Divided - By Jennifer Sights
CHAPTER ONE
“Ms. Ronen, I need you to help me find my daughter, and I’ve heard you’re the best.” Alexis Carmen pushed a photograph toward me across my office desk. A pretty young girl with strawberry hair that matched her mother’s smiled out of the photo.
“Please, call me Elena.” I wanted to put Ms. Carmen at ease. Her brow furrowed, dark circles shadowed her honey brown eyes, making her porcelain skin look ever paler. A strand of hair strayed from her neat ponytail, which she absently tucked behind her ear.
“Elena. Courtney ran away two weeks ago.”
“Have you contacted the police?” I asked.
“Yes, but because she is of legal age, they won’t do anything.”
I reflected on the few years I had spent on the force, and could imagine how frustrated Ms. Carmen must be. Eighteen is such an arbitrary age to be considered an adult. Some eighteen-year-olds are completely incapable of taking care of themselves. Others - like me, when I was younger - are more mature than many in their thirties. “How old is your daughter?”
“Nineteen.” Her voice cracked, but not a single tear fell from her shining eyes. “The police referred me to you, actually. They said very good things about your ability to solve a case. Do you work with them often?”
“No, but I used to be a police officer.”
“Why did you quit?”
“I didn’t like all the red tape. I’d rather get something done than fill out stacks of paperwork.” I stood. “Would you like some coffee, Mrs. Carmen?”
“Ms. And yes, thank you. Black.”
The lack of sugar or cream matched the fit body beneath her slightly rumpled yet expensive looking business suit. I poured two cups of black coffee and handed her one. “Is there no Mr. Carmen?” I asked.
“No. But why does that matter?” She narrowed her eyes.
“Anything that can provide insight as to why your daughter might have run away could help. I’m sorry if it’s a painful topic.”
“I understand. I was always very focused on my education, but made one mistake that almost cost me my MBA. Do you have any idea how hard it is to complete graduate school while raising an infant?”
“I can imagine. Do you resent that hardship your daughter caused you by her birth?” I sipped my coffee and studied her reaction.
“Of course not!” Ms. Carmen straightened her shoulders and shook her head from side to side.
I raised an eyebrow.
“I admit it wasn’t easy, but I wouldn’t give up my daughter. I love her.”
“Do you have a good relationship with your daughter?”
“I did, for the most part. But then she started attending St. Louis Community College. That’s when the fighting began.”
“What do you mean, ‘for the most part?' "
“I was very strict with Courtney, and she often resented me for that, but she used to confide in me.”
“What did you fight over?” I made note of the name of the college.
“Her degree. I wanted her to do something that would pay well, but she’s always loved art. I know firsthand how important it is for a young woman to not have to rely on a man, and I don’t want my daughter to struggle. I was an art major, and ended up working fast food when I graduated. After a year, I went back to school for a business degree so I could make something of myself. I tried to tell her what I endured, tried to convince her to do better for herself, but she insisted on enrolling in the art program. And then she made new friends.”
“What kind of friends?” I expected her to mention alcohol or drugs.
“Freaks.”
I sat back in my chair, inadvertently putting more distance between myself and her.
She quickly glanced at my metal filled ears and the tattoo peeking from the sleeve of my scarlet blouse. “Forgive me. I mean Goths. I - I’m not used to - “ she stammered, looking down into her lap and biting her lower lip.
I sighed, having mostly gotten used to remarks about my style long ago. “Forget it. So you didn’t like her friends.”
“No, and she changed. She dyed her hair black, started wearing tons of dark makeup, dressed like a vampire.”
“So you fought about that as well?” I guessed.
“Yes. She started skipping classes. Her artwork became darker, more sinister. Then she ran away.”
“How do you know she ran away? Could she have been kidnapped?”
“No, her clothes were gone, as well as her art supplies.” She finally took a sip of her coffee, holding the mug in both hands.
“Have you contacted the college?”
“I have. Thankfully, I made her sign a waiver to let them release her information to me since she’s over eighteen. They said she hasn’t shown up to any classes in several weeks. I’m worried she’s getting into drugs or something worse.”
“Something worse?”
“Yes, I overheard her mention something about a coven while she was on the phone with one of her new friends. I’m afraid she’s getting into some kind of Satanic cult or something. I don’t understand what she meant by that.” She gripped the mug so tightly I feared she would break it.
“Did you hear her mention anything else that might help? Do you know any of her friends’ names, where they live, or where she hung out?”
“She was very secretive once we began fighting. I know one girl was named Miriam. Courtney’s car had broken down - I made her work to pay for her own car and insurance - so this Miriam picked her up every day. I have no idea where they went, though.”
“Can you describe Miriam?”
“I only saw her from a distance in the car, so, other than Goth, not really. I’m sorry, I realize that’s no help. She drove a Chevy Malibu that looked several years old. Black, of course.” Ms. Carmen paused, eyes closed.
“What else?”
“I heard her talk about someone named Elizabeth. She seemed to idolize her.”
I paused while writing this down. “Is there anything else?”
“I can’t think of anything. As much as we’ve fought recently, I love my daughter. I want her back.” Her face brightened just a tiny bit with hope. “I’ve heard that you’ve never given up or failed on a case. Can you find her?”
" 'Never’ is a bit of an exaggeration, but I’m sure I can find your daughter, Ms. Carmen. Try to relax.” I stood, walked around the desk, then handed Ms. Carmen a business card. “If you think of anything else that might help, please call me, anytime. I’ll call you as soon as I find anything out.”
“I’ll warn you, the picture might not be much help. She looks completely different now, especially with all the makeup she wears.”
I nodded. “I can’t guarantee she’ll come back home. As you discovered from the police, she is legally able to do what she wants, but I’ll at least be able to tell you where she is so you’ll know she’s safe.”
She nodded, grasped my hand tightly, then left.
Ms. Carmen’s comment about “freaks” almost made me refuse the case, but it was an easy one, and she had already written me a check twice the size a case like this usually cost. However, something nagged at my gut. Something told me this wouldn’t be as easy as it sounded.