Lilah

by Marjorie DeLuca

  “Just wondering if you got there okay,” she said, her voice distorted and far away.

  “Took about ten hours,” he said, imagining her face. “Right now I’m looking out at all those skyscrapers lighting the night sky and wishing you were sitting here right by me.”

  “You’re so sentimental. But I like that about you.”

  “And you – how’s your grandma?”

  She hesitated. “Weak. Tired. But glad to see me.”

  “Say hi for me and tell her what a straight ahead guy I am.”

  “And sexy. And hot.”

  “Don’t tell her that.”

  “I’m missing you,” she said.

  Another call was coming in. “Looks like Stephen Castle’s on the other line,” said Nick. “I’d better take it. Love you.”

  “Love you too,” she said. “What you’re doing is a good thing. Don’t forget it.”

  His heart leapt and he clicked over to the other call. Nobody answered for a minute. As if the person on the other end wanted to hear him speak.

  “Hello,” Nick repeated.

  “Nick Hendricks?” said a tentative male voice.

  “Yeah. Is this Stephen Castle?”

  “Yeah. You from Silver Narrows?”

  “I’m a journalist. I’m doing a piece on the disappearances and I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  Nick heard a sharp intake of breath. “Where are you? I got an hour. I’m downtown.”

  Stephen’s office was only two blocks away from the hotel and Nick was able to relax over his second beer while thinking about the questions he wanted to ask Tara’s first and only boyfriend. He’d seen a few small photos of Stephen on Facebook but nothing had prepared him for the tall, husky, square-shouldered guy who strode into the bar decked out in an expensive Armani suit. With gold rings, glinting Rolex watch and designer shoes, Stephen Castle exuded money from every pore. Built like a linebacker, he turned the heads of every woman in the bar as he made his way in.

  Nick felt compelled to stand up and thrust out his hand in what he hoped was a confident gesture. Stephen grasped it, nearly crushing Nick’s fingers, then held up a hand to the barman who almost screeched down the length of the bar to take the order.

  “Dry martini. Twist of lemon. No olive,” he said. “Want one?”

  Nick nodded and pushed the nachos towards him. Stephen took one look at the tower of cheesy olives, salsa and tacos and shook his head.

  “Nah – gotta keep in shape. I’ll take a seared tuna and green salad,” he told the barman who scurried away, no doubt anticipating a mega-tip.

  Stephen settled himself into the small chrome chair and directed his entire attention onto Nick. Though his face had taken on a more square, chiseled look, Nick could still see traces of the handsome young footballer from twelve years ago. At thirty, Stephen Castle had the polished, manicured look that comes with money and success, but he looked distinctly edgy right now.

  “So – let’s get on with this,” he said, glancing to see when the cocktail would arrive.

  Nick leaned forward, clearing his throat. “Look – I know how difficult it might be for you to rehash old memories, but…”. He was about to give Lilah’s spiel when Stephen cut him off.

  “Spare the heartfelt intro,” he said. “I’m glad you’re doing this. It’s about time somebody ripped that little shithole of a town wide open.”

  “I’m really trying to follow up on those disappearances,” said Nick as the drinks arrived. “Seems a few people think the trucker they arrested wasn’t the guy responsible for taking the other kids.”

  Stephen sipped his drink and seemed to relax. “The guy deserves to be locked up for what he did to that young girl, but he’s not the one who took the others.”

  “Tell me about Tara,” said Nick, hoping the open-ended question would draw the guy out, but he was shocked to see this giant of a guy tear up when he started talking.

  “Tara was – was – the most gorgeous girl. Sweet, beautiful, perfect. My first love. We were an item the whole senior year. I still think of her all the time,” he said, his eyes drifting around the room.

  “Did she have any enemies?”

  He shook his head and drained the glass, then held up his hand for another. Nick covered his own glass. Any more booze and he’d mess up the whole interview.

  “Everybody loved her. Why would anyone want to hurt a girl like her? Except maybe some sick pervert.”

  “Was she involved with drugs?”

  An expression of discomfort flickered across his face. “There was some talk. I mean I didn’t believe it but she went to a couple of raves at some kid’s barn. Schuler’s place. Two guys – Cole and his older brother Sam – they’d just inherited the spread from their father. Cole was finishing college and Sam was working the farm. A few people said they were giving out Ecstasy – but I don’t know. I never went there. Football kept me clean.”

  Nick felt the warning bells going off in his head. Maybe that’s why Cole had acted so cagey. Especially if he had some guilty secrets to hide.

  “This may be uncomfortable for you, but tell me about your father,” said Nick, his throat dry.

  “What do you want to know about that asshole?” spat Stephen. “The best thing he ever did for me was to die and make me his sole beneficiary.”

  “How did he die?” said Nick, his spirits falling. If Dr. Castle was the guy then he’d never pay the ultimate price.

  “Fell out of a sailboat into the choppy waters of Lake Michigan.”

  “An accident?”

  “The cops said it was, but there were a whole lot of people in his life who would’ve happily pushed him over the side.”

  “When did it happen?”

  “Maybe three years ago. I mean I barely saw the guy. My life was a whole lot better without him messing it up.”

  “Why did you hate him so much?”

  “That guy drove my Mom away. He beat her, intimidated her until she couldn’t take it. Then he tried to do the same to me, but I was way bigger and tougher than her. Once I’d shoved him up against the living room wall with my hand throttling his miserable throat, he laid off me, but he couldn’t keep his hands off my girlfriends.”

  “Do you think he was responsible for Tara’s disappearance?”

  “It would be so easy to say he was, but at the time she left he was passed out in his bedroom after a night of feeling up the girls at my grad party.”

  “Did Tara leave alone?”

  He rested his head on his hand and looked deep into his glass. “I’ll never forgive myself for letting her go that night, but I was so pissed I barely knew what was going on. Seems she heard about another party and went off with two other guys from our class. They stopped to take a leak somewhere in the woods and left her by a tree. When they came back she was gone. Disappeared into thin air and they hadn’t heard anything - no noises – no voices. Nothing. I should’ve been with her. I wouldn’t have left her alone. Not there.”

  He downed his second drink and held his hand up for another one, his eyes dark and haunted with the memories.

  Nick lowered his voice. “Why did you say not there. Was there something to be afraid of?”

  Stephen twisted the paper napkin and looked up at Nick, a nervous smile playing across his face. Unusual for such a solid guy. “Just the usual stuff. Stories of flickering lights among the trees. Snapping branches in the darkness while we were having bush fires – like someone was watching us. All that stuff that scares the shit out of you when you’re a kid. Seems so far away now.”

  “Or maybe we’re just better at finding ways to hide it,” said Nick, feeling that low throb of fear that kept lapping at the edge of his senses.

  “I’ll drink to that, buddy,” said Stephen, raising his fresh Martini.

  Stephen Castle had nothing else to offer Nick after that except to identify the bar in the picture of Emmie Lindahl.

  “I’d drive you there but I’m loaded,” he said,
struggling to his feet. Then to Nick’s horror he burst into tears. This big, square-shouldered guy was reduced to a shuddering, blubbering mess. He held onto Nick like some emotional grizzly bear. “I’ve had a lot of girls but none of them come close to Tara. She was an angel and some bastard just snuffed her out. If you find him you gotta tell me. I wanna look him in the eye before I tear his guts out. Promise me.”

  The only way Nick could shuffle the guy out of the bar was to promise – cross his heart he’d let him know as soon as he found anything. The list of people waiting for his discovery, was growing. Finally he got Stephen into a cab, gave his address and sent him off, speeding through slushy streets.

  He turned back into the lobby thinking he’d crossed Aaron Castle off the suspect list, though there was something suspicious about the way he’d died. Maybe he knew too much for his own good. Maybe he had to die? Nick’s head was pounding from the effects of the booze and the long drive. He’d have an early night and pay Emmie Lindahl a visit tomorrow. First he’d call Lilah. He scrolled down his recents and hit the call button. The phone rang, then clicked.

  “Hello,” said a child’s voice. “Who’s this?”

  Nick froze. “Who’s this? Lilah?” he said as the call clicked off.

  He called back and was directed straight to voice mail. Three times. He had a few questions for her if and when she called back.

  13

  He was in the locker room again. The other guys were gone and he’d doubled back to pick up his hockey gloves, thrown under the bench by Keith, the obnoxious goalie, who specialized in playing irritating tricks on whoever happened to be on his radar that week. It was gloomy and silent in there, the shadows tinted with faint orangey light from the street lamp outside. The musty stink of damp pads hung in the air. He picked up the gloves, suddenly aware of a ripping sound like a zipper on a nylon anorak. Whirling round he saw nothing except a wall of rusty green lockers. Another sound - boot soles creaking, stopping, waiting. He turned, his heart slamming into his throat and ran into someone dark and solid blocking the exit door.

  Nick sat up, his breath coming out in sharp rasps, his body bathed in sweat. A loud pounding was coming from outside his window. He lay back against the pillows for a few moments waiting for the dream to fade away – for his heartbeat to subside. Dammit, he said, finally struggling out from the pillowy bed. Pulling the curtains aside, he looked down at a Santa swinging his bell and a brass band accompanying brightly dressed carolers. He was in Chicago and this was Christmas Eve. He watched as kids in bright mufflers and hats held out buckets to collect money for charity. Slowly the night fears subsided and the world slid back to normal. Now all he needed was a strong cup of coffee.

  Showered and shaved, he raced down ten flights of stairs into the lobby, now bustling with people lining the windows to listen to the music from the warmth of the hotel. It gave him a buzz to see little kids on the shoulders of fathers and mothers, pointing as they watched Santa do a happy dance. He remembered how he’d always loved Thanksgiving and Christmas. He’d loved the Twin Cities Thanksgiving Parade when he was a kid. He’d sat on his Dad’s shoulders and hooted when the Santa float came by with its giant white goose sled and Santa standing at the top waving, with Mrs. Claus sitting below surrounded by elves dressed in shiny green tunics. That thought was enough to drive him straight to the coffee shop where he bought a mega-sized praline cinnamon coffee drink topped with whipped cream and chased with a cranberry vanilla bar. Then he stood by the window watching and waiting for the holiday spirit to spread through him like a warm glow from a familiar fire.

  He was feeling pretty stoked by the time the singing was over and decided to walk to Emmie’s bar. Stephen Castle had told him it was a half hour walk from the hotel. If he took it slowly that would give him time to figure out exactly how to approach her. He wished Lilah was there to give him some solid advice, but he remembered the odd call yesterday with the kid’s voice at the other end. Probably some cousin’s kid or something, he told himself. So why was he making such a big deal of it. But he decided not to call again. Let her call him instead. He also toyed with the idea of calling Stephen Castle just to check in with him, but on reflection, decided he’d found everything he could from the guy. And besides, it seemed heartless to scratch at those old wounds, like picking a scab that had almost healed.

  He pocketed the phone, buttoned up his parka and stepped out into the daylight. The air had that cool dampness to it, unlike the dry cold of Silver Narrows. He was probably overdressed, but there was something about damp cold that chilled you to the bone. Thrusting his hands into his pockets, he strode off down the street, gazing upwards at the looming skyscrapers that seemed to lean towards each other, blocking out the pale wash of sky.

  Along the way he threw a couple of bucks into a homeless guy’s tin mainly because he had a sad, velvet eyed lab huddled beside him, then he stopped to listen to a straggle haired youth playing an achingly beautiful guitar solo. Five bucks went to the kid who nodded his head but gazed off into the distance as if he was performing in some imaginary arena.

  The Hot Sinzation Strip Club was a seedy dive. Neon outlines of naked dancing girls flickered on and off promising hot, luscious girls and 24 hour pole dancing marathons. Ten years ago Nick would’ve been raring to get in there with a hatful of beer under his belt and three or four college buddies for company. Now the place seemed sad. A back alley dive for middle aged jerks looking for young stuff. After Lilah he was spoiled. No sad twenty year old coke addicted kid could compare to her. No matter how young and gorgeous she was. He was so caught up in Lilah’s magic he could barely look at another woman. And it was the first time in his miserable, narcissistic life he’d felt this way. So this is what love is like, was the unlikely thought going through his head as he pushed the metal door open and was swallowed into the sweaty chaos inside.

  He had to blink a couple of times before he realized there were actually three girls on stage, each with their young legs wrapped around a pole. The stage was bathed in a pinky purplish light and the pounding music had such a deep bass tone he could feel it in his feet. He took a seat a few rows back from the stage, avoiding the slack-mouthed guys who crowded into the front tables. Some still in business suits, others in jeans and work shirts. Blue and white collared guys mingled together here, united in their purpose. He ordered a beer from a skinny young waitress in a micro-skirt and tight tee-shirt, then slipped a twenty on her tray.

  “You know a girl called Emmie?” he asked. She had to lean close to hear above the wall of sound coming from the deejay’s booth.

  She nodded. “That’s her in the white boots,” she said, stuffing the twenty into her pocket.

  Nick scanned the stage. White boots were the only thing the girl was wearing. Other than that he could barely recognize her as the scrawny teenager from the newspaper cutting. This young woman had a slim, bronzed body that looked like it had just come out of a tanning booth. Firm, swollen breasts created in a cosmetic surgeon’s clinic, long streaked curls, glossy lips and a heavily painted face. Emmie had come a long way since leaving Silver Narrows. She was making money, but too bad she’d ended up in this dive.

  Legs stretched upwards, she slid expertly around the pole, her face an unfeeling mask, her eyes gazing out into some far other distance. It was probably the only way to endure the daily ranks of guys staring at her like she was a piece of meat. He felt a sudden wave of pity for her along with the uneasy ache that she was only there because men like him were willing customers.

  He sipped the beer and when the waitress returned, slipped a fifty into her hand.

  “Tell Emmie I want to buy her a drink when she’s done.”

  The girl thought for a moment, then nodded and slipped away, maneuvering through the groups of guys standing by the bar. Nick tapped his fingers on the table, recoiling at its sticky surface. One more song and suddenly she was standing there, wrapped in a tiny silver kimono, one hand on her hip, tapping her feet.

/>   “Tia says you wanna talk to me?” she said, her dead eyes checking him out.

  He patted the seat next to him. “Wanna drink?”

  She shrugged. “Sure. Peach Bellini.”

  The waitress took the order and hurried off. Close up Emmie still had the hollow eyed look of her teen years. “Emmie Lindahl?” he asked.

  She nodded. “You a cop or something?”

  “A journalist,” he said, “I just want to ask you a couple of questions.”

  “What kind of questions? Where you from?”

  “I live in Silver Narrows.”

  He could’ve sworn her face seemed to close up. “What do you want?”

  He leaned closer. “I want to know why it says you’re missing on a whole bunch of posters and you’re right here.”

  She shrugged again. “Sometimes it’s easier to disappear. Trouble can’t follow you.”

  “But maybe you can help me with the others. The ones who can’t be found. I’m writing an article about the disappearances.”

  She looked around with a sort of panicky expression. The drink came but she didn’t touch it. “I don’t know nothing.”

  “How about Chris Bauer? You know him?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Tara Nicholson? Stephen Castle? You know them?”

  She looked edgy. Like she wanted to spring up our of the chair. “Look. I don’t want to talk here. Just let me get changed and we’ll go somewhere private. OK?”

  Nick nodded. “I’ll wait at the front door. How long?”

  “Give me ten minutes,” she said, her chair scraping the floor as she stood up. “Oh and by the way, Merry Christmas.”

  Half an hour later Nick was still standing at the door waiting. She wasn’t coming – had never intended to meet him. All she’d wanted was to get away from him as quickly as possible. He caught the waitress’s eye and beckoned her over.

  “Is Emmie still here?” he said. “Can you check the change room?”

  A few minutes later the girl came back. “She left. The girls said she went out the back fifteen minutes ago.”