t have been able to decipher. He thought of what might happen if Christine still happened to be here when Randall arrived, and shook his head grimly. There were some things so personal that he had no wish to be a part of them.

  Suddenly weary, he said, “So your formal statement is that you were with Erik Deitrich of your own volition, and that no force or coercion was involved?”

  She lifted her chin. “I told you that already. But yes, if you need a formal statement—I went with Erik of my own accord, and I accept the responsibility for whatever consequences might be involved due to my disappearance.”

  “The ‘consequences,’ as you put it, are mostly with your friends and possibly your employer, Miss Daly. And school, of course—you do realize that you missed finals, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” she replied. “I’m hoping I can work that out. If not, I plan to repeat the semester.”

  “And then what?”

  “We’ll see.” Again that defiant lift of the chin. “Erik would very much like to hear me sing professionally.”

  Bully for Erik, Ortiz thought, but he only said, “Well, that’s very noble of him, I suppose. So the two of you have discussed a future together, then?”

  “Yes.” Her answer seemed a little hesitant, though, and her gaze flickered for a second to the bare ring finger on her left hand.

  Not that formal yet, though? Ortiz thought. Still, even without a formal commitment it seemed that Christine had landed in clover. Here she had been struggling to get through school, living paycheck to paycheck, and now she sat across from him wearing jewels that almost certainly equaled his yearly salary. Deitrich could probably buy her a complete liberal arts college if USC proved to be difficult, so Ortiz had no doubt she would finish school one way or another. He said only, “Well, I suppose that’s very good for you, Miss Daly. I hope that at some point you’ll feel comfortable telling your friends exactly what happened.”

  His tone had been bland, but her eyes narrowed a bit at that last statement. No, she wasn’t stupid, despite the big innocent eyes and the naïve act. But she was fighting for whatever vision of the future she had for herself and Deitrich, and the truth was that Ortiz could do very little if she denied ever being coerced.

  “Well, Miss Daly,” he said. “I must say that I’m relieved to see that you’re all right. It’s unfortunate that people were upset along the way, but at least we can close this case now.”

  He could see her visibly relax at his words, her relief palpable that this would not continue any further.

  “Just one last thing—”

  Wary again, she asked, “Yes?”

  Ortiz reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a small plastic zipper bag. He unsealed it, and shook the ring it held out onto the palm of his hand. “Is this yours?”

  The color fled her cheeks. “Where did you get that?”

  “I recovered it from the floor of your bedroom when I searched the house.”

  She took it from him, staring at it for a moment, then sliding it onto the middle finger of her left hand. “It was my grandmother’s—I can’t imagine how it could have gotten there.”

  He thought he could imagine it very well—if she had worn it around her neck as Meg said she often did, then it would have been easy for the chain to snap as Christine was forcibly taken from her bed, and the ring to slide unheeded to the floor. However, all he said was, “At least it was found.”

  “Yes,” she replied slowly. “I would hate for it to have been lost forever.”

  And you, Christine? he thought. Are you lost forever? What is this hold Deitrich has on you?

  But then she smiled and extended her hand to him once again. “Thank you, Detective Ortiz. Thank you for all the work you’ve done—and I’m sorry that it was all over a misunderstanding.”

  “Just doing my job,” he replied. It was a cliché, perhaps, but most clichés were grounded in some truth.

  “Still...” she said, then paused, as if she wanted to say more but thought better of it. “May I go, then?”

  “The case is closed, Miss Daly. I don’t have any more questions.” None that she would answer truthfully, at any rate.

  She smiled again, then gathered up her purse and umbrella. And after a brief nod she went out, her expensive heels clacking on the dingy linoleum, leaving a faint trail of rose-scented perfume in her week.

  Looking after Christine, Ortiz wondered whether he would ever hear of her again, or whether she would once again be lost, hidden by Erik Deitrich’s wealth, blind to the pain she had caused everyone around her. She had implied that she had done it all for love. Ortiz wondered whether that would be enough.

  Chapter 29

  The rain had stopped by the time I left the police station, but the day was still gloomy and threatening. It was unfortunate the rain no longer fell—after that interview I felt as if I needed a shower. Greenburg had had no problem telling me to spill all those lies, but then again, he was a lawyer; he was paid to lie convincingly. All I wanted was to get the hell out of there and back to Erik, back to the safety of his arms.

  And I knew I wasn’t done yet. Yes, the dreaded interview with the police was behind me, but I knew I’d have to talk to Randall, and soon. What Detective Ortiz had left unsaid had been clear enough. Randall had gone through hell the past few weeks, not knowing whether I was alive or dead. It wasn’t his fault that he cared more for me than I had cared for him. How I’d ever find the right words to let him know I was sorry for his hurt, I didn’t know, but somehow I’d have to try.

  Then there was Meg, but I had a feeling that would be a much easier conversation. Meg had never been one to judge. Once she knew I was safe, and happy, and with someone who loved me, she would probably let the matter go.

  “The hardest part’s over,” I told myself, as I walked as quickly as I could in those damned heels, keeping my eyes to the pavement so an unexpected crack in the sidewalk wouldn’t trip me up. The expression of disappointment and suspicion in Detective Ortiz’s face seemed to haunt me, even though I’d never met the man before, even though I told myself I shouldn’t be concerned with what he thought of me, as long as he didn’t question my story and was willing to drop the case.

  By the time I got to the corner of Colorado and Garfield I was slightly winded, and my calves were beginning to ache. The pumps weren’t even that high, but I still wasn’t used to wearing those kinds of shoes, let alone speed-walking several blocks in them.

  I had to
wait for the light to change before I could cross the street. As I stood there, feeling ridiculously overdressed compared to the two high school girls who waited along with me, I heard someone call my name.

  “Christine! Hey!”

  Of course I turned, looking across Garfield to the corner directly opposite me. I could feel the blood drain from my face even as my eyes met his.

  Randall. I saw him staring at me in shock as well, his face as pale as mine felt. Then the thought blazed through my mind, Oh, God. Not here. Not like this. I wasn’t sure how I had intended to face Randall, but it wasn’t on a crowded street corner, surrounded by strangers.

  I turned away, but the damage was done. The light changed right after that, and I all but ran across, trying to ignore Randall’s desperate voice calling my name.

  Luckily for me—I supposed—I had crossed from the corner that progressed directly into the open-air mall, unlike Randall, who was stranded on the other side of the ramp that led into the underground parking structure. But that didn’t stop him. I threw a quick look over my shoulder to see a hulking SUV slam on its brakes just as Randall darted across the ramp, moving against the light.

  Part of my mind was screaming at me to just stop and confront him—what could he do in a crowded shopping center, after all?—but somehow the panic was more powerful, and I bolted across the plaza toward the parking garage escalators, leaving a trail of irritated shoppers in my wake. I could hear Randall still in pursuit, but once I got on the escalators I didn’t dare look back to see how close he was. Luckily there was no one in front of me, and I clattered down the escalator so quickly that I broke off the heel of one of my shoes as I neared the bottom. The unexpected movement threw me off-balance, and I would have fallen if it weren’t for the handrail.

  With a muttered curse I kicked off the useless shoes and flung myself around the curve to the escalator leading down to the second level of the parking garage. The hose I wore began to shred on the metal of the escalator steps, but that was the least of my worries. All I could focus on was getting to the car, getting securely inside. I didn’t even know what it was that frightened me so much about confronting Randall. All I knew was that I had to get out of there before he caught me.

  Even as I left the escalator, I was fumbling in my purse for the little remote-control key to the Mercedes. My fingers slid over its unfamiliar surface, and I almost dropped it as I pulled it out and pushed down on the “unlock” button. The car made its reassuring little chirp as the driver’s-side door unlocked itself, and I reached for the handle, almost sobbing with relief.

  Then Randall’s hand descended on mine, jerking it away from the car. The key fell from my fingers, clattering to the asphalt, even as he turned me around to face him.

  After a two-week separation, I suppose he would have already begun to look unfamiliar to me, but the Randall who confronted me was a man I had never seen before. His face was white with fury, and his eyes were narrow, grim, his mouth pulled into a straight line. For a second he only glared at me, and then his gaze shifted past my face to look at Erik’s Mercedes.

  “Nice car,” he commented, in a dry voice that sounded entirely unlike his own. “What, did you win the Lotto or something and then hide out so you wouldn’t have to share?”

  “Randall, I can explain—”

  “Why don’t you explain, Christine?” He made my name sound like a curse. “I’d really like to hear why the hell you just ran away from me like I was the devil!”

  I forced myself to look away from his livid features and tried to see if there was any hope of assistance nearby. But even though the mall had become busier, it was obvious that not many people had made their way down to this level of the garage yet. For now, Randall and I were alone.

  “Look, I was going to call you,” I said, trying to keep the desperation I felt from seeping into my voice. “Randall, I’m so sorry—this isn’t what I wanted—”

  “What did you want? Someone to buy you a Mercedes? Did you go off and find yourself a sugar daddy or something?”

  “The car’s not mine,” I retorted. “I borrowed it.”

  “Well, that makes it all better, then, doesn’t it?” The hand on my wrist clenched a little tighter. “Where the hell have you been? Do you have any idea what you’ve put me through? Or Meg? She’s been having nightmares about you!”

  “I’m sorry,” I said again, as the hot tears began to sting my eyes. “I never meant to hurt anyone—”

  And I hadn’t, that was the damnable part of it. I had been dragged into the whole mess unwillingly at the outset, and once I realized I’d begun to care for the man who had made me his prisoner, it was too late to do anything but continue on the course that had been set for me. To anyone who hadn’t lived through it, I supposed it would have all seemed insane—Detective Ortiz had been almost too gentle with me, but I had seen the disappointment in his eyes. He had judged me, and found me wanting. Why the opinion of someone I had never met before and probably would never see again mattered so much, I couldn’t say—possibly because his reaction was just an echo of what the world would think of me.

  If Randall chose to hate me—and he had every reason to—then there wasn’t much I could do about it. All I could do was try to spare him as much further hurt as I could.

  “You never ‘mean’ to do much, do you?” he snapped. “You’re more the type to just let things happen to you. So what was it this time?”

  That, I felt, was patently unfair, but I forced back a sharp reply, trying to keep things from escalating into a shouting match. “I can’t tell you everything, Randall—”

  “‘Can’t,’ or won’t?” His hazel eyes narrowed as he took in the expensive jewels I wore, the clothing so unlike anything I had previously owned. “Who is he?”

  “What does it matter? Does it change anything, you knowing who I’m with?”

  “Well, call me stupid, but I’d like to know something about the man who stole my girlfriend from me.” Again that bitter look in the direction of the Mercedes. “Obviously he’s got a lot more to offer than I do.”

  “Oh, Randall,” I said miserably, knowing I could never begin to explain. All he saw were the outward trappings of Erik’s wealth, and I knew I didn’t dare tell him of how I felt about Erik, about how my soul had somehow responded to his alone, how he had filled the emptiness that had been there ever since my parents’ deaths. Better for Randall to think I had been seduced by money and security. At least that way he could dismiss me as a shallow girl who hadn’t really been worthy after all, instead of someone who had instead fallen deeply in love with a man better-suited to her, both spiritually and intellectually.

  It was with that resolve in mind that I finally said, “Okay, he’s rich. Is that a crime?”

  “Only if you use your money to take advantage of people,” he replied. That look of pinched anger had never left his mouth. “I guess you just seemed like the last person to care about crap like that.”

  “Randall, that’s really not fair—”

  “Fair?” The word was practically shouted. “Was it fair for you to disappear without telling anyone where you went? Was it fair for Meg and me to lose sleep over you, thinking you were in a ditch somewhere? Maybe it was fair to make Detective Ortiz spend God knows how many hours trying to find you. You tell me.”

  There was so much I wanted to tell him, so much that I knew I could never divulge without endangering Erik. But faced with Randall’s raw pain, I didn’t know what to do. Oh, of course I had worried about how Meg and Randall were doing, hoping that I hadn’t caused them too much trouble. But until now I hadn’t realized exactly what they had gone through, and I was ashamed. I had waited too long to come forward. I could have saved them all days of anguish but instead had only wanted to be alone with Erik in our newfound happiness.

  “No, it wasn’t fair,” I said quietly. “It was very selfish of me, and I apologize for that.”

  He did not appear mollified. “So you’re sorry you
made us worry, but you’re not sorry you went off with this guy in the first place.”

  “Well, if you need to hear me say it, then yes! I’m not sorry I’m with him—is that what you wanted?”

  I could see the muscles working in his jaw and neck as he struggled to rein in his anger. “Yeah, I guess that’s about it,” he said at length. He paused, then added, “So what does this guy look like, anyway?”

  Stifling an impulse to burst out laughing, I thought, He looks a lot like a movie star—at least half his face does. Since I knew I could never tell Randall the truth, I said only, “Does it really matter?”

  “Maybe it does.”

  I gave him as much as I could. “He’s older than we are. He’s tall, with dark hair and green eyes. Slim. Are you satisfied?”

  But Randall wouldn’t let it go. “Is he good-looking?”

  Is he better-looking than I am? was Randall’s real question, the one he probably dared not voice aloud, and at that I finally did begin to laugh. It was not a comforting sound—even to me the laughter was shrill and tinged with hysteria. “I guess I’d say he’s half as good-looking as you, Randall!”

  “What’s so funny?” he demanded. “What the hell’s the matter with you?”

  “If you only knew, Randall,” I gasped, “but I can’t tell you—what’s more, I won’t tell you.” And with that I bent and retrieved the remote-key from the ground as he stared at me, obviously wondering if I had lost my mind.

  “What are you not telling me, Christine?” And then he focused on the key in my hand, and he frowned. “Bored with the conversation already?”

  “I just don’t think I have anything left to say to you,” I replied, and tried not to wince at the obvious hurt in his eyes. I made a move toward the car, but his hand on my wrist pulled me back.

  “Well, I still have a few things to say to you—”

  Again I tried to wrench his restraining hand from my arm, but he showed no signs of letting go, and I wondered what on earth I was going to do next.