by Sean Platt
“Yeah,” Alex said, watching his sister play, and wondering what his mother was doing upstairs. Was she crying? Was she just freshening up? He wanted to get up to find out, but didn’t want to move from Katie.
“Milo hates me,” Alex said. “He had a huge crush on Jessica. We were planning a surprise party for her at Milo’s house for her birthday, and he was gonna tell her then.”
“Oh God,” Katie said, fresh tears flooding her eyes. “He must be devastated. Have you talked to him . . . you know, since?”
“I called. I even went to his house; that’s where I just was. But he’s avoiding me.”
“You want me to talk to him?”
Alex hadn’t even considered that, but the idea of sending his girlfriend to smooth things over didn’t seem too great an idea.
“I dunno. You just might remind him of Jessica.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“Did you go to any of the funeral services?” Alex asked.
“I didn’t go to the big one. I went to the private ones for Jessica and Miss Hughes. I can’t believe that Miss Hughes got shot, too. She had the most adorable little girl. I feel so awful.”
They’d both had Miss Hughes for English the year before, and she was one of Alex’s favorite teachers of all time. Not only was she beautiful, she was the nicest teacher he’d ever had. She truly cared about her students. Alex had only met her daughter once, on Take Your Child To Work Day, but he remembered how sweet she was, and how much she looked like her mom.
“What’s gonna happen to her daughter?” Alex asked.
“I dunno. I saw the girl with Miss Hughes’ twin sister at the funeral. Maybe she’s gonna take care of them. I also saw Jon Conway with them.”
“Really? How does he know them?”
“Everyone knows everyone on the island, I figure,” Katie said. “I think they’re the same age, so they probably grew up together. What’s going on with, um . . . your dad’s funeral?”
“I dunno,” Alex said. “Mom’s not saying much. I think she’s still waiting for the medical examiner’s office to release his body.”
“They still haven’t released it? How long do these things take?”
“I dunno, but I know she’s upset about it. But I figure the longer it takes, the better. God only knows what kind of media circus there will be when we bury him. If we bury him. Hell, mom might not even want to; who knows? I think people might lose it if we bury dad in the island’s only cemetery, where his victims are buried.”
“Oh yeah,” Katie said, sighing. “They’re gonna be all over it, along with the media, and harassing you all.”
Alex’s mom appeared behind them, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, and her face fresher, like she’d splashed some water on it.
“I need to get out of the house for a bit. Would you mind looking after Aubrey?”
“Sure, no problem,” Alex said, standing from the couch and following his mother to the door.
Katie followed. “How about I make you two dinner when you come back, Mrs. Heller?”
Alex’s mom smiled, though there was something off about her smile that sent a creeping concern through Alex. She looked somewhere between the borders of anger, and something else Alex couldn’t quite place.
“Is everything okay?” Alex asked.
“Yeah, I just need to take a drive and calm my nerves.”
She kissed Alex on the cheek, said goodbye, and left in a big enough rush that she forgot to kiss Aubrey goodbye.
Aubrey, seeing her mom race out the front door, started crying.
Alex ran to his sister, picked her up from the playpen, then went outside to try to catch up with his mom before she left. He was too late. His mom’s car was already halfway down the street, as Aubrey wailed for her mommy.
* * * *
CHAPTER 5 — Cassidy Hughes Part 2
Hamilton Island, Washington
Thursday
September 7
Morning…
Cassidy sat alone in Chief Brady’s office, hating the fucker for leaving her alone when she needed help the most. It was like he was doing it just to make her sweat.
Not like that had never happened before. Asshole cops were always the same. At least every other time she’d been made to beg for water or sit for far too long under harsh fluorescents. Today, she had walked in voluntarily, though. This was bullshit.
Cassidy hadn’t done anything wrong. She needed help and they were making her feel like a criminal. Like always. Fucking Brady. At least he was better than the former chief, Walter GODDAMN Benson, who had made her life miserable for nearly 10 years before Brady finally took over.
Cassidy tried to count the number of times Chief Benson had dragged her ass into the station, both legitimate and horse shit, but was embarrassed to realize she had no idea. Might’ve been 15, but it could have easily been 30. There was a stretch, about nine years back, not too long after her short stint at Promises Kept Rehabilitation Center, when it seemed like Cassidy was getting dragged down to the station every other week.
She stared out the window at the nasty gloom hovering over the island, wondering why in the hell she had ever returned. The island was miserable, always had been. Hamilton Island wasn’t just filled with the haves and have-nots, it was haves and never gonna gets, no matter what.
She wished she’d stayed in Seattle after she got out of rehab. She’d even been offered a catering gig that would’ve paid the bills. Of course, she had come back to the island for Sarah. Then stayed for Emma.
Cassidy sucked on her tongue, trying not to cry, knowing she’d be pissed enough to punch walls if Brady came in the room to see her red-faced and swollen.
She sniffed in the air and swallowed hard, again thinking that at least it wasn’t Benson. Most of the island had hated the previous chief, but that was only because he was a hard-ass. Unfair to Cassidy or not, hauling her in was a part of his job. She was a junkie and he knew it. Junkies did whatever they needed to do to find their next fix, and weren’t exactly model citizens. That was bad enough on the mainland, but it was a fucking cancer on an island, and Cassidy was always smart enough to get it, even if she wasn’t smart enough to steer herself from the wrong side of the road.
Brady was a kiss-ass, though, which was exactly why most of the island loved him. It was easy enough for Benson to get replaced when the new chief had the Conway’s shit on his nose. Brady had always been soft on the Conways, and had even been a part of Jon’s merry crew of dickheads ever since seventh grade or so. An old memory wrinkled the corner of Cassidy’s mouth – Brady and Jon getting caught making fruit bombs in 7th grade, maybe eighth. Jon got off with a slap. Brady swallowed a three-day suspension.
Cassidy hadn’t been to the police station a single time since she’d gotten sober again, and it was an Eiffel fucking Tower of irony she’d be in again just one day after she fell off the wagon. All Cassidy wanted was to help Emma, but part of her thought, or feared, the exchange would turn into a sour lesson on recent island history. After all, she had a missing child, and Brady had barely been able to say hello before leaving her alone in the office.
She wiped her brow, then turned toward the door as she heard it open behind her. Brady entered his office with a half-smile, dropped a fat manila folder on the top of his desk, then plopped into his seat and turned toward Cassidy.
“Hi Cassidy,” he said. His smile seemed genuine enough. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting. Tons of stuff happening on the island, all of it sudden. Paladin’s helping, but with just the three of us on day shift, we’re all chicken, no head.”
Cassidy was surprised by Brady’s gentle voice. She hadn’t had an actual conversation with him in maybe five years, and hadn’t seen much of him, save for a few times in passing, and once when he happened into The Shipwreck about six months ago.
Brady pulled a notepad from the corner of his desk, scattered with scribbles, and turned it to a clean sheet. He moved his eyes from the fresh page to Cassidy. “H
ow long has Emma been missing?” he said.
“I dunno. I woke up this morning and she was gone. Last time I saw her was last night when I put her to bed.”
He looked down, moved his pen across the page, then turned his eyes back to Cassidy. “What time was that?”
“I dunno, maybe 9 p.m. I’m not sure.”
“So she could have disappeared last night?”
Cassidy swallowed. “I suppose that’s possible.”
Writing, not looking at her, he said, “And where were you last night, after you put her to bed?”
“Home, with Emma and my mom.”
“All night?”
“Yes, all night.”
Brady scribbled for another few seconds, then looked up. “You sure?”
She hated the way his right eye seemed to hone in on her, matching his rising brow.
“Yes, I’m sure. My mom was sleeping her wine off to Seinfeld. I fell asleep not too long after that. When I woke in the morning, Emma was gone.”
Cassidy wasn’t sure if she was sweating through the lie or not, and wasn’t brave enough to check the dew on her brow. She held Brady’s eyes without a quiver, and found herself distractedly tracing the scar on her left wrist with her right thumb, both obscured from Brady by his desk.
“Emma ever done anything like this before?”
“What, disappear? No, Kevin, she hasn’t! What kind of question is that? Emma didn’t just get up and run away. I wouldn’t be here if she did, I’d be out looking.”
Brady shook his head. “It’s possible. The girl just lost her mother, after all. You don’t know the power of grief. She could’ve done anything. Did you check Sarah’s house?”
“Yes, I went over there right before I came here,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“It’s fine. No, Emma’s never done anything like this before. And yes, she’s hollow as a ghost. But being sad would keep that girl inside with us, not out of the house, wandering the island.” She could feel the tears leaving her eyes, and hated allowing Brady to see her vulnerable and in need of his help. “I think she’s in trouble. I don’t know what else to say, except that I can feel it. And I need your help.”
“Okay,” Brady said. He then did something Cassidy never pictured him doing. Brady opened both his palms, extended them across his desk, and invited Cassidy to lay hers inside the cradle. She didn’t want to, but surrendered anyway, her hands shaking as she set her pink scars face down just above his fingers.
“Everything will be okay,” Brady promised. “We’ll do everything we can to help.”
Brady then went over all the details with her, asked her what Emma was wearing last, and if she had a picture of the girl. She hadn’t thought to bring a photo, and felt like an idiot. But then she remembered that she had a photo of Emma, taken just last week, on her cell phone.
“Here,” she said, pulling the photo up on her screen. “Will this work?”
“Great,” Brady said. “Can I take this to our tech guy and get him to upload it to our system?”
“Sure,” Cassidy said, and Brady was out the door before she thought about her phone history, and calling the dealer last night.
Shit.
She waited patiently, for Brady to come back, hoping like hell he wouldn’t be digging through her phone without permission.
He’d have to ask for something like that, right?
No, you’re a suspect now. They can search anything they want, sister. Plus, you handed it to him, so he can use anything he finds.
Shit. Shit.
She kept her eyes on the nasty gray outside while collecting her breath, trying to calm the inner fear, and the voice of the addict in her brain.
Her addict was on its best behavior while Brady had sat on the other side of his desk, but it came out to play the second he left for a moment.
When are you going to feed me?
Cassidy ignored its cry.
Like always, it got louder, pulling her into the usual argument.
Come on, it’s not like you’re not hurting anyone.
Ah, starting with the biggest pile of bullshit first.
Cassidy had done enough damage to herself, and everyone around her in one form or another during her repeated trips down addiction’s road. Yes, she’d slipped last night, but she had to be strong enough to get past that. Once she found Emma, she would call her sponsor, get to a meeting, and dump the pills and get right. If last night taught her anything, it was that she couldn’t slip. Not now when people truly needed her.
One slip, and Emma was gone.
She couldn’t help but feel responsible, that perhaps if she were sober and awake, or sober enough to wake up if she heard Emma being taken or walking out, Emma would be safe now.
But no, she caved into the addict. Now she was paying with a headache that wouldn’t go away, and her niece missing.
What the hell have I done?
If they had your problems, they’d do it, too.
Okay, maybe the Addict hadn’t started with the biggest pile.
Everyone had problems, not just her. But some people managed to take care of their problems without resorting to pills. Pills were lighter fluid on problems; a blazing inferno of sabotage. Cassidy had made that excuse, that other people did pills to cope, a million times during the depths of her addiction. Yet, once she’d been clean a week, some of life’s biggest problems started fading on their way to nothing.
Playing victim could give anyone a convenient excuse to self-medicate. Cassidy’s mom had been doing it for years with alcohol.
You’ve already kicked it, Cassidy. You proved you can stop any time you want. One more pill won’t kill anyone. Might even help you think more clearly. Help you find Emma.
Ah, there it was. Her Addict’s best friend and closest compatriot – Denial.
Cassidy told her Addict to fuck off, and it did, but not without leaving the craving behind. It hadn’t been there so much when she woke, but now it was growing. Cassidy could feel the irritability swelling inside her; the shakes, the sweats, the stewing sickness in her stomach. She wasn’t sure what parts were anxiety and what parts were craving. In either case, she knew of a fix, just waiting for her at home.
Not now.
She had to help Emma first.
Cassidy turned from the window and caught her reflection in the glass door of Brady’s bookcase, and hoped she didn’t look half as ghostly, or a quarter as sweaty, as she appeared.
The door opened behind her and Brady entered the office. He sat in his desk and widened his eyes. “You okay?” he said. “You look worse than when I left.” He pulled three tissues from a pastel colored box, then handed them across the desk to Cassidy, along with her phone.
“Thank you,” she said, slipping her phone back into her purse. “I’m fine. Just upset, and worried.”
“I understand” Brady said. “We got the picture uploaded to our website, sent out to the local news, and the state’s missing child system.”
“Oh God, we’re gonna be all over TV?” she said.
“Maybe. But you want to find Emma, right?”
“Yeah,” Cassidy said, rubbing her wrist again, imagining the media spotlight shining brightly on her.
“Drug addict twin sister of slain teacher loses child!”
Shit, shit, shit.
Brady had been looking at Cassidy with kinder eyes than usual, but after he returned with her phone, he had a different look to him. A suspicious look reminding her a little of Benson.
“I promise we’ll make this our top priority, and I’ll call you immediately if anything comes up.” He handed her his card. “That’s my cell phone, Cassidy. Don’t be afraid to call for anything, okay?”
“What number I can reach you at?” he asked, handing her a pen and pad of paper. “Will you be home?”
“I’m going to meet up with Jon Conway,” she said, writing her number down and passing it back to Brady. �
��He’s going to help me look around the neighborhood, and make some calls and stuff.”
“Good. The Conways are very resourceful,” Brady said. “Like I said, we have limited resources, but I’ve got two officers on it. I also reached out to Paladin to pull CCTV footage from your street to see if we can find anything. Additionally, Paladin has harbor guards out searching the Sound. Paladin has also set up a task force at the port, searching the cars of anyone leaving the island. If someone has taken her, they’re not going to get off the island.”
“What if someone already took her off the island last night? Do you think we’ll find her?” Cassidy asked, afraid like hell that Brady would say no. Cops never promised things they couldn’t deliver, right? And yet, here she was, asking him to do just that.
“We will find her,” Brady said, meeting her eyes. “I promise.”
Cassidy left his office, hoping that this would be the one time she could count on the police. And then a new fear rose to the surface. Would the CCTV footage catch her in the lie that she’d stayed home?
* * * *
CHAPTER 6 — Liz Heller
Hamilton Island, Washington
Thursday
September 7
Afternoon…
Liz had to leave the house.
She couldn’t stand looking at Katie and feeling the overwhelming guilt, knowing her husband had planned to shoot the girl.
Before finding his list, which she hid in the bottom of her bathroom cabinet, she’d tried to tell herself that the shooting was some kind of freak accident. That something must’ve happened to Roger to cause him to snap and shoot his students. Maybe he’d been given drugs by someone or something. None of it made sense otherwise.
He didn’t even own a gun, so far as she knew. As much as she tried to think her husband was incapable of murdering anyone, much less the children he taught (he loved teaching, for Christ’s sake!), there was no denying what the list implied. A list that was in his handwriting. A list including the students he murdered. It was deliberate and, even more frightening, planned.
