The Stolen Breath

by L. G. Davis

  The police are not much help either. They still don’t have any answers, and they haven’t tracked down Anita.

  Today, an empty hole is in the center of my heart. Something inside me has shifted. The hope I had been protecting like a fragile egg is cracking by the second.

  I remain in bed until midday, depression holding me down.

  Someone knocks on my door at 1:00 p.m. I ignore them. I don’t intend on leaving the room or speaking to anyone.

  But the knocking continues.

  What if it’s Officer Randall? Maybe he has good news. I don’t bother to fix my wild hair as I throw a bathrobe over my nightdress and run to the door.

  Disappointment hits me like a brick when it’s Ray I find at the door and not the cop.

  “May I come in?” he asks. He’s carrying a tray with food on it. It smells like cheese and vegetables.

  I step back to let him enter. “Ray, you didn’t have to do that.”

  He strides into the room and puts the food on the dining table. Then he turns to me with a worried expression. “Delia, I’m worried about you. I heard you didn’t order breakfast this morning, and you haven’t left the room.”

  If only the fact that someone is worrying about me could help. But it doesn’t.

  I avoid his gaze and stare out the window, my body feeling heavy.

  “I lost her, Ray. What if I never get her back?” Ray comes to put an arm around me. He pulls me to him. The hardware on his leather jacket is cool against my cheek as I lean into him, tears filling my eyes.

  “You can’t do that.” He cradles the back of my head. “You can’t give up on Lea.”

  I break the embrace and sink onto the couch.

  “Something is different.” I swallow the tears in my throat. “Last night, I had a dream that I was burying her. I can still smell the roses on her little pink casket.” I look back at him.

  He looks helpless, like he wants to say something, but can’t think of a way to make me feel better.

  The only way to help a mother who has lost a child is to find that child.

  “Ray, I don’t know what I’ll do if I don’t get her back. I failed as a mom. I failed Lea.”

  “You did not fail her.” Ray sits next to me.

  I jump to my feet, furious. “How could you say that? I did mess up. I was not there for her. When parenting was hard, I let myself think about what it might be like not to have a child.” I throw my hands into the air. “I guess I got what I wanted. She’s gone and I’m experiencing exactly how it feels not to have her in my life.”

  “Don’t do that to yourself. You did the best you could with what you had. You went through a lot.”

  “I know. But it doesn’t justify what I did. I threw my daughter into the arms of other people. I outsourced my responsibilities. And now she’s gone and I might never get a second chance to make it up to her.”

  After the dream, my hope that she’s alive is shattered. The dream had to have been a message that Lea is dead.

  “If it helps, I’m here and I’ve been asking around as well. My wife has been doing the same. We have been putting up flyers in the neighboring towns. Everyone here’s got your back.”

  “I’ve been a burden to all of you for a long time. I neglected my work and put you in a tough position. I’m sorry, and I’m grateful that you’re doing this for me.” I blow my nose with a tissue I find in my bathrobe pocket. “Thank you for letting me stay here. I didn’t know where else to go.” I don’t feel safe at my house.

  “You can stay here as long as you want. I mean it. You’re family. We share your pain, Delia. You do not have to carry your burdens alone.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

  “No need to thank me. Just promise that you will take care of yourself. You have to eat.” He pauses. “By the way, did you hear anything more from the police?”

  “No. Nothing new. No new leads at all.”

  My baby has disappeared as if into thin air, and right now I feel as though I am disappearing as well.

  “I’m so sorry. I can’t even start to imagine what you’re going through.” He gives me another hug and tells me he has to get back to work.

  Left alone, I stare at the food, forcing myself to take a few bites, but I can’t. I don’t even have the energy to take a shower.

  When the sun starts setting, I pull out my laptop, after staring into space for most of the day. The food on the dining table has still not been touched. The only thing I manage to put into my body is water.

  I check the posts on the Find Lea Facebook group. Nothing new. Nothing helpful. The only thing that stands out is that Clayton is no longer a member. I do my best to push him out of my mind and check my email.

  My heart rate speeds up when I notice an email from Anita. I’m almost afraid to open it, but I know the answers I’m looking for could be inside.

  My stomach rumbles with both hunger and anxiety as I open it. At first, the words blur in front of my eyes until I focus and start to read.

  Dear Delia,

  I don’t know what to say. My fingers are on the keyboard, but I can’t find the words. I cannot tell you enough how sorry I am. I’m sorry I disappeared on you like that. I’m sorry about a lot of things. I was a rotten friend to you. It hurts me to think about all the things I did.

  I know you’ve been trying to reach me, but I cannot speak to you. I also can’t find the courage to face you. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but maybe one day you’ll find it in your heart to give it to me anyway. For now, I hope it gives you comfort to know that I’m suffering. I will suffer for the rest of my life for what I did.

  The email ends abruptly as if Anita was disturbed. She ends it without telling me what I need to know.

  I write back, my fingers trembling on the keyboard.

  I get straight to the point.

  Anita, I need to know where Lea is. If you have my baby, please bring her back. Contact the police if you would rather speak to them. Please tell me that my daughter is still alive. Tell me you haven’t hurt her.

  Delia

  Chapter 35

  I’m back at the house. That’s all it is to me now.

  Precious memories are what make a house a home. Dark memories have stolen the good and turned my home into nothing but a shell. But staying away might keep me from finding clues that might help me find Lea.

  My plan was to come to Anita’s house, to search for clues that could lead me to where she is. After an hour, I’ve found nothing but bottles of booze hidden in random places. In the end, I walk out feeling drained and disappointed.

  Without meaning to, I find myself walking through my own gate and making my way to the front door. Now I’m standing with a hand buried inside my jeans pocket, my fingers clutching my keys.

  I turn and look back at Anita’s house.

  She loved Lea. She couldn’t have lied about that. Is that why she took her?

  She wouldn’t have begged me for forgiveness if she didn’t have my daughter. I’ve sent her several emails since receiving hers yesterday, but no reply.

  As sickening as it sounds inside my head, I prefer to think that maybe Anita took Lea because she loves her so much that she wanted to keep her to herself.

  If she has my daughter, maybe she wouldn’t hurt her. I have to believe she still loves her.

  Despite the nightmare I had two nights ago, I choose again to believe that Lea is still alive. It’s that slice of hope that pushed me out of bed and forced me to continue fighting.

  It takes me a moment before I can gather up the courage to insert the key into the lock of the house that will never feel like home again.

  “Delia?” The distant voice calling my name stops me from walking into the house.

  “Good morning, Tamara,” I call back, turning around with a forced smile.

  She’s on the other side of the road with curlers in her hair, waving at me frantically.

  Our conversation is interrupted by a car dr
iving by.

  “Honey,” Tamara continues when the car drives off. “Why don’t you come over for some coffee?”

  I glance at my door, then back at her. “I wish I could, but I really don’t have time. I just came to get something. I’m not staying long.”

  “That’s all right. It can wait until you’re finished up.”

  The last thing I need is to chat with Tamara. All I want to do is search the house for clues and return back to the hotel to climb back underneath my sheets, the place I spent most of the past week. If it weren’t for Ray occasionally popping by to make sure I had eaten, I would just stay there.

  “Okay,” I say even though I wish I could say no. She has been kind to me. There’s no harm in being nice back.

  “Great. I’ll see you in a bit.” Her smile makes me feel guilty for thinking about rejecting her invitation.

  I turn back to my door and enter. A cloud of heaviness instantly wraps itself around me.

  I close the door and lean against it, inhaling the tainted air that’s heavy with disappointment, pain, and regrets. Like the house, it feels dead in my lungs.

  Standing in the entryway, I think back to the day I brought Lea home from the play group, how I had lowered her to the floor and she crawled away from me, straight into Anita’s arms.

  Was Anita thinking of stealing her then, or was it a spur of the moment decision?

  The burning sensation of betrayal merges with the anger in my veins, heating up every inch of my skin. It takes me five minutes to calm down, then I stop in every room, and the attic, to make sure no one is hiding there. I live in constant fear that Clayton might show up out of the blue.

  When I voiced my concerns to Officer Randall, he thought it unlikely that Clayton would come after me since he’s now a wanted criminal. If he shows up, he risks going to prison for murder.

  I want to believe him, but I don’t. Clayton has already proven how deadly his obsession with me is.

  Inside Lea’s room, I sit in the armchair, my hands gripping the armrests tight. I stare through the bars of her crib. In my mind’s eye, I see my daughter lying inside it, wriggling her little toes and fingers, giggling the way she did the last time I saw her. Please God, don’t let that be the last time I’ll get to see her.

  It’s a struggle to get back to my feet, but I have to keep going.

  In a moment of desperation, I search the room, overturning furniture, shaking out blankets, and tearing stuffed animals apart to see if there are messages hidden in their bellies.

  I find nothing to go on with, nothing new that wasn’t there before.

  The weight of my pain pushes me to my knees. I pray like I’ve never prayed before, then I fall to my side and curl my body into a ball, holding on to a panda bear that survived the massacre.

  “Where are you, Lea?” I whisper into the silence. “Where are you, baby girl?”

  Half an hour later, I’m still on the floor. Picking myself up is a struggle, but I manage to get to my feet and walk out the house.

  “You poor girl,” Tamara says as soon as she sees my damp eyes. She pulls me into the house before drawing me into an embrace. “It’s all right,” she coos. “Everything will be all right.”

  I wish I could believe her.

  She takes me to the kitchen, hands me a clean handkerchief, and sits me down at the table.

  “A nice cup of coffee will cure what ails you.”

  I have only been in Tamara’s house a handful of times. Each time I felt overwhelmed by all the bright-colored furniture.

  My eyes ache from taking in all the colors in the kitchen. Red kitchen cabinets, yellow plates, green curtains, and Tamara’s purple apron. I can already feel a headache coming on.

  She sings along to a Christmas tune on the radio as she prepares the miracle cup of coffee, while I watch my house through her kitchen window.

  “I hope you don’t mind, but no one is allowed more than one teaspoon of sugar in my house. I try to keep a healthy lifestyle and I encourage others to do the same.” She pauses. “I used to love sugar back in the day. That was until I started losing teeth and getting thick around the middle.” She sits in a chair opposite me. “Here you go, dear.” She slides a pink cup of coffee toward me.

  It’s funny that Tamara is so concerned about the dangers of consuming too much sugar and yet she likes to bake cakes for the neighbors.

  Ignoring that fact, I pick up the cup and bring it to my lips. I know I should give the coffee time to cool down, but I need to drink up and leave. I want to lick my wounds in the privacy of my hotel room.

  When I take a sip, the hot liquid scorches the tip of my tongue, so I lower the cup to the table again.

  “Did the police track down Anita yet?” Tamara asks, taking an oatmeal cookie—which I assume is sugar-free—from the plate between us.

  “No,” I say. I don’t know what else to tell her. But I can ask her questions. “Do you really think she could have taken my child?”

  “I don’t want to believe it, but she has definitely been acting strange ever since your baby was taken. She started drinking again. Do you know that?” Tamara leans forward, whispering even though nobody is around.

  “You know about that?” I thought I was the only person who knew about Anita’s drinking.

  “Oh, yes,” she says, biting into her cookie. “I see everything that goes on around here. My curtains are always open.”

  “Yes, that’s true.” I suddenly forget the burn on my tongue. Tamara peers out of her windows a lot. It used to make me uncomfortable because I felt like I was being watched all the time, but maybe her nosiness could help me find my child. If she really knows everything that goes on, she would be able to tell me who took Lea.

  “I can’t tell you for sure if Anita kidnapped little Lea, but I remember something that might let her off the hook.” She puts down the cookie and wraps her hands around her cup.

  My head snaps up. “What do you know?”

  “I called you here because I remember something that might help you find the kidnapper.” She takes a sip of her coffee.

  I want to urge her to get to the point immediately. There’s no time to waste.

  Finally, before I go insane, she lowers her cup to the table.

  “A few days before your baby disappeared, I saw a strange woman in the neighborhood. I reckon I saw her several times. She was always sitting in a white BMW. That’s suspicious, wouldn’t you say?”

  “It is. And how often did you see this woman?” I lean forward, my heart in my throat.

  “Maybe two or three times.” She shrugs. “Or maybe four. My memory is not as good as it was in my thirties. But there’s one thing I’ll never forget about her, sure as you live.” She swallows a mouthful of cookie and wipes her lips with a napkin. “She had bright red hair. Like what people call ginger hair. I once walked past her car on my way to the store. She always parked at a different part of the street, so I couldn’t say if she was watching your house or not.”

  I search my mind for anyone I know with red hair. I don’t know a single person, at least not personally.

  “And she never got out of the car? That’s definitely strange.”

  “Not once.” She pauses. “I don’t know if this helps, but I thought you would want to know. I was fixin’ to give the police a jingle as well, but I’ll leave that up to you.”

  “It helps a lot. Thank you.” I swallow hard. “Is there anything else you remember about her?”

  “I’m afraid not. I only wish I could be more helpful.”

  “You were helpful. What you said helps a lot. I appreciate it.”

  As soon as I leave Tamara’s house, I call Officer Randall, but he’s on another call.

  During my drive to the hotel, I try again to remember someone with red hair that I might have come into contact with recently. No one comes to mind.

  My mind is still working hard when I let myself into my room. That’s why I make it all the way to my bed and sit down before
I notice that something is different, before I smell the stench of alcohol in the air, before I lift the covers and see the person lying in my bed.

  “Clayton.” His name bursts out of me in a rush of letters as I jump back to my feet and stumble away from the bed.

  He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t breathe.

  Clayton is no longer a problem. He’s dead.

  Chapter 36

  I’m frozen in place. My mouth is ready for a scream to rip out of me, but only soundless air comes out.

  Clayton is dead. His face is ashen and his lifeless eyes gaze at the ceiling.

  I should call the police, but I dropped my handbag on a chair by the door and my phone is inside it.

  I force myself to scream again and this time, a guttural sound tears out of me, the vibration bringing my whole body to life. I attempt to walk out of the room backwards, my eyes still on Clayton as if I’m expecting him to wake up any second. I collide with a chair and fall to my knees. I keep moving, crawling until I get to my bag.

  The phone falls from my hands several times before I manage to steady them and dial Officer Randall’s number. When he picks up the phone, it takes a few seconds for me to form the words to tell him what happened.

  “Mrs. Caswell, what’s wrong?” he asks, after I fail to get the words out. “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes...no,” I say, finally rediscovering my power of speech. “Clayton. Dead body. My bed.” In my shocked state, I’m incapable of stringing words together to form proper sentences.

  “Calm down, Mrs. Caswell. What are you saying?”

  I gulp down a few deep breaths and hold the phone tighter. “Clayton, he’s here. He’s dead.” I feel like I might also die from the intense pain inside my chest.

  “Wait just a minute,” he says, shock echoing in his voice. “Did you just say Clayton is dead?”

  “He’s dead,” I repeat. “I found him in my bed. It wasn’t me. I didn’t kill him. I don’t know what to do. Please, come.”

  “Tell me where you are,” he says.

  “I’m at the hotel. In my room. Clayton is in my bed.”