Heather Harrison was better than all of us. She looked at the world and saw something more. She looked at Cedar Crest and saw the mystery. Me? I never saw it—not until I started looking. And even then, all I saw was her footprints—the ones she didn’t even know she left behind.
“What if she made it?” It didn’t make any sense; but I needed something to hold on to—however miniscule it was.
“Even if she did—it’s been eleven months.” I didn’t even realize that he was standing beside me. “She would have found a way back by now.” I looked up at him, lowering my eyes when he returned my gaze.
“What if she didn’t want to?” I remembered staring at the ivory coffin encumbered with a mass of daffodils and lilacs—one for every heart that loved her—knowing that it was empty. In some sick way, it gave me hope. It still did. But after nearly a year, that thing with feathers started to burn; and I knew it was only a matter of time before it fell from the sky.
“There’s only one way to find out.” He took a step forward towards the water, and I leapt in his way in an attempt to keep him back.
“Wait, what are you doing?” I asked him nervously; but he merely smiled, blue eyes gleaming. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted loudly.
“Is anybody out there?” He called out into the clearing, his voice carrying across the crystalline surface of the water and into the trees of the island in the distance. We waited—for what felt like an eternity, we waited. But there was only silence in return. I sighed quietly to myself; and Connor turned, sensing my disappointment. “I’m sorry.” He didn’t have to apologize. It wasn’t his fault. “C’mon.” He draped his arm over my shoulders, and we began to make our way down the trail and into the sudden explosion of civilization at the edge of the woods. “We’ve got work to do.”
“Wait.” We both turned, surprised that someone had answered at all. And out of the rows of trees that lined the dirt path walked a face I’d missed.
“Hi…” There wasn’t much else that I could say. Matthew Brown had lost just as much as I had; and we’d both disappeared into ourselves—in our own way.
“How long have you been standing here?” Connor asked him.
“A while…” He cleared his throat as he continued, stuttering. “I—I know the three of you used to come here.” I nodded sadly.
“Yeah…we did.” It was quiet for a moment as we stared at each other, and tears suddenly filled his eyes.
“I thought maybe, if I came here, it wouldn’t be so hard.” His voice trembled as he spoke, and he ran his hands through his hair before burying them in his pockets. “But I was wrong.” I hurried to him as he crumbled before me and wrapped my arms around him in an embrace as he wept into my shoulder.
“If she’s out there, I’ll find her.” I swore to him. “I promise. I‘ll find her.”
I looked out the window and at the clouds that hid the sky and strangled the sun, the buildings we passed by just tall enough to obscure the street signs standing on the corners. Nothing had changed—not really—except the whitewashed walls of each building seemed to move, fluttering in the gentle wind that blew past. I peered at them and saw that they were made of faces—the carefree smiles of eleven girls that seemed so sad now. They were gone, and all that was left were those pictures…those smiles. Connor’s green Oldsmobile turned the corner onto Adair Street and rolled past the front of Mrs. Harrison’s restaurant, and I watched as she swept a handful of crumpled leaves from the sidewalk.
“Here we are.” He breathed when we stopped in a parking lot across the street from an antique shop, and the whir of the engine died when he took the key out of the ignition. I unbuckled my seatbelt and stepped outside, gazing up at the little white building a few yards away.
“What do you expect to find here?” I asked, wanting to know.
“I’m really not sure.” He replied after slamming the car door shut. “A connection—a clue, maybe? It’s a pretty quiet town. If something like this has happened before, it’s bound to have been in the papers.”
“What makes you think it’s happened before?” I inquired as we hurried onto the sidewalk and to the glass doors, and he paused before going inside.
“You know the stage tech teacher—Rebecca’s grandfather—Mr. Lawrence?” I nodded without a word and let him continue. “He said something in class yesterday. It was weird—like he’d been through this before.” He responded and pulled one of them open. A woman looked up at us from her desk in the front and smiled when she recognized our faces.
“Hi, Mrs. Reilly.” I said as I leaned up against the counter, letting my fingers rest on the surface.
“Hey, Connor…Melissa—I didn’t know you’d be coming so early.” She tucked a lock of her mane of golden hair behind her ear and away from her emerald green eyes with her left hand; and in that moment, I spied the diamond ring that still clung to her finger. I never saw her without it—even though the man that gave it to her was long gone. He didn’t leave them…at least, not willingly. But as New York rebuilt itself from the ashes, so did she—just somewhere far far away.
“We just wanted to get as much research done as possible.” He shrugged, and she rose from her seat gripping a baby blue lanyard.
“Okay. Follow me.” She grinned and led us through the door behind her and into a cluttered room filled with racks and shelves heavy with plastic boxes. It was dark—ominous almost—until she flipped the switch on the wall and let a sudden burst of fluorescent light flood the room. The air smelled of dust and old paper and ink, and I sneezed when I made the mistake of inhaling too deeply.
“Bless you!” She turned to face me, and I saw how concerned she was. “I hope you’re not catching the flu—”
“It’s just a little dusty.” I explained, pushing my long black hair away from my face.
“I’m sure.” She agreed and placed her hands on her hips. “Not too many people go back here besides me. But,” she continued as she disappeared down one of the aisles to retrieve a box from a shelf, “oddly enough, you are the second to ask about looking into the archives for a school project.” She placed it in Connor’s arms; and by the way he gasped in surprise, it must have been heavier than he thought. “Here are all of the papers from 1936 to start. You’re just writing a report on the history of the city, right?”
“Wait.” I blinked, taken off guard. “You said someone else asked about the archives?” The thought puzzled me. “Did they say what they were looking for?”
“The same thing as you—he just wanted to take a look at some of the editions from the 1940s and on.” Mrs. Reilly remarked, nonchalant.
“He?” Connor repeated.
“Yeah—probably a year or two older than you, dark skin, black hair, very sweet. Is he in your World History class?” I paused, confused.
There was no project—so who had beaten us to the newspaper archives?
“Um…yeah, he must be.” I didn’t dare to deny it, even if it wasn’t true. If she knew what we were really doing—that wouldn’t go over very well.
“Okay, well, I’ve got to get back to work; but if you’re looking for something specific, the newspapers are organized by year and the shelves are by decade.” She remarked before making her way towards the door. “I’ll be in the front if you need me.” And then, she was gone.
“How are we supposed to find anything in here?” I wondered aloud. “There have to be at least seventy boxes.” Connor set the container down on the floor and situated himself on his knees, blowing a layer of dust from its surface.
“Well, I guess we’d better get started.”
3
I yawned as I leafed through the front pages of each newspaper, rubbing the strained eyes that began to fill with tears. Six white boxes sat around me; and I could only skim through each one, drowning in a sea of paper. A soft buzz suddenly accompanied the ticking of the clock hanging on the wall, and I looked up at the ceiling to see that the lights were flickering.
“Have yo
u found anything yet?” Connor asked me two aisles away.
“Nothing so far.” I called to him through the gaps in the metal racks. It was difficult, but I could see him with boxes marked from 1972 to 1976. He’d made less progress than I had. “Most of them are covering the soldiers that left the town during World War II. I think I’m going to go ahead and skip to the fifties. They probably have less to say about the Cold War and more about what was going on locally.” In the silence, I heard him sigh.
“I really hate history. So many names—dates.” He exclaimed, the exasperation present in his voice.
“That’s why you have me.” I answered, smiling. I lifted the lid from another container and set it beside me, not bothering to look at the year in which its contents had been published. I started to flip through the newspapers that lay inside, trying hard to ignore my own frustration.
How much longer would this take?
“Connor.” I stopped; and then, I had my answer.
“Yeah?” He poked his head into my aisle to listen. I pulled the paper out from between the others and held it to my eyes with trembling fingers.
“It’s titled ‘Young Teen Disappears: Drowning or Foul Play?’” I spoke the words aloud, suddenly feeling Connor staring over my shoulder.
“In what year was it published?” He inquired, curious. I squinted my eyes at the date printed at the top of the page.
“June 2, 1950.” I continued reading. “On May 31st, coincidentally the night of an astronomical phenomenon, sixteen-year-old April Lawson disappeared from Ce—” I stuttered, not sure if I could continue.
“What is it?” I was almost afraid to answer.
“‘April Lawson disappeared from Cedar Crest Lake while reportedly swimming with her younger sister, Abigail. Abigail, the only other person present at the lake when April went missing, claims to have seen a flash of lightning before realizing that her sister was no longer with her—a strange occurrence at this time of year if it is proven to be true. The authorities will be investigating further into this case to determine whether April Lawson simply drowned or if she fell victim to an act of malice.’” I lowered the newspaper from my face slowly, as if merely taking the time would restore my memories of the names.
I knew I’d heard them before, but where—that was the question.
“I found something else.” He grunted as he squeezed past a couple of boxes to join me. “I’m not sure you’re going to like it.”
“Why?” I asked him, leaning closer to see the paper he clutched in his hands.
“It’s about another disappearance,” he hesitated before handing it to me, “from 1976.”
“Okay.” Why was he acting like that? What could be so terrible that he wasn’t certain if he wanted me to know?
“Apparently, another girl went missing from Cedar Crest in the seventies. Only this time, it was from her house. The police thought that the widower the family brought onto their property to stay and work as a handyman was behind it, but they couldn’t prove anything.” I glanced at him, wary as I took it.
“Chelsea Banneker…” I skimmed over the words, halting at the picture of the Banneker family standing in front of a house that looked all too familiar. But it was a face—the face of the widower beside them that gave me pause—made my heart sink into my stomach. I looked to Connor sitting at my side, and my eyes widened in horror. “That’s Mr. Oakman, my neighbor…” My voice trailed off in my terror, and Connor stared at me with his own.
“It looks like he never left the house.”
“We have to tell somebody.” I exclaimed as I hurried out of the building and into the parking lot, Connor not far behind.
“Wait!” He lowered his voice when he caught up to me. “Wait. Who are you going to tell?”
“Someone—anybody.” I stuttered, trying to contain myself and failing. “What if he did it? What if—all this time—the man who took Heather was living next door?” He laid his hands on my shoulders to calm me.
“We don’t know that for sure—not yet. Besides, he’s eighty-years-old. He might have been able to pull it off in ’76, but not now. It has to be somebody else, this time.” He scrambled for words—an explanation—anything to keep me from spiraling. I sighed.
“Who else could it be?” I thought the idea of not knowing what happened to Heather was so much worse; but now, I knew I was wrong.
“We’ll figure it out.” He brought his hands back to his sides and glanced at the watch on his wrist. “Come on. We’re gonna be late.” He started sprinting towards the sidewalk, only stopping when he realized that I wasn’t following him.
“Late for what?” He smiled at my question.
“For breakfast. You know how fast Mrs. Harrison’s chocolate croissants go.” With that, Connor darted across the empty street; and I shook my head with a smile before I joined him.
The smell of freshly baked apple pie filled my nostrils as I slid into my seat at the booth in the corner furthest from the door, a jumble of words from the other patrons’ conversations occasionally reaching our table. They were fraught with plans for the rest of the day: some would be going to the bowling alley or spending most of the afternoon at the closest mall. I watched as customers went in and out of the restaurant, listened quietly to all that surrounded me. There, at the table near the glass case of doughnuts and bagels and other assorted pastries, sat a mother and her child hoisted up in a booster seat. I grinned to myself when I witnessed her cut a small piece of her pancake with the side of her fork and feed it to him.
That would be me, someday; but I would be sitting in my dining room, and my husband would be making pancakes with the raisins he mistook for chocolate chips. This was something I’d imagine often, late at night when I couldn’t sleep. But it was always the same in that…I could never see his face.
“Hey guys. What can I get you?” The familiar voice shattered my thoughts, pulling me out of the maze of my imagination. I looked up at her face; and for a second, I swore that it was Heather standing before us. But it was fourteen-year-old Natalie Harrison that smiled back at me.
A year without her sister had changed her—so much, the pigtails she had worn in January disappeared into a single ponytail; and a touch of makeup had found its way onto her freckled face.
“Hi—um…” I stuttered, but Connor kept me from finishing.
“I got it.” He reassured me and turned to Natalie. “Could we have a stuffed French toast with bananas, a ham and cheese croissant, two glasses of milk, and a bowl of olives, please?”
“Sure.” She replied as he handed her the two menus that had been sitting on our table. “I’ll be back soon.” I waited until she stepped away from us to speak.
“We have to find out what happened to the Bannekers.” I said, and he hastily glanced around the room to see if anyone was listening.
“They probably moved.” He whispered in response.
“And left the house to Mr. Oakman?” I asked him, doubtful. “He could have the whole family buried in his basement.”
“You don’t really believe that, do you?” I placed my hand on my forehead in frustration and leaned back in my seat.
“No. But there has to be something we’re missing.” I sighed to myself.
“What about the other girl—April Lawson?” For a moment, I shut my eyes, desperate to know why the name of a girl who disappeared sixty years ago sounded so familiar.
“Lawson?” I opened them at the sound of her voice. “You said something about Lawson?” Natalie inquired as she set our two glasses of milk onto the table. Connor and I locked eyes before I answered.
“Yeah. We were just wondering if there was anyone in town with that last name.” I told her; and she smiled, chuckling a little at my question.
“Well, yeah. That’s my grandma’s maiden name. That whole side of the family’s lived here forever.” She stole a look over her shoulder, grinning when she returned her attention to the silence of the table. “I’ll be back with your food in
a few.” I took in a deep breath as I watched her leave, mortified.
“Connor—” I didn’t need to finish.
“Yeah. I know.” I guess it was time for that visit.
Connor paused at the door, looking back at me for an answer.
“Are you ready?” I nodded, swallowing hard. “Okay.” He rapped his knuckles twice against the whitewashed wood; and then, we could only wait, my own legs swaying in apprehension. I heard the floor creak beneath the feet of who I could only guess would be Heather’s father; but when the door was unlocked and pulled open, it was her grandmother standing in the doorway.
“Hello.” She spoke with such an airy voice, her words barely reached my ears. “Melissa and Connor, it’s been so long. Please, come in.” She moved backwards to let us step inside, and I was instantly overwhelmed with the ghosts Heather left behind. Nothing of hers had been touched since she disappeared, in such a way that the Harrisons’ residence had become a vault of memories; and I remembered why I hadn’t visited more often.
There she was: sitting on the couch as I taught her how to braid her hair, coming in from the kitchen with a bowl of olives for Connor, questioning his obsession for the hundredth time, or leaping down the stairs to show us the dress she had just bought for her first date with Matthew.
I stared down at the glass coffee table in the center of the room when I found my seat next to Connor on the couch, and the glint of a silver ring caught my eye.
“You can take it,” I looked up at the old woman as she sank into the armchair across from us, “if you want it. Poor Hannah just keeps everything—won’t let anyone move them out of place. Almost a year has passed. I think it’s time this house stops being a graveyard.” I reached out to take the ring from the reflective surface and held it tightly in my fingers.
“Thank you.” I whispered, and I cleared my throat when my voice suddenly cracked.
“We actually wanted to speak to you,” Connor paused, “about April Lawson?” I watched as the little girl emerged in her eyes at the sound of her older sister’s name.
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