homes. We still can’t seem to locate Lucky Thompson, the college kid who works at the Mourning Glory. He hadn’t shown up for his afternoon shift at the cafe. So many questions. My hand rests on the phone’s receiver, and I am debating whether to call my wife. I should have checked in with her by now. I leave the police station without calling her. As I pull away, I switch my radio to F2 so that only Meg, our dispatcher, can hear me.
“Meg, this is for your information only,” I tell her.
“Go ahead,” she responds.
“I’m checking out the woods along Bobcat Trail for our missing girls. I’ll be back in contact shortly.”
“Ten-four.”
ANTONIA
Louis is on his way over. It seems so simple now, for us to just go out into the woods to look for the girls. I don’t plan to come home until I have Ben, Calli and Petra back with us.
“How do you think we can get past the press or the other officers without them knowing where we are going?” Martin asks.
“I don’t know.” That same question has been nagging me, as well. While getting as many people as possible looking for the kids would be a good thing, the idea of a camera following us around did not appeal to me. Besides, I wonder how Calli would react if there were a bunch of strangers in the woods looking for her. I think it would frighten her, that perhaps she would hide, making it much more difficult to find her.
Earlier, I had thought there was no way I would survive this day. A hundred emotions have traveled the course of my body and I am exhausted. But now the day is ending and the less sunlight we have, the more difficult it will be to locate the children. I wish we had set out hours earlier and I find myself resenting Louis and Agent Fitzgerald for snatching precious time away.
“He’s here,” Martin says, seeing Louis through Mrs. Norland’s curtains.
I open the door to let him in even before he can knock.
“Hi,” I say. “Thanks for coming.”
“Sure. Martin sounded urgent.” Louis reaches out to shake Martin’s hand in greeting. Who did that anymore, I wonder. It is so formal, especially in our circumstance.
“We want to go looking for the children,” Martin informs him. “I know that’s not really in the plan that Agent Fitzgerald laid out, but we feel we need to do this.”
Louis listens, showing no reaction.
“It’s going to be dark in a few hours, Louis,” I tell him. “I cannot stand the idea of them being out there in the woods at night. I have to go looking for them.”
“I know what you’re saying. I don’t disagree with you. I just think that we would be able to cover a lot more ground with the organized search tomorrow. We’ll have the search dogs and all the people we could ask for.”
“We can still do all that tomorrow, if we need to.” Impatience fills Martin’s voice. “Right now, Antonia and I are going out looking for them, with you or without you. We’re hoping you will be able to go with us or at least help us avoid the media as we set out.” Martin and I both anxiously await Louis’s decision. He has the same look on his face that he’d get when we were kids. That look of indecision right after I would dare him to do something he knew would either get him in trouble or hurt. In the end, Lou always took the dare.
“All right. Where do you want to start?” Louis asks with a sigh.
Martin looks to me. “I’m not familiar with the forest. I wouldn’t know where to begin looking, I am afraid.”
“Ben said he already tried Willow Wallow and the places on the edge of the woods. Let’s head in deeper right away. How about Old Schoolhouse Path and then Bobcat Trail? Maybe the girls tried to find the school and got lost,” I suggest.
Old Schoolhouse Path is a winding, mostly overgrown trail only recognizable to those who know the woods well. Settled about three miles into the woods is a small one-room schoolhouse, at least one hundred years old. No one knows why someone would choose to build a school in such a remote, difficult place to reach. Some people who had lived at the edge of the forest believed that a small group of settlers had made their home in the woods and as a community had built the school. It was difficult, however, to keep a teacher interested in staying in such an isolated area. So eventually, the people of the wood moved closer into town and abandoned the school made of limestone and oak. The sturdy little school was still standing, but engulfed by weeds. The small windows were broken out and many woodland animals had taken up residence there.
I had taken Ben and Calli there once a few years ago and we had talked of cleaning up the schoolhouse, maybe making a fort out of it, our own personal hiding spot. But it was too far into the woods, the hike too tiring for Calli, and we discarded the idea. Maybe Calli and Petra had decided to find the old school and investigate. This idea was much more comforting a scenario than the one that included Calli’s footprints in the dust. Calli being dragged off somewhere.
“What about the reporters?” Martin asks.
“Could we distract them somehow?” I wonder. “Tell them that there is going to be a press conference at the sheriff’s office, send them there?”
“That’s all fine and good until they get there and there’s no press conference. You don’t want to piss them off, Toni. You may need them later on,” Louis says.
“I think I know what we can do,” Martin remarks. “May I use Mrs. Norland’s telephone?”
“Of course,” I answer. “Who are you calling?”
“Fielda,” he responds. “She was planning on speaking with a reporter from Channel Twelve anyway. I don’t think a few more reporters will matter.”
“I think I know how we can keep the reporters happy for even longer,” Louis adds. “If Fielda wouldn’t mind, I know of someone who wants to help in any way that she can. Mary Ellen McIntire is in town.” Louis looks at us expectantly.
“You mean the lady whose little girl was murdered? You don’t think the same person who did that to her daughter had anything to do with this, do you, Louis?” I ask, my voice cracking.
“I don’t know, Toni. I hope not. It’s different in many ways, but Jenna McIntire was somehow lured from her home and into a wooded area. There’s just enough of a similarity for Agent Fitzgerald to be interested and for the press to be all over this. It will keep the media occupied for a while.”
Martin and I look at each other. “I’ll call Fielda and explain what we are doing. Louis, call Mrs. McIntire and have her drive over to my mother-in-law’s home. Antonia, go outside and tell the reporters that there will be a press conference at the Mourning home in—” he looks at his watch “—in fifteen minutes.”
BEN
I am so tired and I keep nodding off. My eyes are nearly swollen shut and my head is throbbing. Dad looks like he is sleeping, so I relax a little bit. Through my slits for eyes I see Petra move, just a little bit. So she’s not dead, thank God. I stand from where I am sitting, using a tree to steady myself. I feel dizzy and so, so tired. All I want to do is take a drink of water, ice-cold, and crawl into my bed and sleep for days. I stumble over to where Petra lies; she has tucked herself into a little ball, her arms covering her head so I can’t see her face, which is prob’ly a good thing. My stomach isn’t feeling so great; I don’t think I can stand to get too close a look at Petra’s face beaten to a pulp. But I need to get her to talk to me, to tell me what happened while Dad is sleeping.
“Petra,” I whisper. “Petra!” I say a little bit louder. I kneel down and place my hand on her shoulder. My fingers are covered with dried blood and no amount of wiping them on my shorts will clean them off. Petra curls up tighter into her little ball.
“Petra, it’s Ben. Please wake up. I gotta talk to you.”
