by Joanna Bell
At one point, Katie started crying and something about seeing her cry – especially when it came with the knowledge that I'd come back precisely because I wanted to spare my family any further suffering – made my whole body tight with rage.
"This shouldn't be legal," I said quietly as the car veered down a random exit ramp and my mum, not a woman prone to emotional meltdowns, spoke to my dad and Michael on the phone, desperately trying to figure out what to do before we ran out of gas and ended up on the side of some road, being torn to pieces by vultures with cameras and microphones.
In the end, it was a scene out of a farce that saved me from my pursuers. My mum took off her distinctive bright red jacket and her hat and I put them on, taking care to tuck all my hair beneath the hat. We pulled in at a roadside diner as the helicopters hovered and 'I' – actually my mum in my clothes – got out and ran to the car behind, whilst my sister and I remained in the first car.
And it worked. The choppers all went after the second car as Katie and I sat in the first one, our hearts in our throats, watching, waiting to see if any of them would break off at the last minute and decide to stick with us. None did.
"Good," Michael Rappini said, breathing a sigh of relief down the phone. We'll have someone call your driver within 5 minutes, to tell him where to take you. By the time the press realizes their mistake, they won't be able to find you. I'll see you later today, if this works.
Sure enough, the driver received a call a few minutes later and Katie and I found ourselves, about an hour after that, being driven into an underground parking garage beneath the ridiculously named Sleepyhead Hotel, located somewhere in upstate New York. Our driver then led us down a series of corridors to room 206 and pulled the drapes shut before turning the lights on and telling us to sit tight until my parents and Michael arrived.
We did as we were told.
"Well he seems to know what he's doing," Katie commented after the driver left the room to stand guard outside the door. "I wonder how much he's costing mum and dad?"
She hadn't meant the comment the way I took it, I knew that. I knew she was just making very awkward conversation in a very awkward situation. But for some reason it just hit me the wrong way and I bowed my head, swallowing against the urge to cry again.
"Oh!" Katie said, horrified. "Oh, Em! I didn't mean it like that! I didn't –"
"I know," I replied. "I know. I just feel so fucking bad right now. Look at all this shit. Look what's happening. This is my fault. I came back to make you all feel better and instead I've just brought this chaos down on your heads!"
"No," Katie shook her head. "No, Em. This isn't your fault. And if you're wondering if it's worth it – to know you're safe? It is. Of course it is."
We fell into a period of silence after that as we both tried, in our own ways, to wrap our heads around everything that had happened over the past day. It didn't feel like a day. It felt like a week, two weeks. And for all the fear and confusion, all the fleeing and hiding – what had been achieved? Nothing. What problems had been solved? None. We were probably going to have to flee again soon, when the media inevitably found me – and it didn't sound like ignoring law enforcement requests for an interview and flying back to the UK to hide out in my parents' attic for the next couple of years was a workable plan.
I was actually relieved when Katie picked up the remote and turned the TV on, imagining we could find some cheesy action movie to lose ourselves in. I didn't recognize what I was even looking at right away. I mean, I did recognize it – a pursuit of some kind, the high camera shot from the helicopter, the car darting down a highway – I just didn't immediately connect it to me. It was Katie who did that, shrieking and covering her mouth in horror.
"Oh no," I whispered, as I realized the pursuit I was watching was live, and that the quarry was my own parents and lawyer. My sister began to weep openly but all I could do was stare at the screen, frozen with horror, as a sedan tried fruitlessly to outrun a helicopter. There were a lot of police cars, too, forming an escort around the lone car.
My sister and I watched, our eyes wide and our hearts beating fast, as the car took an exit off the highway and pulled into a gas station parking lot. Another helicopter buzzed through the shot as a chyrons rotated across the bottom of the screen:
"MISSING STUDENT EMMA WILLIS FOUND"
"EMMA WILLIS SAID TO BE IN GOOD HEALTH"
"EMMA WILLIS IN AN UNDISCLOSED LOCATION"
"EMMA WILLIS REFUSING TO TALK TO FBI"
"EMMA WILLIS A SUSPECT IN PAIGE RENNER'S DISAPPEARANCE?"
Katie moved to turn the TV off but I grabbed her wrist, unable to look away. "Don't."
So we both watched as the helicopter camera zoomed in on the car, on my mum and dad and Michael Rappini as they stepped out, until the shot was so tight I could see the fear on my mother's face and the barely-contained rage on my dad's.
"It – uh – it looks like Emma Willis isn't in this car," the male reporter's confused voice spoke to the announcer in the studio.
"Are you sure, Jim? Is she still inside it?"
They went back and forth like that, speculating on whether or not I was sitting in the sedan or not as I actually sat in a hotel room having the most surreal experience of my life. Within minutes media showed up in their own vans and my sister and I watched as the police frantically tried to keep them back. The officers weren't so much interested in protecting my parents as they were in preventing a riot in a random gas station parking lot.
When my mother broke down and started to cry, her face creasing in full, close-up HD, my stomach turned and I ran into the bathroom to retch fruitlessly into the toilet. When I came back, the TV was off.
"Hey," I said, gagging slightly once more. "Katie, turn that back –"
"No," she said. "We don't need to see this. You don't need to see this. I can't believe this is happening. This is the craziest thing I've ever seen, Em. What are we going to do?"
What were we going to do? More specifically, what was I going to do? I was the reason it was happening. My parents were being chased by helicopters because of me. My sister and mother were crying because of me. Sure, it wasn't my fault in some larger sense, but those were still the facts.
"Give me your phone," I barked at Katie, determined that this circus around my family end at once.
"What? Why? Emma, I don't –"
"Give me your phone."
She gave it to me, then, and I dialed 9-1-1 with one shaky finger.
A female voice picked up a couple of seconds later. "9-1-1, what is the nature of your emergency?"
"This is Emma Willis."
Katie reached over to me and tried to snatch the phone back out of my hand but I ducked away and went to the bathroom, locking the door behind me before she could get it.
"I'm sorry," the 9-1-1 lady said, "can you repeat –"
"This is Emma Willis," I said again. "You know, Emma Willis who just turned up after disappearing? Emma Willis whose parents are on the TV right now? Emma Willis who got kidnapped by aliens? You know, that Emma Willis. And I –"
"Ma'am, I'm going to need you to calm –"
"No!" I shouted. "Listen to me! This is Emma Willis, I am in room 206 at the Sleepyhead Hotel in – actually, I don't know where it is. But I'm here. Tell the police if they want to talk to me I'm here. I'll let them in. I just want this to end. I just –"
"The Sleepyhead Hotel, ma'am? Is that the –"
"JUST TELL THE POLICE I'M HERE AND I'M READY TO TALK!"
I hung up the phone and opened the bathroom door. Katie was on the floor, her knees drawn up to her chin. "Do you think that's a good idea?" She asked. "I mean, without that lawyer here – without any legal representation?"
"I don't care," I sighed. "I didn't kidnap Paige. I didn't kill her. If the police need to hear me say it, if that means we can all go home, then I'll say it. They can film it and write it down and do whatever they need. And hey – I actually didn't do anything to Paige, so it's not li
ke they've got some smoking gun they can spring on me!"
24
Emma
Less than an hour later, the FBI arrived. An older male officer introduced himself as Agent Lapierre. He was full of smiles and reassurances that I was doing the right thing, that it would all be over soon so I could be with my family. He even implied that the police would be willing to help keep the media at bay if I cooperated. When I initially balked at leaving the hotel, knowing that sooner or later my parents would show up, he agreed to let me answer a few questions in the room next to the one I was in, without my sister present.
I didn't feel intimidated like I had when the two agents questioned me at Michael Rappini's office. This time it was just one man, and he had a kind of schlubby, unassuming, middle-aged vibe about him that just put me at ease.
"Do you want something to drink?" He asked when we sat down across from each other at a little table. "I can call and have –"
"No, I'm fine," I told him. "I just want this to be over. I want to go back to England with my family and get away from all this."
"I understand completely," he smiled sympathetically. "It's terrible to see how you and your family have been treated. We'll do our best to keep the media away from you, Emma."
"Thank you." I could feel myself relaxing, and the insane tension of the past 24 hours starting to drain slowly out of me. I believed everything Agent Lapierre was telling me because – well, because he seemed believable, and he was an FBI agent. It was that simple.
"You have to admit it's a crazy story, though, don't you?" He asked. "First Paige Renner goes missing and then her best friend goes missing in exactly the same way a year later – and from roughly the same place! And only one of them returns. It's an interesting situation, Emma."
I didn't even realize, at first, that the questioning had started. I thought the signal would be Agent Lapierre setting up a camera to record it or simply telling me it had begun. He did neither of those things. Instead we just talked, and although he did ask me questions, it felt very much like a normal conversation, his concern for me felt real.
"So let me get this straight, Emma – because I'm not as sharp as I used to be – you're saying Paige Renner is safe?"
I hadn't said that, not exactly. What I'd said is that I wasn't worried about Paige. We were skating towards uncertain territory. The situation was the same as it had been with the other two agents - I didn't want to lie, but I also couldn't tell him the truth.
"I just said I'm not worried about her," I clarified.
Agent Lapierre smiled. "I have a daughter just a little older than you," he told me. "You remind me of her. Young, bright, ambitious."
I know what you're thinking. You're thinking I should have known what he was up to. I shouldn't have let myself be so flattered so easily. You're right, I shouldn't have. But I was vulnerable and scared, sleep-deprived and deeply sad about leaving Ragnar. It's not an excuse, I know that, but Agent Lapierre knew how desperate I was for reassurance, for some way to believe the story had a happy ending – and that he could help make it happen. All I had to do was answer a few more questions. And he kept harping on that point about Paige, about why I'd said I wasn't worried about her.
After a brief digression related to what I was studying at Grand Northeastern – Agent Lapierre's daughter has studied psychology in college – he returned to the matter at hand.
"Please understand," he said, "that I have you here in front of me now – safe and sound. But Paige Renner is still missing, and we still have a lot of people tied up in the search for her. If you have any information on her whereabouts it would be an enormous help to us. It would help get the media off your back, too."
That last sentence was an obvious lie. But the FBI man was so convincing, so seemingly certain of what he was saying.
"I –" I started, sorely tempted to just straight-up tell him I knew Paige was fine because I'd spent Christmas with her. "All I said was that I'm not worried about –"
"Yes," Agent Lapierre said kindly. "But you see how that sounds to me, don't you? You say you're not worried about Paige Renner and so I think to myself hey, this is a smart girl – if she's not worried about her friend, she must have some reason for that. Can you see where I'm coming from here?"
I nodded. "Yeah. It's – uh, it's just that –"
"You don't even have to tell me where she is, if you don't feel ready yet. All you need to tell me is that you know where she is. We can leave the rest of it for another time, no problem."
"Oh. Oh, OK," I stuttered, sensing danger even as I couldn't actually see it in front of me. "Well, like I said – um –"
"Do you know where Paige Renner is?"
"Well I'm not sure I'm comfortable saying –"
"Emma, it's OK. You can tell me. I'm on your side, alright? I want to get to the bottom of this as much as you do. I want you to go home with your family. But before then I need you to –"
"Yes!" I blurted. "Yes, I know where she is – but I – it's not something I can, uh..."
As soon as the words were out of my mouth a pit of dread opened in my gut. I had no legal training, I'd never had to deal with the police before Paige went missing, but somehow I just knew. Maybe it was something subtle in Agent Lapierre's body language, the brief flicker of his smile transforming into something that was no longer comforting and paternal?
"And how long have you known where Paige is?" He asked calmly.
I looked up at the sound of a commotion outside but the FBI agent waved his hand. "Media. We'll get rid of them. Now, Emma, I don't have much time and you need to get back to your family. Can you tell me if you knew where Paige Renner was before you went missing yourself? Did you know –"
A loud bang came from the hallway outside, but Agent Lapierre was waiting for an answer. "Uh, yeah," I said. "Well, I mean, wait – I'm not sure if –"
The door suddenly burst open. "EMMA! Stop talking! STOP TALKING RIGHT NOW!"
It was Michael Rappini. He was standing there in the doorway, panting, with two police officers behind him. The look on his face scared me – I'd never seen him so nervous.
"Stop talking," he repeated, walking towards me. That's when Agent Lapierre stood up to block his way.
"We've got her," he said. "We've got her, Mr. Rappini. She admitted she knows where Paige Renner is. She admitted she knew where Paige was last month, when she told the FBI in your office that she didn't –"
"Wait!" I shouted. "No! I didn't lie to –"
"You did, young lady," the Agent turned on me, all trace of compassion having gone out of his eyes. "You just told me you knew where Paige was last month, when you told my agents that you –"
My lawyer physically inserted himself between me and Agent Lapierre. "If I could talk to you alone," he addressed the other man. "Sir, please. The entire hotel is surrounded, you know she's not going anywhere. A minute. I just need a minute."
All it took was the FBI agent's slight nod for me to find myself hustled out of the room and back into the first one – where I found Katie hunched miserably on the bed. She looked up when she heard me come in, and I watched as the look of faint hope on her face transformed back into misery when she saw my own expression.
"What is it?" She asked hesitantly. "What did you –"
"I think I just fucked up," I told her, before she could finish. "I don't really understand how, because like I said, I actually didn't have anything to do with Paige's disappearance, and I haven't told anyone I did. But – I don't know, it seems like I fucked up. It seems like I did."
My parents appeared then, escorted into the room by yet another police officer. I stood up, burning with guilt to see both of as disheveled and upset as I had ever seen them.
"I'm sorry," I managed to whisper before my mum put her arms around me and let me blub into her shoulder. It was only when I pulled back that I noticed she had a bandage, marked with a spot of blood in its center, on her left temple.
"What's that?!" Katie asked,
seeing it at the same time I did.
"It's nothing," my mother smiled. "I got a little bump on the head from a camera, that's all. We've just come from the emergency room – just a couple of stitches, it doesn't hurt at all!"
'Nothing.' That's the word she'd used. Nothing. As if it had been a minor accident. She was doing that things mums do, playing it down so as not to upset my sister and I. But I'd seen enough by then to know it had been anything but minor. I could picture the reporters surrounding my innocent parents, and sense how frightened she must have been – and how helpless my dad must have felt when he couldn't protect her.
It occurred to me, seeing my mother's injury and waiting to hear if I was about to be arrested for a crime I hadn't committed – a crime that no one had committed – that I was coming to the end of my very frayed rope. I held my trembling hands up in front of me and knew that I had to get out of there.
"We're staying," my dad said to me, seeing my hands. "Em, we're staying here with you until this is dealt with. We're going to sort everything out and then we're going to go back home together, alright? As a family. I promise you that, darling. We're just so relieved to have you back, to see –"
Michael Rappini chose that moment to walk through the door – and everyone, police included, looked up at him. He looked back at me.
"I've got you a day, Emma. A day. Tomorrow evening you need to be at my office, to speak to the –"
"What do you mean she has a day?!" My father interjected. "A day or what? They're going to arrest her? She hasn't done anything! Why would they –"
Michael held up his hand. When he spoke, his voice was weary. "Mr. Willis, I don't mean to be rude, but I need to speak to your daughter. And we need to leave. The police are going to try to keep the media away from the hotel in River Falls tonight, so we can go back there."
