Lost Girls

recalled your bringing Krystal in the day she scraped her knee. The bad news is that the registering nurse identified you as her father on the admitting information form.''

''Why would she do that?''

''Because you told her that's who you were. Everyone in town knows that you're not Lloyd McConnell, and you're telling someone who's creating an official hospital document that you are. Why would you do something like that?''

''You know, they were really very imaginative girls.''

''Are you saying that Krystal wanted you to pretend you were her father?''

''Make believe. A good story should make you believe.''

''Like lies.''

''What's a lie if you believe it, Mr. Crane?''

''Let me try a theory out on you,'' I start again. ''You told that nurse at the clinic you were Krystal's father because that's how you wanted Krystal to think of you. How you wanted both of them to think of you. Am I right?''

Tripp grimaces for a second as though suffering some kind of intestinal discomfort. Then he collects himself and looks at me hard. Hard enough that I feel like maybe he can actually see me.

''You can be anyone you like, if you allow yourself,'' he says. ''But I've found that it's probably easier if you start out as nobody. What's to stop you from being anything if you're nothing to start with?''

''I don't know, Thom. How about the fact that you aren't nobody? That your driver's license has your name and picture on it, that you used to teach English at Georgian Lakes High School, and that everyone in this town knows you're Thomas Tripp? How about the fact that you aren't Lloyd McConnell, that Krystal's not your daughter? That you already have a daughter of your own?''

''I don't have anything.''

He throws both of his arms above his head, knuckles cracking, and brings them down again as though in preparation for a piano recital.

''But I'm really glad you're keeping score,'' he says evenly. ''Because that's exactly what I expect of my lawyer. Certainty.''

''Sorry to let you down, but I have to tell you that your lawyer's not certain about a damn thing right now.''

''You know who you are, don't you?''

''Less than I did before.''

Tripp cocks his head.

''Yes,'' he says finally. ''I believe we do have similar interests.''

''Like the Lady?''

''She's not an interest.''

''You signed out Alistair Dundurn's history book from the library. And then you went to Bishop's Hospital and tried to look at her medical records. Doesn't that show an interest?''

''They were always asking for more details.''

''Ashley and Krystal?''

''They couldn't possibly walk into a mental hospital asking for a dead woman's file, could they? A couple of teenagers?''

''And you were only too happy to oblige, weren't you, Dad?''

He says nothing to this, appears not even to have heard it. Crosses his legs, turns to face the far wall as though lending his attention to another conversation going on there entirely distinct from our own.

''Thom!''

I don't shout it, but the anger turns my voice into a cracked whip. He turns his head back to where I sit but keeps his legs facing away so that he looks like a leisured man in a cafe twisted around to hear the daily specials recited by the waiter.

''I'm going to try this one more time. Did you or did you not take Krystal and Ashley to the lake on that Thursday?''

''A teacher must always accompany his students on field trips. That's policy.''

''But did you make them go with you?''

''It was their idea.''

''And they were wearing their costumes? The ones you got through the school's budget for the Literary Club?''

''I told you. They insisted on details.''

''Why, Thom? Why did you take them up there?''

He sighs, but not despairingly. It's not the sound of a man bringing his mind to an awful memory but the everyday sound of mild impatience. The tedium that comes from answering literal questions in literal terms.

''They wanted to see the Lady for themselves. To make sure she was real.'' He wipes at a narrow band of perspiration shining below his hairline. ''And you know something else? I think she wanted to see them too.''

''How do you know that?''

Tripp frames me in a condescending stare for a moment, then claps his hands together and treats himself to a burst of resounding laughter.

''Because she told me, of course!''

The things that amuse my client. And in the noise of his amusement I feel only the straining competition of two distinct desires. I want to kill him. I want to laugh along with him.

When he finishes both of us sit looking at each other for a time with what might be mistaken for grudging fondness. Then I set my elbows on the table and fill the space between us with an almost intimate whisper.

''Thom, did you kill Krystal McConnell and Ashley Flynn?''

He doesn't breathe. It's as though his usual vast inhalations of oxygen have been stored up for occasions like this. And when he speaks the laughter of a moment before has evaporated entirely.

''You said you didn't need to know that.''

''I need to know it now.''

''That's funny. I thought part of what I'm paying you for is to remain single minded. That caring would cost me more. Have your fees just gone up, Mr. Crane?''

''Just tell me the truth.''

'' 'In my experience such things rarely make a difference.' My lawyer told me that.''

''I know you remember what happened, although you probably don't want to. You'd do anything rather than remember. All the voices in your head--they're meant to cover it up, but sometimes they still leave holes for all of it to come through, don't they? So I'm asking you. What did you do to those girls?''

Now Tripp makes a clicking sound in his sinuses and draws in an impossibly long, whistling breath. When he's full his face turns a newborn pink before letting it go, curling over the table. A warm wind carrying the smell of boiled meat.

''They lived for stories.''

''Thom, listen, you've already--''

''So one day I told them the story of the Man Who Lost Everything.''

''Are you the hero of that one?''

''I'm the villain! The bad husband and father. There's nobody worse.''

''So you told them the story of losing your daughter, then showed them what a good swimmer you are? Is that it?''

''Losing and taking are two different things.''

''So Melissa was taken from you. What are Ashley and Krystal, then?''

''Maybe you should ask them.''

''I can't do that. They're dead.''

''But you can still hear them, can't you?''

''We're the only ones here, Thom.''

''You can be here and not here at the same time.'' He points a finger at me across the table, pressing