My antennae go up, but I know for a fact Ally isn’t running around knocking anybody up. I’m the only douchebag doing that.
Our very own psychic network friend raises a finger at my wife. “You be careful. You are treading into unchartered territory, and you know it. The better part of you wants to steer clear, but your curiosity will lead you down a thorny road. You can avoid this. Just stay strong. You’re above it all. Sometimes taking the high road is exactly what keeps us safe and sane.”
Ambiguous enough. Both Ally and I nod into her bullshit as if to say let’s move it along.
Blonde One gives a solemn sigh. “And now for the moment everyone has been waiting for.” For a second I expect to hear a drum roll. My entire life has been upturned, and here they’ve turned us into something equivalent of a game show. “Tell us what you know about Reagan.”
A spear of heat slices through my gut at the mention of my daughter’s name. As much as I hate to admit it, it’s painful for me to hear it. It hurts like hell. So, in a move that I could have never seen coming, I stopped using it. Allison doesn’t use it anymore either.
“I’m sorry to have to say this.” The charlatan bows her head a moment. “But I’m not feeling very good about this.” She takes up Allison’s hand and Ally is quick to retract. I almost want to laugh. Take away our hope and you don’t get to touch us, lady. My wife will knife your balls off in your sleep. It’s what, deep down, I expect to happen to me one day.
“I do feel very strongly the child has left us.” She nods to Blonde One and Blonde Two who both groan as if they felt an ounce of genuine sorrow. “She has. She’s crossed over. She’s safe now.” She looks to me with those tired eyes. “She was taken away far too soon. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.” A long pause ensues. You could hear a mouse fart in the studio, and right about now I’d welcome it. “She wants me to tell you that she’s okay. You can move on with your lives.” She pretends to listen to some nebulous voice. “She likes that you’ve kept her room the same, but she wants you to donate her toys. There’s something big in there. Something that was special to her. Did she have a dollhouse?”
My stomach bottoms out. Do not buy this bullshit. Every little girl in the world has some sort of housing for their cache of Barbies. This isn’t true. This is insanity. My chest bucks as I try to hold it together.
“She did.” Allison blinks through tears. “She has a big one.”
“She wants you to donate it. There’s a children’s hospital nearby and she wants you to give it to them. She doesn’t want any child to suffer.” Another lengthy pause. Allison is bawling. My chest bucks like a seizure. “She wants you to dedicate your life to helping children who are suffering. You’ll know what it is when the time is right.”
Blonde One leans in. “And the whereabouts of the child, or the mystery girl that was with her?”
“You know”—the Queen of Lies cocks her head to the side—“I can’t quite get a read on the other girl. It’s strange. That doesn’t happen very often. But I do feel like the authorities will find little Reagan soon. Actually, it will be an ordinary citizen who will bring you to her.” She offers a sorrowful nod. “She’s in a river. Her coat or shirt caught on a branch and she’s waiting there for you to find her.”
“Oh God.” Allison buries her head in my chest and I lose it.
Dammit. Damn Dolla Chetney and her ridiculous claims to the darkest, deepest pit of hell.
Allison and I sob convulsively as the cameras stop rolling, long after they pluck the mics from our bodies.
I hope Rich and McCafferty are happy.
They got their money shot.
* * *
Back at the house Allison takes a heavy nap that spans the afternoon straight through evening. She probably won’t be able to sleep tonight, but I don’t have the heart to wake her. That meet and greet with the Witch of the West really shook her up. Dolla Chetney is a lying bitch that will burn in hell one day for making miserable people like Allison and me that much more agonizingly miserable. I spent the entire drive home trying to convince my wife that our daughter was not facedown in some fucking river having her flesh nibbled off by errant fish. We should sue. In fact, once Reagan comes home, we will. And Reagan is coming home. Every ounce of me insists on believing it.
When the sun takes its final bow, I head into the dark living room with Dad where the television flickers in spastic seizures.
“Want some?” I offer him a slice of pizza. I ordered two large—our sole sustenance as of late. Neither Allison nor I have fired up the stove since Reagan disappeared, so our eating habits have reverted to the ones we had in college. Not that either of us is scarfing anything down. Ally’s face has thinned out, her cheeks drawn in, her eyes, bulging and red, and I’ve had to cinch up my belt a few extra notches. We’ve become a skeleton crew without Reagan, literally. The nightshift that doesn’t sleep.
“No, thanks.” He lifts a hand, his gaze never wandering from the screen, some shoot ’em up flick that sends grenades exploding all over the living room.
A light knock comes from the door and I head over, spotting Rich from the window before I open it.
“What’s up?” I extend a hand to him, but he refuses the offer, taking his hat off instead. For a second I fear the worst. Reagan has been spotted by some ordinary citizen facedown in the river.
“Just driving by the neighborhood and wanted to see how the two of you were holding up. That was pretty rough to hear this morning.”
I cast a quick glance at my father before jumping onto the porch with Rich. A herd of trick-or-treaters bounces by in a mob, and I can’t help but look away. “We’re fine. We’re well aware of the fact it was pure bullshit. It’s a miracle someone hasn’t stoned the hag yet. We’re going to find Reagan.”
Rich solidifies those steadfast citrine eyes over mine. Rich has always been awash in the color orange to me, the hair, the freckled skin, even his eyes had adopted that curious hue—a tangerine aura that consumes him. But in the night without the right amount of light to expose that Halloween coloring all I see is my mother, the look of horror and concern etched on her face.
“I’m glad you’re hanging in there.” He slaps his hand over my arm and pulls me out of my trance. “We’re going to bring her home for you. Don’t you think otherwise.” He nods toward the house. “Good thing they didn’t pull open the old man’s closet.” He gives a wistful shake of the head. “The judge has more skeletons than the cemetery.”
My chest bucks with a silent laugh as I look into the living room. My father is a tomb, all right.
“He sure was happy the three of you were moving out this way.” Rich moves in close. “He confided in me that you and the Mrs. were having some trouble.”
“Oh?” My chest cinches into a knot that’s become all too familiar. The one in which my own heart turns into an arrow of regret and tries to stab its way out.
“He was pretty broken up at the prospect of a divorce. If it’s one thing your father is famous for it’s—”
“Living by the rules.” I can’t take my eyes off the old man as he sits mesmerized by the blinking screen, hypnotized like a child.
“You know it.” He sinks that cowboy hat back over his head. “He sure loves that little girl of yours.” Rich winces in my father’s direction. “He went on and on about the effects a divorce might have on a child. He was downright terrified for her. My mother always did say he has the ability to love to a fault—and that the fault was usually his.” Rich gives a quick wink. “Let’s get together when it’s good for you and Ally, and we’ll look at putting together a new game plan.”
“Sounds good.” I watch as his patrol car rolls out into the night, silently swallowed by the darkness just like Reagan.