I wanted to comment, in hopes MistiLace92 would respond. Unfortunately, the comment thread had been closed.
As soon as I got to WCJB the next day, I contacted a friend with an affinity for everything computers. It took him all of fifteen minutes to track down the IP address for MistiLace92’s post. It originated from a public library in Columbia Falls, Montana. I called the Columbia Falls Police Department. It transferred me to three different people. Finally I was informed that there weren’t records of a Misti or anyone else filing a report with such claims. I sent the comment and IP information to their e-mail address; minutes later I received a response claiming the IP address was incorrect. My friend swore it wasn’t.
I asked if there could possibly be a cult nearby. They told me no. A search for Misti Lace came up empty for that area; however, I found a Misti Lacey on the national registry of missing persons. Unfortunately, Misti Lacey’s only living relative, her mother, was now deceased. I’d hit another dead end.
I wasn’t sure if my interest in MistiLace92 was connected to my interest in Mindy, but whatever the reason, for the previous few nights, her story had haunted my dreams.
As I drove toward the coffee shop I still wondered: if MistiLace92 was really Misti Lacey, why was she still on the registry of missing persons? Her post had been made over a year ago.
Shouldn’t she be found?
CHAPTER 25
Sara
As I lay on my side, wrapped in Jacob’s embrace with his bare chest against my back, the skin-to-skin contact seemed right, yet I couldn’t shake the unfamiliarity of his stare. With our legs slightly bent, I caressed his arms and wondered about the blue eyes from my dreams. Maybe that was all they had been, a dream. I sighed and nuzzled my cheek against the pillow.
“You’ve been quiet since we came back from the community. Do you have something you want to say?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Are you sure?”
Closing my eyes, in the dark of the bedroom, forced the tear teetering on my lid to fall to the pillow below. Shaking my head, I said, “No, Jacob. I’m not sure of anything.”
We’d just made love and I was crying, not exactly what a husband wanted from his wife. There hadn’t been anything wrong with the sex—it was fine, just different from the previous night.
Now that I could see, everything was different.
Jacob pulled me closer, and his breath skirted across my hair. “Whether you remember it, or you’ve recently relearned it, tell me what Father Gabriel says about a wife’s thoughts.”
I exhaled. “Just like everything else, they belong to you, but,” I added, “I’m not keeping anything from you. I really don’t know how to say what I’m thinking. Honestly, I’m not even sure what I’m thinking.” As more tears silently fell to the pillow, I tried to still my shudders, not wanting Jacob to know I was crying. When he didn’t respond, I swallowed and went on. “I wanted to remember your face. Why can’t I remember? Will I ever have a past?”
He kissed the top of my head. “We all have a past. This morning was your past, so was the day before and the one before that. If further back never comes, a year from now, this will be our past.”
A closed-lip smile came as I nodded.
“A past is as long or as short as we want to make it. When we came here to follow Father Gabriel, we chose to leave our lives in the dark behind.”
When his hold loosened, I rolled toward him. “I don’t want to go back to the dark. I just want to know, to have the memories. Is it wrong to want that?”
“To want it?” he repeated. “No. To question the reason it was taken from you, yes.”
I sighed. “That means that I can’t ask about it.”
Jacob leaned over me, his chest flattening my breasts. With our proximity in the darkened room, I could only make out his form, his shoulders, arms, and the silhouette of his hair against some distant faint light. There were no details. Hearing his familiar voice, without seeing his unfamiliar eyes, eased my anxiety. He smoothed the hair away from my face and kissed my nose. “We both follow Father Gabriel. You aren’t the only one who must obey the rules. I can’t question why you lost those memories any more than you can question me. All I can do is hold tight to the memories I have of us, for both of us. Even though you don’t remember my face, I remember yours.” He traced under my eyes, wiping away the remnants of tears. “I remember your beautiful blue eyes, the way they open with amazement at new discoveries and the way they flutter as you come apart beneath me.” He was back to stroking my hair. “I remember the first time we made love and every time since.
“I remember the first time I saw you, the first time I heard your voice, and”—he brushed his lips against mine—“the first time I kissed you.” He scoffed, “It wasn’t supposed to happen, but I couldn’t resist. I knew you were mine from the first time I saw you, even if you didn’t.”