The Life She Stole

by S W Vaughn

  This is why. I can’t believe she’d not only do this to me, but keep being my friend all these years, acting like it never happened.

  No wonder she was so upset when I told him about Alyssa.

  “Celine?” Brad sounds like he’s just lost ten years of his life in five minutes. “God, I’m so sorry. I’ll never be able to apologize enough.”

  I’m not sure how to respond to that, so I don’t.

  “What really freaks me out about the whole thing is what she said to me … after,” Brad says in a pained tone. “It was so bizarre. I’ll never forget it.”

  I force myself to look at him. “What did she say?”

  “She …” He coughs to clear his throat. “She said, ‘I knew you’d pick me over her. I have it all planned out. When the time comes, she won’t be a problem.’”

  My breath whooshes out of me. The murders, the frame jobs, the texts.

  It was Jill.

  “I have to go,” I say, springing to my feet. “Wait … Brad, has Jill been here to see you?”

  He looks extremely uncomfortable. “She was here Friday night,” he admits. “Talking crazy about how we were going to be together soon. I told her to leave …”

  Friday night. When she told me she had a date with that Hunter guy. That’s why she had a bug the next day — she must’ve picked it up from someone at the hospital.

  And she’d probably planted the poison in Kate Engle’s locker while she was here.

  “Okay, thank you,” I say, and head for the door.

  “Does this mean you don’t want to see me anymore?” Brad calls miserably. “I wouldn’t blame you if you don’t.”

  I turn briefly to look at him. I can’t make this decision right now, so I hedge. “Mostly, I’m angry with Jill for not telling me what happened that night,” I say. “She should have, because you couldn’t. But I really have to go right now.”

  He nods. “I understand.”

  No, he really doesn’t. And I don’t have time to explain.

  I practically run for the elevators, pulling my phone out on the way. Once I’m inside headed for the parking garage level, I dial Ollie’s number. But the phone doesn’t ring. There’s nothing but silence.

  Frowning, I try again. The same thing happens.

  “What is wrong with you?” I shout at the phone, just as the elevator dings and the doors open to a startled man in a suit who must’ve heard me yelling. “Sorry. My phone’s not working,” I mumble as I brush past him.

  I need to get a hold of Ollie, right now, so I head further into the hospital instead of toward the parking garage. There’s an information desk in the hallway with a woman sitting behind it, and I step up to the desk attempting to look like a calm, controlled person. “Hi,” I say. “My cell phone just died, and I’m having a little emergency here. By any chance is there a phone here somewhere I could use?”

  The receptionist hesitates, and then picks up the receiver of the desk phone and hands it to me. “If you’ll tell me the number you’re calling, I can dial it for you,” she says.

  “Thank you so much.” I prop the receiver on my shoulder, find Ollie’s number on my phone and read it off to her. She punches an extension line and presses the numbers, and I wait through three rings that seem to take a very long time before he answers.

  “Ollie, it’s Celine,” I say quickly. “I know who’s behind everything. Can you meet me at my house?”

  “I’m on the way,” he says with no hesitation.

  “Thank you.”

  Relief fills me as I hand the phone back to the receptionist. I thank her again and rush off to the parking garage. I can be home in ten minutes from here, and I hope Ollie gets there soon.

  Because the first thing I need to do is find Jill.

  28

  Ollie isn’t there yet when I get home. I pull into the garage, leaving the door open, and get the stupid, broken phone out to try calling Jill. But nothing happens on the other end. No ringing, no error message, nothing. So I try to send her a text.

  I get a Can’t Send notification with a nice red exclamation point.

  Frustrated and on the verge of terrified, I nearly throw the phone across the garage. But I think better of it, pocketing it instead as I walk up the stairs and open the door to the kitchen. I don’t have a house phone — never thought I needed one. At this moment I’m regretting that decision.

  I’ll just have to borrow Ollie’s when he gets here.

  I hunt through the fridge for a cold drink and find a lone bottle of water. Good enough. I twist the cap off and swallow a third of it without stopping, though it barely takes the edge off. My throat aches with strain and dry fear, and I’m not sure I can talk in a normal voice.

  Right now, it’s a little before noon. Almost three hours until Alyssa gets out of school. With a bit of luck, I’m hoping that all this will be over and Ollie will have arrested Jill before I pick up my daughter. At least she’s safely away from the insanity.

  As I drink more water, I hear sirens in the distance and manage a small smile. Whatever Ollie had been doing when I called him, he must’ve dropped it fast. I head out of the kitchen and through the garage, planning to meet him outside and go from there.

  I’m in the driveway when the police car screeches to the curb, lights flashing and siren wailing. The siren turns off, but the lights stay on as both front doors open and Detective Garfield emerges from the passenger side, while Ollie gets out of the driver’s seat. I start toward them.

  And I freeze when the phone in my pocket chimes. The one that doesn’t work.

  The detectives are moving fast, already asking questions, but I barely hear them. I slide the phone out and see the little 1 on the text message bubble. Maybe the text I sent Jill went through after all, and this is her reply.

  I open the message, and a silent scream lodges in my throat.

  You shouldn’t have told him about Alyssa. Now you’ll never see her again.

  “No!” I shout hoarsely, desperately tapping the message as if I can make it go away, make it never happen. I don’t realize that I’m shaking until big, warm hands wrap around mine and squeeze gently.

  “Celine.” Ollie’s blue eyes are dark with concern. “What is it?”

  “Your phone. I need your phone, please. Right now,” I rasp.

  He gives it to me without question, and then takes mine. I dial 411, knowing there’s no way I’ll be able to focus enough to look up the school’s number and dial it. Dimly, I’m aware of Ollie reading the text that’s still on the screen, of horror washing over his face as he tears the CB unit from his belt and starts shouting instructions into it.

  The directory assistance system picks up, and I wait until I’m asked what number I want to reach. “Wolfsbrook Elementary School,” I say, and wait again. The automated voice reads off the number and asks me if I’d like to be connected.

  “Yes,” I say frantically.

  It seems to take forever, but finally the phone rings twice, and a pleasant woman’s voice answers. “Wolfsbrook Elementary.”

  “This is Celine Bauman,” I say, with no attempt to be polite. “My daughter Alyssa is in Mrs. Jocasta’s class, and I need to come and get her right now. Can you bring her to the office or something?”

  “Oh, Mrs. Bauman, I’m so glad you called,” the woman says. “I tried to reach you earlier this morning, but there was no answer. Alyssa had a very upset tummy.”

  “Had?” I blurt. “Where is she?”

  I must sound a lot angrier than I meant to, because the woman gasps. “Well, she was really quite sick, vomiting,” the woman stammers. “And we couldn’t reach you, so we called her emergency contact to have her picked up.” She pauses as if she’s looking for something, and then says, “Jill Mazer. She came to get Alyssa about an hour ago.”

  A violent contortion grips my entire body, and the phone falls from my hands onto the driveway. It bounces on the rubber case and lands face-up. A small, tinny voice drifts up from the ph
one as the woman keeps talking, but I no longer care what she has to say.

  Jill has her. She has my daughter.

  Alyssa is not safe.

  I can finally breathe a little, but I’m not sure it’s going to last long.

  Ollie is sitting in my living room with me. There are two cups of takeout coffee on the table, his nearly gone and mine virtually untouched. I tried to drink some of it, but it settled like ashes in my mouth.

  The only reason I’m breathing is that I’m numb. I’ve screamed and cried myself completely out.

  While I was calling about Alyssa, Ollie read the text and had immediately dispatched officers to the elementary school. He ended up calling them off before they got there, when I told him she was gone. Somehow I got through telling him Jill’s home address and where she worked, even though I knew she wouldn’t be at either of those places.

  She wasn’t.

  The police were searching for her right now. They had photos of her and Alyssa from my computer, and a description of her car and the license plate number had been sent to both the county and state police along with the photos.

  Three hours. My daughter has been missing for three hours now, and I have no idea why Jill took her or where she went. She could’ve made it out of New Hampshire already.

  Oh, God, I can’t think about that. I’m going to be sick again.

  Detective Garfield took my malfunctioning phone to the police lab, so they could try to find out something from it, and is coming back with yet another replacement phone for me to use. Ollie stayed here to wait for him. He doesn’t want to leave me alone, but I know he’ll have to soon. He’s got a job to do.

  He has to find my daughter.

  “Do you know what the worst thing is?” I say, noticing the horrible, hollow drag in my voice but unable to do anything about it. “She knows Jill. Alyssa might not even think anything is wrong right now, wherever she is. She’ll think I’m coming to get her eventually, until … until I don’t,” I whisper. “Oh, God. Why did she take my baby?”

  Ollie seizes my hand. “We’re going to find her. I swear we will.”

  I want to believe that, desperately. But I’m too stunned to feel much of anything, especially hope.

  “I can’t do this,” I gasp suddenly, leaning forward in an attempt to stand. “I can’t sit here and … and wait for … I have to get my daughter.”

  I’m on my feet, turning toward the dining room, when Ollie grabs my arm and turns me around. “Celine, there’s nothing you can do,” he says firmly. “I know how awful that is to hear—”

  “No, you don’t,” I snap at him. “Do you have any kids?”

  He grimaces. “No. But I’m telling you that rushing off to God knows where isn’t going to help you, or Alyssa.” His hands move to my shoulders, gently restraining me. “I’ve got every resource out there looking for your daughter. And if you go, there won’t be anyone to protect you.”

  “I don’t want to be protected!” My voice crackles, and another round of tears fill my eyes. “I don’t care what happens to me. All that matters is Alyssa.”

  “I care what happens,” he says, staring into my eyes. “We will find her.”

  His concerned look breaks me, and I fall against him, sobbing.

  Ollie wraps his arms around me, a warm and protective circle. He feels good, safe, and even though it comforts me, I hate it. I hate being secure in my house, surrounded by law enforcement, while my daughter is out there somewhere for reasons I don’t understand, and her life may be in danger.

  I don’t know what Jill wants with her. That’s the agony of it.

  I’m still leaning on Ollie when the doorbell rings, and he lifts my chin tenderly to look at me. “That’s Pete. Detective Garfield,” he says. “Why don’t you sit down, and I’ll let him in?”

  I sniffle and nod, and he leads me to the couch and helps me down before he goes to answer the door. A minute later he’s back with a cell phone in his hand, just a cheap throwaway. “It’s not your number, but it’s activated,” he says. “I need to keep in touch with you. I’m going to put the number for this phone in mine, okay?”

  “Sure,” I say with a shrug.

  He messes with both phones for a few minutes, and then hands the new one to me. “My number’s in there,” he says. “And I’m so sorry, but we have to go for a while. I’m not leaving you alone, though. There’s a squad car with two officers out front, and we’ll have a constant presence here with you until we find Alyssa.”

  My throat clenches, and I’m grateful that he said until. “All right. Thank you,” I say. “I guess I’ll … be here.”

  I might not be for long, but I won’t tell him that. I haven’t decided fully myself. I’ll try to stay here and stay safe, try to wait and let the police do their job, but I can’t guarantee it will work out that way.

  My daughter isn’t safe, and I need her to be. That’s my job.

  Ollie rubs my shoulder and reminds me to call him if I need anything, and then he and his partner leave. I stay where I am for a few minutes, and when I hear a car engine start outside and a vehicle drive away, I get up and walk into the kitchen. So I’m near the exit.

  Now that I have a working phone to myself, I dial Jill’s number. It rings once and goes to an automated message about the person I’m trying to call not being available. I didn’t really expect her to answer, anyway. Still, I compose a text to her number.

  If you hurt my daughter, I’ll kill you.

  I send the message without a second thought, and then sit at the island counter and try to breathe. Try to think. I have to do something, I just have to. But what? If I was Jill, where would I go with Alyssa?

  And why would I take her in the first place?

  No answers come to me. I sit for a few more minutes, and decide that maybe I’ll call Hannah. I’m not sure I could even tell her what happened without breaking down and probably being unable to continue, but at least she might understand how I feel. She has a daughter, too.

  Plus, I never did anything about cancelling or rescheduling the showing. She might be worried about me if she went there and I didn’t show up.

  I dial her number and wait. It rings several times, and then her voicemail picks up, but I can’t bring myself to leave a message. I don’t know what I’ll say. I hang up and think vaguely that I’ll try again later.

  That’s when the new phone dings with a text message. It’s from Jill.

  If you want your daughter back, come to Bronmeyer Park tonight at ten. Come alone. Do not tell the police, or she dies.

  My heart freezes, and a new spark forms deep in my gut. It’s pure rage. I consider telling Ollie about the message for all of five seconds, but I refuse to risk my daughter’s life for any reason. I know Bronmeyer Park — it’s about a block away from the Quintaine property, Hannah’s new house. I can’t imagine why Jill wants to meet there, but it doesn’t matter. I absolutely meant what I said. If she hurts my daughter, I’ll kill her.

  I tap the reply box, type out a message, and hit send.

  I’ll be there.

  29

  Waiting around to confront the woman who’s stolen my daughter is agony.

  I’ve talked to Ollie at least four times since I got Jill’s text. I haven’t told him about it, even though I want to. He’s grown steadily more exhausted every time we’ve spoken, and I know he’s running himself ragged trying to find my daughter.

  I wish I could tell him. But the risk is too big. I won’t lose her.

  He calls again around nine. When I answer the phone, he says, “No news yet. Just checking in. How are you holding up?”

  “Still breathing.” It’s the same thing I’ve told him every time. It’s all I can do — at least until ten o’clock. One more slow, torturous hour. “What about you?”

  “Same here,” he says. “Listen, I know it probably seems like nothing is happening, but we’ve pulled out all the stops. And we’re still well within the critical time frame for …”<
br />
  When he doesn’t continue, I say, “Finding kidnapped children?”

  “Missing persons,” he says. He’s been trying to get me not to use the K-word. “Celine have you eaten anything at all today?”

  The question is so unexpected that I laugh, and it startles me. I sound like a maniac. “Come to think of it, no. I haven’t,” I say.

  “Well, tell me what you want. Anything, and I’ll have it delivered to you,” he says. “You have to try and keep your strength up.”

  That’s probably a good point. But I don’t want an extra police officer or two showing up here with dinner while I’m trying to sneak out of the house without them noticing. “Tell you what. I’ve got plenty of food here, and I promise I’ll make something right now and eat. Deal?”

  “Are you sure you want to cook? I really don’t mind getting something sent over.”

  I open the fridge and look. “There’s sandwich stuff. So I won’t have to cook,” I say.

  “And you’re really going to eat.”

  “Yep. Right now.” I’m already pulling bread and lunchmeat out, placing it on the counter. I want to keep my strength up, but not for the reason he thinks.

  I may have to overpower Jill.

  “Okay. You’d better be,” he says. “Can I do anything else for you?”

  God, why does he have to be so thoughtful and concerned? It’s killing me that I can’t tell him about Jill’s message. But if something happens to me and Alyssa … well, maybe I can drop a hint, and maybe he’ll be able to pick it up. Or not.

  I’ll try anyway.

  “You know, I’ve tried to call Hannah a few times today, but she isn’t answering her phone,” I say. “I’m a little worried about her. I might go over there later, just to check on things.”

  There’s no way I can work the park into anything, but at least it’s near Hannah’s house. Maybe if I don’t come back, he’ll be able to look in the right area. At least I know that if I make it out of the house, it won’t be long before Ollie realizes I’m gone and starts trying to find me.