Sara's Game (3 page)

The only time she
did
have to herself lately had been extended trips to the grocery store without the children.  They were well-behaved in general, but taking them into the nearby Safeway resulted in so many admonishments to ‘Put that back’ and ‘Stop picking out junk food for snacks’ that she had given up and had began shopping after work before picking them up from Miss Willow.

Sara scanned the images in her mind, and the only thing that stuck out, the only thing that felt
off
, had been during her last trip over a week ago.  She’d caught a tall, good-looking guy in a white (or was it gray?) collared shirt staring at her.  She remembered amazing blue eyes.  Short, dark hair.  Tan skin.  It’d been hard to believe that he was actually
checking her out
in her rumpled slacks and untucked blouse, looking tired and unkempt after a long day at LightPulse.  They had made eye contact.  It lingered.  He smiled.  And then he moved on. 

It was the first and only time since Brian’s disappearance that she had allowed herself to think, ‘What if?’  But she’d dismissed the thought and had gone back to picking out a fresh box of organic cereal.

Again, nothing.  Nothing out of the ordinary.  Nothing in her mind to make her think that it would lead to this theft, this agonizing robbery of the most important things in her life.

She grabbed her purse, pulled out her cell phone to call Miss Willow, but before she had a chance to dial, the car ahead of her rolled forward once more, leaving enough room to escape.

No more than five minutes had passed, but Sara felt like an animal released from captivity.  She dropped her phone back into her purse and floored it across the southbound lane, screeching through a gap in the oncoming traffic.

A red Honda missed her rear bumper by inches.  The driver blared his horn as she wheeled her way onto the side street, missing a parked motorcycle by less than a foot.  She overcorrected and almost sideswiped a pickup on the opposite side.  Sara fought the steering wheel, whipping her arms back and forth, and straightened out the minivan’s trajectory just as an approaching car squealed to a stop.  The driver glared at her.  Sara crept past, mouthing, “Sorry,” but his dirty look suggested that the apology wasn’t accepted.

On course now, and under as much control as her frazzled mental state would allow, Sara drove as fast as she dared, working her way through the middle-class neighborhood, praying she wouldn’t get pulled over.  Talking to an officer at this point would be a good thing, but she didn’t want to risk the delay.  Not until she was ready.  Not until she was at Jacob’s school and was absolutely
sure
that he was gone and not taking a nap in some hidden place.

She knew that the first three hours after a child went missing were the most critical ones.  The fact had stuck in her mind after reviewing the literature handed out each year by the schools.  By now, as she raced through the quiet streets, she guessed that forty-five minutes had passed since her children had gone missing.  Possibly longer, if it had taken awhile for the teachers to notice.  They could’ve been gone for an hour or more already.

Sara pressed down harder on the gas pedal.

CHAPTER 3

SARA

She didn’t bother with trying to find a parking spot.  The minivan lurched to a stop at the front entrance to Rosepetal Elementary.  She grabbed the note, shoved it in her purse, and got out, running as soon as her feet touched the ground.  She flung open the wooden door, vaulted inside, and smelled the pine-scented cleaning solution.  The exact same smell that had filled the halls and rooms of her grade schools back east over thirty years ago.  Some things never changed.

The halls were empty.  It was a huge difference from the other times she’d been here.  Even when classes were in full-swing, children and parents milled about for whatever reason.  Young boys with too much energy or excitement who had been excommunicated to their own island prison outside their classrooms.  A mother leading her daughter by the hand, past the artwork proudly displayed along the walls.  Or a group of kindergartners trudging single-file, just like Jacob had been earlier that morning, on his way out to play hide and seek. 

Play.  Play...

Are you ready to play the game?

But now, inside the school walls, none of those things were present.  Rosepetal appeared to have been shut down.  The doors of each classroom were closed, and she wondered how long it had taken them to get to that point, how long it had taken them to decide that something was wrong. 

First, she checked the principal’s office, in case Mrs. Bennett was there waiting for her.  It was quiet and empty, as well, except for a late-twenties guy with a goatee, hipster glasses, and a flannel shirt.  The typical Portland uniform. 

He glanced up at her, shot out of his seat.  “Mrs. Winthrop?” he asked.

She rushed up to the counter, knocked over the stack of mail.  He tried to greet her as a volley of questions flew out of her mouth.  Uncontained.  Unrestrained.  “Are you Dave?  Have you found him yet?  Where is everyone?  Are they all out looking?  Do you guys have
any idea
where he is?”

He scratched his cheek, then ran a hand across his shaved head. 

She asked, “You don’t, do you?” and the realization fell from overhead like a dropped piano.  “You idiots.  How could you let this happen?”

Dave appeared to know that this would be coming.  In a calm, apologetic tone, one that sounded like it took no offense at the accusation or insult, he said, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Winthrop.  I can’t even begin to imagine how hard this must be, and I won’t patronize you by telling you to calm down.  That would be stupid—”

“Damn right it would be stupid,” she said with enough contempt to keep him planted behind his desk, where it was safe.

He nodded.  He’d probably seen enough irate mothers to recognize when it was time to tuck his tail between his legs and be the beta male of the situation.

“We’re wasting time.  Where’s Mrs. Bennett?”

“She and the rest of the available staff are in back of the school, still looking.  The classroom teachers are following our standard policy.  We’re officially locked down.  You know, in case this was something—in case there was somebody—man, that’s not coming out right.  In case something had happened to—”

“Dave?”

“Yes?”

“Shut up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I want you to call the police.”

“Mrs. Bennett said that wouldn’t be necessary yet, not until—”

“If you don’t pick up that phone and dial 9-1-1 in about three seconds, I’m coming over this counter and I’m going to rip that goddamn earring out of your head.  You understand me?”  It seemed like such a random thing to threaten him with, but it was the first noticeable item that stuck out as a source of pain.  She surprised herself with the intensity, and apologized.  Then she said, “You know that
something
you were babbling about?  It’s happening.  My daughters are missing from their school, too, so I want you to call the police, have them send someone to Whitetree, and get someone here.  Tell them I think they’ve been kidnapped, and it’s been an hour.”

She didn’t wait for a response. 

Sara sprinted out of the office, down the hallway, and through the doors that led to the rear playground.

***

Out back, some of the staff looked up into trees while some looked under parked cars on the nearby street.  Others worked in pairs, walking up and down the sidewalk, calling out Jacob’s name, checking the yards of homes across the way.

Sara shouted, “Jacob?  Mommy’s here,” in a feeble attempt.  “Time to come out now.”

Mrs. Bennett—Wanda to those familiar enough to call her that—stood by the merry-go-round, surveying the action from her post.  She was a large, imposing woman who had a stern demeanor when it came to disciplining the children and keeping the school running smoothly, but one-on-one, adult-to-adult, she was as an absolute sweetheart.  Ready with a laugh, ready with a hug.  She’d been Lacey and Callie’s principal, too, and had even brought a tray of lasagna by a week after Brian had gone missing.  Sara liked and admired her, but had to contain the urge to scream at the woman. 

She knew she needed Mrs. Bennett to be focused and ready with details.  Yelling at her would solve nothing.  Yelling at her wouldn’t improve anything.

Sara marched over to her and could see that the woman was already sweating through her light blue blouse.  The rings of perspiration made a semi-circle underneath her armpits as she held up a hand to shield her eyes from the sun.

“Mrs. Bennett!” Sara said.

Please have some news.  Anything good.

Mrs. Bennett waved and rushed over, meeting her halfway.  “Oh, Sara,” she said, holding out a hand to shake, but changed her mind at the last second and embraced her with a hug.

Sara squeezed, and could feel the warmth of the principal’s body, the dewy perspiration on the woman’s back.  She pulled away and asked, “Any luck?” but deep down, she knew it was pointless.  Not with the girls gone, too.  Not with that cryptic note. 
Are you ready to play the game?

Mrs. Bennett said, “Not—not yet.  We’re looking as hard as we can.  He
has
to be here somewhere.  No child has ever gone missing on my watch, and it’s not about to happen now.”

“You should call them off.”

Mrs. Bennett squinted at her, trying to decipher what she’d heard.  “Call them off?  Why?”

“Because he’s been—” She had to shove the next word out of her mouth. “—kidnapped.”

Mrs. Bennett scoffed, disbelieving.  “What?  No, don’t think that way.  We’ll find him, I’m sure of it.  My gut says we’re getting close.”

But Sara could tell by the sound of her voice that Mrs. Bennett was only trying to stay positive, and, on some level, she didn’t believe what she was saying, either.  The fact that she was being mollified bubbled up the rage boiling in her gut, but she stopped short of grabbing the principal by the shoulders and shaking her so hard her skull would flop around like a bobble-head doll. 

“It’s worse than you think,” she said.  She told Mrs. Bennett about Lacey and Callie and how they were missing, too, how they had disappeared around the same time as Jacob.  She told her about the cryptic note, and what she thought it meant.

A warm breeze blew strands of hair into Sara’s face.  She brushed them away, tucking them behind her ear, waiting on Mrs. Bennett to process the information. 

Mrs. Bennett’s mouth tried to produce a response, but no words came out.  Lips and jaw and tongue working overtime, producing nothing.  She’d gotten stuck in an infinite loop, the same kind of bug in a programmer’s code that left a game character repeating the same action over and over.

Sara fidgeted.  Every second wasted was another second gone from the fading three-hour time period that had, by now, worked its way down to less than two.  But the truth was that she had no idea what to do next, where to go, whom to call.  Talking to the police would be a step forward, but what then?  Would they take her down to the station to answer questions, offer her a cup of coffee and an empty room?  What good would that do? 

She could call the phone tree set up by all the parents in their neighborhood.  Tell them to keep an eye out in case the kids showed up there, by some miracle.  Lacey and Callie had gotten in trouble twice for switching classes.  They often wore the same outfits just to be mischievous.  They were clever little pranksters...something they had inherited from their father.  Was it possible they’d concocted a scheme to ditch school on the last day?  Could Jacob have overheard them and decided he wanted to play their game, too?

Stop grasping.  They wouldn’t
dare
pull a stunt like that.  Would they?  I mean, really?  Would they? 

The hamster wheel caught traction inside Mrs. Bennett’s head.  She said, “But who would leave that note?”

“I have no idea.”

“We have to call the police, right now.”

“I made Dave do it.  They should be here soon.”

“Good.  Good,” she said.  She reached up, pinched the bridge of her nose.  “We should’ve done it sooner.”

“You couldn’t have known.”

“No, it’s my responsibility.  We should’ve called as soon as I put everybody inside on lockdown.  But—but I didn’t want to worry you.  And I was being stupid and too pigheaded, trying to protect my own reputation.  Not on my watch, right?”

Part of Sara wanted to say,
Damn right, it was on your watch
, but the other part, the half that realized that it wasn’t Mrs. Bennett’s fault, said, “Don’t blame yourself, blame the asshole who took them.”

“I should’ve been more proactive,” she said.  Mrs. Bennett looked toward the back of the school, pointed.  “The police are here.  You go, we’ll keep looking.  And tell them they can find me back here when they’re ready.  I’m going to take full responsibility.”  She gave Sara another hug.

“That’s not necess—”

“I won’t be able to look at myself in the mirror.  It’s okay, Sara, really.  Go on now.  He’s waving you over.  Use my office if you need it.”

CHAPTER 4

SARA

“Mrs. Winthrop—”

“Sara’s fine,” she said.  “Two less syllables.”  She gave a nervous chuckle and then regretted saying it.  There wasn’t time for meaningless comments that required explanation.  She’d been using the aside to dispense with formalities and as a conversation starter for years, and it was a hard habit to break.

Don’t ask what it means, don’t ask what it means...just get to the questions.

The real meaning behind it was a running joke between her and Brian that had never gone away, even in her life without him.  They’d had an argument one night, about a week after they were married, over the most efficient way to load the dishwasher.  It’d escalated into a notch below a screaming match.  Brian had said, ‘Efficiency is the soul of wit, Sara,’ and she’d replied, ‘It’s
brevity
, ding-dong.  Brevity is the soul of wit, and it’s more efficient, because it’s two less syllables.’