Lost Boy (4 page)

Chicago 2011

Stuart looks at the fancy house and nods, “If this is her house, holy fuck.”

I swallow and ignore the millionth phone call from my secretary. I pass my phone to Stuart, “Tell Nancy I had to take a meeting, and I have the design team working on the sketches she needs for the water plant.” The words are flat and dead. My heart hurts.

I open the door to the truck and climb out. My shoes gleam in the midday sun. I look up at the house, clutching the envelope.

I climb the front steps, knock and try not to throw up. I don’t look back at Stuart; he makes being weak okay. I can't handle that right now.

A tall man opens the door. He looks at me funny, “Can I help you?”

I shake my head, it’s my natural response to that question. I pass him the envelope, “I can help you.”

He frowns and opens it. His jaw clenches. His eyes lift, searching mine for truth or trickery. “How?” he says slowly.

I sigh, “It’s a long story, but the hospital had taken her blood the day she was abducted, before the surgery. The police kept it in evidence, in case she ever turned up. It’s a perfect match.”

His eyes started to water, “HELEN!” he screams up the stairs. His voice is a shrill sound men don’t make, not normally.

I don’t know what to do with my hands. His wife comes running, no doubt from the panic in his voice.

He hands her the envelope. She drops to her knees and sobs into the picture of my girl. My girl at a distance. She shakes, hugging it, “She looks just like my mother, just like my mother.”

He drops to his knees too, wrapping himself around her.

They console each other. I look around; I had been hoping to be invited in, but the shock stopped them from seeing the house behind them. They don’t even know where they are. I know that feeling.

I sit on the concrete beside them, “Her name, that she uses is Emalyn. She has no idea who she is or where she came from. But she is safe.”

Helen reaches for me, pulling me into the embrace, “You dear boy. How did you find her?”

I shake my head, “It’s a long story. I just want you to know she’s safe. I know the burden of not knowing.”

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,” Roger mutters in sobs.

“When can we see her? We’ll pack our bags now.” Helen asks.

I shake my head, “That’s why I’m here and not her. You can't right now.”

Disappointment, even fury, crosses their faces. I put a hand up, “She is in a fragile state. Her mental state is bad. I know you want to see her. I get it. But she is a mess and hasn’t even begun to understand anything. Right now she doesn’t remember anything from before. She has a type of disillusion going on. She has created a whole world, to block out the bad. You and I don’t exist to her.”

Their faces pale.

Roger gets a savage look on his face, “You mean to tell me, you know where our daughter is but we can't see her, after all these years? Is this some kind of fucking joke?”

I shake my head, “I know.”

“Stop saying you know. You don’t now.”

I nod, “I do know. I was with Sarah once. We were together at the place she was kept. We escaped together as children, after my sister was killed there. Even I haven’t seen her. I cannot contact her. The only person seeing her right now, who knows who she is, is her therapist. She is trying to slowly make her way into Sarah’s mind. If she isn’t careful, she could cause her to go catatonic. She suffers with extreme OCD, anxiety, a lack of control in her life, and she is delusional. She is a classic case of a person living in fight or flight. Her fight or flight response will literally be denial or withdrawing into herself.”

Helen wipes away her tears, “I don’t understand. How did this happen? Where was she?”

I sigh, “She was kidnapped by Laura and Randy Spicer. They took her to a place she calls the dirty house, in therapy. Trust me, that disgusting place suited that name. She remembers almost nothing from there, but I was there for two days once. When I saw her there, she was shutdown completely. I helped her escape. My name is Eli Adams. When you Google it, you’ll see my story in it. It’s not important, but it's better to know who I am. What’s important is she is safe, she is unharmed physically, and she is in treatment.”

Roger looks confused, “How long till we can see her?”

I shake my head, “I don’t know. When she finally knows who she is, she has to make that choice. The doctor won't force her to do anything detrimental to her well-being. I can't see her either.”

Helen grabs my hands and squeezes, “You need to keep us informed. Please, don’t leave us out of the loop on this. Do the police know?”

I squeeze back, “As soon as I know anything, I will tell you. You’re her only family.”

Roger looks angry still. I can't fault him for it. I am angry too. “Who’s this therapist she’s seeing?”

I give him a grin and try not to let it be my shitty one, “Her name is Jane Bradley. She cured me.”

It’s a lie but his face relaxes.

“She deals in PTSD and kidnapping victims.”

Helen’s face scrunches into a sob, “What did they do to her?”

I shake my head, “I don’t know. When I got there, she was already five or six. The timeline is, essentially, she was taken from Boston to the dirty house. She left the dirty house with me and stayed with me for a day. From there she went to Clovis, somehow. She stayed in Clovis, living on the streets. She was found and taken to the orphanage. A drug house had been busted just months before she was found. They assumed she was one of the kids from that. There was a lot of prostitution. She gave them the name Emalyn Spicer. It was the only thing she remembered. The name never came up in the system. And Clovis being so small, they never thought to piece together Emalyn, my sister and Spicer, the family who kidnapped all those girls over the years. Anyway, she’s been there ever since.”

Roger nods, “We don’t want her in an orphanage. She isn’t a god-damned orphan. Where are the police on this?”

I put my hands up, “She’s safe there. There is no crime for the police to investigate. Finding her has solved the cold case for them. The Spicers are dead. The police are with us on this, but they too, are following protocol being given by the doctors. No one wants to see her mental state risked. I asked them to allow me to tell you, due to my connection with her. In her mind, which is as fragile as a snowflake, she is safe. If we brought her out and told her she had a family and she was a victim of God knows what, we’d have a mess on our hands. We don’t even know what she saw as a child or what’s in there. It’s got to go slowly and in a controlled environment. She thrives, as best as she can, in the structure and control of the orphanage.”

He sighs and shakes his head, “I guess we just have to be grateful she’s alive. She’s in one piece. You know, when your child is taken, you assume the worst. I need to speak to the police on this to feel better; our detective from Chicago will want to know. He retired never finding her.”

Before I can answer him and hand him the police officer's card I have for him, Helen grips my hand, “Come with us.” Her eyes are desperate. "We have something we want to show you."

She looks back at Roger. He stands, lifting her up. "If you just want to move your truck, I'll get the car."

I point to my truck and Stuart in the driver’s seat, “Let’s take my vehicle if we’re going anywhere.” I don’t want to tell them that I can't part from the live feed of their daughter. I don’t want them to know I watch her. It's creepy but I can't stop. I took my eyes off of her once.

Helen closes the door to the house and pulls Roger down the stairs to the truck. I jog down and climb in, turning the volume on the phone down. Seeing her face makes me smile inside.

Stuart doesn’t smile. He gives them the look I’m also wearing. He knows this pain more than anyone.

“Stuart, this is Helen and Roger Mastermen. They’re Sarah’s parents. This is Stuart, my friend.”

Stuart clenched his jaw, “It’s nice to meet you. Where to?”

Helen sniffles and whispers, “Take us back out of the neighborhood and turn right on the main road.”

Stuart nods, “Okay.” He seems confused. I am too.

I stare down at my girl. She’s tired. It came last night, the bad feeling she gets. Jane says it’s called ‘the lonely’. It eats at her and freezes her up. I absentmindedly thumb the scar on my thigh, stopping myself when I realize I’m doing it. Just touching it makes me want the pain, but I swore I wouldn’t do it as long as she was in the world. Saving her is the thing that I need to be filled with. With her alive, I’m not the lost boy. I have a chance to be redeemed.

“Just turn right up here at the sign.”

I frown when I see it: PARKHILLS CEMETARY.

The fuzz and white noise start to fill me as it dawns on me what I am about to face. My breath hitches as I look back down at her face. She is perfect. She is perfection. She is alive. The thing I’m about to face belongs to a girl I don’t know. I need them separate.

Stuart gives me a look as we park. He looks sick as we all climb out.

We lost children don’t take fake graves lightly. Stuart doesn’t want to come, but I shake my head slowly. I need him. Helen grips to Roger as they lead us up the path and rambles, “We had it built a few years ago. We don’t ever leave town. Someone is always at the house; we take turns. In case she comes home. It’s always been that way but deep down, we always believed her gone. We built this to try to ease some of the pain.”

Roger looks back at me, “It didn’t work but our boys needed it. They needed something.”

I use every ounce of restraint to walk the path with them. When I see the child-angel statue, I almost run. I can't look at Stuart. I’m scared of what I’ll see and what he’ll see. They stop at the child, both of them kneeling. I’m frozen. The white noise and fuzz separate my limbs from my body. I have no control. I need it to pour from my skin but I can't. I made a silent promise to her, I wouldn’t do that.

The statue is small and sweet. A stone angel in a rose garden. ‘SARAH, BELOVED ANGEL’. I gag a little when I read it. They gave up? They gave up looking? Did I also? Had I moved on? Did I abandon her, leaving her to rot in that place alone and scared with the lonely holding her hostage? Guilt and hatred take turns being more than anything else I can muster.

“Guess we need to take it down.”

I speak softly, “Allow me to handle that.”

Roger looks back at me, “Thank you, Eli. I can never thank you enough.”

I nod once. I don’t have anything else. I glance at Stuart. His eyes glisten but he sees my face and nods.

Helen sniffles again, “I don’t know what to do; I just need to see her. Just once, you know. Just once to be sure. I don’t know what I can do. How can I wait? She’s my baby. What will I do?” She leans into her husband and sobs.

Roger strokes her head, “I’m certain Eli will tell us everything he can.”

I nod, “Of course. As soon as I know anything. Of course.” It’s a wooden lie and I’m certain they know it, but we all play nice. Stuart clears his throat, “Let me take you guys home. This is a lot to deal with.”

Roger lifts her but she doesn’t stay with him. She leaps into my arms, sobbing into my chest, “You keep her safe. You keep her safe. Promise me you will. Promise you won't keep anything from us.”

I break inside, “I will keep her safe and I will ensure you know what I know.” Roger sees it on my face. He breaks too. We don’t have any control and it’s bothering us both. I can sense it. He grabs his destroyed wife, holding her to him. I can't imagine what they’ve been through. I, honestly, don't know how they’ve clutched to each other. My parents never did that. I hand Roger a card, “This is the lead detective and on the back is Dr. Bradley's number. They will verify everything for you. I’m sorry it’s not the reunion you wanted.”

He shakes his head, “Eli, she’s alive and safe. As parents, you can't ask for more than that. You have no right to it. You let her down once already.” I know that pain.

He walks away with Stuart. When I can't see them anymore, I pull the phone from my pocket. The live stream is a bit blurry but I can see her. She’s doing homework. Something about her look makes me smile. It’s something I haven’t seen before. She’s curious or daydreaming. I would die to know what it is about. Instead, I send a text.

‘Sledgehammer and a clean up crew.’

‘Already ordered.’

If anyone knows the pain of being left behind and forgotten, it’s Stuart. He would die, if he too, had a tomb somewhere.

I don’t know if I have waited long for Stuart or not. She’s there in my mind and in front of me on the screen. She is everything, and somehow, she fills the void where the white noise and fuzz take away my feelings.

With her I feel a thousand things. Most of them are bad but it’s better than needing the pain to make me human again.

A sledgehammer drops on the ground next to me. I glance up at him, “They okay?”

He shakes his head, “No. They called that cop from the truck. They were sobbing and freaking out but he got them calmed down. He told them everything you said. They called Dr. Bradley after. She explained that she’s basically living in a box and doesn’t know it. She’s under constant surveillance and safe, and that they need to keep their distance so she doesn’t have all those bad things rush in all at once.”