Last Seen Alive

by Carlene Thompson

  But they were.

  Was it one minute or five before Deirdre realized she couldn’t hear the car at all anymore? She should have counted out the seconds, she thought. She should have kept track of how long the car had been here, because if it had only been gone a few seconds it might be coming back. Maybe they were just circling the building, trying to find the best way in. If the car had only been gone a minute, that’s what they were probably doing. But if more time had passed… if even five minutes had passed, it could mean they were leaving.

  Deirdre was furious with herself for a few moments. Then emotional darkness descended on her. What would have been the use of knowing how long the car had been here? No one had come to save her. The people who’d been in that car probably weren’t even looking for her. They were just a bunch of teenagers, she guessed from the sound of their voices. A bunch of teenagers out having fun. And she was still here, on this cold concrete floor, with her eyes and mouth taped shut, her hands bound behind her. Everything was just the same. Just the same… except…

  Deirdre held her breath, straining her ears, concentrating with every ounce of her being, until she was certain.

  The car had gone, but so had her captor.

  3

  By eight-thirty, Chyna had completely given up on eating, although she knew her body needed nourishment. Well, what it needed and what it wanted weren’t the same, she decided, so to hell with it. She gave the uneaten portion of her sandwich to Michelle and poured her cold soup down the disposal.

  She sighed and looked at Michelle, who’d finished the sandwich in two bites and now sat patiently by her bowl, waiting for her after-dinner biscuit. “I wish getting my

  dessert was the only thing I had to worry about,” Chyna told her. “Well, don’t worry. I’ve been off-kilter the last few days, but I haven’t forgotten all the important things in life.”

  Chyna went into the kitchen and found the bag of beef-basted biscuits Ned had brought along with the Gravy Train. He’d obviously remembered how much the Irish setter they’d had so long ago loved those biscuits. Ned had taught the dog all kinds of tricks, always rewarding him with one of them. The dog had been purebred and worth a fortune, but Chyna had always known Ned hadn’t cared a thing about the setter’s impressive lineage. He’d just loved the dog. Ned had even allowed the dog into the sacred clubhouse the wind had torn down this week. As far as Ned had been concerned, an invitation into the clubhouse was the ultimate honor. He hadn’t even allowed Chyna to enter more than twice. “You’ll mess up everything,” he’d told her haughtily when he was ten. “Besides, this place was built for guys. I don’t want you spreading around your girl germs.”

  She’d gone wailing to her mother, who’d laughed at Ned’s reasoning but told Chyna she’d have to abide by Ned’s rules. After all, the house had been built for him. After that, getting into the house had been one of her main goals in life, but Ned always kept it carefully locked and watched her like a hawk whenever she ventured near it.

  Chyna walked to the back windows and looked out on the terrace—the terrace where Rusty had supposedly poured out his heart to her this afternoon. Fog was wafting in from the lake, frothing around the fountain, quiet and secretive and somehow frightening, as if it were hiding something from her. Maybe Rusty had been hiding something from her, too. Or maybe he had been totally truthful, just desperately needing a friend, someone to whom he could tell his demeaning story of going off and leaving Nancy to die because he didn’t want people to think he was a pervert.

  Because he was afraid of what his father would think of him. And what if what he’d told her was the absolute truth? What if someone had been chasing Nancy down that path? Why would they have done that?

  To make her the next lost girl, Chyna thought abruptly. Deirdre Mayhew hadn’t been meant to follow Zoey and Heather and Edie into oblivion. The next victim was meant to be Nancy Tierney. But something had gone wrong that night. Whoever had been chasing Nancy, whoever had meant to drag her into the void with the other girls, had run afoul of a watcher.

  Rusty. In spite of the holes in his story, Chyna knew he was telling the truth about merely seeing Nancy run down that path and fall. He hadn’t been the one chasing her.

  But had he been absolutely truthful when he told Chyna he didn’t see who was chasing Nancy? Had he seen who’d pursued Nancy to her death and was simply afraid of saying who it was?

  Chyna felt cold. Cold and frustrated because she couldn’t feel, she didn’t know, whether Rusty knew more than he was saying. And knowing was important, she told herself. Knowing was—

  The doorbell rang. That certainly wouldn’t be Rex, Chyna thought, and she certainly wasn’t in the mood for company. She thought about not going to the door until she heard Ned yell, “Chyna! Didn’t want to take you by surprise after the day you’ve had, therefore the doorbell. But I used my own key. Where are you?”

  Chyna hadn’t realized until that moment how tense she’d been all evening. Her body suddenly seemed to unwind and she nearly ran into the living room to greet her brother. “Ned, I’m so glad to see you!”

  Although his face was still flushed, his eyes slightly bloodshot, he looked at her with his old, familiar grin. “I didn’t expect such a joyful greeting!”

  “Rex is gone—as usual—and this hasn’t been one of the best days of my life. You’re a godsend!”

  “Yeah, I always tell Beverly I’m a godsend, but she doesn’t seem to agree.”

  “Of course she does. She’s crazy about you. Come into the kitchen and keep me company for a while.”

  Ned’s grin faded. “I’d love to keep you company, Sis, but

  I have to get home or Beverly will divorce me. She says I’m gone all the time anymore. Besides, I’m really not feeling so good.” Seeing his sister’s crestfallen face, he worked up a smile again. “I just came by to give you something. I’ve been meaning to ever since you got home, but I keep forgetting.” He pulled a small white box from his jacket pocket. “The morning I found Mom dead …” He swallowed and started again. “The morning I found Mom, she was wearing her engagement ring. The diamond and sapphires. Well, I don’t have to tell you what it looked like. You always loved it and I knew Mom wanted you to have it.

  “I know you’re not supposed to remove anything from a body, but I was afraid the ring would get lost at the morgue or the funeral home,” Ned went on, “so I slipped it off her finger that morning. I took it home, put it in this box, and now I want you to take it.”

  Chyna looked at the small white box as if it held something strange and forbidden.

  “Oh, come on, Sis,” Ned said, his voice a bit lighter. “Don’t look scared. I didn’t steal it. This is your ring now. Please take it”

  Chyna felt her eyes fill with tears. She held out a slightly shaky hand and Ned placed the box in it. She didn’t open the box. She just closed her hand around it. “Thank you, Ned,” she said softly. “You don’t know what this means to me.”

  He looked at her with sadness in his own watery blue eyes. “Yes, I do know what it means to you, Chyna. It’s Mom’s last gift to you. When you wear it, think of her.”

  “I always will,” Chyna said. “You’re the best brother in the world.”

  Ned left almost immediately and Chyna had just started upstairs to put the ring in her room when the phone rang. She jerked, pulled from thoughts—both happy and sorrowful—of the ring, and laid the box on the end table as she picked up the receiver. Rex, no doubt, she thought in annoyance. Rex who should have been back a couple of hours ago. She’d called Owen’s house, ostensibly to ask when Rex would be home so she could fix dinner, but there had been no answer.

  She fervently hoped Rex had only stayed with Owen half an hour or so, not long enough for the man to cool down after the scene with Rusty. And where the hell was Rex? What was he going to tell her when he finally dragged in? That he’d been with a friend who needed to talk? She wouldn’t believe him. He wasn’t being one bit of help during
this ordeal, and she was suddenly furious with him.

  Chyna grabbed up the phone and nearly snarled, “Yes?”

  “It’s Beverly. Are you all right, Chyna?”

  Chyna immediately felt silly. “Yes, I’m okay.”

  “You don’t sound okay. Ned told me about the crowd that came to your house. No wonder you’re edgy. I wanted to come and be with you, but he said it wasn’t safe for me or the children.”

  “He was right. I’m glad you stayed put. He was just here, he’s on his way home, and I’m fine, really.”

  “Rex was here briefly. He said you’d been a real trouper.”

  “A real trouper?” Chyna repeated sarcastically. “Well, apparently he thinks I’m capable of handling anything, because he’s never come back from Owen Burtram’s house.”

  “He didn’t!” Beverly exclaimed. “Well, he was here over an hour ago. He said something about Rusty babbling a bunch of nonsense and Owen getting mad about it, so he went home with Owen until the guy cooled down, but when he left, he said he was coming back to your house.”

  “Did he say if Owen did cool down?”

  “He said Owen didn’t mention whatever it was Rusty said—Rex wouldn’t tell me—and then Owen got a call and had to go out. That’s why Rex dropped by here just to say hi before coming back to be with you.”

  “Maybe he’ll show up any minute,” Chyna said, although she didn’t have much hope of seeing Rex for a while, which made her angry.

  “Those awful people!” Chyna realized Beverly had switched the subject back to the crowd that had gathered on her lawn. “Rex said Irma Vogel was a ringleader. I’ve never really liked her, although for some reason she seems to think I do. She calls me with every news flash she comes across.

  But sometimes I’ve thought she seemed a little crazy. No, I’m sure she’s crazy and I don’t want anything more to do with her.” Beverly changed the subject again. “Chyna, what did Rusty say to make Owen so mad?”

  Chyna wasn’t about to get Beverly upset by telling her everything Rusty had confided. “I think Nancy’s death really just hit him. He sometimes runs on that path she was on, and he had some foolish notion that he could have helped her if his timing had been better, you know, if he’d been there.”

  The explanation sounded incredibly lame to Chyna and apparently Beverly thought so, too, because she asked, “Why would Owen get so mad about that?”

  “I don’t know. Sometimes I think Owen’s as crazy as Irma. And you know how hard he’s always been on Rusty.” I can’t keep acting so vague, Chyna thought. Beverly will know I’m keeping something back. “I’m really annoyed with Rex,” Chyna snapped suddenly. “I would think that after a day like I’ve had he’d show enough concern to come stay with me. Instead, he’s probably out at some bar surveying available women.”

  “Chyna!” Beverly laughed. “Well, you certainly have a head of steam built up.” Then she sobered. “But I don’t blame you for not wanting to be alone. When Ned gets home, do you want me to send him back?”

  “No. I think he’s getting sick. Maybe the flu. Make sure he drinks plenty of fluids, preferably orange juice, not beer. I’ll take one of Mom’s sleeping pills and go to bed early.”

  “Yes, Ned hasn’t looked good all day. I’ll—” Beverly broke off and yelled, “Ian Greer, you are supposed to be in bed!” Beverly lowered her voice and spoke to Chyna again. “I’m sure Rex will be home soon, anyway. If he isn’t, you call and I’ll come keep you company.”

  “I’ll do that,” Chyna said, knowing she wouldn’t disturb Beverly no matter how uneasy she grew.

  Forty minutes later, Chyna still sat alone, waiting for Rex but determined not to take a sleeping pill, so she’d be awake

  to tell him just how mad she was when he finally dragged himself home. Abruptly the phone rang again. “That’s him calling with some stupid excuse,” Chyna muttered murderously at the phone. She picked up the handset without even looking at the Caller ID. “Well, it’s about time,” she snapped. Nothing. “If this is you, Rex, I want you to come back home right now.” Her voice was sharp and cold. “And if this is one of you idiots who were on my lawn today, defacing property, calling me names, thinking you scared me, then you have another think coming!”

  Still nothing.

  She heard the far-off windy sound of a long-distance call from the past. “Who is this?” Chyna demanded, trying not to betray the terror and dread creeping over her, although she managed to state staunchly, “You’re not scaring me. What do you want?”

  Another pause. Finally, she heard a voice: “Your help, Chyna. I need your help.”

  Oh God, Chyna thought. She was almost certain she heard Anita’s voice again. The first time, in spite of the windy sound, the voice had sounded light and lilting. This time it echoed in weak, pathetic tones. It can’t be, Chyna thought. And yet…

  “You know it’s me, Bubble Gum.”

  “No, Anita, it can’t be you. It just can’t be …” Because you’re dead, Chyna almost said, but bit back the words. By this time she was trembling, her hands icy, her breath coming shallow and fast. “Anita, what do you want?”

  “Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight…”

  “Anita,” Chyna got out in a strangled voice. “What are you talking about?”

  “You’ll figure it out, Bubble Gum.” Chyna closed her eyes, her heart pounding. “You have to help Zoey. Please, Chyna.” Another pause as the voice grew weaker. “Star light, star bright…” The voice began to fade as the windy sound grew louder, drowning out the last notes of Anita’s pitiful voice. “First star I see tonight…”

  Chyna clutched the phone long after Anita’s voice had

  disappeared, long after she knew no one of this world or another still clung to her, still tried to reach her through the clumsy, flimsy device called a telephone. And then she fainted.

  At first Chyna had the sensation that she was lying on a beach, feeling waves lapping gently over her face. Warm, caressing waves. She kept her eyes closed for a few moments, savoring the sensation, the feeling of love washing over her.

  Then everything in her seemed to jump to attention. Was this dreamy, comforting feeling merely death sneaking up on her, charming her into unfathomable, inexorable darkness? Well, she wouldn’t go. She couldn’t go. She had something to do. She owed it to Zoey. She owed it to all the other girls who’d vanished like wraiths in the night. Zoey had said Chyna was the only one who could stop it. She didn’t know how she could stop it, but she knew she would try with every ounce of energy in her body and mind.

  The fire of resolve rushing through her body, Chyna opened her eyes. After blinking a couple of times, she burst into near-hysterical laughter. She wasn’t lying on a beach with waves washing over her, pulling her into the ocean of death.

  She was lying on the living room floor with Michelle licking her face.

  4

  “I have never in my life called a man and asked him to rush to my side because I was afraid,” Chyna said as Scott stepped into the living room of the Greer home. “I’m almost ashamed of myself.”

  “I’m not. I’m flattered beyond reason.” Scott was smiling, but his dark eyes were filled with worry as they searched her face and flicked over her body, as if he were looking for signs of injury. “Actually, Chyna, I’m just glad I had a car so

  I could come when you called me. If it hadn’t been for Ned, I wouldn’t be driving that shiny new automobile in your driveway. When he took me home today, he stopped by his car dealership. He said, ’You mentioned you were thinking of buying a new car. Pick one out and drive it around for a couple of days. If you like it, I promise to give you a good deal on it.’ So, that’s why I’m not depending on free rides or the Black Willow taxi service tonight.”

  “Thank God. If you hadn’t been able to come…” Chyna’s voice lowered pitch slightly. “Oh, never mind me, Scott. I’m just frustrated with Rex, who is gone, as usual, and of course doesn’t have a cell phone. O
ne of those would make it too easy for the women in his life to track him.”

  “Well, I see Rex is out of favor tonight,” Scott said drily. “Are you sure he’s all right? No bad vibes?”

  “No, I’m not sure he’s all right. He should know I’d be worried, the jackass. But I don’t have a bad feeling about his physical well-being.”

  “I wouldn’t give a dime for his physical well-being if he came home right now,” Scott grinned. “What about your brother?”

  “Ned is getting sick and in my opinion also needs to spend some time with his family.” Chyna paused. “Look, Scott, if I’m imposing on you—”

  “You’re not. I’m extremely glad you don’t think of me as an invalid, that you felt you could call on me for help.”

  “Good, because I could not sit here for the rest of the night talking to ghosts.”

  “Talking to ghosts?” Scott asked cautiously.

  “On the phone. Anita Simms, Zoey’s mother.” Scott stood still, staring at her. She shot him a sardonic look. “Yeah, I know she’s dead. It’s been that kind of evening.”

  “Wow, that’s some kind of evening, Chyna.”

  “You’re telling me.” She tried to smile. “You look like you could use a glass of wine. Or maybe something stronger.”

  “Something stronger, please. Bourbon maybe? Or Scotch. Then you can tell me about your phone conversation with Anita.”

  “Don’t look at me like that, Scott,” Chyna warned. “You wanted to know what was going on in this mess of a head of mine. I’m just telling you what you wanted to hear.”

  “And I’m taking you seriously. Honestly. But I’m new to all of this, Chyna. Don’t get mad at me if it throws me sometimes.”

  “It throws you all of the time. But I accept that.” She shrugged. “Do you want your bourbon mixed with anything?”

  “I’ll take it straight. And I’d like a double, please.”

  Chyna laughed as she headed toward the kitchen. “I’ve thrown you that much, have I? Even after what you’ve been through in the plane crash?” She stopped cold and turned, her expression appalled. “My God, I’m so sorry, Scott. All I’ve been thinking about is what’s been happening to me and I just blurted out a dreadfully callous thing about the most horrible event in your life. Please forgive me; I’m—”