Lost Things (A Short Story)

by John Rector

  I looked over at her, smiled, put my hand on her leg, and said, “If there was something to talk about, I’d talk to you about it, but there’s nothing.”

  “Evan, I—”

  “Stop worrying about me,” I said. “Enjoy the trip, sit by the pool. I’ll be here when you get back, and everything will be fine, I swear.”

  I kept my eyes on the road as I drove, but I could feel her watching me. Eventually she relaxed and turned away, and neither of us spoke again until we got to the airport and said good-bye.

  When I got to work Monday morning, my boss, Colin Davis, was waiting outside my office.

  “Got a minute?” he asked.

  I told him I did and led him into my office. I set my briefcase on the floor beside my desk and motioned to one of the chairs across from me.

  He didn’t sit.

  “I’ll get right to it,” he said. “It looks like those historical preservation nuts are going to get their day in court. Word came down this morning.”

  “We’re going to court? When?”

  “Who knows? They can keep this tied up for months, maybe years, and I’m sure that’s exactly what they want to do. They think they can wait us out.”

  My phone vibrated in my pocket. I took it out and looked at the ID. It was Julia. I hit the ignore button.

  “Can they wait us out?”

  “Of course they can,” he said. “They have all the time in the world.”

  I waited for him to go on, but he didn’t.

  “There has to be something we can do,” I said. “I’ve been working on this for months.”

  Colin looked down, nodded. “At best, this puts the project on hold for a while, but the truth is that we just don’t have the resources to wait that long.” He tapped my desk with his knuckles. “I’m sorry, Evan. There will be others.”

  I tried to keep my disappointment from showing, but it was impossible to hide. I thought about asking what this did to my chances of making partner, but there was no point.

  I already knew.

  “You’re right,” I said. “There will be others.”

  Colin held out his hand. I shook it and did my best to smile as he walked out of my office.

  Once he was gone, I thought about calling Julia back, but the last thing I wanted to do was talk to anyone. Instead, I leaned back in my chair, and closed my eyes.

  That night I poured myself a drink and watched the local news. There was nothing on about the murders, new or old. When the broadcast was over, my head ached, and my stomach felt twisted and raw. I reached for the remote and flipped through the channels, looking for something to take my mind off Peter.

  I stopped on a program about crocodiles in Australia. It was talking about a remote spot along a river that was popular with rafters, even though long stretches of it were infested with crocodiles.

  Every year, people would ignore the posted warnings and paddle through, and every year the local police would have to pick pieces of them out of the water.

  One rafter they interviewed had been able to grab a branch and pull himself up into a tree after his raft had overturned. Once he was out of the water, he looked back and saw his friend dragged under by one of the crocodiles, and he could do nothing to help.

  The rafter stayed in the tree for two days before the rescue teams found him, and the crocodile waited below the entire time. At one point, the rafter said the crocodile surfaced with what was left of his friend’s body in its mouth, holding it up for him to see.

  “He was trying to scare me down,” the rafter said. “It almost worked too. I’ve never been more terrified in my life. All I wanted to do was run.”

  I’d seen enough.

  I flipped through a few more channels before shutting off the TV and pouring another drink. By the time I finished it, I thought I knew what needed to be done.

  I had to make Peter stop.

  I fixed one more drink and made the call.

  The woman who answered at the police station sounded bored and annoyed. She asked if I had an emergency.

  “No,” I said. “But I think I might’ve seen something the night that man was killed downtown.”

  She asked for my name, but I didn’t give it to her. I told her about a man running into Peter’s building carrying a baseball bat. I gave her the address and a description that could’ve been anyone, and hung up before she could ask anything else.

  I held the phone in my lap for a long time. Then I dropped it next to me on the couch and leaned back and closed my eyes. My chest hurt, and the whiskey in my stomach burned through me. I thought making the call would make me feel better, but it didn’t.

  I felt even worse.

  I stayed in bed for a long time that night, unable to sleep. I kept going back to Peter and the call I’d made to the police. I didn’t know what would come of it, and that worried me. But it was too late. Whatever was coming would come, and I could do nothing to stop it.

  When I finally fell asleep, I dreamt of rainstorms over black water, and of things, ancient and dark, sliding cold under the surface.

  PETER called the next night.

  I didn’t answer, and for the next few days, I avoided all of his calls. Each time I saw his name pop up on my phone, I felt a sickness in my chest that hung on for hours.

  Eventually, the calls stopped.

  Veronica came home from her trip later that week, and it didn’t take long before life went back to normal. With the demolition project on hold at work, I moved to a school restoration project backed by the city. There was a lot to do, and the workload helped keep my mind off Peter. But I still read the paper each morning and watched the news every night, just in case.

  After a while, I started thinking everything would be OK, that the killings had stopped, that it was over. But all that changed the day Julia came to see me in my office.

  I’d arranged a job interview for her with Human Resources, and we’d planned to grab lunch together after.

  Julia showed up in a dress.

  It was the first time I’d seen her in one in years, and I couldn’t help but smile.

  “You like it?” She held her arms out and spun. “I thought I should look the part.”

  “You do,” I said. “Very professional.”

  “I think I might’ve overdone it.” She stepped back and ran her hands down her sides. “It’s just a receptionist job. It’s not like I’m going to do whatever it is you do every day.”

  “You’re lucky,” I said. “I’ll trade you.”

  She looked around the office and the maze of cubicles and wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think so.”

  “Did I tell you they were considering me for partner?”

  Julia’s eyes went wide. “Were?”

  “The project I was working on fell through,” I said. “But I’m on their radar, so it’s just a matter of time.”

  “That’s great, Evan.”

  “It might still be a while,” I said. “And I’ll have to buy in, which is a lot of money. More than we have.”

  “So, borrow it.”

  I nodded. “I’ll figure it out.”

  “Of course you will.” She reached out and hugged me. “You always do, don’t you.”

  I chose to ignore the tease to her voice. Instead, I asked her how her interview went.

  Julia rolled her eyes. “The lady talked about her cats the entire time. She mentioned the job only once, and that was to tell me how much everyone loves you around here.” She leaned in close. “I think she has a crush.”

  “Did she give you the job?”

  “With you on my side, I think I’m in.”

  “Then we should celebrate.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Julia said. “But not now. How about this weekend? I want to take you guys out for dinner, on me. There’s a lot to talk about.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like stuff that can wait until the weekend,” Julia said. “Right now, I’m starving.”

  “There�
��s a Thai place down the street.”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  I held out my arm. “Then let’s go.”

  Julia hooked her arm through mine, and we walked out together into the afternoon sun.

  The restaurant was crowded, but we managed to find a small table in the back by the kitchen. When our waiter came, we both ordered the same thing, and after he left we laughed about falling back into old habits.

  “Remember how we’d drive Dad crazy when we’d order the same thing every time?”

  “We both have good taste,” I said. “Always have.”

  Julia reached out and ran her finger along the edge of her water glass, silent.

  “Something wrong?”

  “No,” she said. “Not really.”

  I frowned. “Tell me.”

  She looked up at me, smiled, then lifted her water glass and took a drink. “I don’t know why I bother hiding anything from you.”

  I told her I didn’t either.

  “I’m thinking about moving out of Mom and Dad’s,” she said. “If I’m going to take some time off from school, I can’t be there anymore.”

  “Did you talk to them about it?”

  Julia shook her head. “Not yet.”

  “You’re nineteen,” I said. “They can’t stop you.”

  “I know,” she said. “That’s not what I’m worried about.”

  “Then what’s the problem? Do what you—”

  I stopped.

  There was a man standing outside, staring at me through the full-length windows that overlooked the street. He was wearing a blue down coat. The left side of his head was broken, and blood ran down his shoulder and over his arm and dripped steadily onto the sidewalk.

  I looked down at the table and started rearranging my silverware. I couldn’t breathe.

  “Evan?”

  I nodded toward the window without looking up. “Do you see that guy outside?”

  Julia turned, said, “What guy?”

  I looked up, slow.

  All I saw were spring trees and the midday sun reflecting white off the passing cars.

  I exhaled, but my heart was still beating hard.

  “Are you OK?”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “Jumpy today.”

  Julia watched me. “It’s more than that.”

  I waved her off. “It’s not important,” I said. “You were going to tell me about moving out?”

  “Forget it. We can talk this weekend. I want to hear what Veronica has to say anyway.”

  “Should I be hurt by that?”

  “Aw, it’s OK.” Julia smiled, reached out, and put her hand on mine. “You know your opinion means the most.”

  “But?”

  “But sometimes you can be a little...” She paused. “Closed minded.”

  “And you think you’ll get a better response from Veronica?” I laughed. “I can’t wait.”

  She started to say something else, but then the waiter came with our drinks. After he left, Julia didn’t bring it up again, and I didn’t ask.

  For the next hour, I listened to her stories about late-night college parties and early morning classes. It was fun to hear about, but it also made me realize how little I missed those days.

  My life had moved on.

  After lunch, I walked Julia to her car. The sun was slipping behind a wall of dark clouds along the horizon, and the wind was cold and strong. A storm was coming, but I hoped it would hold off for a while longer, at least until I was back in my office.

  Julia stopped at her car and gave me a hug.

  “Don’t forget about this weekend,” she said. “We have a lot to talk about.”

  “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

  “Now what fun would that be?” She smiled, then got in her car and drove away.

  The storm didn’t wait, and when it hit, it hit hard. By the time I got back to my office, I was soaked.

  The receptionist watched me walk in and shake the water from my coat. I smiled at her, and she handed me a stack of pink message slips and pointed to a man in a wrinkled brown suit sitting in the lobby.

  “This gentleman is here to see you.”

  “Did we have an appointment?”

  The receptionist shook her head and looked away.

  I frowned and crossed the lobby to where the man was sitting and held out my hand. “Evan Teller,” I said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize we had an appointment.”

  The man stood and shook my hand.

  “We didn’t,” he said. “I’m Detective Rustin with Metro Police. Do you have a minute?”

  I led Detective Rustin back to my office and closed the door. He sat in one of the chairs across from my desk, crossed one leg over his knee, and watched me.

  I tried my best to stay calm, but my heart was beating so hard against my ribs that I couldn’t focus. All I could think was that he could tell something was wrong, and that made everything worse. I was afraid that at any moment I’d start talking and wouldn’t be able to stop. I’d tell him everything, and he’d end up leading me out of the office in handcuffs for everyone to see.

  But I didn’t.

  Instead, I said, “What can I do for you, Detective?”

  “I’d like you to take a look at something.” He took a photo the size of a playing card from his jacket pocket and handed it to me. “Do you recognize her?”

  The girl in the photo was young and blonde and looked like a thousand other young, blonde girls. I didn’t know who she was, but I stared at the photo for a moment longer before handing it back.

  “Sorry,” I said. “Who is she?”

  Detective Rustin watched me as I spoke, his eyes never leaving mine. “Theresa Griffin. Her mother reported her as a runaway three weeks ago. From what I can tell, she’d been staying downtown with friends ever since.” He paused. “A jogger found her body by the Platte River yesterday.”

  I felt everything inside me fall away, and I tried my best not to let it show. “Christ, how old was she?”

  “Sixteen.” Rustin looked at the photo, then held it up again. “Are you sure you don’t know her?”

  I nodded. “I’m sure.”

  “Check again.” He handed me the photo. “Maybe something will come to you.”

  “I’ve never seen her before.”

  “You’re positive?”

  “If I recognized her, I’d tell you.”

  Rustin took the photo and tapped it against his open palm before putting it back in his pocket. “Can you tell me where you were this past weekend?”

  “Am I a suspect?”

  “We don’t have any suspects,” he said. “I’m only contacting people who might’ve known her, asking questions, hoping someone can give us some insight into what happened.”

  “I was with my fiancée all weekend.”

  “What did you two do?”

  I thought back and told him everything Veronica and I did over the weekend that I could remember. He listened, nodded, didn’t speak.

  “We can call her if you’d like,” I said. “She can verify all of this.”

  “That’s not necessary.” He opened a small notebook and scribbled something on one of the pages. “Like I said, we’re just contacting people who might know something, nothing official.”

  “I don’t see why you’d ask me,” I said. “I’ve never seen the girl.”

  Detective Rustin looked up from his notebook. “What about Peter Williams? He’s a friend of yours, right?”

  I opened my mouth to answer. All I could do was nod.

  “Do you talk to one another?”

  “Occasionally, sure.”

  “Would you consider yourselves close?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Rustin closed his notebook. “Are you good friends?”

  I shrugged. “Sure, I guess.”

  He nodded, opened his notebook again, and made a mark. “When was the last time you two spoke?”

  “It’s been a few
weeks. Why, is he—”

  “He’s someone we’d like to talk to, that’s all.” Detective Rustin slapped his notebook closed. “I believe that’s all I have for now. I appreciate you making time for me today.”

  I told him it wasn’t a problem, then added, “Anything I can do to help, let me know.”

  Detective Rustin smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I sure will. Thank you.”

  I followed him to the door. Once there, he stopped and turned back, snapped his fingers. “You don’t happen to have a business card, do you?”

  “Of course.” I felt my pockets, then walked behind my desk and opened the top drawer. “I should be getting new ones soon, but the number is the same.”

  The detective took the card and turned it over in his hands. “Would you mind writing your cell number?”

  I wrote my number on the back.

  He looked at it for a moment, then took a clear plastic evidence bag from the inside pocket of his jacket. One of my business cards was inside, bent and bloodstained.

  “Theresa Griffin had this card in her pocket when we found her.” He held up the card I’d given him and compared it to the one in the bag. “Your cell number is on the back, and it looks like your handwriting.” He stared at me. “Any idea why?”

  It took me a minute to find my voice. When I finally did, all I could say was, “I have no idea.”

  “Do you want to look at the photo again?” He reached in his pocket. “Maybe jog your memory?”

  “I don’t need to see the photo,” I said. “I’ve never seen her. I don’t know why she had one of my cards, but she didn’t get it from me.”

  “OK,” he said. “Have to check every lead, you understand.”

  “I lived downtown for a long time, and I tossed out a lot of things when I moved. She could’ve found that card anywhere.”

  “Very possible.” Detective Rustin nodded. “Do you remember what else you threw out? Any old clothes?”

  “I threw out all kinds of things.”

  “Because she was wearing a man’s shirt.” He paused. “Maybe that was yours too.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “There was dried blood on the front. Not a lot, and not hers, but it did make us curious.” He held up the plastic bag. “Your card was in the breast pocket.”