Still Missing

SESSION TWENTY

Not sure if you saw the article in the paper this weekend, Doc, but they recovered some stolen goods from a shed on that teenager's property. Well, actually the parents' property. Anyway, I called the cop who handled my break-in, wondering if anything was mine, but he said everything was accounted for. Later I remembered something else the article said, that all the robberies occurred at night.

So why would a burglar, especially a teenage burglar, change his pattern just to break into my house? He had to have timed it perfectly to know exactly when I went for my run, but then he didn't take anything?

I started thinking about how The Freak timed his abduction of me, arriving at the end of the open house on a hot summer day when he knew things would be slow. The Freak, who said the cabin hadn't been easy to set up. The Freak, who might have needed help--

What if he had a partner?

He could have had a friend or, for all I know, a freaky brother who was pissed off that I killed him. I just assumed the person who broke into my house saw me leave. But what if he thought I was home? My car was in the driveway and it was pretty early. But why come for me after all this time?

By Monday I was so obsessed by the idea I decided to call Gary and ask him if there was any chance The Freak had some help. This crap is like cancer--if you don't get every last thread and cell of it then it'll grow back into an even bigger tumor. But his phone was off and when I called the station they said he was away until this weekend.

I was surprised he hadn't told me he was going away, since we generally talk a couple of times a week. He's always friendly when I call, never says anything stupid like, "What can I do for you?" Luckily, since I'm not always sure why I phone him. In the beginning it wasn't even a conscious choice. Everything in my world would feel like it was spinning out of control, and then the phone's in my hand. Sometimes I couldn't even speak--good thing there's caller ID. He'd wait a couple of seconds and if I was still quiet he'd start talking about the case until he ran out of new information. Then he'd tell me funny cop stories until I felt better and hung up, sometimes without even saying good-bye. One day he was reduced to describing the proper way to clean a gun before I finally let him go. Can't believe the guy kept answering.

Our conversations have been dialogue instead of mostly monologues for a few months now, but he never reveals anything personal, and something about him stops me from pressing. That's probably why he's away, something to do with his personal life. Guess cops have those too.

The cops I fired left me in that room by myself for a couple of hours, long enough for me to count every concrete block more than a few times, and I wondered whether they'd called my family and who was coming to talk to me. I took the packsack off and held it on my lap, stroking its rough fabric--somehow the motion was comforting. None of those meat-heads bothered to ask if I needed to use the ladies' room, and it's a good thing I was trained to hold it, because it never occurred to me to just get up and leave.

Eventually the door opened and a man and a woman walked in, both wearing serious expressions and dark suits--a very good suit in the man's case. His short hair, more salt than pepper, had me figuring him for early fifties, but his face looked more like he was in his forties. He was over six feet for sure, and the way he held his shoulders squared and his back straight told me he was proud of his height. He looked solid. Calm. If this guy had been on the Titanic, he'd have finished his coffee.

He met my gaze and walked toward me with a smooth, unhurried gait and his hand held out.

"Hello, Annie, I'm Staff Sergeant Kincade with the Clayton Falls Serious Crime Unit."

Nothing about this guy said Clayton Falls, and I had no idea what a staff sergeant was, but it clearly was a step up from Jablonski and his sidekick. His grip was strong, and as his hand slid out of my mine I felt calluses and for some reason was relieved.

The woman waiting just inside the doorway now walked briskly toward me. She was slightly plump with huge boobs, I'd say somewhere in her later fifties, but she carried her curves well in her skirt and blazer. Her hair was cut short and neat, and I was willing to bet she rinses out her pantyhose every night and always wears a full support bra.

She shook my hand, smiled, and with a hint of a Quebec accent said, "I'm Corporal Bouchard. It's really good to finally meet you, Annie."

They sat down across from me. The staff sergeant's eyes turned toward the doorway, where the old guy was trying to wrestle a third chair in.

"We'll take it from here," Kincade said. Jablonski paused in the doorway with the chair. "Some coffee would be great."

Kincade turned back toward me. I swallowed a smile, the closest I'd come to one since my baby died.

They had called me by my first name, like we were buddies, but they hadn't given me theirs.

"Can I have your business cards, please?" I said. The two looked at each other. The guy held eyes with me for a second, then slid his card across the table. She followed suit. His first name was Gary, and hers, Diane. Gary spoke first.

"So, Annie, like I said, we're both members of the Serious Crime Unit in Clayton Falls, and I was the lead investigator in your case." Fat lot of good that did me.

"You don't look like you're from Clayton Falls," I said.

One eyebrow rose. "Don't I?" When I didn't respond, he said, "A physician will be here shortly. He'll want to--"

"I don't need a doctor."

We held eyes for a moment. He launched into general questions like my birth date, address, job, things like that. The tension in my shoulders eased.

He started to lead into the day I was taken, then stopped.

"Do you mind if we turn the video recorder back on, Annie?"

"Yes, Gary." The way he kept using my first name reminded me of The Freak. "And I don't want anyone behind that mirror, either."

"I didn't mean to upset you." His chin down and his head tilted to the side, he looked up at me with blue-gray eyes. "But it would make my job a lot easier, Annie."

Nice manipulation. But seeing as how I had just done his job by finding my own way back, I wasn't inclined to help him out any further. They were both silent as they waited for me to agree, but I said nothing.

"Annie, what were you doing on August fourth of last year?" I couldn't remember the date I was taken.

"I don't know, Gary. If you're asking about the day I disappeared, I was doing an open house, it was a Sunday, and it was the first weekend of the month. I guess you'll have to figure it out from there yourself."

"Would you prefer I not use your first name?"

Caught off guard by his respectful tone of voice, I searched his face for signs he was messing with me. All I found was sincerity, which left me wondering if it was just a trick to gain my trust or whether he actually gave a shit.

"It's fine," I said.

"What's your mother's middle name, Annie?"

"She doesn't have one." Leaning across the table, I said in an exaggerated whisper, "Did I pass the test yet?"

I understood his need for verification, but shit, they had pictures, and I'm pretty sure I didn't look like a girl who'd just had a great year. I was skin and bones, with ratty hair and wearing a sweat-stained dress.

He finally got around to straight-out asking me what happened. I said The Freak grabbed me at the open house. I used his real name, though, or at least the one he'd given me. I was going to explain more, but Gary jumped back in.

"Where is he now?"

"He's dead." They both stared at me intently, but I wasn't going any further until they answered some of my questions.

"Where's my family?"

"We called your mother, she'll be here tomorrow," Gary said.

I started to tear up at the thought of seeing my mom again, so I stared down at the packsack and counted the lines in its fabric. But why wasn't she here now? It had been hours since I walked into the joint. How much of a drive was it? It hadn't taken these guys that long.

"I want to know where I am."

"I'm sorry," Gary said. "I thought you knew you were in Port Northfield."

"Can you show me on a map?"

Gary nodded to Diane, who left the room. When she brought a map back, he pointed out a town northwest of Clayton Falls--about three-quarters of the way up the island and right on the West Coast. The roads to any of the towns off the beaten track were usually pretty rough, and you had to drive slowly. I calculated at least a four-hour drive from Clayton Falls.

"How did you guys get here so fast?"

"Helicopter," Gary said. Seeing that sucker fly in must have got this town all atwitter.

So I was right, I was never that far from home. I stared at Gary's finger resting on the dot for Port Northfield and blinked back my tears.

"How did you get here?" Gary asked.

"I drove."

"Where did you drive from?" His fingers tapped on the table.

"A cabin on a mountain."

"How long were you driving for, Annie?"

"About an hour."

He nodded and showed me a mountain on the map, near the dot for the town.

"Is this it? Green Mountain?" Somebody with no imagination named that one.

"I don't know. I was on it, not looking down on it."

He sent Diane to get a map of just the town. Gary and I sat there looking at each other until she returned, the only sound his foot tapping under the table. When she got back, Gary handed me a pen and asked me to draw the route I'd driven. I tried to rough it out the best I could.

"Can you take us to it?"

"There's no way I'm going back up there." I still had the keys to the van gripped in my hand and now I shoved them across the table to Gary.

"The van's parked across the street."

He sent Diane out with the keys. She must have given them to someone outside, because she was back in about two seconds. Something tickled at the back of my mind. If I was only about four hours away, Mom could have left right away and still been in Port Northfield that night.

"Why is it taking my mom so long to get here?"

"Your stepfather is working tonight and they can't leave until the morning." Gary stated it like a fact, so I took it like a fact, but I wondered why she didn't drive up by herself. Not to mention, since when did Wayne work at night? It was rare enough he even had a job. I figured Gary told them not to come until the next day so he could question me without them there.

Gary excused himself and left me alone in the room with Diane for a few minutes. I stared at the wall above her head.

"Your mother will be here soon. She was so happy to hear you've been found--she's missed you a lot." I hadn't been found--I'd found them.

When Gary returned, he said he'd sent some people to look for the cabin--one of the cops used to hunt in that area and thought he might know where it was. I still hadn't told them I killed The Freak or said anything about my baby, and at the thought of all the questions they might ask, my head hurt. I needed to be by myself. I needed to be away from these people.

"I don't want to answer any more questions."

Gary looked like he wanted to press on, but Diane said, "How about everyone gets a good night's sleep and then we can pick up in the morning? That okay with you, Annie?"

"Sure, whatever."

They booked a room in a motel for me and took the rooms on either side. Diane asked if I wanted her to stay with me but I shut that one down fast--there wasn't going to be any late-night girl bonding here. She also asked what I'd like to eat, but my stomach was in knots and I managed to decline politely. I didn't feel like turning the TV on and there wasn't a phone in the room, so I lay on the bed staring at the ceiling until it got dark and I turned off the light. When I was just about asleep, I felt the weight of the darkness pressing down on me, then I heard something--a door creak, a window opening? I leapt out of bed, but when I threw the lights on, there was nothing. I grabbed a flat pillow, a blanket, and the packsack and crawled into the closet, where I slept fitfully until I heard the maid roll her cart down the hallway in the morning.

A few minutes later Diane came knocking on my door, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, bearing coffee and a muffin. She sat on the edge of the bed, talking too loud and giving me a headache, while I picked at the muffin. I didn't want to have a shower with her there, so I just splashed some water on my face and ran a brush through my hair for maybe two seconds.

She drove me back to the little concrete room at the cop shop, where Gary was already seated with a tray of coffees in Styrofoam cups. As Diane and I settled in, a young, pretty cop brought in a couple of pads of paper, blushing and sneaking peeks at Gary when she handed them over. He glanced at her as he thanked her, then focused his gaze on me. Disappointment radiated off her as she walked out. He was wearing another nice suit, dark blue with silver pinstripes, and a blue-gray shirt that set off his silver-streaked hair. I wondered if that was why he'd picked it.

Seeing me glare at the mirror, Gary said, "No one's in there and we'll only turn the camera back on if you tell us it's okay." Wishing I could see through it, I stared hard at the mirror and hugged the packsack to my chest.

"Would you feel more comfortable if you had a look for yourself?"

I was surprised by the offer. I looked at his face, decided he meant it so there was no point in checking, and shook my head.

He started by asking me to describe in as much detail as possible exactly how The Freak had abducted me. Whenever he asked a question he leaned back in his chair with both hands splayed on the table in front of him, and when it was my turn to answer, he leaned toward me with both arms flat on the table and his head cocked to the side.

I tried to find a pattern to his questions, but I just couldn't predict where he'd go next, didn't even understand the relevance of some. The hair on the back of my neck was damp with sweat.

Retelling that day and describing The Freak made my mouth dry and my heart lurch around in my chest, but I kept it together until Gary told me the cops who'd investigated the "crime scene" had found The Freak's body.

"He appears to have been hit with something in the head. Is that how he died, Annie?"

I looked back and forth between them, wishing I could read their minds. Gary didn't sound accusing, but I could feel the tension in the room.

I hadn't even thought about what some of my choices or actions might look like to someone who hadn't been there. The room seemed hot, Diane's perfume overwhelming in the small space. I wondered how Gary would feel if I puked all over his nice suit. I raised my eyes to his.

"I killed him."

Gary said, "I have to caution you at this time that you need not say anything further, and that anything you do say may be used as evidence against you in a court of law. You have the right to consult an attorney and to have one present during our questioning. If you can't afford one, we can provide some phone numbers for legal aid. Do you understand?"

The words sounded routine and I didn't think I was going to be in trouble, but I considered asking for a lawyer. The idea of delaying this process to talk to another suit made my head hurt.

"I get it."

"You don't want a lawyer?" He said it casually, but I knew he didn't want me to ask for one.

"No."

Gary made a note. "How did you do it?"

"I hit him in the back of the head with an axe." I swear my voice echoed, and even though it was hot as hell, my skin broke out in goose bumps. Gary's eyes burrowed into me like he was trying to read my thoughts, and I busied myself with ripping my Styrofoam cup into little pieces.

"Was he attacking you at the time?"

"No."

"Why did you kill him, Annie?"

I looked up and met his eyes. What a stupid fucking question.

"Maybe because he abducted me, beat me, raped me pretty much every night, and..." I stopped myself before I said anything about the baby.

"Would you feel more comfortable talking with just Constable Bouchard about this?" Gary's face was grave as he waited for me to answer.

Staring back at them, I wanted to smear Diane's sympathetic expression across her face. I knew I'd rather deal with Gary's tough, no-muss-no-fuss approach than get one more understanding look from her.

I shook my head and Gary made another note. Then he leaned in so close across the table I smelled cinnamon on his breath.

"When did you kill him?" His voice was quiet but it wasn't soft.

"A couple of days ago."

"Why didn't you leave right away?"

"I couldn't."

"Why not? Were you restrained?" Gary's fingers tapped on the table and his head was cocked.

"That's not what I meant." I wanted to get up and walk out the door, but the firmness in his voice had me nailed to my chair.

"So why couldn't you leave?"

"I was looking for something." Bile rose in my throat.

"What?"

My body grew even colder, and Gary's edges blurred in front of my eyes.

"We found a basket," he said. "And some baby clothes."

The stupid rickety ceiling fan creaked as it went around and around, and I wondered for a minute whether it would crash down on my head. There were no windows, and I couldn't get a deep breath of air.

"Is there a baby, Annie?"

My head pounded. I would not cry.

"Is there a baby, Annie?" Gary wouldn't shut the fuck up.

"No."

"Was there a baby, Annie?" His voice was gentle.

"Yes."

"Where's the baby now?"

"She...my baby. Died."

"I'm very sorry to hear that, Annie." His voice was still gentle, soft and low. Sounded like he meant it. "That's a terrible thing. How did your baby die?" He was the first person to express condolences. The first person to say it mattered that she'd died. I looked at all the little ripped-up pieces of Styrofoam on the table. Someone answered him, but I didn't feel like it was me.

"He just...I don't know."

I clung to the calm in Gary's voice as he said, very gently, "Where's her body, Annie?"

The strange voice answered again. "When I woke up, he had her. She was dead. I don't know where he took her, he wouldn't tell me. I looked everywhere. Everywhere. You guys have to look, okay? Please, can you find her, can you--" My voice broke, and I shut up.

Gary's shoulders stiffened, his face flushed under his tan as his jaw tightened, and his hands balled into fists on the table like he wanted to punch someone. At first I thought he was mad at me, but then I realized he was furious at The Freak. Diane's eyes were shiny in the fluorescent light. All the walls closed in. My body was drenched in sweat, and sobs tried to come out of my throat but I couldn't breathe and they piled up, strangling me. When I tried to stand, the room tilted, so I dropped the packsack and gripped the back of the chair, but it started to slide. My ears rang.

Diane rushed to my side and lowered me slowly until I was lying on the floor, halfway across her, with my head on her chest and her arms encircling me. The harder I tried to suck some air into my lungs, the more my throat closed up. I was going to die there on that cold floor.

Crying and gagging at the same time, I pushed Diane's hands off me and tried to pull away from her, but the harder I struggled, the harder she hung on. I heard screaming, realized it was me. I was powerless to stop the screams, which bounced off the walls and echoed in my head.

Up came the coffee and muffin, all over myself and Diane. She still wouldn't let me go. My head rested on her huge boobs, which smelled like warm vanilla cookies. Gary crouched in front of us, saying something I couldn't hear. As Diane rocked me back and forth in her arms, I wanted to struggle and take back control, but my mind and body wouldn't cooperate. I lay there, sobbing and screaming.

The screaming finally stopped, but I felt so cold, and everyone's voices seemed to be coming from far away. Diane whispered, "Everything's going to be okay, Annie--you're safe now."

What a crock. I wanted to tell her I was never going to be okay, or safe, but when I tried to form the words, my lips froze. Then there was a new set of feet in front of me next to Gary's crouched figure. A voice said, "She's hyperventilating. Annie, my name is Dr. Berger. Try to take some deep breaths." But I couldn't. And I don't remember anything after that.

SESSION TWENTY-ONE

So I finally heard from Gary at last, Doc, but I'm not sure I feel any better. He didn't tell me where he'd been--I didn't ask and he didn't offer--which annoyed me a little. When I told him about the timing of the robberies and my new "freaky friend" theory, he said the kid could be changing his pattern to throw off the cops, or it could be a crime of opportunity--he might have just been walking by and seen me leave with Emma.

I was still mulling that over when he said, "These guys usually work alone." Usually? I asked him what the hell that meant, and he said he knew of a couple of cases where two guys worked together--one the finder and one the doer--but he doubted that was the case here because it didn't fit with The Freak's profile. Then he said, "And other than his comment about the cabin being hard to set up, he never did or said anything to make you think he had a partner, right?"

"Guess not. But he had an older picture of me, and that's weirding me out big time."

"What photo? You never mentioned a photo."

Then he started hitting me with the same questions I've been asking myself. Where could The Freak have gotten it from? Why would he have wanted that one in particular? And then he said something that still doesn't make sense. He said, "So anyone had easy access to the photo if it was at your office." His final question was, "Does anyone know you brought it back with you?" When I said no, he told me to keep it that way.

It was the first time I can remember feeling worse after talking with him. Put me in such a bad mood I took it out on Luke. I just don't know what's going on with us these days anyway. I figured our visit and honest talk would bring us closer, but when we've chatted lately there was a lot of dead air, and the last time he phoned I ended the call, told him I was heading to bed. I wasn't even tired.

I can't seem to let go of the fact that Luke was late that day. Was he being nice to some customer while I was being abducted? Why didn't he drive to the open house as soon as he realized I wasn't home? And why the hell didn't he call the cops the second he knew something was wrong? Calling Mom could have waited. It's horribly judgmental, because God only knows how I'd have handled things if I were in his shoes, but I keep thinking every second he delayed lessened any chance of my being found.

During our relationship I saw him as laid back but now I'm beginning to wonder if he's just passive. He'll complain about a waitress or one of his cooks, but he doesn't do anything about it.

The whole time Luke and I were together he was never anything but patient, loving, honest--just so nice. Sometimes, like right before I was abducted, I wondered if I should be wanting something more than nice, but on the mountain all I ever thought about him was how wonderful he was. Now he's still being patient, loving, and honest--he's the nicest man I know. So what the hell's wrong with me?

My first image on opening my eyes after my meltdown at the cop shop was of Mom and Gary standing at the foot of my hospital bed. There was no sign of Wayne. I didn't notice Diane sitting on a chair beside me until I heard her say, "Look who's up."

She gave me a kind smile and I remembered her rocking me, which made my cheeks burn. Then Mom realized I was awake and almost knocked the IV out of my arm as she crawled halfway on top of me, sobbing, "My baby, my poor Annie Bear."

Whatever shit they'd given me was starting to make me nauseous, so I said, "I'm going to be sick," then burst into tears. A doctor reached for my arm and I pushed him away. Then there were more hands holding me down and I was fighting all of them. I felt a prick in my arm. The next time I woke up, my stepdad was sitting beside me with his cowboy hat clutched in his hands. As soon as I opened my eyes he jumped out of the seat.

"I'll go get Lorraine--she just went to make a call."

"Let her finish," I whispered. My throat was sore from screaming, and the drugs had dried it out. "Could you get me some water?"

He patted me on the shoulder and said, "I better find one of the nurses." With that he was out the door, but the drugs kicked in again and I was asleep by the time they came back.

Hospitals are strange places--doctors and nurses touch and prod your body in areas you would never let an ordinary stranger near, and I had at least two panic attacks that first day. They put me on something for the anxiety, then something at night that made me wake up feeling hung over, then something for the nausea. It was a small hospital, so I usually got the same nurse, and she always called me honey in the gentlest voice. It made me tear up every time and I wanted to tell her to stop, but in my shame I just turned my face away until she was done. Before she left the room she'd run her warm hand down my forearm and squeeze my fingers.

On my second day in the hospital, when I was a little calmer, Gary told me the Crown was reviewing all the information I'd given at the station, and they'd be deciding whether to charge me with anything.

"Charge me? For what?"

"There was a death, Annie. No matter what the circumstances we still have to go through the process."

"Are you arresting me?"

"I don't think the Crown will go in that direction, but I still have a duty to inform you of the situation." At first I was scared, and kicking myself for not getting a lawyer, but when I looked at Gary's flushed face I realized he was embarrassed as hell.

"Well, if the Crown does decide to charge me, they're going to look like a bunch of assholes."

Gary grinned and said, "You got that right."

He started asking me a couple of questions about The Freak, and when I reached up to scratch my neck, I realized I wasn't wearing the necklace anymore.

Gary said, "The doctors took it off when you were admitted. You'll get it back when you're released--it's with your personal effects."

"The necklace wasn't mine. He gave it to me--he said he'd bought it for another girl."

"What other girl? Why didn't you say anything about this before?"

Hurt by his abrupt tone, I said, "I got used to wearing it, so I forgot--maybe if you guys backed off on the questions once in a while I'd have had a chance to tell you. Besides, in case you haven't noticed, I've been a little distracted." I shook my arm with the IV in it at him.

In a calmer voice he said, "Sorry, you're right, Annie. We've been hitting you with some hard questions, but it's really important you tell us everything."

Over the next couple of days I tried to fill him in on what I knew of The Freak's history--including his mother, his father, and the female helicopter pilot. Gary often stopped me with questions and sometimes his body was stiff with tension as he leaned toward me, but he was careful to keep a calm tone of voice and he let me get the story out at my own speed. If we talked about the rapes, or The Freak's schedule and system of punishments, his hand would tighten on the pen as he took notes, but he was good about keeping a neutral expression. Half the time I couldn't look at him. I'd stare at the wall, counting cracks, and recite my abuses like I was listing the ingredients to a recipe from hell.

Mom insisted on staying by my side when he talked to me and she usually sent my stepdad to get a coffee--I've never seen a guy look so relieved. If I hesitated for even one second when Gary asked me something, Mom jumped in saying I looked tired or pale and suggested we call one of the doctors, but I thought she was the one who looked pale, especially when I talked about the rapes. And she developed this habit of tucking the blanket tight around me. The harder the words, the tighter she tucked, like she was trying to contain them within me. I didn't appreciate the attention, but I knew she had to be feeling pretty helpless, listening to what I went through, and hell, if it made her feel better...Besides, I didn't have enough strength to fight her.

On my third day in the hospital, Gary told me that the cabin being so customized had helped convince them I was telling the truth, and he was pretty sure the Crown wasn't going to be putting forth any charges. Diane had stopped coming along by then, and Gary said she'd gone back to Clayton Falls to handle "other aspects of the investigation."

I tried to be patient when Gary asked me to describe the same things over and over again, because I knew they were having a hard time identifying The Freak. It didn't help that he didn't have any fingerprints. They extracted some DNA but Gary said that's only useful if they have something to compare it to, and there weren't any hits in their system. The Freak's face wasn't looking so good after he'd been left in a hot metal shed, so they took a photo and touched it up on the computer, but they weren't getting any workable leads. When I asked about dental records Gary said they weren't conclusive. Even the van wasn't helping them. It had been stolen, along with the plates from another van, from the parking lot of a local mall that didn't have a security camera.

"Do you think we'll ever find out who he was?" I said one day. "Or who the other girls he hurt were?"

"Anything you remember can help us."

I sat up so I could look him straight in the face. "Don't give me a line from a police training manual--I want to know what you think. What you really think."

"Honestly, I don't know, Annie, but I'm going to do everything in my power to get you an answer. You deserve that." There was an intent fervor in his eyes I hadn't seen before. "It would be a lot easier if your mom wasn't here when we're talking. You okay with that?"

"Yeah, it is pretty hard to talk about this in front of her."

When Mom came back in, reeking of cigarettes, Gary said, "I think it would be best if I did the interviews alone, Lorraine."

She held my hand and said, "Annie should have family with her."

"It upsets you too much, Mom." I gave her hand a squeeze. "I'll be okay."

She looked back and forth between Gary and me.

"If that's what you want, Annie Bear, but Wayne and I will be sitting right outside if you need us."

In between my getting interviewed by Gary and prodded by doctors, the next couple of days were a blur. It was bad enough I wasn't allowed to leave because I was dehydrated, among other things. After my meltdown at the police station and my reaction at the hospital, the doctors were concerned that I might be a danger to myself and wanted to keep me for observation. But then after a few raging nightmares and another panic attack, triggered by an interview with Gary, they started playing with my doses--up and down I went, and it was getting increasingly hard to separate my dreams from life. I'd hear a baby cry and think they'd found mine or I'd wake up with a doctor leaning over me, and in a panic, thinking it was The Freak, I'd push him away. I lived in terror all over again as my last bit of control slipped away to pharmaceuticals.

It was during that endless confusion of questions, an over-attentive mother, and drug-happy doctors that Luke and I had our awkward reunion. Christina was spared the same treatment since she was on a Mediterranean cruise at the time. Aunt Val also made the trip, delivering an enormous bouquet of flowers, but Mom allowed her only fifteen minutes of small talk before she told her I needed rest. I actually found Aunt Val more sensitive than usual, even asking if there was anything she could get me, "anything at all." She must have said something that pissed Mom off, because I didn't see her again until I got home.

I'd been there for about eight days when Mom and Wayne headed back to Clayton Falls--the hotel was too expensive for them. Once they were gone I realized I'd been letting Mom, the cops, and the doctors decide what was best for me. It was time I made a few of my own decisions.

The next morning, I stopped the nurse about to give me more drugs. The doctor who was called in said either I took them or I consented to see a shrink. I'd been refusing to see one up to that point, but by then I'd have agreed to anything just to get the hell out.

They were such a small hospital they didn't have a psych ward or a resident psychiatrist, so they brought in some kid who must have been straight from shrink school. Even though his questions were ridiculous, I made myself sound sane while still managing to shed enough tears so he wouldn't think I was handling things too well. I'd rather have walked over hot coals than tell that guy how I really felt.

The doctors wouldn't let me have any newspapers, and boredom was making me bitchy. Gary started to bring me fashion magazines, probably in self-defense, when he came to talk to me.

"Want me to cut out some photos of designer suits for you?" I said the first time he handed me one.

He grinned and tossed a couple of chocolate bars on the bed. "Here, maybe these will keep that smart mouth of yours busy."

He also started to bring me coffee laced with hot chocolate, and one time he brought some crossword puzzle books. I didn't mind the questions so much when he came bearing gifts. In fact, he was becoming the highlight of my day. It didn't hurt that his voice was so low and smooth. Sometimes I just closed my eyes, focusing in on his voice. He had to repeat a few of his questions more than once, but he never sounded annoyed--amused, but never annoyed.

When I asked him to explain about his job and rank, he told me he had a sergeant, two corporals, and a few constables working under him. So he was the top dog--not of the whole office, but of the Serious Crime Unit, and that was reassuring. He always clammed up when I asked him specific questions about the investigation, though, and said he'd tell me when they had "concrete information."

Once he came in during the tail end of one of my shrink sessions and turned to leave, but I asked him to stay. The shrink said, "Do you think you might have some anger towards the man who abducted you?" Gary raised an eyebrow at me behind his back, and I had to struggle not to laugh.

After about two weeks of doctors, hospital Jell-O, and pacing my room, the shrink gave me a final assessment and said he didn't see any reason why I couldn't go home, but the doctors had to review the assessment before I could be released. I didn't have any more freedom than I'd had on the mountain.

Apparently the shrink said my actions were "consistent" with the trauma I'd endured, and the Crown had officially decided not to put forth any charges. Guess the pipsqueak was good for something, after all. But still no word from the doctors about when I'd be released.

Gary told me the RCMP was paying close attention to my case because they needed to learn everything they could about The Freak, not only to help solve cold cases but for future investigations as well. Sometimes we took a break from talking about the mountain and instead he caught me up on world events, or we just sat and did crossword puzzles together. It had been days since the shrink's assessment.

"You have to get me out of here," I said when Gary waltzed in with two coffees one morning. "The shrink said I was fine to go home, the doctors are just dicking around, and I'm going crazy. I'm being treated like a goddamn prisoner. I'm supposed to be the victim here--this is bullshit."

He set the coffees down on the bedside table and with a decisive nod strolled back out the door. Within a half hour he was standing at the foot of my bed.

"You just have to hang on for one more night. You'll be out in the morning."

Pulling myself up into a sitting position, I said, "You didn't shoot someone, did you?"

"Nothing that drastic, I just lit a little fire under them."

Something told me there was more to it than that, but before I could press for details he picked up the crossword book from the bedside table, lowered himself into the chair, and said, "Hmmm. Maybe you're not so smart after all--couldn't finish this one, huh?"

"Hey, you came in and interrupted me, I was doing just fine."

As he stretched out his long legs in front of him and crossed them at the ankles, I caught a suppressed smile on his face and realized he'd just done a great job of changing the subject.

Mom told me in the hospital my house was rented out, and I was so glad to hear it wasn't sold I didn't think about having nowhere to live until Gary said I was getting released. I thought about asking Christina if I could stay at her place, but her ship still wasn't back in port, then Mom called and said they were coming back up to get me. I knew it would be a huge scene if I told her I didn't want to stay in the trailer, so I figured I'd just deal with it when I got home.

The morning of my release Gary warned us photographers were probably waiting outside and suggested we go out the back, but Wayne and Mom had come in the front and Mom didn't see any. Of course the second we left, a swarm descended upon us. Mom walked in front of me and pleaded with the media to "give us some time." But you could barely hear her as we fought our way through the surging crowd.

We pulled into a gas station just outside of Port Northfield, and Mom went inside to pay while Wayne pumped. I hid in the backseat. When Mom got back in the car she tossed a newspaper over the seat and, shaking her head, said, "Someone has a big mouth."

MISSING REALTOR RELEASED FROM HOSPITAL! Underneath the front-page headline was an old business photo of me. While Wayne pulled away from the gas station, I read on in shock. An "unidentified source" had informed them I was being released from the hospital today. According to Staff Sergeant Gary Kincade of Clayton Falls, I wasn't under investigation, I was a brave young woman, they were working hard on identifying the deceased perpetrator....

I'd never told the cops my baby's name, but someone had told the newspapers I'd had one, because the article quoted a specialist's opinion on the effect my baby's death might have had on me. I chucked the newspaper onto the floor and ground my feet into it.

SESSION TWENTY-TWO

Good thing you were able to fit me in today, Doc. If I'd had to deal with this latest shitstorm by myself for much longer, you'd have been visiting me in the nut house. Then again, it's probably a hell of a lot safer in there. I'm sure you've seen me in the news again. Who the fuck hasn't?

A couple of nights ago I pulled out the older photo The Freak had of me. Didn't seem to be any tack marks and I still couldn't for the life of me think why I'd have had that one at my office. But no matter how much I've tried to focus on where else it might have come from, the only image that ever comes to mind is The Freak holding it up like a prize.

The next morning I headed out for a run. At the end of my driveway I turned right onto the road, and as I ran past a white van parked on the side I called to Emma, who was ahead of me, to wait before she crossed the next road.

Focused on making sure she'd stopped, I barely noticed the van's side door opening. As I passed by I caught a flash of a large body wearing black clothes and a ski mask lunging at me. My ankle twisted as I sidestepped and my foot came down on some loose gravel. I hit the sidewalk hard, biting my tongue as my chin connected and scraping my hands on the rough pavement.

As I struggled to get up, a hand grabbed my ankle and began to drag me back. I clawed at the pavement while trying to yank my leg free. For a moment I was let go and got to my knees, ready to run. Then a large hand slapped over my mouth and an arm circled around my rib cage, lifting me up and slamming me back against a solid torso. The hand over my mouth pressed my head into a shoulder while the arm squeezed the air out of my chest. The body began to move backward. My heels dragged on the pavement. Emma raced down the road barking.

I wanted to scream, wanted to fight, but I was paralyzed with fear. All I could see was The Freak smiling, all I could feel was his gun pressing into my back.

We were at the van. The man shifted his weight to one leg and gripped me tighter like he was about to step up. I remembered The Freak closing the door on me, crossing around the front, getting in--

Focus, dammit! You have seconds, only seconds. Don't let him get you into the van.

I bit the hand covering my mouth and kicked back with my legs. Heard a grunt. I jammed elbows in wherever I could, slammed up into what I thought was a chin. I was shoved so hard I sprawled and landed on the hard edge of the curb, hitting my temple. It hurt like hell, but I rolled onto my back. As the guy reached for me, I started screaming as loud as I could and managed to land a kick in his stomach. He groaned but kept trying to grab me.

I rolled from side to side, punching at his arms and yelling, "HELP! SOMEONE HELP!"

I heard growling and barking. The man stood back up.

Emma had hold of his leg, and he was kicking at her.

"YOU DON'T TOUCH MY DOG, MOTHER-FUCKER!"

Still on the ground, I braced with my elbows and kicked him hard in the groin. Doubled over, he stumbled backward, groaning and gasping for air, then fell to his knees.

On my left a woman screamed, "Leave her alone!"

The man staggered to his feet and tried to get past me to the van but Emma still had hold of his pants. I grabbed the other leg. He shook both of us free and climbed in. Emma narrowly got out of the way as it took off down the road, tires squealing. I tried to see its license plate, but my eyes wouldn't focus and it was moving fast.

My breath sounded like I was strangling. I eased up onto my knees and looked over my shoulder. I could just make out my neighbor from across the street running toward us with a phone in her hands. My vision blurred and I collapsed back to the sidewalk.

"Is she okay?"

"The police are on their way."

"Oh, my God, what happened?"

I wanted to answer the voices but my body was shaking uncontrollably, my breath came in quick hard pants, and I still couldn't see clearly. Emma's fur brushed against my cheek and her warm tongue licked my face. Someone pulled her away, then a woman's voice said, "Can you tell me your name?"

"Annie. My name's Annie."

"Okay, Annie, help is on the way, just hang in there."

Sirens. Uniforms. Somebody put a blanket over me. I answered questions in fragments.

"A man...black clothes...white van."

More sirens, then the uniforms changed.

"Where does it hurt, Annie?"

"Try to take some deep breaths."

"We're going to stabilize your neck."

"Can you tell us your birth date?"

Hands on my body. Fingers on my wrist. Numbers shouted out. As I was placed on a stretcher and strapped on, I recognized a voice.

"She's my niece, let me in." Then my aunt's concerned face looked down at me. I grabbed her hand and burst into tears.

Aunt Val rode with me to the hospital.

"Annie, you're going to be okay. Mark's calling your mom so she can meet us at the hospital--he's taking Emma to our house." I don't remember much after that, just the feeling of going fast and her hand in mine.

At the hospital I started hyperventilating again--too many people yelling, babies crying, bright lights, nurses asking questions--so they put me in an observation room to wait for the doctor, but I could still see cops talking to the nurses and my aunt in the hallway.

I started counting ceiling tiles. A nurse came in and made me squeeze her hand, then took my blood pressure and checked my pupils. I kept counting.

When the doctor finally arrived and asked all the same questions again, I still kept counting. When they took me for X-rays I counted the machines. When they brought me back to the room and the cops came in with their questions--what was the man wearing, how tall was he, what make was the van--I counted faster. But when a large male nurse came in and suddenly reached for my arm, I started screaming.

Everyone was told to leave the room. The doctor ordered a nurse to get the Crisis Response Team "down here right away." I closed my eyes and counted the beats of my racing heart while they talked over me. Someone gave me a shot. More talk, I didn't follow it. Fingers pressed to my wrist, counting my pulse. I counted along.

I heard heels running down the hall, then Mom's voice, but I checked out.

One, two, three...

When I opened my eyes, Mom and Aunt Val were at the window with their backs to me, talking low.

"Mark was driving me to get my lab tests and we saw the crowd. She was just lying there...." My aunt shook her head. "I had to fight to get close to her. The press was there in minutes, must have followed the ambulance. Just look at them all out there now."

Mom said, "What did you tell them?"

"The press? I didn't tell them anything, I was more concerned about Annie, but Mark may have answered a few questions."

"Mark?" Mom sighed. "Val, you have to be careful what you say to those people. You never know how--"

I cleared my throat and they turned to look at me. I started crying.

Mom rushed over and put her arms around me. I sobbed into her shoulder.

"I was so scared, Mom, so scared."

By the time the doctor came back I'd calmed down. It helped to find out I didn't have any broken bones but did have assorted bruises, cuts, and scrapes, not to mention a killer headache. I'd gone into shock from a combination of pain and terror. No shit.

Their main concern was possible head injury from the blow to my temple, so they wanted to keep me overnight. The Crisis Response Team also wanted to assess me again in the morning. Through the night a nurse came in every couple of hours to wake me in case of concussion, but I was usually up anyway, tensing every time footsteps came down the hall, jerking at every loud noise. Sometimes I just stared at Mom's tiny sleeping form on the cot beside me and counted her breaths.

My last stint in the hospital taught me being difficult just earned you a longer stay, so I played along when the Crisis Response Team came in to assess my emotional stability the next morning. They mostly wanted to know what kind of support system I had waiting for me when I got out. I told them I was seeing a shrink regularly and they gave me some crisis hotline phone numbers and a list of support groups.

They decided I was stable enough to talk to the cops, so I filled them in as best as I could--no, I didn't see his face, no, I didn't get a license plate, no, I don't know why the fuck some asshole tried to grab me.

I'd thought they would set up some around-the-clock stake-outs, but the most they could promise was some drive-bys and a special alarm installed to ring direct to the station. They reminded me to take my cell phone everywhere, avoid parked vans--no shit!--and to be "aware of your surroundings" but try and keep living my life while they conducted their investigation. What life? This shit is my life.

The doctors said I was okay to go but should have someone keep an eye on me for the next twenty-four hours. Mom insisted I come home with her and I was still so freaked out, not to mention stiff and sore, I jumped at the idea. Mom spent the day watching TV on the couch with me, bringing me ice for my bruises and countless cups of tea. I didn't mind her fussing.

Later Uncle Mark brought Emma over and Mom even let her inside the house, telling her to "guard Annie." And guard she did. Even though Uncle Mark had kept her for the last day, she was skittish with him, barked at every noise, and talked trash to Mom whenever she came in the room. Wayne just stayed clear to give her time to settle down.

That night Mom slept in my bed with me just like when I was a kid, but she was the only one getting any rest. Hours later, when I still couldn't sleep, I crept to the hall closet with my cell in hand and Emma following close behind. Gary, the one cop I really wanted to talk to, was the only one who didn't show up the morning the guy grabbed me, or the next day. I'd asked for him in the hospital, but they said he was out of town again. Back in the closet, I tried to call him but his cell phone went straight to voice mail.

My body aching, I curled up in the closet, but this time I still didn't feel safe and all I could think was, Am I ever going to feel safe again? Eventually I fell asleep, the image of the white van chasing me into my nightmares.

When I first got home I often went into the cop shop in Clayton Falls to look through mug shots, but after months of examining photos of bad guys and never finding The Freak, I just got too discouraged. The cops' photo of The Freak has been all over the TV and papers, even on an RCMP Web site for unidentified bodies, but to me it just looks like a picture of a dead guy. Shit, even if it did look like him, The Freak was just too damn good at being invisible.

They know the cabin and surrounding property were bought and paid for in cash a couple of months before I was taken, but there's no evidence the guy who bought it exists--no credit card info, driver's license, or anything. The Freak must have had fake ID. He even set up a bank account under the fake name so property taxes could be paid, but nobody at the bank remembers him either.

The original owner never met the buyer because it was a private sale handled through lawyers in Clayton Falls. Only one signature was needed and the lawyer must have had his head stuck up his ass because he can't describe the buyer at all. His excuse is that he registered sixty titles that month, and I wondered if he even asked for ID.

Gary called me a couple of days after the guy grabbed me on the street--I was still at Mom's--to tell me the alarm was now installed and he was sorry he hadn't called sooner. He'd been working on a case in a fishing camp up north and only had radio access. We went over everything together, then he asked me about the damn photo again and when I told him it still hadn't come to me, he just grunted and moved on. He said that because The Freak had stalked me they originally thought he might be local, but now he figured the guy could have been staying in a hotel and driving to Clayton Falls.

"I've spent every weekend for the last month showing a photo of the body to every hotel or motel in a one-hour radius," Gary said. Clayton Falls is in the central part of the island, so that's a lot of area he's been covering.

"Why don't you just fax the hotels? And how come you're doing it? Don't you have constables you can send?"

"First off, if I fax it, odds are it'll just end up in the trash. Over the winter a lot of the staff gets laid off, but now that the tourist season is picking up, they're coming back, and I want to talk to them in person. Second, I don't send anyone else because most of them are working on active cases. I'm doing a lot of this on my own time, Annie."

Impressed and feeling sheepish that I was sitting in front of the TV every night while he was out there pounding the pavement, I wondered if that's why he wasn't married.

"Guess your girlfriend must really hate me," I said. He was quiet for a few beats, and as I felt my cheeks grow warm I was glad he couldn't see my face.

"I know you got frustrated with the process before, but now with this second abduction attempt, I think you should come down to the station and look through some more photos."

Still feeling like an idiot for my unanswered girlfriend question, I said, "So you think whoever grabbed me is connected to The Freak?"

"I think it's important we consider all possibilities."

"Meaning?"

"A couple of things about this case don't fit the typical profile, like your photo, for one--we still need to consider how he got it and why he needed it when he had so many he'd taken himself. If you can identify a suspect for us, the rest will hopefully fall into place."

I told him I'd do it the next day.

This one morning Gary came to visit me the first time I was in the hospital still stands out in my mind, Doc. He'd been out "in the field," whatever that means, and he was wearing jeans and a black Windbreaker with the RCMP logo on it. He even had a baseball cap on. I asked him if all his suits were at the dry cleaner's, but the truth is, I thought he looked tough. As much as I tease him about his fancy clothes, that guy has a serious don't-fuck-with-me vibe.

I stayed over again at Mom's last night, but after listening to her and Wayne fight all night--she's been drinking like a fish since my latest stay in the hospital--I had another nightmare about the white van, only this time the nightmare ended on a good note: a man was shielding me in his arms. When I woke up I realized the arms were Gary's. I felt guilty as hell. I mean, here's poor Luke who's tried so hard and been so patient, and I'm having dreams about the cop who put him through hell.

Sometimes I wish Gary could go everywhere with me, like a bodyguard. Then I mentally kick my ass, because I know that no one can make me feel safe all the time. It's funny, because I always thought I felt safe with Luke, but it was a different kind of safe--a calm, simple safe. Nothing about Gary feels simple.

After I got back to my house this morning, I did a perimeter patrol with Emma, jumping at every shadow, then checked the alarm a gazillion times. To distract myself I had another look at that brochure for the art school I told you about. It's in the Rocky Mountains and so beautiful--like how I always imagined Harvard would look. I even downloaded some forms from their Web site. God knows why. Only damn thing I have left that I give a shit about is my house, and I may be crazy freaked out, but I'd have to be certifiable to sell it so I could pursue some adolescent dream. What if I tried, and I never got anywhere as an artist? Then what?

On that note, we better call this session quits, Doc. I still have to go down to the station on my way home to look through more photos. Least it's a good excuse to call Gary tonight.

SESSION TWENTY-THREE

Sorry about calling you on such short notice for this session, Doc, but so much shit happened in the last couple of days, I couldn't wait for our regular appointment to roll around.

After I left here last time I drove straight to the cop shop in Clayton Falls and spent an hour looking through photos. I was just about to quit because my back was killing me, and all the freaks were beginning to look the same, only one guy looked familiar but I remembered seeing his picture in the paper recently. Then I thought of Gary out there showing the sketch around and made myself keep going. I almost flipped past a picture of a guy with a shaved head and a full beard, but something about his guileless blue eyes, a contradiction to the rest of his face, made me look closer.

It was him.

My body broke out in a cold sweat and my vision blurred. To stop myself from passing out, I tore my gaze away and laid my forehead down on the table. Focusing in on my frantic heartbeat, I took a few deep breaths and chanted in step with the thuds, He's dead...He's dead...He's dead. When my vision cleared up and my heartbeat had slowed, I faced his image.

I motioned for one of the cops to come over, and when I told him what I'd found, he called Gary on his cell. None of the photos had names, and the cops wouldn't answer any of my questions, so I insisted on speaking to Gary.

"I don't understand why nobody will tell me who he is--he has a record. I've spent hours looking through these fucking photos, the least you can do is give me his name."

"It's great you've identified a picture, Annie, but first we have to verify the information. I don't want you getting all worked up over this and finding out it's the wrong guy--"

"It's him. I spent a whole year with him."

"I don't doubt you for a second, and I'll call you as soon as I have the full story on him. Meanwhile, just go home and try to get some rest, all right? And I need you to make me a list of anyone you think might want to harm you."

"There isn't anyone, I already did one for my shrink, listed every damn person I know. The Freak must have had a friend who--"

"And that's what I'm working on finding out. Now go home, send me the list you made, and we'll talk soon."

The next day I paced around my house waiting for Gary to call, which he didn't, nor did he answer his cell. I killed a couple of hours cleaning, then, curious about the guy whose picture at the cop shop had looked familiar, I went through all my recycled newspapers, page by page. In the very last one I spotted a headline about the "recently released felon wanted in connection with a convenience store robbery" and took a closer look at the article. As soon as I read the name I knew who he was. Mom's stepbrother. The date told me he'd been released a few weeks ago and I wondered if Mom knew, or if I should tell her. All afternoon I weighed the pros and cons of being the one to fill her in. By five I was like a squirrel on speed, so when my mom called and invited me over for pasta, I said yes.

Dinner wasn't so bad, but when we finished eating and I was still debating whether to tell her the news about her stepbrother, Mom started talking about a little girl who just went missing in Calgary. I told her I didn't want to hear it. She sailed on without skipping a beat about how the mother was pleading on TV for the daughter's return, but Mom didn't think she was handling the press right.

"She's rude to them--if she wants help getting her daughter back she better lose the attitude."

"Reporters can be pretty rough, Mom, you know that."

"The press is the least of her problems right now--the police are questioning the father, apparently he had a girlfriend on the side. A pregnant girlfriend."

"Mom, can we please drop it?"

She opened her mouth but before she could get going again, I blurted out, "I saw Dwight's photo in the paper."

She closed her mouth with a snap and stared at me.

"Your stepbrother? He's been released, Mom, but he's wanted for questioning in a robbery of a--"

"Did you want anything more to eat?" We held eyes for a moment.

"Sorry if I upset you, I just thought--"

"There's more sauce?" Her face revealed no emotion, but her hand twisting the napkin told me to back off.

"No, I'm done. My stomach's all messed up because I finally identified a photo at the cop shop today. Gary wouldn't give me his name yet, but he's looking into the guy's history--he said he'd have more information for me soon."

Mom paused for a second, nodded, then said, "Good. Maybe now you can put this behind you, Annie Bear." She patted my hand. Wayne got up and headed outside for a smoke.

After he left I said, "Well, not quite yet. Gary thinks the guy could've had a partner, that's who may have tried to grab me the other day."

Mom frowned. "Why on earth would Gary try to scare you like that?"

"He's not trying to scare me, it's because of this one photo The Freak had of me. I just figured he'd taken it from my office or something, but Gary's questioning why he'd want that one, you know? He even got me to fax him this list...." Shit. In my zeal to defend Gary I'd not only told Mom about the photo, I was about to spill my very own personal shit list.

"What list?"

"Just this dumb thing my shrink suggested I do--it's nothing."

"If it's nothing, why did Gary want it? What was on the list?" Damn. She wasn't going to let it go.

"Just a few people from my past who might have a grudge or whatever."

"Like who?"

I sure as hell didn't want to tell her I put everyone close to me on it, so I said, "Just some exes and a couple of old clients. Oh, and the 'mystery' Realtor I was competing against."

"You mean Christina."

"No, the Realtor I was competing against in the beginning."

Her eyes narrowed. "She didn't tell you?"

"Who didn't tell me what?"

"I don't want to stir up trouble."

"Come on, Mom--what is it?"

"I suppose you should know." She took a deep breath. "You remember my friend Carol? Well, her daughter Andrea works in your office and she's friends with Christina's assistant...."

"So?"

"So Christina was your competition for that project all along. She was the other Realtor."

"No way. Christina would've told me. The developer just picked her because I was gone."

She shrugged. "I thought the same as you, but then Andrea said Christina's assistant was working weekends to get the proposal done. She said she even saw some marketing Christina designed for the developer."

I shook my head. "Christina would never screw me over like that. Friends are way more important than money to her."

"Speaking of money, I heard her husband is having some financial problems. That house he bought her wasn't cheap, but she sure doesn't seem to be putting the brakes on her spending. He must be a very understanding man--Luke and her were awfully cozy while you were missing."

"They were trying to find me, of course they spent time together. And Drew didn't buy the house for her, they bought it together. So she likes a nice life, what's wrong with that? Christina works hard for her money--"

"Why are you getting so defensive?"

"You just implied Christina and Luke were fooling around!"

"I never said any such thing--I was just telling you what I heard. She was at the restaurant night after night, a lot of times right until closing. Which reminds me, did you know things weren't going so good for the restaurant before you went missing? Wayne was talking to the bartender down at the pub just the other day, he knows Luke's head chef and he was saying there was even talk about the place maybe having to close, but then after you were missing he got all that news coverage and things picked right up. I guess something positive came out of all this."

The chicken Alfredo I'd enjoyed now sat like a lump in the pit of my stomach.

"I have to go to the bathroom."

For a minute I thought I might be sick, but I ran some cold water on my hands, splashed my face with it, and leaned my forehead on the vanity mirror until the feeling passed. My hair was hot and sweaty on the back of my neck, so I rummaged around in the drawer and used a pink hair elastic to pull it back. When I got out of the bathroom Mom was pouring another drink.

"I have to get going, Mom--thanks for dinner."

"Call me if you find out anything else." She rubbed her hand down my back and said, "I'm sure everything will work out."

By the time I got back home the sick feeling had turned into a restless energy, so I decided to go for a run. It wasn't that late yet, but I couldn't have gone to sleep even if it was bedtime--I was wired for sound. While my feet pounded the pavement, my thoughts ran wild.

Did something go on between Luke and Christina? I couldn't recall them ever being overly friendly when we were together in the past. Then again, I never picked up on the fact that she was my competition for the project. Had she known from the start? Was that what she was trying to tell me when I interrupted her? Or was she trying to tell me about her and Luke? And how come Luke never told me the restaurant was having troubles? Questions crashed around in my mind, smashed into each other, and splintered into more questions.

After a half hour's hard running I'd calmed down a lot, but a vague sense of unease followed me home and into the shower. If I just heard their voices all the crazy thoughts would go away. Still wrapped in my towel, I called Luke at the restaurant. He answered abruptly.

"Am I catching you at a bad time?" I said.

"I got a few."

"I just wanted to tell you I identified a photo of the guy down at the cop shop today. I don't have a name yet but Gary's going to fill me in as soon as he can."

"Hey! That's good news."

"I guess. I still need to know more."

"Keep me posted on what they find out, but I gotta go--I'm sorry, there's a lot going on around me, place is packed."

Still feeling unsettled, I almost told him I'd stop in for a drink so we could talk, but I hesitated too long and he was gone.

I called Christina on her cell, but she told me she'd have to call me back because they were doing the launch of the waterfront project that night and she was greeting people at the door. After we said good-bye, I stared at the phone in my hand. Emma, sitting at my feet, looked up at me with her big brown eyes.

"I'm being a dumbass, aren't I?" She wagged her tail furiously. I took that as a yes.

But then, on the way to my bedroom, I finally remembered where the photo came from.

It took Gary a while to answer the phone. I didn't realize I was holding my body rigid until I heard his calm voice, and the tension in my muscles eased a little.

"I've been trying to call you all afternoon," I said.

"Sorry about that, my phone battery died."

"I need to talk to you." I hated how desperate I sounded.

"I'm listening."

"I was just thinking about this little shelf cluttered with photo frames I used to have in the hall outside my bedroom, and--I remembered. There's this pewter frame I'd stuck in behind the rest because it had an older picture of me in it, the same picture The Freak--"

"The photo was from inside your house?"

The sick feeling was back.

"The Freak could never have gotten past Emma, so it has to have been when we were out on a walk. But why would he risk breaking in for that photo?"

"That's a good question. Did anyone have keys to your place?"

"I lost my set on a hike a few months before I was taken, so I had the locks changed--I hadn't given anyone a spare yet."

"So it was probably someone you let in, Annie. They gave him the photo--presumably as a way of identifying you."

My heart started to pound. "But why that one?"

"Might've thought it was one you wouldn't miss. Could be any number of reasons."

"And whoever tried to grab me--"

"Could be the same person who took the photo or someone they hired to finish the job."

"This doesn't make any sense. Why would someone want me abducted? There were never any ransom demands."

"We don't know that you were supposed to be abducted. It's possible he was hired for a different reason, then decided to keep you for his own purposes."

"You think he was actually supposed to kill me? Jesus Christ, Gary." My eyes went to the alarm.

"They're not going to try anything again this fast--there's too much attention on you right now--but I'll make sure the patrol cars are still driving by. And I'm going to need the names of anyone who had access to that photo."

"Lots of people have been in my house, I'd just had some work done on the furnace--"

"This is too complicated to be a crime of opportunity. It has to be someone with a personal motive."

"I already sent you the stupid list--"

"Don't just think in terms of who might have wanted to hurt you, think about who benefited the most from your disappearance."

My mind reeled. "I need...I need some time. To think."

Gary said, "Sleep on it, okay? I'll give you my motel number in Eagle Glen. If you come up with anything, call me right away." I was about to hang up when he said, "And, Annie. Just keep this to yourself for now."

I got dressed with shaky hands and Gary's words repeating in my head. Who benefited the most? I thought of Luke's busy restaurant. I thought of Christina getting a real estate project.

Then I remembered The Freak saying he chose me because "an opportunity arose," and it was odd that my normally punctual boyfriend was so late for dinner that day of all days. Also The Freak had said he saw Luke with a woman, but he liked tormenting me--wouldn't he have told me if it was Christina? Or was he saving that detail for a rainy day? But if there was something going on between Luke and Christina, why didn't they get together once I was out of the picture? And why would they give him that photo? They'd both had pictures of me. No, this was ridiculous. Christina and Luke loved me--they'd never hurt me.

Who benefited the most?

I stared at the spot in the hall where the shelf used to be. Someone stole a photo of me, someone I let in my home. I checked the alarm again, the locks on the door. Emma barked at a car driving by and I just about jumped out of my skin. I had to get out of there.

On the hour-long drive to Eagle Glen--Gary's motel's name, room number, and a Googled map on the seat next to me--I realized I hadn't asked him why he was there, but I assumed it was because of the case. I can't remember anything I passed that night, and I felt cold all over--in my haste I hadn't grabbed a coat and was just wearing a tank top and yoga pants, which didn't help. My hands shook on the steering wheel.

I had to wait a couple of minutes for Gary to answer my knock.

"Sorry, I was just getting out of the shower. What's going on? You okay?"

"Hey," I said. "I need to talk." He gestured for me to come in.

The air was still steamy and he was buttoning up the last few buttons of a white shirt. He took the towel from around his neck and rubbed it over his hair, which the water had turned steel-colored, and after he tossed the towel onto the back of a chair, he quickly smoothed his hands over his head.

It wasn't a very big room, just one bed, a phone desk, TV, and a bathroom, and it felt even smaller when I realized it was the first time we'd ever been alone together.

A half-empty bottle of red wine rested on the night table. He didn't strike me as the drinking type, but what the hell did I know? Without saying anything, he lifted up the bottle and raised his eyebrows. I nodded. He filled up one of the motel room glasses and handed it to me. Glad to have something in my hands, I took a big gulp and felt it hit my bloodstream instantly. My muscles uncoiled and a warm glow spread through me. I sat on the end of the bed.

Gary pulled a chair from the phone table and turned it to face me. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands.

"So what's up?"

"This shit--it's making me crazy. You have to find the guy who grabbed me, Gary. Not knowing who may have done this is seriously screwing with my head--I'm doubting everyone. I even started wondering if it could be Christina and Luke just because of some crap my mom heard. How fucked is that?"

"What did your mom hear?"

"They didn't do it, Gary. It was just some stuff about that waterfront project I was supposed to get and that they were spending a lot of time together after I was gone. Apparently their finances were screwed up too, but that crap doesn't matter. My point is, this shit's making me insane."

Gary stood up and paced around the room, rubbing his chin with one hand. "What happened with that project again?"

I gave him the lowdown but ended with, "Christina wouldn't do this to me, Gary."

"If you want me to find who's responsible, I have to consider every scenario."

"Well, that's not one."

"How stable is her marriage?"

"It's fine, I think.... She doesn't say much about it, but that's probably just because of everything I'm going through."

"And she was seen at the restaurant with Luke a lot?"

"Yes, but they're never together now, they were just meeting because they were trying to find me."

Gary continued to pace.

"Why are you in Eagle Glen, by the way?" I said. "Are you showing the sketch around still?"

"I just got here this afternoon and talked with the night staff. Tomorrow I meet with the day shift."

"Do you have anything more on the guy? Was David his real name? You told me you'd fill me in as soon as you got his file, but you haven't called."

"I'm getting some information from another department faxed over tomorrow. That's all I can tell you at this point."

"I hate it when you use that cop talk. I'm shooting straight with you, it's the least you can do for me."

Frustration and wine combined to erode what remained of my self-control, and I burst into tears.

With my head down to hide my face, I got up off the bed and walked toward the door, but Gary grabbed my arm as I passed and spun me around. I shoved at his chest with my free hand, but he didn't budge. The tears were gone now.

"Let me go, Gary."

"Not until you calm down."

I slammed the heel of my hand into his chest, a quick blow. "Fuck you, Gary. I'm sick and tired of this bullshit. You cops sat there and did nothing the whole time I was gone and you're still giving me the runaround. I was raped almost every fucking night and you can't even give me a name? Don't you get it? Not only is my life fucked, but now I have to wonder if someone I know wanted it fucked. And you're going to stand there and tell me I don't have the right to know anything about the guy who did this?" This time I hit his shoulder. He didn't move. I hit him again.

He grabbed my wrist. "Stop it."

I glared at him. "Stop being a jerk."

"I'm telling you everything I can without compromising the case."

"That's all this is to you, isn't it? Just a case."

Now he looked angry. "Do you know how many people go missing every year? How many children? And most of them don't come back. My older sister disappeared when I was just a kid and we never found her. That's why I got into the force--I didn't want anyone to go through what my family did." He dropped my wrists. "My marriage broke up because of this case."

"I didn't know you were--"

"We were having some problems before you went missing, but we were trying to work them out. That's why I asked to be transferred here from the mainland. But not long after I got here you were abducted and I put so many hours on your case...She walked out a month before you came home." A rueful laugh. "She told me I was so busy looking for other people I don't see the ones standing right in front of me."

"I'm sorry, Gary, about everything. I know I'm being a bitch. But I'm just so fucked up. I don't know who to trust anymore. Someone wants me dead, and--" My voice broke and I started to cry.

Gary stepped forward and wrapped his arms around me. My face is about the same height as his chest, and his chin was on top of my head. The rumble of his voice moving up through his chest vibrated against my cheek.

"No one is going to hurt you, Annie. I won't let that happen, okay?"

I peeled my face off his chest and looked up at him. His eyes were dark and his arm around my back burned through my shirt. It felt good to lean into the power of his body and I wanted to absorb his strength and take it with me. Our eyes locked.

On my tiptoes, I stretched my body against him and pressed my lips to his. For a second his mouth didn't yield, and then he muttered, "Oh, shit."

With Luke everything was always sweet and soft, passionate but never intense. Gary and I kissed with quiet desperation. With both hands around my bottom, he lifted me up against him, then lowered me onto the bed. When he leaned over me with both arms braced on either side of my body, The Freak flashed before my eyes and I froze. Gary gave me a searching look and started to stand back up, but I pulled him down on the bed beside me, pushed him onto his back, crawled on top of him, and gripped the bedding on either side of his face. We lay like that for a second, my body aware of every inch of him and my heart thudding against his chest. His arms were rigid as they held me up slightly under my rib cage and his legs tensed as though he was about to lift me away from him.

With my cheek pressed to his, I whispered into his ear, "I have to...be in control. It's the only way I can..."

Relaxing his body, he cupped my face with one of his hands, then turned it toward him until I was forced to make eye contact. His voice ragged yet still gentle, he stroked his thumb against my cheekbone.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Annie? If this is as far as you want to go, I'm okay with that."

A shiver of fear slid through me, but I turned my face into his hand and bit down softly on the fleshy part of his thumb. Then I leaned down, my hair curtaining us, and pressed my lips to his.

But as soon as he began to kiss back harder, holding my butt and grinding my groin against his, panic rose in me, and I froze again. He sensed the change and started to say something, but I pinned his hands above his head and, my face burning in humiliation, murmured against his mouth.

"You can't touch me...you can't move."

I wasn't sure he understood, but his lips relaxed, and when I moved my mouth against his, he didn't kiss back. Pressing and pulling, tugging and nibbling, I worked his lips. Sliding my tongue into his mouth, I stroked and sucked until he moaned.

I took off our clothes until we were both in our underwear and kissed his chest, softly dragged my hair back and forth until his nipples hardened and his skin broke out into goose bumps. Straddling him, I held eye contact as I brought his hand to my breasts and stroked around my nipples with it, moving his hand down over my rib cage, and then, as I grew more comfortable, between my legs. I caressed myself with his hand--the first hand to touch there, including my own, since The Freak. When my body began to respond in a wave of pleasure I wasn't quite ready to surf, I moved his hand back to cup my breast. I kissed him again, hooked my toes into his boxers, and slid them down. Then, still kissing, I drew my pan ties down and kicked them off.

Holding his arms above his head, our foreheads touching, I lay still on top of him and rested my lips just slightly over his, feeling his hot breath moving in and out, mixing with my own. His skin was burning, feverish, and a fine sweat coated both our bodies. At first his breathing was ragged, but he smoothed it out, holding it in check, for me.

Lifting myself up onto my toes, I opened my legs, then shifted down, sliding myself onto him. He didn't enter me, I took him.

His breath caught in his throat, and I paused, heart fluttering, waiting for him to lose it, to flip me on my back and pound at me, to thrust up, to do something. But he didn't. And I wanted to cry. At his gift.

As I slid up and down on him, he never moved. Stroke after stroke, his breath was my only monitor of the fierce struggle going on within, and knowing I had this strong, confident man on his back made me move harder. Faster. Rougher. Daring him to try to touch me, I took my anger out on his body. Using my sex as a weapon. And when he came, his hips still didn't lift, didn't thrust, only his hands flexed in my own as his whole body tightened, and I felt exhilarated. Powerful. I continued to ride him until it must have been painful. But he still didn't touch me. Finally I stopped, turning my face to the side and releasing his wrists. Only then did he lift one hand to cup the back of my head as he rocked me slightly in his arms. And then I cried.

Afterward we lay side by side on our backs, staring at the ceiling while we tried to catch our breath. Neither of us said a word. It was so much the opposite of my experience with The Freak, total control versus no control, I'd actually been able to keep The Freak's memory out of the room, out of the bed, out of my body. But my haze began to lift as I sobered up and I thought about what was really going on in my life, and what I'd just done. Gary started to say something, but I interrupted him.

"This was the first time that I...did what we did since I came home. And I just want you to know I'm glad it was with you, but you don't have to worry--I don't have any expectations or anything. I hope this doesn't change things between us."

The rhythm of his breathing broke, paused, and resumed. He turned his face toward me, opened his mouth, but I cut him off again.

"Don't get me wrong, I don't have any regrets or anything, and I sure as hell hope you don't, but I don't want to have some big talk about it, okay? Let's just move on.... What's the next step in the investigation?"

I felt his eyes burning into my face but I kept my gaze focused on the ceiling. In a low voice he said, "After I question the hotel people tomorrow with the sketch and the mug shot that was faxed to me, I'll be heading to the next town. Kinsol." I had forgotten how close I was to Kinsol. It's not a big town--probably only has one or two motels--and most of the population work at the prison.

I laughed and said, "You could've said hi to my uncle, but he was just released."

Gary propped himself on an elbow and looked down at me. "What uncle?"

I assumed he'd have known, but Mom and my uncle have a different last name, so maybe not.

"My mom's stepbrother, Dwight? He robbed a couple of banks. He was just in the paper--you guys want him for questioning in another robbery. But we don't have anything to do with him, so can't help you there."

Gary rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. I wanted to ask what he was thinking, but I'd learned that leaning on him didn't get me answers.

"Is there anything I can do to help my investigation?" I said.

"Just try to stay clear of everyone for now. I have to do some more digging but should have more information tomorrow, and I'll let you know how we're going to proceed from there. If you find out or remember anything that might help, call me right away. And you can call if you just need to talk too."

His voice was starting to drift and I knew he'd fall asleep soon, so I said, "I should get going. Emma's at home."

"I'd like it if you stayed."

"Thanks, but I can't leave her all night." Truth is, I didn't trust myself to lie quietly beside him with the bedding all tangled around us--would have been hard to explain why I was in the closet in the morning.

"I don't like the idea of you driving alone on the roads this late."

"I made it here, didn't I?"

In the dim room he raised an eyebrow at me, so I tucked my face into the warm groove between his shoulder and neck and said, "I'll have a shower, okay?"

After a quick shower, which I spent trying not to think about what I'd just done, I tiptoed by his sleeping form on the bed and slipped out. The streets were empty on my drive home and I was in my own little world. Had Emma been with me, I'd have just kept on going.

My mind floated back to my conversation with Gary, and I wished I hadn't told him what Mom heard about Christina and Luke. Cops look for ulterior motives in everything. Not that I wasn't just as guilty of that myself. But I knew those two wouldn't hurt me. Still, I felt like there was something I should be seeing but wasn't. My mind turned over everything I knew, but I just couldn't put my finger on the missing piece of the puzzle.

It was a long night. I slept in the closet but tossed and turned, as much as you can turn in a closet, and woke up early this morning. Groggy, I sat out on my back deck with the cordless near me, waiting for Gary to call and tell me what he'd found out.

I'd forgotten Luke was coming by to drop off receipts and some books he was lending me, so I was surprised when I heard a truck pull up. When I looked out and realized it was him, my legs turned to rubber. Pulling myself together, I opened the door. He tried to hug me but I barely hugged back.

"Everything okay?" he said.

"Sorry, I'm just tired--didn't sleep very well last night." I aimed for light and casual, but my voice sounded strained. I avoided his eyes.

"Find out anything more about that picture you identified?"

I mumbled something about Gary looking into it. Then I dropped one of the books he'd brought over, and when I bent down to pick it up, we almost knocked heads. When I jumped back, he gave me a searching look, so I quickly offered him a cup of tea. Praying he'd drink his fast, I gulped mine back.

I've never felt like such a fraud as I did in that moment, talking about our dogs and his work while I waited for the phone to ring and wondered what I would do if Gary called while Luke was still there.

Our conversation was riddled with pauses and he barely touched his tea before he said he had to go. When he gave me a hug at the door I forced myself to hug him back and wondered if he could feel guilt through my skin.

"Annie, you sure you're all right?" I wanted to confess everything. I couldn't confess anything.

"I'm just really bagged."

"Well, get some rest, okay? Doctor's orders." He smiled.

I forced a smile back. "Yes, sir."

After he left I knew I could never tell him what had happened between Gary and me. I also knew I could never get back together with him now. Luke belonged to the woman who was abducted, not the one who came home.

An hour later the suspense was killing me, so I called Gary, but he didn't answer and his cell phone was off. It wasn't until later that afternoon that he finally called back. I wish he hadn't.

The Freak's real name was Simon Rousseau, and he'd have been forty-two at the time of his death. He grew up in a small town in Ontario, moved to Vancouver in his early twenties, but eventually settled on the island. The mug shot was taken when he was arrested at thirty-nine for beating a man so badly he was hospitalized for weeks. The Freak, who claimed the wife hired him to do it because her husband was cheating on her, cut a deal. A year later his conviction was overturned based on the RCMP having mishandled some evidence. Upon his release from Kinsol prison he moved back to the mainland and dropped off the police radar until I identified his mug shot.

Now that they had a name, they traced back trying to match his whereabouts with any unsolved crimes. They discovered his mother did die of cancer and his father indeed disappeared, and to this day the father's car and body have never shown up.

When they couldn't find any cold cases that fit, they reviewed some that were "solved" and came upon the case of a young woman named Lauren who was raped and beaten and left dead in the alley behind her house. A homeless man was caught with her bloody sweater and purse and tried for her murder. He died in prison a year later.

Simon Rousseau, who lived a few blocks down from Lauren, remained close to the family for years, even visiting Lauren's mom every Christmas up until her death five years ago. I was glad the mom would never have to know she welcomed her daughter's killer into her house every Christmas.

During his twenties Rousseau lived in Vancouver but worked in logging camps up north as a cook. And yes, a female helicopter pilot from one of the camps was found dead. But it was never investigated as a homicide. After her boyfriend got back to camp, he realized she was taking too long and went to find her. When he couldn't, a search party was sent out but it took them a month to find her body at the bottom of a gulley. She was fully dressed and her neck was broken. Because it had been dusk when she was heading back to the camp, they assumed she had lost her way and fallen over the cliff.

Rousseau's exact location and activities since he left prison were still unknown, and Gary said they might never know if he was responsible for any other crimes.

While Gary talked I'd been sitting on my couch fiddling with a loose thread on my throw. I'd just about unraveled the damn thing.

I said, "Are you back in Clayton Falls?"

"Still up in Eagle Glen."

"You said you were going to Kinsol today?"

"I was, but a staff member I need to talk to at this motel isn't coming in until tonight."

"Talk to about what? I thought you were just showing the picture around. Did someone recognize him?"

"I'm just making sure I follow up on every avenue, then I'll come back to Clayton Falls in the morning. Are we clear?"

"Yeah, clear as mud."

"Sorry, Annie, but I can't tell you anything more until all the facts are in. If we're wrong it could cause you a lot of unnecessary anguish--"

"What are you saying? Are you telling me you know who hired The Freak? You can at least tell me if it's someone I know, can't you?"

"Annie...a lot is at stake here."

"I'm perfectly aware a lot is at stake--it's my life, remember? Or did you forget about that part?" At the sound of my harsh tone Emma left the room.

"Look, all I can tell you at this point is that after you identified Rousseau we obtained his criminal record, and based on the record we had another look at his known associates--that's standard procedure in any investigation."

While he was waiting for that information, he met with a few of the maids from the day shift at the motel in Eagle Glen. One of them thought the drawing of The Freak looked familiar, but when he showed her the mug shot she didn't recognize him. But if it was the same guy in the sketch, she'd seen a woman wearing large sunglasses go into his room one morning and leave about fifteen minutes later. She didn't see the car, but she thought one of the other maids had been cleaning the rooms on the lower floor where the parking lot was. That's who Gary was waiting to speak with.

My head was spinning. What woman met with The Freak?

I said, "Sorry, I'm just trying to...It's a lot to take in all at once."

"I understand. But it's really important you don't--"

"Sorry, my mom's calling on the other line, I'll pick it up and get rid of her or she'll--"

"Don't answer it!"

"Okay, okay." But when the beeping finally stopped I said, "She's just going to call back."

"Have you talked to her about anything we discussed last night?" His voice was tight.

"Luke's the only one I spoke with today, but I never--"

"You can't discuss any of this with her, Annie." Something in his tone set off alarm bells.

"Gary, this is my mom. If you don't tell me what the fuck is going on right now, I'm going to call her and tell her every damn thing."

"Jesus." He was silent for a moment, then I heard him take a deep breath. "This is going to be hard for you to hear...."

"Just say it."

"When you came up last night you mentioned your uncle was in Kinsol prison, so I checked if he and Simon Rousseau were there at the same time. They were. It's also been confirmed that your uncle was known to have photos of his nieces on his cell walls. So after the maid's description we faxed a request for a warrant to check your mother's bank records for any unusual transactions."

"I don't...Why the hell would you do that?"

"I still need to talk to the other maid, but, Annie..." His voice turned gentle. "It looks like your mother might be involved."

Oh, shit.

And that's all I know. Right after Gary dropped his bomb-shell he had to take another call. He made me promise not to talk to anyone and said he'd phone me later. So that's why I called you, Doc, and why I've been gripping this cell phone like my life depends on it, I had to get out of there, had to talk to somebody. I couldn't stand pacing around my house wondering what bullshit theory the cops are coming up with now. Some dingbat maid sees a woman at a motel and they decide it's my mom? Talk about grasping at straws.

I wonder if Gary left a message at my house or if he remembers my cell number--can't recall if I left it on his voice mail. Or even worse, what if he tried to call me on my drive here but I didn't have cell coverage? There are some dead spots on the highway. I've got to get out of here--I need to try him again.

SESSION TWENTY-FOUR

I know I look like shit today, but trust me, Doc, when you hear how my week went you'll understand, and you'll know why I asked for a longer session too.

On the drive home from our last appointment I passed a new billboard on the highway advertising the real estate project I was supposed to get. It was right near the turnoff to my aunt's house and I thought about how annoyed she used to get when Mom talked about that deal. Then I realized Aunt Val doesn't brag about how well Tamara's doing in real estate anymore.

As soon as I got home I checked out Tamara's Web site. She had a few nice listings but not nearly as many as she used to. Just for the heck of it I Googled her name and it came up on the Real Estate Council Web site--under disciplinary decisions. Turns out my perfect cousin was suspended last year for ninety days. She represented a numbered company buying a large piece of commercial land and never disclosed she was the owner of said company. Not smart.

Obviously Mom didn't know or I'd have heard by now, everyone would've heard. Aunt Val's lucky I went missing just before Tamara's suspension was announced in our monthly Report from Council. Then it came to me.

When Gary called a half hour later I jumped right in. "I know who could have met with The Freak."

Gary was quiet for a moment, then said, "Go ahead."

"I just found out my cousin lost her real estate license right after I was abducted, but she'd have known it was going to happen for a while and my aunt never mentioned it. My mom and her sister are supercompetitive, and I was supposed to be getting this big project--"

"Annie--"

"Just listen. You said it was a woman wearing big sunglasses, right?"

"Right, but--"

"My Aunt Val, she started wearing these big sunglasses right after my mom did." Mom wears them because she thinks they make her look like a Hollywood star, and man, was she pissed when Aunt Val showed up in a pair. "They look a lot alike, Aunt Val's a little taller but from a distance they could pass for the same person. And it's my aunt who used to go see my uncle--she could've brought him the pictures. When that guy grabbed me last week she was there in minutes and--"

"Our records show that your mother did visit your uncle, Annie."

"That's not possible--she won't even talk about him."

"Annie, we have video and her signature in the visitors' log."

"My aunt could've just dressed like her and forged her signature, Mom's writing looks like a kid's--"

Gary sighed. "We'll consider that possibility, okay? But I have to ask you some more questions. When you were at the cabin, was there ever anything that stuck out as not belonging? Anything at all, something like the photo?"

"The whole place was fucked up, what's that gotta do with this?"

"It might not have seemed relevant at the time, but he may have had an item that didn't seem to fit?"

"I've told you everything, Gary."

"Sometimes a shock can cause memories to resurface. Just go through the cabin in your mind."

"There's nothing."

"Something in the shed maybe or the cellar...?"

"How many times do we have to go over this? He had boxes, he had guns, he had my clothes, he had a wad of money with a--"

Pink, it was pink. I sucked in a lungful of air.

"Oh, shit." And then we were both quiet.

"You remembered something?" Gary said finally.

"The Freak had this wad of money. And it had a pink band around it, then when I was at my mom's the other day, she had the same kind of hair bands in her drawer, the same color, pink, in the bathroom, I used one in my hair. But my aunt--"

"Did you keep it?"

"Yes, but I told you--"

"We're going to need it for comparison."

I had to tell him about the stupid pink band. I wanted to be sick.

From a long way off I heard Gary say, "Is there anything else you can think of?"

"My mom's stepbrother, maybe he's involved somehow. I could try to talk to Wayne, find out if he knows anything. Mom might have told him why she hates--"

"That's the last thing I want you to do. Remember, we're not yet positive your mother's involved, and I hope for your sake she's not, but if she is, you could really damage the investigation. In fact, don't say anything to anybody, okay?" When I didn't answer right away, he said in his cop voice, "I'm serious."

"What are you going to do now?"

"We should have the warrant by the morning, but it will take a few days for the bank to actually get the records to us. Meanwhile, we gather as much evidence as we can. If we bring your mother in for questioning too soon there's always a chance she could destroy evidence or run."

"There's nothing to question her about--she didn't do anything."

He softened his voice and said, "Look, I know how confusing this must be, but I promise I'll call when we have anything more conclusive. Until then try to stay away from everybody. And I'm really sorry, Annie."

I put the phone back in the cradle, but it rang as I walked away. Thinking it was Gary again, I picked it up without looking at the call display.

"Thank God, I was so worried about you, Annie Bear. I left you a message hours ago and after what just happened recently--" Mom paused for breath and I tried to say something but my throat clamped shut.

"Are you there? Annie?"

"Sorry I didn't get back to you sooner."

I wanted to warn her that Gary was coming for her, but what could I say? Gary thinks you're involved in my abduction but I think it was your sister? No, Gary was probably wrong about the whole damn thing and it would fuck Mom right up. I had to keep my mouth shut. I clenched the phone till it hurt and, with my back against the wall, slid to the floor. Emma came out of hiding and pushed her face into my chest.

"So do the police have any more information on that terrible man?" Mom said.

Oh, yeah, they have a lot more information. More than I ever wanted to know.

"No new leads--the investigation seems to have dried up. You know what the cops around here are like, they couldn't find their own assholes if their life depended on it." I slumped to my side on the floor. My breath blew dog hair into tumble-weeds.

"It's probably for the best. You need to just concentrate on getting better. Maybe you should take a little holiday."

I squeezed my eyelids tight against the hot tears building there and bit my tongue, hard.

"That's a great idea. You know, I think I might take off and go camping with Emma for a few days."

"See, your mother knows what's best, but don't forget to check in and let us know you're okay. We worry about you, Annie Bear."

After I hung up the phone I looked around my house, and all I could see was dirt. I rearranged my books alphabetically and washed my walls with bleach and water. The rest of the night I scrubbed the floors on my hands and knees. Not one inch of my house was spared. While my body worked on cleaning, my mind worked to explain it all away.

Just because someone hired The Freak in the past didn't mean my situation wasn't random--maybe it was just a friend of his that stopped by the motel. Being in prison at the same time as my uncle didn't necessarily mean anything. A lot of prisoners were in there and they might never have even met. And if they did, that's probably how The Freak got this weird obsession about me--he saw all the pictures of my family. Aunt Val might not have mentioned Tamara's suspension because she was waiting for the council's final decision, then I disappeared and that overshadowed everything. Good thing they were looking into Mom's records, because when they didn't find anything they could concentrate on finding The Freak's real partner--if he even had one. It was going to be okay.

It wasn't until seven the next morning, when I finally stopped, that I realized I'd scrubbed my knuckles raw and hadn't eaten in more than a day. I managed to get down some tea and dry toast.

When Gary called later that afternoon to tell me he was coming by to pick up the elastic hair band and the photo I took from the cabin, I filled him in on my conversation with Mom, including my so-called camping trip. I explained I'd have to call her at least once or she might start wondering, and he said it was okay but to keep the calls brief.

He also suggested I tell Christina and Luke the same story so no one inadvertently screwed things up, and he wanted me to go stay in a motel, but I refused--this shit was bad enough without having to actually leave my home. We agreed I'd hide my car in the backyard and keep a low profile. Luke and Christina had been phoning every day since the second abduction attempt, and Christina offered in an I'm-trying-so-hard-not-to-be-pushy way for me to crash at her place for a while and accepted my "No, thanks" with a big pause, a deep breath, then an "Okay, whatever works for you." But I knew it was killing her and they'd worry if I just didn't answer, so I e-mailed them both that I needed to get out of town for a couple of days and hadn't phoned because I didn't want to talk to anyone right now--"Sorry, I'm just going through a rough patch."

No kidding.

For the last few days I've been hiding out in my house and using candlelight at night. The closet hasn't been an issue, because I haven't been sleeping. I haven't even gone for a walk--most of the time I cuddle with Emma and cry into her fur.

Once I got in my car, revved it up a few times, called my mom from my cell phone, and made a bunch of static noise. I told her I was okay but I was driving and my phone was cutting out so I couldn't talk. Least that part wasn't a lie--I was barely able to say hello without choking from the effort of keeping everything inside.

When I checked my e-mail, Christina had written that she hoped the time away helped and that I felt better when I came back. "I'll miss you," she wrote. She signed the message with xxx's, ooo's, and a little smiley face icon.

The next day I spotted her car heading down my driveway and wrapped my hand around Emma's muzzle before she could bark. Christina walked around outside for a couple of minutes, then drove away. When I looked out I realized she'd picked up all the newspapers that were cluttering the doorstep. I felt like such a jerk.

Gary called to tell me things were progressing and he appreciated my cooperation. I wondered if he was excited about closing in on the "bad guy." He's a cop for a reason.

I didn't tell him I was still planning on coming to my shrink appointment today--he would have just told me not to--and I was glad I hadn't canceled when he called around eight this morning to tell me they finally located the other maid at the hotel. And yes, she did remember the woman wearing sunglasses--the car was so big and the woman was so small, she had to struggle to push the car door open.

"I know what you're thinking, Gary, but there must be...Shit, just give me a minute here."

"I'm really sorry, Annie, but all the evidence is pointing to your mom. We're just waiting for her bank records before we bring her in for questioning. Meanwhile, we--"

"But you don't know for sure it was her at the hotel. So it was a small woman, that doesn't mean--"

"It was a small blond woman, Annie. The maid never got a license plate, but the car was bronze-colored, just like your stepfather's, and she identified a photo of your mother."

My blood roared in my ears.

"But I told you, my aunt looks like her and she drives a Lincoln, it's the same color as the Caddie. Maybe she's working with her stepbrother and that's who tried to grab me. He could be blackmailing her--fuck, I don't know. But he's still out there and if you just talk to Wayne, he'll tell you Mom had nothing to do with this."

"When we're ready, we'll bring Wayne in."

"When you're ready? What the hell are you waiting for, me to go missing again?"

"Annie, I understand you're frustrated--"

"I'm not fucking frustrated, I'm furious. You guys are totally off track. If you're not going to do anything, then I'm going to talk to Wayne and--"

"Get yourself hurt? That would really help, wouldn't it?"

"Wayne's not going to do anything to me, he's an idiot but he doesn't have a violent cell in his body. Wire me if you're so worried."

"This isn't a Law and Order episode, Annie, we don't wire civilians, and you're not trained for this--say one wrong thing and you screw up the case you're so anxious to solve."

"Please, Gary, for a whole year I couldn't do one damn thing up there to help myself. I need to be a part of this. I know Wayne. If Mom told him anything about her stepbrother, I can get it out of him."

"Sorry, not negotiable. You're just going to have to be patient. I have to head to court now, I'll call you later."

"Okay, okay."

I glanced at my clock. Eight-fifteen a.m. In two hours Wayne would be sitting down alone at the diner he goes to every morning when he doesn't have a job, which is most mornings--Mom never goes because she's usually sleeping off her hangover. Yeah, sure, I'd be patient, for about an hour and forty-five minutes.

Most of the morning rush at the diner had cleared out, but the scent of bacon grease still hung in the air as I slid into a booth right in front of the window.

A waitress came over with a note pad and pencil. The pencil had teeth marks in it and her nails were chewed to the quick. Like mine. I wondered what made her nervous.

"What can I get you?"

"Just a coffee for now."

"Oh, I know you--you're Wayne's daughter, Annie, aren't you? How you doing, sweetie?"

The tape recorder burned in my pocket. What the hell was I doing here? What if Gary was right and I screwed everything up?

"I'm fine, thanks."

"Wayne should be in any minute. I'll tell him you're here, okay, hon?"

"That'd be great."

She brought the coffee, and no sooner had she left my table than I heard the door jingle. I couldn't see over the booth unless I stood up or peeked around the side, but I didn't need to do either.

"How's the best-looking waitress in town, Janie?"

"Just fine, handsome. Guess who beat you here."

My stepfather came around the corner of the booth.

"Holy crap, Annie--what are you doing here? Your mom said something about you going on a holiday."

The waitress came back with another coffee. Wayne sat down across from me.

I said, "I had to go talk to the cops again. That's why I came back early."

He nodded and stirred his coffee.

"They have some more information about the guy who abducted me." He lifted the spoon mid-stir.

"Yeah? What's that?"

"Maybe we should get some air," I said. "It's hot as hell in here--why don't we get coffees to go, then we can sit in the park?"

"I don't know, your mom's going to be up soon and I was supposed to bring her a pack of smokes."

"We don't have to be all day, I just don't want to go home yet. Got your cards with you?"

"You want to play?"

"Sure, but let's go to the park. I need to get out of here, smells like someone burned some toast."

I paid our tab, Janie got us a couple of fresh coffees to go, and we headed across the street to the park. I found us a picnic table in the shade, away from the other ones. Wayne shuffled the deck. I tried to remember our ever doing anything else together, alone.

"To be honest, Wayne, it wasn't an accident I ran into you." He paused with the deck in hand, about to deal. "I wanted to talk to you."

"Yeah?"

I kicked Gary out of my head and plunged. "The cops think Mom had something to do with me being abducted. Someone saw a car like your Caddy at a hotel where that guy was staying, but I think--"

"Lots of people have cars like mine."

"I know, but apparently the maid's description--"

"The cops have it wrong."

I stared at him. He stared at the cards.

"Look at me, Wayne."

"Thought you wanted to play--"

"Just look at me." He raised his head slowly and met my eyes.

"Do you know something?"

He shook his head.

"Wayne, they have a warrant, they're getting Mom's bank records."

His face paled.

My voice was calm but my ears were roaring again.

"Does Mom have something to do with this?"

For about five seconds he tried to keep eye contact. Then he put his head in his hands, and I saw them shaking.

"Wayne. You have to tell me what's going on."

"It's all fucked up, so fucked up." He was mumbling. "Shit, what a mess...."

"WAYNE!"

Head still in his hands, he shook it back and forth.

"You tell me now, Wayne, or I call the cops and you tell them."

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, we didn't know he liked to hurt girls--I swear." He looked up at me with desperate eyes. "I would have stopped her anyway, I would have, but I didn't know."

"Know what?"

"You know, that your mom was going to have that guy...take you."

No, no, no, no.

Across the park a young mother pushed her toddler on a swing set. The little girl was squealing and giggling. The sound was muffled by the roaring in my ears. Wayne's lips were moving up and down, but all I caught were broken words, fragments of sentences. I tried to focus on what he was saying, but I couldn't stop thinking about the little wheels on the tape recorder going around and around.

He stared at my face. "Shit, Annie, you look like...I don't know."

I stared back at him, shaking my head slowly. "You guys. It was you guys...."

He leaned in and started talking fast. "You've got to hear my side, Annie. It got all fucked up. But I didn't know, I swear I didn't know. When you first got taken, your mom seemed kind of calm about it all, you know? Wasn't like her, I thought she'd be going ape-shit. But after you'd been gone over a week she started pacing at night and going through booze like shit through a goose. The second week she went to see your uncle like three times, so I came right out and said, 'What kind of trouble you in, Lorraine?' All she keeps saying is, 'It's not my fault.'" He swallowed a couple of times and cleared his throat.

"What wasn't her fault? You still haven't told me exactly what it is she did!"

"You were just supposed to disappear for like a week or something, but it didn't go right."

It didn't go right. That's all, it just didn't go right. I didn't know whether to laugh or scream.

"No shit. Why the hell was I supposed to be abducted in the first place? Was The Freak blackmailing Dwight or something? Or was Dwight threatening Mom? Has she always visited him? What the fuck happened, Wayne?"

"I don't know what the deal is with Dwight--she gets all weird when I ask about him. But no, she saw a movie about some girl who got kidnapped for two days, and after the movie they did one of those interview things with the real family...you know, she gets these ideas and she's on them like a pit bull on a steak."

I connected the dots. "Mom got the idea to have me abducted from a movie?"

"Lorraine, she said you were way prettier, and if you were gone a whole week it would be worth more."

It took a moment for Wayne's words to sink in. "Worth more--are you fucking telling me she did this for money?"

"It started when she heard you might not get that project. Val was going to roast her over the coals when she found out--you know those two--but if you were famous? Val would have to eat shit for the rest of her life."

"And you had no idea what she was up to?"

"Shit, no! I swear I didn't know anything. She said your uncle knew a guy from jail who could do it, also he knew the loan shark who lent her the thirty-five grand--I didn't know nothing about that, either."

"Thirty-five fucking grand? That's how much it cost to ruin my life. Some goddamn family I have."

"Your mom didn't mean for you to get hurt. The man, he never called her when he was supposed to--that's why she was so upset after the first week. Your uncle put feelers out, but no one knew where the guy had taken you."

"But why didn't she call the cops when I didn't come home? Why didn't you? You guys just left me there...." My voice broke.

"As soon as I found out what went down, I told her we should tell the cops right away, but the guy she borrowed money from said the cops would come looking for him if she opened her mouth, then he'd slash her face and break my legs. He said he could have Dwight killed in prison. We told him we'd say we paid with our own dough, but he still wanted his money back--he was never going to get it if your mom and I were in the slammer. And if we did go to jail, he said he'd just get us in there."

I realized this was probably the longest conversation I'd ever had with my stepdad, our first heart-to-heart, and we were talking about my mom having me kidnapped and raped.

"Weren't you worried that I was being hurt? That I might be killed?"

His face looked miserable. "Every damn day, but there was nothing I could do. If I tried to help you, Lorraine was going to get hurt. When you were missing she was buying time with the loan shark with the money she got from selling your stuff and trying to get someone to make a movie, but nothing was coming through. We were just about dry when you came home."

He took a deep breath. "After I saw you in the hospital I was messed right up, but Lorraine said we had to just move on and be strong for you. And we still had the loan shark breathing down our necks. Lorraine told him she'd get some money when you sold your story, but you kept shutting her down. She was trying like hell to make sure the media still gave a shit." I flashed to all the times the reporters seemed to know exactly where I was and how right from the beginning they knew inside information.

"Any money they gave us went on our debt. But a month or so ago the guy said we had to pay in full or he was coming for us."

"Wait a minute, the man who tried to grab me off the street. Was that the loan shark or Dwight?"

Wayne stared down at his feet.

"Did you guys hire someone to fucking abduct me again?"

"No." His voice was so low I could barely hear him. "It was me."

"You? Jesus Christ, Wayne, you scared the shit out of me, you hurt me."

He turned to face me and started talking fast. "I know, I know, I'm sorry. I didn't want to. You weren't supposed to fall--I didn't know you'd fight that hard. Your mom, she said the media was losing interest. We didn't have any other options, we were fucked, Annie."

"You were fucked? No, Wayne, fucked is being raped almost every night. Fucked is having to struggle and cry and scream because it got him off faster. Fucked is having to pee on a schedule. Do you know what he did when he caught me sneaking a pee? He forced me to drink water from the toilet bowl. From the toilet bowl, Wayne. People don't even let their dogs do that. That's fucked."

Tears in his eyes, Wayne just kept nodding.

"My daughter died, Wayne." I reached over, took one of his hands in mine, and flipped it over. "Her head wasn't even bigger than the palm of your hand, and she's dead. And you're telling me my family did this to me? You're the ones I'm supposed to be able to trust the most, and you--"

Then I heard myself, and it all hit.

Doubled over, I hugged my legs as an enormous pressure bore down on my chest and my head felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. I sucked in big gulps of air while Wayne patted my back and said over and over again how sorry he was. He sounded like he was crying. The edges of my vision darkened. I felt my body slide forward.

Wayne threw his arm around me and held me in place. "Oh, shit, Annie, don't pass out on me."

After a few minutes I got my breathing under control, but I still felt shaky and cold all over. I brought my head up and shrugged Wayne's arm off. I took another deep breath, then got to my feet and paced in front of the bench, hugging myself.

"Did you guys break into my house, too?"

"Yeah, your mom was going to come in right behind me and save you, but I got to your bedroom and you weren't there, the alarm was going off, and I bailed out the window. Then when your mom stayed the night at your house, you told her when you ran in the mornings...." The night my mom brought me Annie Bear cookies and my photos. I sat back down.

For the longest time we just sat there looking at each other, not saying anything, understanding everything. At least I was. Finally I broke the silence.

"You know you're going to have to turn yourself in, right?"

"I figured."

We stared out at the playground. No children were in sight. The sun had disappeared behind a cloud and it was cool in the shade. A slight breeze moved the swings back and forth. The air was filled with the rhythmic squeaking of their chains and the scent of a storm coming.

"I really love your mom, you know?"

"I know."

He took a deep breath, then put the deck of cards back in their box. I wanted to stop him, wanted to say, Let's just play one last game. But it was too late. It was too late for everything.

"I'll walk into the station with you."

Gary had just gotten in from court and looked pissed off when he saw me with Wayne, but as soon as Wayne told him he wanted to make a confession, Gary pointed to me and said, "Don't go anywhere," then whisked Wayne away.

I spent the next couple of hours wandering around the station, flipping through magazines and staring at the walls--counting cracks, counting stains. The betrayal by my family had hurt more than anything The Freak ever did to me, and in a place he'd never been able to touch. I was running from that pain as fast as I could.

Finally Gary came out.

"You shouldn't have talked to him, Annie. If that had back-fired--"

I handed him the tape. "But it didn't."

"We can't use this--"

"You don't need to, do you?" I said. No way was I apologizing.

He shook his head, then told me that Wayne, after speaking with a legal aide, had decided to give a full statement and testify against my mom in exchange for a lighter sentence. He was under arrest, charged with accessory to kidnapping, extortion, and criminal negligence. They'd be holding him until his bail hearing.

Gary said the bank records should come in later this afternoon or in the morning. They didn't actually need them to arrest Mom now, but he wanted to verify Wayne's statements before they interviewed her. They were also waiting to hear from the lab about the elastic hair bands but might not get that report until the morning. They didn't consider Mom a flight risk--she didn't even have a car--and she wasn't a threat to society, so unless something changed they'd pick her up in the morning.

They had Wayne call Mom and tell her he was going to check out a hot lead on a business for sale up-island. If it got too late to drive home he was just going to crash at a buddy's place. Then he mentioned running into me, in case somebody told her, and added that I was back in town but tired from driving and was heading home to get some rest. She bought it.

Afterward, Gary walked me out to my car.

He said, "Are you okay? It had to be hard to hear all that."

"I don't know what I am. It's all just...I don't know." I shook my head. "Have you ever heard of a mother doing something like this?"

"People do terrible things to people they love all the time. Just about every crime you can think of has been done at least once."

"Somehow I don't feel better."

"I'll try to call you as soon as we pick her up. Want to watch the interview?"

"God, I don't know if I'm up for that."

"I know she's your mom, and it must be really hard to understand what she's done, but I need you to be tough here. You can't talk to her until we do, okay?"

"I guess."

"I'm serious, Annie. I want you to go straight home. I shouldn't even be telling you everything I just did, but I didn't like keeping you in the dark before. You might be tempted to warn your mom, but I trust you to do the right thing. Don't prove me wrong. Just remember what she did to you."

Like I needed a reminder.

Well, I obeyed part of Gary's request--I did drive straight somewhere, but to your office, not home. I didn't even care if anyone saw me. Against all reason, I just keep hoping that somehow it's all a huge mistake.

SESSION TWENTY-FIVE

You've probably seen the papers--I'm hot news again. All the way home after our last session I kept thinking about Mom. She could be a right bitch at times, she's generally selfish, and sure she lives in the land of it's-all-about-me, but capable of something like this?

When I got home that night I had a message from Luke on my voice mail. Of course he's too nice to outright say, "Where the hell are you?" Instead it was something about letting him know when I'm home. I didn't call back--didn't know what to say.

That night in my closet, I thought about Mom--Gary hadn't called yet--and I imagined her sitting at home in front of the TV, smoking and drinking, with no idea the shit's hit the fan and she's standing downhill. As hurt and betrayed as I felt, I still hated knowing she had no clue what was going to happen.

Then I remembered her phoning me the day of the open house. She'd made me feel guilty about a cappuccino machine, knowing an ex-con was going to abduct me a few hours later. Not to mention how she'd taken care of me after the second abduction attempt--I felt loved, and she'd set the whole damn thing up. Right then I knew I had to watch the interview. Had to hear for myself why my mother did this to me.

Around ten the next day I got the call from Gary. They'd received all my mom's bank records early that morning, which matched up with Wayne's statement, and they'd confirmed the pink elastic bands were of the same dye lot. She'd been arrested--that must have sent the trailer park into a tizzy--and now they were letting her brew at the station until I got there. It didn't take me long, even though I wanted to turn around the whole way.

I hadn't realized I was shaking until I got to the cop shop and Gary offered me his coat. It was still warm and smelled like him. I wished I could cloak myself in it and disappear. In a small room off the one where they had my mom, I stared at her through a window I assumed was a mirror on the other side. A couple of cops were there with me, and when I made eye contact with one of them, he looked down at his shoes.

Mom was perched on the edge of the chair with her hands tucked under her thighs, her feet not quite touching the floor. Her makeup was faded and smeared, probably left over from yesterday, and her ponytail was crooked. Then I saw it. One eyelid drooped slightly lower than the other. She wasn't totally wasted but she'd definitely had some vodka with her orange juice that morning. Gary came in the room and stood beside me.

"You holding up okay?" He rested his hand on my shoulder. The weight of it felt solid and warm.

"What's the point of this? You have all the evidence."

"There's never enough evidence. I've seen a lot of cases we thought were a slam dunk go sideways down the road. It would be better if we can get her to admit some involvement."

"Who's going to interview her?"

"Me." His eyes glittered. If he were a horse, he'd have been chomping at the bit.

Mom brightened right up when Gary walked into the room. My stomach churned.

He started off by telling her she was being audio-and videotaped, which got a smile for the camera, and then he asked her to say her name, address, and the date out loud. He had to tell her the date.

Once all that was out of the way, he said, "The officers who brought you in today read you your Charter of Rights and warning, but I want to state again that you're entitled to legal counsel before you talk to us. You don't have to say anything to me, but anything you do say can be used in court."

Mom shook her head. "This is so silly--who am I supposed to have kidnapped?"

Gary raised an eyebrow. "Your daughter."

"Annie wasn't kidnapped. A man took her."

Apparently deciding that explaining the legal definition of kidnapping to her was pointless, and I had to agree with him there, Gary moved on.

"We have a signed statement from Wayne setting out exactly what transpired and both your parts in it." He opened a file on the table, laid out a statement, then pointed to an item on it. "We also have your Visa bill, which proves you rented a van from out of town the day before Annie was attacked. We have the invoice from the rental company for the white van with your signature. We have an eyewitness who can place you and Simon Rousseau at a motel in Eagle Glen. We've confirmed that an elastic hair band found amongst Simon Rousseau's belongings matches hair bands currently in your possession. We know you did it."

Mom's eyes were enormous as she tensed in her chair, but a second later she relaxed her body and rearranged her skirt hem. She then turned her attention to a fingernail.

With both hands on the table, Gary leaned forward.

"See, my superiors--they think you didn't just want Annie gone for a week. That's what you told Wayne, but they think you hired Simon Rousseau to kill her--Annie had a life insurance policy with her company, which I'm sure you knew you were the sole beneficiary of. Your plan went wrong, all right--Annie was never supposed to come home alive."

With every sentence Mom's body flinched and her eyes grew bigger. She began to stammer, "No...no...of course not...kill her? No...I'd never in a million years..."

"I don't think you understand me, Lorraine. They don't just think you hired Simon Rousseau to kill her, they want you to have hired him to kill her, because that will make a big difference in time served."

I watched Mom's face as she licked her lips a couple of times. To Gary it would look like nerves, but I knew my mom, and licking her lips was a sure sign she was trying to get her vodka-addled mind to focus.

"They want me to have done it?"

"A lot of time and a lot of money, taxpayers' money, went into this case. My superiors, well, they're none too happy about that. And the public? The public who spent their weekends searching the woods and putting up flyers while you knew what had happened to Annie the whole time? Well, they're crying out for blood. So they don't just want someone to pay for this, they need someone to pay for this."

"Well, it's good they want someone to pay. The person who did this should pay." Her eyes moistened. "When I think about what Annie went through..."

His voice gentle, Gary said, "Look, Lorraine, I'm on your side here. I'm trying to help you get out of this mess. They don't just want to convict you, Lorraine--they want to nail you to the wall. So unless you give me something to work with, you're going to go down for hiring someone to kill your own daughter, and I won't be able to stop it."

Both eyes drooped as she watched him warily. Not ready to walk into the trap and nibble the cheese, but sniffing the air. I watched the two of them--horrified, fascinated, yet somehow removed, as though this were someone else's mother, some other cop.

"I was in that hospital with you, Lorraine--I saw how hard it was on you. I know you really love your daughter--you'd do anything for her." She began to kick her feet in the air beneath the table. "But Annie, she can be pretty stubborn, I know, and no matter how good your advice is, she doesn't listen, does she?" Not sure I liked where he was going with this.

"No one listens to you, do they? Not your daughter, not Wayne. It can't be easy watching him blow chance after chance, nothing ever coming through for you."

"That man couldn't find his way out of a paper bag unless I was standing over him." With a toss of her ponytail, she shifted gears. "Some men just need an extra push to realize their potential."

Gary gave her a sad smile. "But you shouldn't have had to push him, Lorraine. If he'd been a better husband, a better provider, well, you wouldn't have had to do any of this, would you?" She started to shake her head in agreement but caught herself and became very still.

"And we both know Wayne should've straightened things out with the loan shark so you could save Annie. But he didn't, did he? Nope, he left it to you to try to fix. And now he's putting it all on you."

He leaned toward her until their noses were almost touching. She sucked on her lip like she was trying to get the last traces of alcohol out of it. She wanted to say it, wanted to tell him--she just needed a little push.

In a voice dripping sympathy, Gary said, "Wayne let you down, no doubt about it, but we can help you, Lorraine. We can make sure you're safe. It's not your fault things got so out of hand." And with that little nudge she tumbled over the edge, her face flushed and her eyes feverish.

"He was just supposed to keep her for a week. He told me the cabin was nice, he spent over a month getting it ready for her, but he wouldn't tell me where it was because he said I'd be more believable if I truly didn't know where to find her. He had a drug that would make her calm so she wouldn't be scared or anything--she'd mostly just sleep--and it was totally safe. At the end of the week he was going to leave her in the trunk of a car on a street, then phone and tell me where it was so I could make an anonymous call to the cops. But he didn't call, and the cell number he gave me didn't work anymore. And I couldn't do anything to save her. The loan shark said he'd cut my face." Her eyes wide, she touched both hands to her cheeks. "I sent Wayne to talk to him and he screwed it up so bad we owed more."

"Did you give this to Simon?" Gary slid the photo of me I'd found at the cabin across the table.

"It was the only decent photo I could find--she's always frowning in the pictures I take."

"So you thought it was important he find Annie attractive?"

"He'd seen photos of her in Dwight's cell from when she was young, he wanted to see how she'd grown up."

Gary, who had been taking a sip of coffee, choked and broke into a coughing fit. He took a few deep breaths and cleared his throat, but before he could say anything Mom launched into her closing argument.

"So, you see, it's not my fault--if he'd kept to my plan, she'd have been fine. But now that I've told you everything you can talk to your bosses for me and straighten it all out." She smiled prettily and reached over the table, placing her hand over his. "You always struck me as the kind of man who knew how to take care of a woman. I'd like to make you a nice dinner, show you my appreciation...?" She tilted her head and gave him another smile.

Gary sipped the coffee for at least a minute, then set the cup down and drew his other hand out from beneath Mom's.

"Lorraine, you're under arrest. You won't be going anywhere for a very long time." She actually looked surprised. Then confused. Then hurt.

"But I thought you understood."

Gary straightened up. "I do understand, Lorraine. I understand that you committed a crime, you broke the law, several of them in fact, and did nothing to rectify the situation. I understand that you turned a killer loose on your daughter. I understand that the killer impregnated her, then killed her baby girl. That she was terrified, alone, beaten, raped, and brutalized--never knowing from one day to the next whether it was her last. Never knowing why this was happening to her. Now I can finally give her an answer, but I wish to hell it wasn't this one."

When Gary began to walk out of the room, she stood up and grabbed his arm as he tried to brush past her. Tears shimmering in her blue eyes, she pressed her breasts against his arm.

"But I didn't know he was a killer, I never wanted her hurt--I'm a good mother, don't you understand?" Her voice cracked on the last word.

Gary took her by the shoulders, gently moved her away from him, and continued toward the door.

"This isn't fair!"

At the door he turned and said, "What isn't fair is that Annie ended up with you for a mother."

He came into our little room and stood beside me. In silence, we watched Mom through the mirror. For a few moments after he left, her face was stamped with outrage, but her eyelids lifted as the last of her liquid courage left her and Gary's final words sank in. She paled and put both her hands over her mouth. No fake wails now. Her body began to jerk and shake violently as she sobbed. Her eyes cast wildly around the empty room. She stumbled backward and sat down hard on the chair, staring at the door, still sobbing.

"Do you want to go in and talk to her?" Gary said.

"I can't right now." I was shaking.

When I asked him what was going to happen next, he said Mom and Wayne would be held until the arraignment, then bail would be set. I hadn't even thought about the fact that there might be a trial. Surely Mom will take a plea bargain. Even though I know I shouldn't care about what happens to her, I still wondered whether she'd get a lawyer and how they'd be able to afford one.

"What about the loan shark? Are they in danger?"

"We're going to be looking into that right away. But we'll make sure they're safe."

Neither of us said a word as Gary walked me out to his car--I sure didn't know the appropriate thing to say. Thanks for arresting my mother and interrogating her so skillfully--you really know how to screw with her?

As I turned to get into my car, he said, "I have something for you," then handed me a pack of playing cards. "Wayne had them in his pocket when we arrested him and he asked me to give them to you. He wanted you to know how sorry he is." He paused and looked at me intently. "I'm sorry too, Annie."

"You don't have to be sorry--it's your job, and you're really good at it." I knew I sounded bitter, and he looked miserable. "It would be even worse if she'd gotten away with it," I said, even though at that moment I had no idea whether it was true or not.

I needed to know that he was more than this man I had watched take down my mother.

"Tell me something no one knows about you."

"What?"

"Just tell me something--anything." We held eyes.

"Okay," he said finally. "Sometimes when I can't sleep, I get up and eat peanut butter straight out of the jar with a spoon."

"Peanut butter, huh? I'll have to try that someday."

"You should--it helps."

We looked at each other a moment longer, then I got in my car and drove away. In my rearview mirror I saw him watching me until a couple of cops came up to him, clapped him on the back, and shook his hand. Guess there was some celebrating at the cop shop that day. When I glanced over I saw the pack of cards on the passenger seat and realized I was still wearing Gary's coat.

The papers got wind of things faster than my mom can pour a drink, and my phone's been ringing off the hook. I busted a reporter sneaking up to my window yesterday--Emma chased him away. I'm not just that girl who went missing, now I'm the girl whose mother had her abducted. I don't know if I can handle all this shit again.

Yesterday I called Luke because I wanted to tell him what was up before he read about it. He was at home and for a second I thought I heard a girl's voice in the background, but it may have just been the TV.

I told him what Mom had done and that she'd been arrested.

At first he was horrified, kept asking if I was sure, but when I repeated her side of the story he just said, "Wow, she must be feeling pretty bad--sounds like it got totally out of control on her."

He felt sorry for her? What about some righteous indignation on my behalf? I wanted to tell him off. But it just didn't matter anymore.

After I hung up the phone I stared at a picture of us on my mantel. We looked so happy.

The next day I called Christina and told her. She inhaled sharply, then said, "Oh my God, Annie. Are you okay? No, how could you be? I'm coming right over. I'll bring a bottle of wine, is that enough? No, we need a case. Your mom? Your own mother did this?"

"Yeah, I'm still trying to wrap my head around it myself. Can we hold off on the wine? I just need...I just need a little time."

She paused, then said, "For sure, yes, of course, you call if you need me, though, okay? I'll drop everything and come right over."

"I will, and thanks."

I didn't tell Christina or Luke that I didn't really leave town, nor am I going to, and I'm sure not going to tell Christina my mom tried to incriminate her. For the last couple of days all I can hear is this constant keening sound in my mind. And I can't seem to stop crying.

SESSION TWENTY-SIX

Sorry I missed our last session, but I saw my mother and I needed some time to pick myself back up off the floor. You know, it's funny, but the night after I saw her I really wanted to sleep in the closet. I stood outside it for the longest time with my pillow in hand, but I knew opening that door would be going backward, so I lay back down on my bed and conjured up your office in my mind. I told myself I was resting on your couch and you were watching over me. That's how I fell asleep.

They brought Mom back into the same interrogation room and her eyes met mine briefly, then slid away as she sat down across from me. The sleeves and cuffs on the gray baggy coveralls she was wearing were rolled up and the color turned her skin to ash--it's been years since I've seen my mom with a bare face. Both corners of her mouth were drawn down, and without her bubble-gum-pink lip balm her lips were so pale they blended in with her skin.

My heart tap-danced in my chest while my mind wrestled with what to say--Umm, gee, Mom, what's with having me abducted?--and whether I wanted to hear her answer. But before I could ask anything she said, "What's Val been saying?"

Caught off guard I said, "She left a message but I haven't--"

"You can't tell her anything."

"Excuse me?"

"Not until we figure out what we're going to do."

"We? You're on your own with this one, Mom. I'm just here so you can explain why you did this to me."

"Gary said you were told everything. You have to help, Annie, you're my only chance to--"

"Why the hell would I help you? You paid someone to abduct me, to hurt me, and then you--"

"NO! I didn't want you hurt--it just...everything, it went wrong, it's all wrong, and now..." She put her head in her hands.

"And now my life's fucked and you're in jail. Way to go, Mom."

She brought her head up and looked around the room with frantic eyes. "This isn't right, Annie. I can't be in here, I'll die." She leaned across the table and gripped my hand. "But if you talk to the police, you can tell them you won't press charges, or explain that you understand why I had to--"

"I don't understand, Mom." I pulled my hand away.

"I didn't have any other choice--you were always coming in second."

"It was my fault?"

"You saw how Val treated me. How she looked down at us."

"And I saw how you treated her, but she didn't have her daughter abducted, did she?"

Eyes filling with tears, she said, "You have no idea, Annie. No idea what I've been through--" She broke off.

"It has something to do with Dwight, doesn't it?"

Silence.

"If you don't tell me, I'm just going to ask Aunt Val."

Mom leaned on the table. "You CAN'T DO THAT TO ME, she'll just use it to--"

The door opened and a cop stuck his head in. "Everything okay in here?"

I said, "We're good." Mom nodded and the cop closed the door.

"You do realize the media is probably already talking to Aunt Val."

Mom's shoulders tensed.

"Reporters will want every detail about you, what you were like as a kid, what happened in your childhood to make you such a crappy mother."

"I'm a great mother, nothing like mine. And Val will never talk about our childhood. She doesn't want anyone in her perfect world finding out what she did." Her voice turned thoughtful. "She'd hate that...." One fingernail started to tap.

My stomach filled with dread. "Mom, don't make this any worse than--"

She leaned across the table. "She was our father's favorite, you know, but she was our stepfather's most favorite." She gave a bitter smile. "When my mother realized her husband was sleeping with one of her daughters, Val told her it was me. Next thing you know, my stuff is on the front lawn and our stepfather left town. If it hadn't been for Dwight I'd have been living in a box."

"Dwight?"

"When I got kicked out, I moved in with him. I was waitressing and he was laying brick when we came up with the idea for that bank." Her eyes glistened. "After he got caught I was barely getting by working two shifts a day. Then Val came over with a guy she'd met, talking about how great his parents' house was, how successful their jewelry store was...."

"Dad."

We were both quiet for a moment.

"When Dwight was released, we were going to be together, we just needed money. But he got caught again, so I told him I had to move on and I did, I married Wayne." She shook her head. "It wasn't until you were going to get the project that I thought things might get better for me. But then I heard Christina was who you had to go up against. She was a much better Realtor." Her breath hissed out between her teeth. "If you lost, Val was going to lord it over me for the rest of my life."

"So you decided to ruin mine instead?"

"My plan would've helped you--you would've been set for life. But nothing worked out right. Wayne was useless but Dwight at least tried to do something."

"Did he rob that store for you?"

She nodded. "I gave that movie producer your number, but you were wasting time and I needed a payment for the loan shark. I don't know where Dwight is now."

"Don't you care at all about what you put me through?"

"I hate what that man did to you, but you were only supposed to be gone for a week, Annie. What happened after was an accident."

"How the hell can you say this was an accident? You hired a man who raped me, who caused the death of my child!"

"It was like when you wanted ice cream, you asked your dad to go to the store."

It took a moment for her words to register, even longer for me to find my voice.

"You're talking about the accident."

She nodded. "You didn't mean for them to die."

All the breath left my body as my chest constricted. The pain was so intense I wondered for a moment if I was having a heart attack, then I broke out in a cold sweat and started shaking. I searched her face, hoping I'd misunderstood, but she looked satisfied--vindicated.

My eyes filled with tears as I choked out, "You--you do blame me for their deaths. That's what this was all really about, you--"

"Of course not."

"You do. You always have." I was crying now. "That's why you thought it was okay to--"

"You're not listening, Annie. I know you just wanted ice cream--you didn't plan for getting it to kill them. And I never meant for anything bad to happen to you, I just wanted Val to stop lording it over me."

I was still reeling from that when she said, "But she won't be for long. A lawyer is coming to talk to me tomorrow." She stood up and started pacing in front of the table. I noticed the color was back in her cheeks. "I'll tell him what it was like to grow up with Val as a sister, what she did with our stepfather, what my life was like after I got kicked out, how she's always put me down--that's verbal abuse." She stopped abruptly and turned to face me. "I wonder if she'll come to court. Then she'd have to sit there and watch while my lawyer--"

"Mom, if you take this to trial it's going to wreck my whole life again. I'm going to have to talk about what happened. I'm going to have to describe how he raped me."

She kept pacing. "That's it! We have to get her on the stand so she has to describe what she did."

"MOM." She stopped and looked at me.

I said, "Don't do this to me."

"This isn't about you, Annie."

I opened my mouth to argue, then froze as her words hit home. She was right. In the end it didn't matter whether she'd done it for the money, to get attention, or to beat her sister once and for all. None of it was about me. It had never been about me. Not with her or with The Freak. I didn't even know which one was more dangerous.

As I stood up and walked toward the door she said, "Where are you going?"

"Home." I kept walking.

"Annie, stop."

I spun around, braced for the tears, the I'm-so-sorry's, the don't-leave-me-here's.

She said, "Don't say anything to anybody before I get a chance. It has to be handled just right or--"

"Holy shit, you really don't get it, do you?"

She stared at me blankly.

I shook my head. "And you're never fucking going to."

"When you come back, bring me a newspaper so I can--"

"I'm not coming back, Mom."

Her eyes were huge. "But I need you, Annie Bear."

I rapped on the door and said, "Oh, I think you'll be just fine," as the waiting cop opened it. While he locked Mom back in, I stumbled to a bench against the opposite wall. After he was done, he asked me if I was okay and did I want him to get Gary. I said I just needed a couple of minutes, and he left me alone.

I counted blocks on the wall until my pulse settled down, then walked out of the station.

The papers found out about my visit to the jail, and the next day's headlines screamed speculations. Christina left a message for me to call her day or night if I needed to talk. She tried to hide it, but I could tell from her tone she was hurt I hadn't told her myself I'd gone to see Mom. Aunt Val also left a hesitant-sounding message, making me wonder how much she knew. But I didn't call either of them back, I didn't call any of the people who left if-you-need-to-talk messages back. What was there to talk about? It was over. Mom did it--the end.

A couple of days later I put the brochure for the art school on my night table. When I saw it the next morning I thought, Fuck it, if I'm going to follow my dream I need money, so I caved and called that movie chick. We had a good talk. I was right, she did seem to have some sensitivity and it sounded like she would respect my wishes. Even though she's Hollywood, she talks like a normal person.

There's a part of me that still doesn't want a movie, but I know one will get made, and if anyone is going to benefit from a movie about my life, it might as well be me. Plus, it's not really about me, just the Hollywood version of me--by the time it hits the screen it'll just be a movie. Not my life.

I agreed to meet with the movie chick and her boss in a week. They're talking some big numbers, big enough that I should be able to live comfortably for the rest of my life.

As soon as I got off the phone, I called Christina. I knew she'd think I was calling to talk about Mom, so when I told her I was finally going away to art school, I took her silence for surprise. But when the silence continued, I said, "Remember? The one in the Rockies I was always talking about in high school?"

"I remember. I just don't know why you're going now."

Her tone was casual but I felt the undercurrent of disapproval. Even back then she never really encouraged my going away to school, but I thought it was just because she'd miss me. I didn't know what the reason was this time, but I knew I didn't want to hear it.

"Because I want to," I said. "And I'd really like it if you listed my house for me."

"Your house? You're selling your house already? Are you sure you don't want to just rent it for--"

"I'm sure. And I want to spend the next couple of weeks fixing it up, but I'd like to get the paperwork out of the way soon, so when can you come over?"

She was silent for a bit, then said, "I could probably swing by on the weekend."

The next Saturday morning she came over. While we filled out the forms, I told her about the school, how I couldn't wait to go, how I was going to drive there the next day to check it out, how nice it was going to be to leave all this shit behind. She didn't say anything negative, but her responses were subdued.

Business out of the way, we sat side by side on my front porch steps in the morning sun. There was something else I wanted to talk about.

I said, "I think I know what you were really trying to tell me that night you came over to make me paint." Her eyes widened and a flush rose in her cheeks. "You can just let go of it. I'm not mad at you--or Luke. Shit happens."

"It was just once, I swear," she said in a flustered voice. "We'd been drinking, it didn't mean anything. We were both so upset about you, and nobody else understood what we were feeling...."

"It's okay. Honest. We all did stuff through this that we regret, but I don't even want you to regret this one. Maybe it needed to happen or something. But it doesn't matter anymore."

"Are you sure, because I feel so--"

"I'm over it, really. Now will you get over it, please?" I bumped her shoulder with mine and made a silly face. She made one back, then we lapsed into silence as we watched a young couple with a stroller pass the end of my driveway.

"I heard your mom has been telling people I was trying to beat you out of the project before you were abducted," she said after a while.

"Yeah, she said your assistant told a friend of hers or something that you were my competition all along, but I know it was probably just another of her lies."

"Actually, she got part of it right. They did ask me to put together a proposal for them and we met a couple of times. I knew they were talking to someone from another company, but I didn't know you were also going out for it until you mentioned it one day. I pulled out of the running right away and they didn't contact me again until after you were missing."

"You pulled out? Why?"

"There's business, and then there's good business. Your friendship was more important to me."

"I wish you'd told me, I'd have dropped out myself and let you go for it. You had way more experience and you'd waited longer for a deal like that."

Christina said, "That's why I didn't tell you--I knew we'd end up fighting over who was going to give it up!"

We broke out laughing, but then Christina grew quiet again as she surveyed my yard.

"This is such a great place." Shit, I knew where this was going.

"Yes, it is, and I'm sure someone's really going to love it."

"But you love it, Annie, and it just seems such a shame--"

"Christina, drop it."

She was quiet for a moment, her body stiff beside me. Then she shook her head.

"No. Not this time. I've respected your wishes these last couple of months, sat by in silence while you struggled with all of this on your own, but I'm not going to let you run away, Annie."

"Run away? Who the fuck said anything about running away? I'm finally getting my shit together, Christina. I thought you'd be happy."

"Selling the house you love? Going to an art school in the Rockies when one of the top schools is an hour from here? That's not getting your shit together. You said it yourself, you're just leaving it all behind."

"I've wanted to go to this school since I was a kid, and this house is a reminder of everything in my life, including my mom."

"Exactly, Annie. You've wanted to run away from your mom since you were a kid. Do you think that's going to make the pain go away? You can't just erase everything that's happened to you like that."

"Are you fucking kidding me? You think I'm trying to forget what happened to me?"

"Yeah, I think you are, but you can't. You think about it every day, don't you? And it kills me that you don't trust me enough to tell me about it. That you don't think I can handle it."

"This isn't about you, this is about me. I can't handle it. I can barely talk about it with my shrink. And to say it out loud to someone who knows me, to say what he did, what I did...to see in your eyes..."

"Are you ashamed? Is that it? This wasn't your fault, Annie."

"It is, don't you see? No, you wouldn't, you couldn't. Because you'd never let this happen to you."

"That's what you think? Jesus, Annie, you survived a year with a madman, you had to kill him to escape, and I can't even leave my marriage."

"Your marriage? What's wrong with your marriage?"

"Drew and I...it's not good. We're talking divorce."

"Oh, shit, you never said..."

"You wanted it light, remember? Not much light about a marriage falling apart." She shrugged. "We'd been having problems before you were taken, but in the last year it's gotten worse."

"Because of me?"

"Partly. I was just so consumed with trying to find you, but even before that...You know this business doesn't leave time for much else. I thought the new place might help, but..." She shrugged her shoulders again.

They'd bought a house a month before I was taken, and all she talked about was the new furniture they were shopping for together. I assumed they were doing great.

"So much has changed, Annie. After you disappeared I had nightmares every night for almost a month. I can't do any open houses. Last week a strange guy called to see a vacant home, and I referred him to a male Realtor.

"For a whole year everything was about trying to find you, then finally Drew talks me into taking that cruise and I wasn't here for you when you were in the hospital. Now that you're home, I still don't have you back--I miss you. And I can't avoid dealing with my marriage anymore. Drew wants to go to counseling, and I don't know what the fuck I want to do...."

She started crying. I stared at the grass and blinked back my own tears.

"This thing, this terrible thing, didn't just happen to you. It happened to everyone who cared about you, but it didn't just stop there, it happened to the whole town--even women across the country. Lots of people's lives have been changed, not just yours."

I began counting blades of grass.

"None of this is your fault. I just wanted you to know you're not alone, other people are hurting too. That's why I understand why you want to run away, I want to run away myself, but you have to stand and face things. I love you, Annie, like a sister, but ever since I've known you, as much as you've let me in, you've kept me out. And now you're about to make that final cut altogether. You're giving up. Like he did...."

"He who?"

"The guy."

"Holy shit, Christina, please tell me you aren't comparing me to that asshole."

"But it was all too much for him, right? Living among people? So he ran away--"

"I'm not running away, I'm moving on and building myself a new life. Don't ever compare that to what he did. This conversation is over."

She stared at me.

"In fact, I think you should leave."

"See? There you go, running away. I'm making you feel something, and you can't stand it, can't face it, so the only thing you can do is push me away."

I got up, walked into the house, and slammed the door behind me. A couple of minutes later I heard her car leave.

Gary called later that night to tell me they found the loan shark and are building a case against him. He also told me Mom's had a constant round of visitors and is giving interviews to just about anyone who asks.

"No surprise there," I said. "I've got one for you, though." I told him how I was finally going to pursue my dream.

"Good for you, Annie! Sounds like you're on the right track."

Glad he didn't see it Christina's way, I said, "I'm getting there. What about you?"

"Been doing some thinking myself. One of the guys who trained me is starting a consulting company and wants me as a partner. I could live anywhere, travel, give speeches, take time off whenever I need it."

"I thought you liked your job."

"Me too, but after we wrapped up your case, I started wondering.... And then with the divorce...I don't know, just seems like a good time to make some changes."

I laughed. "Yeah, I know exactly what you mean. I still have your coat, you know."

"I know. I'm in no rush. I just bought a new Yukon Denali--"

"Wow, you weren't kidding about making changes. Aren't guys who go through midlife crises supposed to buy sports cars?"

"Hey, once I decide on something, I don't mess around, but what I was getting to, smart-ass, is that I'm thinking about taking it for a road trip one of these weekends. If I make it up your way, or even when you're back here for the trial, I'd like to buy you a coffee or lunch or something?"

"I'm going to have a lot going on with school and all."

"Like I said, I'm in no rush."

"You bringing the peanut butter?"

"You know, I just might." He chuckled.

"Guess I could lay my hands on a couple of spoons."

The next morning I got up early and took a drive out to the school. Man, did it feel good to get away from this town, even if it was just for a couple of days. The Rockies are an amazing sight this time of year, and seeing those huge peaks stretching to the sky almost had me forgetting my fight with Christina. My window was rolled down the whole way so the clean pure scent of warm pine needles could fill my car. Emma was in the back with her head out the window--whenever she wasn't trying to lick my neck. Driving slowly up to the school, then seeing this beautiful Tudor-style building in front of me with the Rockies in the background, made me feel giddy. Things would be different there.

After I parked my car, Emma and I walked around the campus. As I strolled by a couple of girls sitting on the lawn sketching, one glanced up and we smiled at each other. I'd forgotten how nice it was to get a smile from a stranger. But then her glance turned to a stare and I knew she recognized me. I turned away just as she nudged her friend beside her. I put Emma back in the car and looked for the registration office.

I'm too late to apply for the September semester, so I filled out the application for January. I didn't have a portfolio with me but I'd thought to bring my sketch pad and I showed it to the guidance counselor. He said I shouldn't have a problem getting in and suggested which pieces to submit. I was disappointed I have to wait, but the counselor guy said I could take some evening classes on campus to prep myself.

On the way home I mentally made plans for the upcoming move, but as I neared Clayton Falls Christina's words, You're running away, haunted me. I still couldn't believe she had the nerve to say that. What the hell did she know? And telling me I wasn't alone? Of course I was alone. My daughter was dead, my dad was dead, my sister was dead, and my mother might as well be. Who the hell was Christina to judge me for anything I did?

You're running away.

Hours later I parked in Christina's driveway, stormed up to her door, and rapped hard.

"Annie!"

"Is Drew here?"

"No, he's staying at a friend's. What's going on?"

"Look, I appreciate you're going through a rough time, Christina, but that doesn't give you the bloody right to control my life. It's my life, mine. Not yours."

"Okay, Annie, I just--"

"Why can't you just leave me alone? You don't have a clue what I went through."

"No, I don't. Because you won't tell me."

"How could you say those things to me? My mother had me abducted, Christina."

"Yes, she did."

"She lied to me."

"She lied to everyone."

"She left me up there. Alone."

"Completely alone."

"My mother did it to me."

"Your mother, Annie."

"And now she's going to jail. I have no one left. No one."

"You have me."

And then I finally broke.

Christina didn't hold me while I cried. She sat beside me on the floor, shoulder to shoulder, as I sobbed out grievances against my mother. Every unjust action that had been committed on me by her since I was a child, every broken dream and unfulfilled wish. And after I got one out, Christina would nod and say, Yes, she did that to you. And it was wrong. You were wronged.

Eventually my sobs turned to the occasional sniffle, and an odd kind of calm settled over me.

Christina said, "Why don't you get Emma out of the car and I'll make us some tea."

We changed into pajamas--Christina lent me a pair of hers. "Silk," she said with a smile, earning an "Of course" and a shaky smile back. Then, with a full pot of tea in front of us, we sat at the kitchen table. I took a deep breath.

"My baby? Her name was Hope."

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Wow, do I ever owe a lot of people a debt of gratitude for their help with this novel! It's impossible for me to list them in order of importance as all of these wonderful people were essential to my journey, so I'm just going to start at the beginning--where all good stories start.

My aunt, Dorothy Hartshorne, because she read every draft, argued psychology with me, and always encouraged me to keep going. She also promises not to sell my first draft on eBay! My beta readers, Lori Hall, Tracy Taylor, Beth Helms, and Clare Henderson, who all took time out of their busy lives to read my book and share their thoughts. My amazing mentor, Renni Browne, for her astute insights and unwavering belief in this book. Peter Gelfan and Shannon Roberts also provided valuable feedback that helped me take Still Missing to the next level.

For sharing their professional knowledge, I'm grateful to Constable B. D. McPhail, Constable H. Carlson, Staff Sergeant J. D. MacNeill, Constable J. Moffat, Dr. E. Weisenberger, Peter Gallacher, and Stephanie Witzaney. Any mistakes and embellishments are entirely my fault--I tend to get a little carried away while in the artistic throes!

Many thanks go out to my fantastic agent, Mel Berger, for answering all my questions with great patience and wisdom--and boy, do I have a lot of questions! An enormous thank-you to my wonderful editor, Jen Enderlin, who loved my book enough to take a chance on it, then worked with me to take it over the finish line. My gratitude to the rest of the team at St. Martin's Press who made this a great experience for me: Sally Richardson, George Witte, Matthew Shear, Matthew Baldacci, John Murphy, Dori Weintraub, Ann Day, Lisa Senz, Sarah Goldstein, Sara Goodman, Elizabeth Catalano, Nancy Trypuc, Kim Ludlam, Anne Marie Tallberg, the entire Broadway sales force, and the entire Fifth Avenue sales force. Last but not least, Tom Best, Lisa Mior, and all the great people at H. B. Fenn.

I'm also deeply grateful to Don Taylor and Lisa Gardner for their help in spreading the word.

On a personal front, I'd like to thank all the friends and family who believed in me--even when I was threatening to burn my manuscript. All my love to my husband, Connel, who brings food to my desk, hides the chocolate where I can still find it, and always makes me feel like I'm the luckiest woman in the world.

Finally, although Vancouver Island is a real place, all the towns on the island in the book, including Clayton Falls, are purely fictional.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

STILL MISSING. Copyright (c) 2010 by Rene Unischewski. All rights reserved.