ake

 

 

 

 

My head throbs from drinking too much last night. I’m dying to know what happened with James and the two women; before leaving, I suggested to Mona that James would probably appreciate getting to know both of them. She smiled and winked.

But first, some coffee. I start a pot and stretch, looking out my front window at the grim street and know I’ve got to get out of here soon. I miss Chicago, and my uncle’s got a lot accomplished in terms of building up the department while I’ve been here. He’s not going to need me for much longer.

And I know, it’s time for me to get back home. To talk to my mom. To somehow find peace with my dad’s death.

The only thing stopping me is Melanie. I don’t want to leave her. I haven’t figured out my feelings yet, but thoughts of her stopped me from getting laid last night. I didn’t want someone else. I don’t want anyone else. It’s fucked up, but there it is. She’s the only one I want.

My cell rings, and the caller ID shows it’s the high school.

“Hello?” I ask.

“Jake? It’s Joan Evans.” Her voice is fringed with worry.

“What’s going on?” I’ve already put down my mug and am heading into the bedroom to get dressed. Something’s up, and I need to hurry.

“It’s Melanie Cannon. She didn’t show up to school again. I called her mother, who said she left the house around four in the morning.”

“What?” I toss a clean T-shirt from my drawer onto the bed, then open the next drawer, rifling through for a pair of clean jeans.

“That’s what I said. I asked her why she let her obviously upset high school daughter leave at that time of the morning, or night, or whatever you want to call it. And she had no good answer.”

“Is she worried? Does she have any idea where Melanie went?”

“She didn’t seem worried,” says the principal. “She said Melanie just probably needed to get some space. Or something like that. Jesus, that poor girl.”

“Yeah. Look. I’m heading in to the station, and my partner and I will drive around, see what we can find out.” One-handed, I’m trying to undress. I don’t want to waste time.

“Her friend—or former friend—Stacey didn’t show up today either, and nobody’s answering at her house. I’m not worried about her, but she might know something. I don’t know.” She sighs. “Please call me if you find anything out. I’ll do the same.”

“Right.” As soon as I hang up, I pull on my clothes as fast as I can, grab my badge and gun, and head to the station.

James is already at his desk with bloodshot eyes but a huge smile on his face. “Yo, Beck,” he says with a proud nod.

“Busy night last night?”

“Not enough fucking Advil in the world for this headache.” He gulps some coffee. “But yeah. Good fucking night last night. You’ll never believe…”

I cut him off. “I want to hear all about it, man, but let’s do it while we drive.”

“Yeah. Sure.” He gets up, just a little unsteady. “What’s up?”

“The Cannon girl? Melanie? She’s missing.”

“Like, officially?”

“Nah. But she made a deal with the principal at the high school, and she left her house at four in the morning, so we’re going to check out a few places, see if we see her around.” I head to the door with James following.

“Saw her last night,” he says.

“What?” I stop and turn to face him. “Where? What time?”

“At the fucking bar. Lucky’s?”

“After I left?”

“Nah. She popped her head in. You were, uh, having a close conversation with Mona. I think Melanie saw us and skedaddled. Cops and underage kids in bars don’t mix, you know?”

Shit.

“Yeah.” I manage to stay calm on the outside, but inside I’m feeling absolutely fucked. She probably saw Mona and me talking and got the wrong idea. And I know I can explain it to her, and she’ll most likely believe me. But with everything going on in her life, the last thing she needed was to be confronted with something like that.

“Where we headed first?” James gets in the driver seat and I buckle up in the passenger seat.

“The Grove. Her friend isn’t in school either, so on the off chance that they’re together we’re going to check it out.”

“Got it.” James pulls out of the parking lot and drives down Main Street. “Dude,” he says, “last night? Fucking epic, man. So I don’t like to kiss and tell…”

“Whatever you say, man.”

He laughs. “Yeah. You’re right. I do.” He begins a story about how both his date and Mona decided they should all hang out together, since I stood Mona up by leaving early. They ended up at Mona’s place, and he’s more than happy to share the details.

I’m having a hard time concentrating though. I’m worried about Melanie. My gut tells me something bad happened, worse, even, than her walking into the bar and seeing me talking to another woman.

Like usual, I’m surprised at the contrast between The Grove and the rest of Bells Park; it’s like being in a completely different town. The houses stand tall and regal, spread out on large parcels of land, lit by the early morning spring sun. It’s like a perfect, wealthy neighborhood out of a 1980s John Hughes film.

Stacey’s house is impressive, with two huge white columns holding up a balcony from the second story of the house. We pull up to the front door via a circular driveway and park, leaving the car running.

It takes a few minutes after we ring for the door to be opened by Stacey, blonde and pretty but with bleary eyes and messy hair. She blinks at us a few times before speaking.

“Um, hi.” She rubs one of her eyes with a fist, the puts her hands down at her side, pulling the sleeves over them. “Can I help you?”

“We’re looking for Melanie Cannon. Is she here?” I glance past the girl, Stacey, into the house, where two guys are sprawled on the couch. I recognize one of them as Melanie’s date from Baker’s Square. The urge to march inside and punch him fills my chest, and I have to fight it down.

“Melanie? No.” Stacey shifts from one foot to the other.

“Was she here last night?”

“Yeah. For a little while. What’s going on? Is she OK?”

“Can we come in?” I ask.

“Uh, I guess?” It’s obvious she wants to say no but isn’t sure if that’s all right. Instead, she pulls the door open and James and I enter.

The guys on the couch sit upright at the sight of two police officers in the house. The scent of liquor and stale pot lingers in the air. I’m familiar with this smell, the odor of next mornings and regret.

“We’re looking for Melanie Cannon,” I say to the guys on the couch. “What time did she leave here last night?”

The college kid, the one I fucking hate, shrugs and looks away.

“Maybe two?” Stacey rakes her hand through her hair, like she’s trying to fix it up, but it’s no use. She looks hung over and wrecked.

“Did she leave on foot? In a car?”

“Um, she walked,” says Stacey.

“Do you know where she was headed? Did she say where she was going?”

“I don’t know. She didn’t say. Home, I guess?” Stacey sits on the couch next to the guy I guess is her boyfriend, and he puts his arm around her.

“What time did she get here last night?” I ask. This question, I admit, is more for my personal curiosity, so I can put together the timeline of what happened after she saw me at the bar.

Stacey looks at the asshole. “Sam? What time did you guys get here?”

He shrugs again. “I don’t remember.”

“But she came here with you?” I persist.

He nods. “Yeah. She was looking for some cat. Stacey asked me to help Melanie look. We didn’t find it, but she wanted to hang out, so I brought her back here with me so she could party with us. I don’t remember what time that was. Maybe midnight? I don’t know.”

“A cat?” asks James.

But I remember the cat, the gentleness that overcame Melanie, that softened out her hard edges when she took care of it and petted it.

“Yeah,” the kid is saying. “It’s some cat she feeds at the store or something. She said it was hurt. So she wanted help looking for it. Except we didn’t find it.”

I toss a few business cards on the table. “Call me right away if you hear from her. Got it?” I look at all three of them.

“Yeah,” says Stacey. “Do you think she’s all right?”

I don’t answer. I nod at James, and we head out and back to the car.

“Nice kids,” he says, rolling his eyes.

“They’re fucking assholes.”

“That’s a little harsh, dude.” James pulls out of the driveway. “What’s up with you, anyway?”

“Nothing’s up with me.”

“Bullshit. Why are you so, I don’t know, caught up in this?”

“In what?” I look out the window, afraid that if I meet his eyes he’ll see the truth.

“This kid. She’s in your drug class. And you talk about her with the principal. And you’re worried cause she’s missing and probably in trouble. But there’s more, isn’t there?”

“Fuck you.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think there’s something going on.” He stares straight ahead, and he’s got this look on his face like he knows he shouldn’t have said what he just said.

“Fuck you,” I say again.

James pulls onto the field-lined road that leads back to the center of Bells Park. “Not judging, man. Just saying.”

I grunt in response, and we don’t talk all the way back to the station.

~~~~

Something’s wrong. Like, really fucking wrong. I feel it in my gut. I tell James I’m going to check out the antique shop, and head to the front door.

“Where you going, son?” My uncle’s voice stops me. He’s leaning against the receptionist’s desk, chewing on a handful of Skittles from the bowl on the counter.

“Checking something out.” I walk outside, knowing he’ll follow, but not wanting to have this conversation in front of anyone else.

Outside, I wait for him to appear. He’s still swallowing, and when he speaks, his tongue is colorful like the candy. “Where you going?” he asks again. He’s not angry, exactly, but I can tell he doesn’t want any bullshit.

“Heading to the antique shop.” I nod my head in the direction of the shop, right there on the next block.

“What’s going on?”

“The Cannon girl’s missing.”

“No official report filed, though?” He puts his hands on his hips, squinting at me in the early morning sunlight.

“Nope. But her mother says she left the house around four, and she never turned up at school.”

He nods. “Probably just blowing off steam somewhere.”

“Probably.”

He stares at me for what feels like a fucking eternity. Finally, I break.

“What?” I ask. “What’s the problem, Mike? We don’t have any other calls right now. You want me to file shit or clean the office? Just tell me. But if not, I’m going to try to track down a troubled kid who could be in trouble.”

“The operative word being kid, Jake.”

“What’s your point, huh? What are you getting at? If you’ve got something to say, just fucking say it.” I’ve never spoken to my uncle like this, but I’m sick and tired of playing games. I don’t have the time or patience for it anymore. I’ve had enough.

“Are you involved with her?” He stands still like a statue.

I try to match his posture, but inside I’m trembling, both with anger and fear. “No, man. That’s crazy.”

“If you’ve got something to say, just fucking say it,” he says, using my exact words from just a moment ago. “Just tell me the fucking truth, Jake.”

I sigh and look down at the ground before meeting his eyes. “The truth, Mike, is that I care about her. About her well-being. She’s in my class and I want her to finish it. All right? That’s it.”

He turns his head and spits, then looks back at me. “You telling the truth?”

“I am.” It hurts, to look him in the eyes and lie like this.

“I asked you to come here for two reasons, Jake. I needed your help. And you needed to get away. But don’t be stupid. I trust you. Don’t make me regret it.” His eyes are boring into mine, like he can fucking see the lie in my heart.

“You can trust me.” It’s bullshit, but it’s all I have right now.

~~~~

The cat’s there. I see it right away, lying next to two bowls. It breaks my heart to think of Melanie last night, putting out food and water and hoping to find it.

It’s not moving, and I hope with everything I’ve got that it’s not dead. Wherever Melanie is, she’ll come back eventually. And what she doesn’t need is another loss.

When I get closer and see the poor thing is breathing I sigh in relief. Thank fucking god.

Right away I see that one of its back legs is messed up bad. Bloody and mangled, it either got caught in a trap or chewed up by something bigger. I can’t imagine the leg will survive and to be honest, the cat itself looks half dead already.

When I reach out to pick it up, it lets out a strange noise, a mixture between a meow and a hiss.

“Don’t fucking bite me,” I warn in a gentle tone.

It doesn’t bite, but it scratches, a long swipe along my forearm. “Fucker,” I whisper, but don’t let go. After that initial attack, it’s pretty limp, and I keep thinking it’s dead, except for small movements, like it’s trying to get comfortable in my arms, every few seconds.

Where the fuck can I take it? Bells Park definitely doesn’t have animal control. And there are no shelters nearby, at least not that I’ve seen. If I take it back to the station, I know James will give me a hard time, and I don’t want to face my uncle right now, but what choice is there?

I carry the animal back to the station and get into the undercover car, setting the cat on the passenger seat. Before pulling out my phone to look up the nearest vet, I radio in to James to let him know I won’t be back for a little while.

“Found the cat Melanie was looking for last night. It’s half dead. I’m taking it to a vet, if I can find one. Any ideas?” I ask James.

He’s quiet for a moment. “Yeah. Over in Bolster there’s one. Good place too. My sister’s dog had to have surgery, and… anyway, yeah. I’d go there.”

“All right. Call me if you need me.” For once I’m glad Bells Park is so slow and boring, because it means I have the opportunity to take off like this.

As I drive, I keep my eye out for Melanie, in the vain hope that I’ll see her along the way, and I’ll pick her up and we’ll go to the vet together, and everything will be fine. It’s fucking stupid. Nothing in life is that simple.

Bolster is much bigger than Bells Park, probably several times the size. The main strip off the highway features a giant Walmart, Home Depot, and plenty of restaurants. The veterinary office looks new and shiny, and I pull into the parking lot and grab the cat who, I’m relieved to discover, is still breathing. I’ve seen some shit, but I try not to look at the gruesome leg all the same. It makes me feel sick, as much as I hate to admit it.

As I head to the front door, I stroke the orange fur and tell the cat everything’s going to be fine. It looks up at me and makes the saddest sound I’ve ever heard, a pained and desperate meow that seriously breaks my heart. Fucking cat.

“Can I help you?” The receptionist, a guy a few years younger than I am, nods at the cat in my arms.

“Yeah. I hope so. This cat is, uh, hurt. Pretty bad.”

The guy comes out from around the counter and takes a quick look. “Wow. Yeah. That does not look good. Let me put you in a room and a vet will be in to see you in a few minutes, all right?”

He leaves me in a sterile, white exam room that smells like bleach and rubbing alcohol. There’s a shiny steel exam table, and for a second I almost put the cat down on it, then think better of it and cradle it in my arms. The surface looks cold—too cold for an animal that’s barely alive.

The door opens, and a woman in a white jacket enters. She’s in her forties and attractive, her hair pulled back into a ponytail and her eyes kind but honest. “Hi,” she says. “I’m Dr. Gellison.”

“Jake Beck.”

“Nice to meet you. Who’ve you got there?” She gestures at the cat.

“Oh. Um, it’s a cat.”

She nods at me like I’m a kindergartener.

“It’s not mine,” I say as an explanation, though that doesn’t really explain things. “It’s hurt. Here.” Now I do set the cat on the table, as gently as possible.

She leans over to examine it, and I can tell by her face that she’s not happy with what she sees. I grow restless as she opens the cat’s mouth to look inside, then takes its temperature and listens to its heart. When she finally looks up, she’s frowning.

“It’s not good.” I can see sadness in her eyes, but resignation too. I wonder how often she has to tell people their pets aren’t going to make it. I wonder how many animals she’s had to put down, knowing they’re too sick or old or damaged to get well again.

“How not good are we talking?”

“Well…” She hesitates, stopping to pet the cat’s side. “The leg can’t be saved. And right now, her vital signs show her body’s shutting down. She may have lost a lot of blood, and she’s probably in shock. You say she’s not your cat?”

I shake my head. “No. She’s a stray. A friend of mine fed her sometimes. But it’s not really her cat either.”

She nods. “If there’s no owner, there’s nothing we can do.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, taking care of this cat is going to require a lot of care. Expensive care. And even with that, there’s no guarantee she’ll survive. If we provided this kind of service to every stray out there, we’d go out of business.”

“So what then? You’d just put it to sleep?”

She nods. “We can’t afford the kind of surgery and IV and round-the-clock care an animal in this condition needs. Unless you’re willing to pay?”

Fuck. “How much?” But even as I ask, I know I’m going to pay it. All of it. No matter what she says.

She shrugs. “Minimum, two thousand. That’s just for the anesthesia and IV and amputation. Aftercare too. Prior to the surgery, though, we need to make sure she’s stable, make sure she can handle the operation.”

I close my eyes and breathe out hard. “Fine. Do it. Who do I pay?”

“They’ll take care of you at the front desk. I’ll take her back and get started. Does she have a name?”

“Um…” What did Melanie call her? “Molly. I think her name’s Molly.”

“All right.” Dr. Gellison looks into my eyes. “And after the surgery, if Molly survives—I don’t want to get your hopes up, Mr. Beck—I trust you have a home for her? We don’t generally advise people to have outdoor cats. A cat belongs indoors. Especially as she’s recovering. Is that something you can accommodate?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“And I need to make it clear that there are no guarantees. She may not make it.”

“I understand.”

At the front desk, I give the receptionist all my information and, most important, my credit card number. I sign a bunch of forms and take off, with his word that he’ll call me with any updates.

“Any time,” I tell him. “I keep weird hours anyway.”

When I leave the vet’s office, I don’t know where to go or what to do. All I know is Melanie’s out there somewhere, but I have no idea where. I want to find her—I need to find her, but I don’t even know where to start.