Before She Was Found

by Heather Gudenkauf

  “Yeah, I guess. But when she’s here, she just looks at me all sad. Like I’m going to die or something. I guess she’s scared, too. She keeps asking me what happened and who did it and what did I see. It just makes my head all muddled, so sometimes I pretend to be asleep. Are you going to ask me about what happened the other night?” She rubbed her fingers across her cast where a scattering of signatures decorated the fiberglass.

  “Not if you don’t want me to.” I was hoping that as I got to know Cora, she’d open up to me about what she remembered. If anything. “You’ve got a lot of signatures there,” I observed.

  “Mostly the nurses.” She pointed to them. “And this one is the doctor who did my face. And this is Jordyn’s. She’s my friend who brought me the bracelet kit. And her grandpa signed, too.”

  “Tell me about Jordyn,” I said.

  “She’s okay,” Cora said, but begrudgingly. “She’s kind of hard to figure out. One minute she’s really nice and then all of a sudden she’s acting like she hates you.”

  “Sounds confusing,” I mused.

  “It is,” Cora said emphatically. “Jordyn, Violet and I used to be best friends but we got in a fight right before Christmas and I thought she’d never talk to me again. But then last week she all of a sudden started talking to me again. I think it was because I told her I was sorry about her grandma getting hurt. She fell and broke her hip and is in the hospital. Anyway, Jordyn came over and it was like things were like they used to be.”

  “And there’s your sister’s name and your mom’s. How about your dad? Did he sign it?” I thought of Jim Landry and the anger that seemed to rise up off him in waves.

  “Not yet. But he will. He’s just pretty mad at me right now.”

  “About what?” I kept my voice neutral, conversational.

  “We snuck out the other night. I knew we shouldn’t have done it, but we did. I’m not supposed to be out running around that late at night.”

  “Your dad told you he was mad at you?” I asked.

  “He didn’t have to. He didn’t say anything. That’s how I know he’s mad. He doesn’t say anything, just sits there with his arms crossed.” Cora demonstrated by clumsily folding her own arms across her chest.

  “Sometimes scared looks a lot like angry, you know.”

  “My dad isn’t scared of anything.”

  “You might be surprised,” I offered. “You could talk to him about it.”

  “Maybe,” Cora said unconvincingly and I could tell I was edging into sensitive territory and I didn’t want to push Cora too soon. Otherwise, she might not confide in me at all.

  “Did you decide which notebook you’d like to write in?” I asked, nodding toward the stack of spiral-bound notebooks sitting on a chair in the corner of the room.

  “I think the one with the polar bears,” Cora said. “I used to have my own journal. I wrote in it all the time.”

  “Oh, yeah? I keep a journal, too,” I told her.

  “Do you write about me?” she asked, narrowing her eyes with worry.

  “It’s not that kind of journal,” I assured her. “It’s my personal journal. I write about how I feel about things, about the books I’m reading. I also write about when I have disagreements or problems with people I care about. It helps me sort through my thoughts. What kinds of things do you write about?” Cora looked at me with suspicion. “Maybe you can ask your mom or sister to bring you your journal so you can write while you’re here.”

  “I lost it,” she said with worry. “I hope no one finds it.”

  “Maybe it will show up. In the meantime, you can write in this one.” I retrieved the notebook from the corner of the room and set it on the table next to her. “You picked the one your sister suggested. How old is Kendall? Fourteen? Fifteen?”

  “Fifteen.” Cora rolled her eyes.

  “How do you two get along?”

  Cora shrugged. “Okay, I guess. Usually she just ignores me. Most of the time she hangs out with her friend Emery. Sometimes she makes fun of me. But once in a while she’s nice and we’ll talk.”

  “What kinds of things do you talk about?” I asked. I was fishing to see if Cora had an ally in Kendall.

  “Nothing, really. School sometimes,” Cora said with resignation. “She thinks I’m a pest. But then all of a sudden she sticks up for me like she did earlier.”

  “It can be hard to figure out big sisters sometimes,” I said. “But from what I can see, Kendall cares very much about you.”

  “That’s because I almost died,” Cora said matter-of-factly, picking up the notebook and flipping through the empty pages. “She’s being super nice and it is so weird. Everyone is being really nice. Even Jordyn. It’s weird.”

  For the next thirty minutes, Cora and I chatted. Though I tried to steer our conversation toward the night at the train yard and her relationships, Cora revealed little. After a while, she fell silent and I watched as she doodled in her new journal, writing random words on the page in rounded cursive. Dotting each i and j with a small heart.

  It was sad knowing that only one of Cora’s friends made the trip to the hospital to visit her and even that seemed a bit forced. From my spot in the doorway, I was able to somewhat covertly watch the interactions: the grandfather nudging the girl toward Cora, prompting her to give Cora the present. Mara Landry’s clenched fists contrasted by her smooth, emotionless face. The friend’s repulsed expression upon first seeing Cora’s skull with its railroad track of staples. Kendall’s extreme reaction to seeing Cora’s friend there. And there was something else, too. Guilt, perhaps regret. I wasn’t sure.

  I was just getting ready to wrap things up when Cora asked, “Do you believe in ghosts?”

  This seemed like such a simple question, but I knew I had to answer thoughtfully, carefully. I had a sense that for the first time she was getting ready to talk to me about Joseph Wither. “What kind of ghosts?” I asked.

  Cora started lightly sketching in her journal. A child’s drawing of a ghost covered in a sheet, black circles for eyes. “The ones that talk to you,” she said, adding a sky full of stars.

  “I’ve never had a ghost talk to me,” I answered. “How about you? Do ghosts talk to you?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “When I was little I thought ghosts looked like this.” She tapped on the picture she had drawn. “I thought there was a ghost who hid in the vent in my bedroom. When the cold or hot air came through it, I thought it was the ghost whispering to me.”

  “What did the ghost say?” I asked, intrigued.

  “Nothing special, really. My name mostly. Someone breathing, scratching sometimes.” Cora paused in her drawing and peeked up at me to gauge my reaction.

  “That must have been frightening,” I offered.

  “No, not really. They didn’t scare me,” she said lightly. “They were friendly. I called them Bebe and Billy. My dad got sick of me talking about them so I stopped.”

  It isn’t uncommon in young children to have imaginary friends so this revelation didn’t surprise me. “How about now?” I asked, hoping we were getting to Joseph Wither.

  “Do you think ghosts can talk to you through the computer?” Cora asked as she flipped to a new page in the notebook and started drawing the outline of a cat.

  Here we were. I needed to be very careful. If Cora revealed to me that someone, perhaps a predator, had been communicating with her online, I would have to share the information with law enforcement. A delicate dance we do in the mental health world. Honoring patient-doctor privilege and keeping our patients safe from harm.

  “Has someone been talking to you online, Cora, and telling you that he’s a ghost?” I asked.

  Cora reached for a marker and colored the cat’s eyes green. “His name is Joseph and he lived a long time ago,” she said.

  “What else does he tell you?” I asked gentl
y, not wanting to push too hard.

  Instead of answering, Cora wrote Skittles above the picture of the cat and then For Dr. G. from Cora at the bottom. She tore the sheet from the notebook and handed it to me.

  “This must be your cat,” I said. “She’s pretty.”

  “Not that damn cat again,” Jim Landry said from the doorway. “Cora, enough’s enough.”

  “We brought ice cream,” Mara said brightly, coming in behind her husband and holding up two shakes. “Chocolate or strawberry. You pick.” Kendall shuffled in, carrying her own shake. She looked exhausted.

  “We’ll talk more later,” I told Cora, reluctant to end our conversation. “Thank you for the picture and enjoy your ice cream.”

  I said goodbye to the Landrys and went directly to my office to record everything I could remember about my conversation with Cora. I remember thinking that I should probably call the police. But I didn’t. I wanted more information. I needed more time to talk to Cora in order to put together the pieces of the puzzle.

  Case #92-10945

  Excerpt from the journal of Cora E. Landry

  Dec. 22, 2017

  I want to die. The presentation was a disaster. I am so stupid. The movie was fine. Everyone clapped and Mr. Dover said we did an amazing job. The problems started during the question and answer part of the presentation and Bailey asked how many girls were supposedly killed by Wither and how many disappeared because of him.

  I went back to my desk and pulled the yearbook from beneath a pile of my books and opened it to the page with Rachel Farmer’s picture. I’m not sure why I brought it up. I told Violet and Jordyn I wouldn’t but I did. I told everyone that most of what we read was that there were six girls who disappeared. But there were really seven because Rachel ran away with Joseph Wither back in 1991.

  I kept rambling on and on—I don’t even know exactly what I said. Something about how Wither didn’t actually kill anyone, that the girls chose to go with him. That they wanted to be with him and were willing to leave their families and friends to go with him. Finally, I realized that no one was looking at me anymore and everyone was looking at Kaley Martin, who was crying at her desk in the back of the room.

  “Shut up!” Jordyn said and poked me on the arm.

  I stopped talking and Kaley got up and ran out of the room. Mr. Dover sent Violet to go check on her and said that Jordyn and I could sit down.

  Another group got up and started their presentation but I wasn’t listening because I was so confused. Gabe leaned forward in his seat and whispered in my ear, “Way to go, Einstein. Kaley’s aunt was Rachel Farmer.”

  Then Violet came back and said that Kaley wouldn’t come out of the bathroom so Mr. Dover stepped out into the hall and didn’t come back for like ten minutes. Once he left, Jordyn started to yell at me. “I thought we told you not to include the yearbook in the presentation!”

  I told her I was sorry, that I didn’t know, but she wouldn’t listen. She yanked the yearbook off my desk. “I bet you wrote this,” she said, shoving the page in my face. I told her no, that I would never do that, but I could tell she didn’t believe me. I looked at Violet but she just stared down at her desk.

  Then someone from the back of the room said, “Everyone knows about Kaley’s aunt. She and Kaley’s mom were twins. She ran away when she was a teenager and they never heard from her again. They do a thing at church in memory of her every year.”

  “You are so stupid,” Jordyn said. “You probably think Wither is real.”

  And I said it out loud. I knew I shouldn’t have. I shouted, “He is real. He is! He told me so!” And then everyone laughed and laughed. Even Gabe. Even Violet.

  “Shut up!” I yelled at Jordyn. “Shut up! Shut up! Everyone thinks you’re a bitch. Even Gabe says so!”

  “Well, everyone knows you’re crazy and a thief!” Jordyn yelled. Then I slapped her. Right across the face. The room went quiet. And I realized I made a really big mistake. Four big mistakes. I told Jordyn to shut up, told everyone that the boy Jordyn likes called her a bitch, told the world I was talking to an urban legend and I slapped the most popular girl in my class. I’m dead.

  I thought for sure that the minute Mr. Dover came back in the room, Jordyn would tell on me. But she didn’t. She just sat down in her desk and opened up her social studies book. I almost wish she would have told on me, then I would have gotten in trouble and it would be over. Now I have to wait and see what Jordyn is going to do.

  When Mr. Dover came back in the room, Kaley wasn’t with him. He just said, “Don’t worry, folks. She’s fine.” I don’t know how I made it through the rest of class. I felt so sick.

  After the bell rang and everyone left, Mr. Dover asked me to stay after. That’s when I started to cry. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I really didn’t know.”

  “Of course you didn’t,” Mr. Dover said. “You don’t have a mean bone in your body, Cora.” Then he hugged me for a long time until I stopped crying. When I finally stopped blubbering, I asked him what I should do.

  “I’ve found saying sorry works most of the time,” he said, handing me a tissue from the box on his desk. “Especially if you truly feel bad and it’s obvious you do. It will all blow over.”

  Well, it didn’t blow over. At lunch I tried to sit down next to Jordyn so I could tell her sorry, but she moved over so I couldn’t. I looked at Violet for help but she pretended she didn’t notice and kept right on eating her peanut butter sandwich. Everyone else gave me dirty looks and scooted over so I couldn’t sit next to them, either.

  I looked around for Mrs. Morris, knowing that she would find me a place to sit, but she was busy yelling at a table of boys who were smashing their ketchup packets. I ended up just leaving the cafeteria and went to Mr. Dover’s room instead and asked him if I could sit there until the lunch period was over. He said sure and corrected papers while I tried not to cry.

  The rest of the day was just as bad. Everyone whispered and gave me dirty looks when I walked by. Even the teachers looked at me funny. The worst part was I didn’t get a chance to apologize to Kaley. She must have gone to the nurse’s office or something because I didn’t see her the rest of the day.

  What made it even worse was that now everyone knows I think Joseph is real. It’s so embarrassing.

  I tried to call Violet and Jordyn a million times but they won’t answer their phones so now it’s holiday break and everyone hates me and I don’t have anyone to hang out with. My mom keeps asking me what’s wrong but I can’t tell her. She’d be so disappointed. Even Kendall noticed and tried to cheer me up by inviting me to watch Christmas movies with her and Emery.

  I haven’t been back on DarkestDoor, either. I want to be mad at Wither. I mean, he kind of made me add Rachel Farmer to my presentation. I think I should probably just forget about him. This is going to be the worst Christmas ever.

  Beth Crow

  Tuesday, April 17, 2018

  Once we arrive at the hospital, a nurse is there to greet us. She explains that the doctor will check Violet over and then I can come back to be with her. I give Violet another kiss and promise I’ll see her soon.

  The nurse directs me to the emergency waiting room where a young woman is sitting behind the counter and she is in no rush to look up from her desk to acknowledge me. I tap on the glass partition and with infuriating slowness she lifts her heavily mascaraed eyes. “Can I help you?”

  “Yes, my daughter was just brought in by ambulance.” I look around for any sign of Max. He hasn’t arrived yet.

  “Your name?”

  “Beth Crow and my daughter’s name is Violet.”

  “Insurance card.”

  “We were just here the other day. Can I just go in back and see that she’s okay?” I’m begging now and it isn’t fazing this woman. I guess she’s used to seeing people on their very worst days and has to stay un
emotional and businesslike. I still hate her.

  “The doctor will let us know when you can go back and see her. Insurance card, please.”

  “I don’t have insurance,” I say, feeling my face go hot. At my office supply job in Algodon I had decent insurance but the convenience store didn’t offer family coverage and I sure as hell didn’t make enough to pay the premiums. I know the hospital bill will probably bankrupt me but what am I supposed to do?

  The woman sighs as if she is just tolerating me. “Please take a seat and I’ll let you know as soon as information is available.”

  Instead of sitting, I pace. I have no idea what’s been going on with Violet but somehow she has gone from being a victim to being hauled away in an ambulance.

  Once I know that Violet is okay, I plan on raising hell with Officer Grady. There must be policies and procedures on how to question child witnesses. Violet could have been killed by a maniac. As far as I’m concerned, the police department can foot the bill for this emergency room visit.

  Finally, Max comes through the entrance carrying the glass jar filled with slips of paper. “Is she okay?” he asks. “Have you seen her?”

  “No, I haven’t heard anything yet. This is ridiculous. She isn’t hurt, she’s scared. We may as well sit down until they call us.”

  We sit and Max reaches his hand inside the narrow opening and pulls out a piece of paper, unfolds the slip and begins to read.

  “I can’t wait for Friday! What should I bring with me? I hope we go somewhere warm. I’m tired of the cold.”

  “Weird,” Max says, tilting the paper so I can look at it. The handwriting is large and embellished with loops and hearts and exclamation points. A young girl’s writing but not Violet’s, thank goodness. He pulls out a handful of slips and begins to read one after the other.

  “I think my mom will miss me but I don’t know about my dad. He hardly knows I’m here, anyway. My sister won’t care at all. I guess I should be sadder, but I’m not. Do I need to bring a coat? What about food?