Still Missing

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.