Cemetery Girl

I lay on the side of the road for a long while, staring at the stars, waiting for the pain in my side to go away. The stars and winking satellites offered no comfort or conclusions, nothing I could orient myself by or make sense of.

When the pain eased, I pushed myself up. The landscape whirled and tilted before me, the lights on the nearby highway blurring together and swimming. I thought for a moment I was seriously hurt, concussed or wounded in such a way I’d need to call for help. But after a couple of minutes on my feet, as I gathered my senses and balance, the world steadied. My equilibrium returned, and only the pain in my side remained.

I didn’t have anyone to call. To wake up Abby would invite questions and examinations about how and why I’d ended up in that neighborhood in the middle of the night. To call anyone would invite such questions. And the only other person I could call had just left me here on the side of the road.

The walking did me good. Five miles to home, moving at a snail’s pace. I worked the painful muscles loose, the ones that were clenched and stretched while not just one but two different men assaulted me. I tried to understand how I’d come to be in the place I was. The wheel of fortune had spun, and the arrow had landed on me: I’d been the guy whose daughter was taken. And then the wheel spun again, an even more unusual and perhaps crueler fate: I’d also been the guy to get his daughter back. Was it a mark of my confusion that I still couldn’t decide which was the worse fate to suffer?

By the time I reached the house, the sky was turning gray with first light. My feet hurt, and all I wanted to do was fall asleep in my own bed. But the wheel of fortune would turn one more time.

I saw Ryan’s car out front. It was just six-thirty, way too early for him to be there unless something was going on.

I thought I knew. Buster. He’d called them and told all. The girl in the cemetery, the trip to Colter’s, my interest in dealing with the man who’d taken my daughter.

Having nowhere else to go and no energy with which to do it, I went up the steps to face the music.

Ryan and Abby were in the living room. Abby was dressed, but I could tell by her hair that she wasn’t showered. When I entered the room, their heads turned in unison, as though they were part of a well-rehearsed stage act.

“Where have you been, Tom?” Abby asked.

“I was out taking a walk.”

“You’ve been gone for hours.”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Are you hurt, Tom?” Ryan asked, sizing me up.

“I fell.”

Abby looked away, fixing her eyes on the coffee mug she lifted to her mouth and sipped from.

“Did you land on somebody’s fist?” Ryan asked.

I stood near the door, let my weight rest against its frame. I ignored him.

“I’m here about your brother,” Ryan said.

“Okay.”

Abby put the mug down and started to cry. Her eyes were full of tears, and she brought both her hands up to wipe them away.

“Did something happen to him?” I asked.

“Oh, Tom,” Abby said. “If only it were that easy.”

“Why don’t you sit down, Tom.”

I did, gingerly lowering myself onto the opposite end of the couch from Abby. She looked over at me and shook her head, disbelieving and angry.

“Have you heard from your brother lately?” Ryan asked.

“Will someone just tell me what’s going on?” I asked. I shifted so my side didn’t hurt. “It’s been a long night.”

Ryan took a long moment, still studying my face. Then he relented. “We’ve been continuing our investigation of John Colter and his relationship to Caitlin. We’ve been examining every angle, trying to understand how he ended up with your daughter. Work relationships, church relationships. . these are the things we examine in a case like this-”

“I don’t understand where you’re going with this. And what does it have to do with my brother?”

“We’ve identified some points of commonality between your family and associates of John Colter. There’s a connection there, a link.”

“Our family knew John Colter?” I asked.

“It was Buster, Tom,” Abby said. “Buster. All along. It was Buster who gave Caitlin over to this beast.”

I still didn’t move. While Abby wept, I stayed rooted in my seat, staring at Ryan.

Not Buster. No way.

Finally, Ryan jerked his head a little toward Abby. His motion broke the spell.

I slid down the couch and placed my hand on Abby’s back. She jerked away.

“Don’t touch me.” She looked up, her face tear streaked, her eyes on fire. “Did you know about this? All along, did you suspect this and keep it from me?”

“I don’t even know about it now.”

“Your brother gave our little girl away,” she said. “He’s a druggie and a failure, and he brought his own mess down on our lives.”

I looked to Ryan.

“Our investigation has revealed that John Colter was friends with a man named Loren Brooks. Do you know him?”

I shook my head. “No, I don’t.”

“Are you sure you don’t know him, Tom?” Abby asked.

“I don’t know the name. Should I?”