“Just hung around. Not much,” I replied.
Mother set the bread on the table and sat. She scooped a ladleful of stew and filled my bowl to the brim. “Large helpings all around!” She beamed.
I stared at the stew.
Father grinned at Mother. “What about you? How was your day?”
Mother filled his bowl with a portion equal to mine. “Oh, things were fairly quiet around here. Not much worth mentioning.”
I stared at the stew.
Mr. Carter was nowhere to be seen.
She wouldn’t . . . she couldn’t. Right?
As I reached for my spoon, my stomach lurched. I felt as if I were about to vomit the mother of all vomits. I tried not to breathe in the beefy aroma drifting up from my bowl, the spices and scents. The stew actually did smell wonderful, and that thought made the vomit climb a little closer to the exit door.
I watched Father take a heaping spoonful and shove it into his mouth, chewing with delight. Mother watched us both as she also ate a spoonful, much more delicately than Father. I watched her smile, then dab at the corners of her mouth with her napkin. “Do you like it?” she asked. “I tried a new recipe.”
I was aghast.
Father nodded happily. “This may be the best beef stew you have ever created. You are a culinary wizard, my dear.”
“May I be excused?” I said, my gut twisting.
Mother and Father both turned to me as they chewed poor Mr.—
A loud moan came from the basement.
Father and I both turned toward the sound. Mother did not. She continued eating, her eyes fixed on her bowl.
“What was—”
Then it came again, unmistakable this time—a man moaning downstairs.
Father stood. “It came from the basement.”
“You should finish your dinner, sweetie,” Mother said.
Father walked slowly toward the door leading downstairs. “What’s going on? Who is that?”
“Your stew will get cold. Nobody likes cold stew.”
I got up and stood behind Father as he reached for the doorknob and twisted the worn brass.
I didn’t like to go down into the basement. The stairs were steep and creaked under the slightest weight. The walls were damp and grimy. The ceiling harbored more spiders than the forest behind our house. There was only a single fixture: a bare bulb hanging at the center of the room. I always feared it would go out while I was down there. If it did, there would be no escape. I’d be trapped down there forever, the spiders descending on me one by one by one.
Monsters lived in the basement.
Father opened the door and flicked on the light switch. The bulb came to life with a yellowish glow at the base of the long staircase.
Another moan. This one louder, more urgent.
“Stay here, champ.”
I wrapped my arms around him and shook my head. “Don’t go down there, Father.”
He pulled my arms off. “Stay up here with your mother.”
Mother was still sitting at the dining table, humming a little ditty to herself. I think it was a Ritchie Valens song.
Father started down the steps. He was halfway down before I decided to go after him.
20
Clair
Day 1 ? 1:17 p.m.
Clair stood beside a large stainless steel sculpture in A. Montgomery Ward Park. According to the plaque, it was called COMMEMORATIVE GROUND RING. She had seen it a number of times from a distance as she drove across Erie, but now, standing so close, she had to admit she had no fucking idea what the pile of metal was supposed to be. To Clair, it looked like Godzilla had eaten the inventory of a stainless steel appliance shop before taking a shit in the middle of this pristine park.
Clair shielded her eyes from the sun and surveyed her surroundings.
The park wasn’t large, but Clair understood the appeal, particularly for a runner like Emory. A trail followed the perimeter, skirting along the river’s edge on the west side. She spotted a playground to her left and a large fenced-in area to her right. Inside, at least ten dogs ran around with their owners chasing balls, Frisbees, and the occasional small child.
She counted twelve people in with the dogs. At the other end of the park, six adults were positioned around the playground in various states of child monitoring. Clair flipped a mental quarter, decided it landed on heads, and started toward the swing sets.
As she approached, the various mothers and two men eyed her warily.
“Hello, there!” she said in her most disarming tone. Not disarming enough—the two men forced smiles while nervously glancing around the group. Three of the mothers took their children by the hand. One even positioned her daughter behind her. You clearly needed a kid to get invited to this party—strange adults wandering the park alone were not welcome. Clair was beginning to reconsider her decision. These people seemed as if they might bite far worse than the dogs at the other end of the park. She held up her ID. “My name is Detective Norton; I’m with Chicago Metro. I’m going to need your cooperation.”
Behind her, three patrol cars and a CSI van screeched to a halt, lights flashing but no sirens. A dozen officers piled out of them. The back of the van opened up, and three techs joined the group.
A woman dressed in black slacks and a gray sweater pulled her daughter from a swing and walked over. “What’s going on?”
Clair knew if she mentioned 4MK, this group would grab their children and disappear into the bustling afternoon streets before she’d get the chance to ask a single question. Vague is not lying, she told herself. I can be vague. “We believe a girl disappeared from this park yesterday. If you can give us a few minutes, we’d like to ask you some questions.”
A heartbeat ticked by, and they all started speaking at once—first to one another, then at her. She couldn’t make out a single word. Three of the children started crying for no reason other than to be heard over the adults. Clair raised her hands above her head. “I need everyone to be quiet, please!” A fourth child started to scream. At the other side of the park a dog barked, followed by another and two more after that. Within moments, they had joined the voices in an earsplitting mess of noise. “Enough!” she shouted in a tone she typically reserved for boyfriends just before she ended the relationship and sent them on their merry way.
The adults fell silent, with the children quickly following suit. All but one little chubby boy who stood near the teeter-totter. He continued to cry in big lumbering sobs, his face bright red and covered in a mix of snot and tears.
Gray Sweater Woman picked up her daughter and bounced her gently in her arms. “Did someone take her from here? We do our best to keep an eye on the kids, as a group. This is a nice neighborhood, but you never know who you’re dealing with anymore; so many crazies out there.” She paused for a second, then her mouth went wide. “Oh God, did somebody take the Andersons’ little girl? I haven’t seen Julie and her mother at all today. She’s such a sweet baby. I hope nothing—”