Eli
October 18, 2017
“She’s leaving, E. All I’m saying is, don’t get attached.”
It’s too late, I want to tell Merit. But I don’t.
The mind-blowing sex we had was just a byproduct of a beautiful woman and a man doing what was natural. But Merit’s words sear into the back of my mind. Alex has to leave. She has a house in California. A life I’m not part of. Family. She came to Maine to do a job. She’s doing it.
Merit laughs in my face.
“What’s so funny?” I ask in just a bit more than a whisper so that Dad can finish the nightly news in peace.
We’re in the kitchen.
“Eli, that’s the biggest crock of shit. I could tell the morning I walked into that hospital that Alex was something more. I’ll tell you this; I like Alex. I like her a lot more than I did Grace.” She takes a sip of her beer.
“Mer, stop with the Grace shit already.”
“You and I will never see eye-to-eye on her. I can live with that. But when are you going to let go?” Merit has always been able to ask the tough questions, even when we were kids. She always fed me the truth, even when it was hard for her. Protective she is of her little brother.
“Filed the divorce papers on Monday.”
“Shut up.” A grin starts to spread across her face. A giddy look about her changes her features.
We’ve been accused of being twins. Though I’m taller now, much taller. But she isn’t short by any means, standing at five foot eleven. She keeps her long blonde hair tied up in a bun, and our eyes and facial features are almost identical. She still has a brush of freckles that dust her nose and cheeks, and it’s faint in the winter, more predominant in the summer.
“This calls for a celebration!” Her smile dies down, her excitement more contained. “I’m kidding,” she sighs. “I’m sorry, E. I know how hard that was for you, but I also think it’s the right thing to do.”
“I know.”
“Have you told Alex about Grace?”
“No. I need to. I will. I just need some time.”
“See! So much for not attached! I knew it! You really like her.”
“You sound like Ryan.”
Merit’s back stiffens. Her lips tighten as she tries to casually put the bottle to her lips again.
Her phone begins to vibrate and move across the kitchen table. I look, and Ryan’s name slides across the screen.
“Why is Ryan calling you? You hate him.”
I see the panic that starts to move from her eyes to her mouth. She hits Ignore. “Some study he wants done at Rangeley Lake. Wants me to do it while I’m home.” Merit waves it off, but the look on her face doesn’t fade.
I don’t buy it. I’ve never asked too many questions about it. And that’s the difference between Merit and me. She’s always willing to give unsolicited advice. I’d rather ride it out and see how it goes.
“Hey, you two. Come in here. Unusual snowstorm moving in,” Pop calls from the living room.
Merit, Pop, and I watch the Portland weatherman talk about a huge storm that’s moving in off the coast and supposed to make landfall by Friday night.
Work will be a mess.
We’re supposed to go to Boston tomorrow by train, but Alex doesn’t know about it.
My cell phone rings. It’s Ryan.
“Young.”
“You’re not going to believe who just walked into the State Police station.”
“Who?” I put my hand on my hip.
“John and Eileen Richardson. They want to file a missing persons report. We need to get down there, stat.”
“Leaving my dad’s now.”
“Is Merit there?” Ryan asks, as if he doesn’t want to ask the question, but he can’t help it.
I look to Merit, whose eyes are burning a hole in the side of my head. “Yeah, she’s here.”
There’s silence on the other end.
“Pick me up at my house?” he asks without another word about it.
We hang up, and I kiss Merit on the head and give Pop a hug. I call Rookie off his bed.
“He can stay here, Eli.” My dad carefully walks over to him, bends over, and gives him a good rub as Rookie rolls to his back.
“Pop, you’re not supposed to do that,” Merit sighs and gives me the that’s-your-father look.
“What? Bend over or pet the dog?” Pop chuckles as he stands. He knows what Merit means.
“Yeah, okay. I’ll pick him up after we get back.”
Merit’s eyes dart to me. She doesn’t have to ask the question. “Yeah, the mutilation case. Long story.”
“Heard about that.” Merit walks me to the door. “Be safe, little brother.”
Out at my truck, I call Alex and explain to her what’s going on. I tell her I’ll be to her place late tonight and that I’ll send a unit over until I get there.
“Eli, I’m fine. I have a dull butter knife sitting next to me.”
“Your words are not funny, Alexandra.”
“I know.”
I bet she’s biting her lip right now.
I hear a rushed sigh on her end. As if she’s got something to get off her chest or she’ll burst. “The ocean is vast, Eli. It’s deep, cold. But there are moments when the sea is at peace. When the day is calm and the water is like glass and it calls your name. At the surface of the water, it’s loud, chaotic. But, at the bottom, where we’re at right now, it’s quiet. Absolutely nothing else matters. Someone you’ve never seen before exists, never imagined exists. Someone you’ve never met—until now. Until this exact moment when you lay eyes on him, and you know it’s the moment. The moment where two worlds collide and everything wrong in the world becomes right. You question what you see through a small piece of reality. Is this how the story ends?” Alex sighs. “I know this is a totally messed up metaphor, but, Eli, I was at the top of the ocean for a really long time. I feel, right now, that I’ve met you in this beautiful place, and it’s perfect. I’ve found you. And I’m not sure what that means. But, eventually, I have to go back to the surface, to California.”
I tell her what she needs to hear because that will make it easiest for her even though my heart just met my feet. I know an absolute truth about life, that all good things come to an end. What I don’t tell her is what I want her to do: Stay. Love me. What I don’t tell her is what I want her to know: I’ll give you the future you want, the ending of the story. I want the rest of your tomorrows. I could survive on your yesterdays if that gives me one more moment of today. But saying all this will make it messy. It will make the decision to leave even harder.
So, I say, “I know.”
There’s a long pause.
“I’m glad you understand.”
Now, I want more than ever to drive to the Malcomb Place and be with her. Consume her. Steal more time from fate. But that will be harder on her. I’ll keep the trip to Boston planned. For seconds, I sit on the phone, listening to her breathe.
“Are you there?” I know she is. I just need to hear her voice.
“Yeah.”
“With your butter knife?”
“Yes.” But her voice is hushed. Subdued. Sadder.
I should ask if she’s all right. But that, too, would only make things harder.
“I’ll see you when I get back from Augusta.”
“I’ll be here.”
It’s an hour drive, and we’re ten minutes out. Ryan calls the State Police to let them know.
He’s been quiet the whole trip. Hell, he’s been quiet since my sister got into town.
“What’s up with you?” I say, attempting to forget about Alex, better now than later.
Ryan’s got the oh-shit handle in his grip. “Nothing. Why?”
“Well, for starters, since Merit came to town, you’ve been like a fucking spotted turtle.” Spotted turtles are a threatened species in Maine. “And you’re quiet. You’re never quiet.”
“I don’t know. Just working.”
“You’re lying. Merit said you wanted her to do a field study for you?”
I see the confusion in Ryan’s face. He tries to hide it, but I know him too well. I also don’t push him either. He’ll talk when he’s ready.
“Yeah, on … Little Pond.”
“That’s funny because she said Rangeley Lake.”
“Both.” Ryan rolls his eyes.
I chuckle.
“What about you and the famous author?”
“Filed the divorce papers on Monday.”
Ryan takes his fist and punches me in the arm. “Attaboy.” He side-eyes me. “Sex?”
“No. Not going there with you.”
“See, I’m fine. Just proving a point.”
“Right. You’re totally fine. Just like the time you fell through ice when we went ice-fishing when we were fifteen. We pulled you up, your lips blue, chattering, and you said, ‘I-I-I’m f-f-f-fi-i-ine.’” I mimic his fifteen-year-old self. “Whatever you’ve got to tell yourself.”
“A small price to pay for what I caught that day.” He smiles and stares out the window. “That salmon is still on the books at Bucksport in Augusta.”
We pull up to State Police Headquarters in Augusta and park in the back. We meet Sergeant Poll and Lieutenant Abbey at the back door.
“The Richardsons filed a missing persons report today for their daughter, Lila Richardson. They’re pretty shaken up.”
Poll eyes Abbey. “Guess they waited to file because their daughter’s captor threatened her life. Anyhow, they’re in room one.”
Lieutenant Abbey motions us to the room with a thick file in his hand and we head in.
Ryan and I take a seat across the table from the Richardsons in room one.
Eileen is distraught. Her face is visibly gaunt and pale. Her eyes are red and puffy. Old, wet tissues sit in front of her. Her worry is reflected in the bags under her eyes. Her lips are sullen, as if someone took string and pulled down at the corners.
“Mr. and Mrs. Richardson, my name is Warden Ryan Taylor, and this is Warden Eli Young.”
John’s thick eyebrows are the focal point of his face. The crow’s-feet that build off his eyes are a fixture, like they’ve been there for years.
“Nice to meet you.” He extends his hand to Ryan and me.
Eileen toys with an old tissue in her hand, not looking up.
“I’m sorry. But we need to talk about the boat and campsite you left up at Tolman Pond,” I say.
Eileen chokes back a sob. “We will pay the fees. Talk to the land owner. Whatever’s needed.” She looks at her husband. “We just need our daughter back.” Her voice is broken, suffocating.
John reaches across the back side of Eileen’s shoulders and pulls her to him, kissing the top of her head. “Lila … Lila tried to call us, and her captor caught her and got on the phone, threatening to kill her if we went to the police.”
Ryan and I take down a few notes.
As Ryan and I discussed on the way to Augusta, we’d start with easier questions. These are probably questions Detectives Abbey and Poll have already asked.
“Did the voice on the other end sound familiar?” Ryan asks.
John looks at his wife and shrugs. Eileen shakes her head and looks at me and then to Ryan.
“Oftentimes, people over the age of eighteen who are kidnapped know their assailants,” I say. “Was she dating anyone?” Again, another question that the police have probably asked.
“I don’t think so. Nobody she brought home yet anyway.” John places his hands together on the table.
Eileen is still sitting back in her chair, toying with her tissue. She stops as if I just asked the question again. “His voice. It was a male’s voice. It was familiar—not like we talked to this person all the time, but it was one I’d heard before. But the tone didn’t match how I remembered it. Does that sound funny?” She chokes back more tears. “I feel like I’m going crazy, John.” Her exhausted tone is evident as he pulls her in once more.
“When was the last time you spoke with Lila?” Ryan asks.
“Nine days ago,” Eileen says. “God, we waited too long, John.” Her voice drops as if her hope is barely hanging on.
I clarify, “The last time you spoke to Lila was nine days ago. What about the phone call you received from Lila’s phone?”
“Eight days ago,” John says.
Ryan nods, taking down the notes.
Neither of us, Ryan or me, says it, but nine days is a long time to wait to file a missing persons report.
Ryan stops writing for a moment. “Did she have someone in her life who was an avid hunter?”
Eileen looks at John. “One of the Malcomb grandchildren—Brent’s son, Lowell, I think.”
Red flag. I look at Ryan.
Lowell Malcomb has been on our radar since he was thirteen. Collects dad’s money and buys drugs. His father bounces back and forth from Massachusetts to Maine. Does it mean Lila, too, is into drugs?
Ryan jots this down. “Anyone else?” he asks, not picking up his head.
John looks to Eileen. “None that I can think of.”
“Oh, maybe that new guy she mentioned. Did she give us his name?”
John looks to his wife. “I don’t remember a name.”
“Lila just said that he was nice and worked in Granite Harbor,” Eileen says.
Ryan finishes writing and bites the side of his lip, tapping his pencil. “Mr. and Mrs. Richardson, was Lila on drugs? The only reason we ask is so that we can get a full picture of her life.”
Eileen looks at John. Tears fill her eyes again. “Started on that math.”
“Meth?” I correct.
John nods, and his eyes, too, fill with tears. “Yeah, that. Started on that a few months ago. Oh, my baby girl …” he chokes out.
Now, it’s Eileen’s turn to comfort her husband.
As she rubs his back and tears flow freely down her cheeks, she speaks, “Warden Taylor, Warden Young, just because our daughter is on drugs doesn’t mean she deserved this.” The weakness in her voice has left. Strength resonates and shines through.
Ryan leans forward and touches her hand. “You’re right. Lila didn’t deserve this. And we are going to do our best to find her.”