by Stevan Mena
He created the fake page for Randall Peterson. He even found his actual page, and was able to download current pictures of him for authenticity. Too easy. Oh look, he does drive a BMW.
About 4 minutes later, he'd put together a fake page that even Randall couldn't decipher was phony without scrutinizing every detail. And the only thing he got wrong was the date of birth — it wasn't listed, so he guessed.
He then sent out friend requests to hundreds of people he never met, knowing most just clicked yes because the more connections you had, the cooler you were. He knew before long he would be loaded.
He brought up Teresa's page and sent a friend request. He also sent a message, telling her about how he had just run into…shit, what was the other girl's name? He scanned Teresa's posts until he found a picture of the fat one with the tiny leather jacket. There she was, squeezing her fat face into the picture, blowing a kiss. A simple mouse over and: Natalie Krycia.
Check.
He updated his message to let Teresa know how he had just run into Natalie, you remember, our friend from high school? She said she still spoke to you, and that you were still local! He then let her know how anxious he was to meet her and re-connect over coffee. Maybe they could go share a Hazelnut iced coffee, which was his favorite.
Was that too slick? He decided it was, and deleted that part. He could save it for their next conversation. He sent the message and waited. And waited. He started up the van to go to his next appointment. He shoved the stolen laptop under his seat and drove off.
He whistled while he worked that day; excited, anxious. He replaced the flange bolts on a toilet with a spring in his step.
After work, he passed a public library. He parked and hustled inside, they were closing in 5 minutes.
He grabbed a seat at the computer tables and surfed to his fake page. She had accepted his friend request, even though he only had 35 friends. He would mention how he is very picky about who he connects with, hence the low number. She also responded to his message. She couldn't believe it was him after all these years, and she couldn't wait to catch up.
Checkmate.
CHAPTER 40
"This won't take long," Jack insisted. Hester took the hint and stepped back out of Carmen's bedroom into the hallway.
"Take all the time you need."
"Thank you." Jack waited until he heard her footsteps reach the kitchen. He shut the door, but didn't seal it. He didn't want to seem obvious.
He scanned the room. He knew exactly what he was looking for — where it would be — if it was there. He took a step towards the dresser with trepidation.
Hester adjusted her chair in the kitchen, the scrape on the linoleum froze Jack in his tracks. He didn't want her to catch him doing what he was about to do. How could he honestly explain what he was searching for, its possible location divined through a child's subconscious. He was only there to leave no stone unturned. Even a stone as ridiculous as this. There was no way it could be there. But the river, the necklace, her reaction!
Let's get this over with.
He stared once again at the framed picture of Carmen and Laura. There was a small, cheaply made green jewelry box with three tiny drawers, one of them open. Jack touched it, closed it with his fingertips. There were a few trinkets from the Caribbean, a Dominican flag in a glass cup, a hairbrush and a small plastic sewing kit on a shelf. He glided his fingers along the comforter of her still-made bed. There was a thin layer of dust that had collected over the years. Jack swished his hands together, brushing it off.
On top of the dresser was a broken lamp, a few scattered CDs, and some dried up painting supplies. Jack crouched down on one knee and braced himself against the side of the dresser. It was old solid wood, not pressed board, with a hand carved pattern along the bottom that had small arches forming a point in the center. He examined its craftsmanship. Quit stalling.
He took a breath and reached his hand underneath. His fingertips pierced through a spongy substance that was probably an ancient collection of spider webs. He wasn't squeamish and kept feeling around. Nothing. He kept one ear trained on Hester in the kitchen, any slight rustle and he'd have to abort the mission.
He flattened the side of his face against the floor and reached all the way under, swiping his hand back and forth like a windshield wiper across the entire nether region of the dresser. Empty.
He retracted his arm and leaned on the dresser for balance. He opened the top drawer and fished around through her delicates. He opened the middle — tossing the contents impatiently.
The bottom drawer wasn't on its hinge correctly, something blocking it from closing completely. He bent down and reached inside when the bedroom door opened. Jack didn't hear it.
It was the dog, Faucet. He licked Jack's face, surprising him.
"Stop it," Jack whispered, pushing him away.
"Detective? Everything all right?"
Jack spun his head around. Francisco was standing in the doorway. Jack pushed himself up to one knee, fumbling for a quick explanation as to why he was disassembling Carmen's furniture.
"Yes, I was just — did your sister share her room with anyone else?"
"No."
Jack nodded, as if the question was an important one. "I wanted to thank you for all you've done," Francisco said, offering Jack a hand. He eased him back up to his feet. Jack was impressed, Francisco was small in stature, but he easily lifted Jack with his strong grip. "My mother's suffered so much. This week was the first we've seen her somewhat… at peace… in a long time. For years she's been on about asking Jesus for another chance, hoping against hope to see or speak to my sister again, that she might be found alive. But mostly it was the not knowing. Now, I think she can stop worrying and accept the truth. My family can't thank you enough."
Thank Rebecca, don't thank me.
Francisco took Jack's hand and shook it. His military forged grip was like iron. Jack tried to think of something to say, but couldn't come up with anything appropriate, so he simply nodded.
"Just one thing, how did you ever find her body? She went missing so long ago."
Jack stammered, "It's complicated, I-"
"I guess that's your job."
"Yes," Jack said, relieved Francisco didn't press.
Hester entered the room. "Francisco, leave him, he needs to work." Hester pushed him out by the shoulders as if he was still seven years old. She waved at Jack and closed the door, sealing it.
Jack waited a beat, long enough for one breath, then sprung into action. He pulled out the bottom drawer and reached inside.
His fingers found something and his eyes went wide.
Wedged into the sleeve of the wood was something hard. Jack felt a cold chill slide down his spine. He pulled it, and it came free. It was a hard cover book, leather bound with a tiny lock, wrapped closed with rubber bands and what looked like a stretched out hair tie. He held it with reverence, disbelief. He knew it hadn't moved since it was last placed there, and he was sure no one knew it was still hidden there but him. And Leonard. And Rebecca.
If he did the right thing, told Hester about his discovery, it would be a challenge to take it with him, examine it. She'd never allow something so precious and sacred to leave the boundary of her home. But it could hold a clue, maybe several. No time to debate the morality of taking it. He slid it into the large inside pocket of his jacket.
Now for the other issue.
It was there. It was actually there. Just like she described. A girl's ramblings under hypnosis had led him to find something that transcended death. Jack's hands trembled. This must have been what Leonard had felt like when he read about Carmen's body being discovered. Jack felt a sudden rush of blood to the head and had to place his hand on the bedpost to stabilize his rubbery legs.
He took a moment to gather himself, then exited the room. He passed right by Hester in the kitchen and headed for the front door.
"Can I get you something to drink?"
"No, thank you,
" Jack said, not making eye contact. She got up quickly and followed him.
"You're leaving?"
"Yes, thank you again." Jack opened the front door and let himself out. Hester stood in the doorway, open mouthed, afraid she'd done something to offend him. He hadn't even asked her one question.
CHAPTER 41
Jack drove a few blocks until he was a good safe distance from Hester's apartment building. He pulled over along the side of the road.
He sat parked for 10 minutes, just staring at Carmen's diary on the seat beside him. He ran his fingers along the worn leather binding; conflicted, curious. The implications of it even existing made it seem like some religious text, ancient.
He caressed the tiny brass lock that held it closed. He could have broken it with a good squeeze of his thumb and forefinger. But doing so felt like such a violation. He picked it up, held it firmly with both hands, then tossed it back down again.
"Shit."
He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel for a few moments, then snatched it back up again with purpose. "Forgive me…"
He broke the tiny seal. The writing was all in Spanish. Some of the pages had tiny drawings in the side margins. He flipped through a few and a photo slipped out. It was a picture of Carmen and a young man, smiling — a photo booth picture, the kind you'd get at the mall or amusement park. On the back was written CM & VR in a heart. Jack flipped to the last entry. It was dated a week before she was reported missing. He struggled to decipher a few words, but his Spanish was rudimentary at best: hello, goodbye, bathroom — and all of the curses shouted at him while interrogating murder suspects in the inner city. That was about it.
It was getting late, if he didn't hurry, it would be dark soon. Jack circled the block several times, scoping out the locals, looking for a potential volunteer. After assessing the candidates — a man in his undershirt drinking beer on his stoop, a couple arguing outside their apartment, two men working on their car, he returned to a group of 13-14 year old girls, singing clever rhymes while skipping double dutch rope in the street.
He took a moment to debate what he was doing. Several officers back at the station spoke Spanish and could easily translate this for him. But the content of the book, its circumstances, exposed him to ridicule, especially with Harrington, who'd made him question his own judgment. When it came to humiliation, Jack was risk averse.
He rolled down his passenger side window, leaning over. "Excuse me!" he called out to the girls. They didn't hear, so he called out again, "Hey, excuse me!" One of the girls waiting her turn looked back at him: You talking to me? "Hi, yes, can I talk to you?"
She had thick wavy brown hair and wore cut off shorts with a half shirt that had the word precioso bedazzled on the chest. She cautiously approached his car, leaving a good two feet of distance. Her friends paid him no mind and kept their routine going, jumping with perfect timing while the two others spun the rope faster and faster, chanting their song.
She leaned in. "What?"
"I was wondering if you could help me out?"
A hand on her hips, suspicious. "You lost?"
"No, listen, I'll pay you ten bucks if you-"
"Fuck off-"
"No, it's not like that. I just need you to help me read something."
"Why, you stupid?"
"No - well yes, I am, but this is… I don't speak Spanish, and I have this book I'd like you to read to me."
"What makes you think I speak Spanish?"
"A hunch."
She curled her lips and looked back at her friends. "This gonna take long?"
"Depends on how fast you can read. No, it won't take long, just a few minutes."
Jack put his car in gear and pulled over to the side of the road. He turned off the motor as she opened the door to climb in.
Jack got out of the car and walked over to a nearby stoop. She made a face like he must be crazy. She got back out, slamming the door.
"What you doin?"
"Never get into a stranger's car," Jack said as he slowly sat down on the stoop, the pain making him look like an old man. He tried to hide it, but she noticed. She also noticed his gun holster as his jacket shifted.
"You're a cop?"
"Detective."
"What's the difference?"
"More paperwork. Sit."
She sat down beside him, wondering why she agreed to this. He handed her the book.
"This looks like someone's diary." She opened it and flipped a few pages. "You're not supposed to read these," she said with a sly grin, but serious.
"It's okay, it's not supposed to exist. Can you read her handwriting?"
"She drew these pictures? Man… they sick, oh shit."
"Can you read it?"
"I'm reading it."
"Out loud?"
"Which page?"
"I don't know. Just read."
"Today was cloudy. I stubbed my toe on my bedpost, it hurt so bad. My little brother won't stop singing that stupid song-"
"Skip to the next page." Jack twirled his hand in a rush.
"I miss my papa. Haven't seen him for a few days, he is working nights again."
"Next one."
She mumbled, straining to read the first few scribbles. "January 12. Ummm, to a, to see it hanging there, knowing so many people could admire it for years to come. My papa was so proud, I came in first place. I got a gift; free dinner for two at Cafe Gianna's. I gave it to my father, to take my mother. He works so hard. He cried when he saw it. He touched my name at the bottom. He's been back there three times since it went up. He tells me, this is just the beginning."
"Skip to the final entry," Jack said.
She flipped to the last written page. "April 17. Today in class a man posed nude for us to paint. I know it was not a sin, but I felt ashamed. Like I do when I have those feelings. Victor gets angry at me. He scares me sometimes. I love him with my heart. I want to love him with my body-ooh, this is getting good."
"Just keep reading."
"I want to love him with my body, but I don't want to lose the love of the Lord. My mother would kill me if she knew. How can something so beautiful be such a sin?"
"She mention Victor's last name?" Jack asked.
The girl read a few more sentences to herself, mumbling as she scanned the lines.
"No, but there's a phone number next to this, look."
Jack took the book back and stood up. "Thanks." He handed her ten dollars and walked back to his car.
"This girl gonna get pissed if she finds out you read her diary?" Jack opened his door and climbed in.
"No, she'd dead."
The girl shivered and wiped her hands on her jeans, grossed out.
CHAPTER 42
Rebecca crept past Laura, asleep on the couch in the living room. She had taken some aspirin and dozed off while watching TV, still on with the volume low. Rebecca moved through the kitchen to the laundry room in back.
Inside were stacks of boxes, some opened, some still sealed with box tape since the move. She'd seen her mother carry a small book into this room and return empty handed. Her mother had been crying, unaware she'd been watching her from the staircase, which gave a clear view into the kitchen and the entrance to the laundry area if she crouched down under the metal railing.
Rebecca went to the open boxes first. One was filled with clothes of hers that she no longer fit into, donate to Goodwill was scribbled on the side. Another had pots and pans in it. Rebecca moved that box aside and something in it shifted, making a loud noise. Rebecca froze and listened for her mother. She waited a good minute before she continued, opening another box that was filled with old photo albums. The first one was a flip book from Disney World. Rebecca was just 3 or 4 years old. She had no memory of going, but from the photographs it looked like she had fun. She wondered why she had so much trouble remembering things from when she was younger.
She opened her parent's wedding album. The first picture was a large color print of the two of them, ha
ppy, kissing. She puffed out her cheeks and frowned. She quickly closed it and moved it aside. There were some loose pictures at the bottom. She gathered them up and flipped through one by one. Most were of her mother when she was younger. Her hair much longer than it is now. There was one of her grandfather. He looked angry in the photo, his eyes going in different directions.
Then she found a small black phone book at the bottom of the box. She recognized the binding — this was the book her mother was holding. There was a picture inside. It was faded, but she could clearly make out her mother with her arm around the girl from the paper. Carmen. It was all true. Why did she lie to me? The betrayal made Rebecca feel very alone.
She recalled the doctor asking her a question after the third or fourth session:
"Rebecca, tell me, who is Carmen?"
He said she had told him her name was Carmen while she was under. She had no idea who he was talking about, she had no memory of that name or who it belonged to. Certainly no memory of ever saying it.
After their last session, she came out of it to find the doctor was sweating and very nervous. When she got up from his comfortable couch, she noticed the small green lamp that normally sat on the table beside her was on the floor, smashed. That was the last time she ever sat alone with the doctor.
The following visit, the doctor brought her and her mother in his office, all serious like. He asked her mother if she knew who Carmen was. Her mom got all fidgety, turned to her like she'd said a curse word or something. Her mother said to wait for her outside with the secretary. A few minutes later she came out all upset, grabbed her arm and said they were never coming back. She wouldn't even let her go back to pick up her sketchbook.
She had waited two days, until her mother stopped muttering to herself, to ask her who the doctor was talking about. Who was Carmen? She sensed her mother was keeping something from her. She'd always sensed it. Then the report on the news. Why would she lie? Was she scared of her nightmares being real?
