Before She Was Found Page 17

  Violet nodded and looked at me like she was really hurt.

  I told them again that I found it on the floor beneath the table and if they didn’t believe me, well, that was their problem.

  I could tell that Violet wanted to believe me but Jordyn made it clear she didn’t.

  “I can’t believe you stole your best friend’s phone, Cora. That’s awful.”

  I hollered that I didn’t steal it, that I found it, but Jordyn dragged Violet away and left me just sitting there.

  Case #92-10945

  Direct message dated December 20, 2017,

  via DarkestDoor.com

  Corareef12:

  We present our project to the class in a few days.

  JW44:

  YOU’LL DO GREAT!

  Corareef12:

  Yeah, I can’t wait until it’s over.

  JW44:

  ARE VIOLET AND JORDYN STILL MAD AT YOU ABOUT THE CELL PHONE?

  Corareef12:

  Whenever Jordyn walks by me in the hallway she pretends to cough and says, Thief. She told everyone I took it. Violet says that she just misplaced the phone, but I can tell that she thinks I stole it. She’s not mean to me but she isn’t really nice, either. She hardly talks to me anymore.

  JW44:

  LIKE I SAID, THEY’RE NOT TRUE FRIENDS. YOU KNOW YOU CAN COUNT ON ME, THOUGH. WHEN DO I GET TO SEE THE MOVIE?

  Corareef12:

  IDK. It’s kind of embarrassing.

  JW44:

  WHY? I’M SURE IT’S AWESOME. I BET YOU’LL GET AN A.

  Corareef12:

  I hope so. We spent all day Saturday filming it. I thought we’d never finish. I played the part of Lucy.

  JW44:

  YOU DO LOOK A LITTLE BIT LIKE LUCY. YOU’RE PRETTIER, THOUGH.

  JW44:

  YOOHOO. ARE YOU STILL THERE?

  JW44:

  WHO DID YOU HAVE PLAY ME?

  Corareef12:

  Gabe Shannon. He’s a boy in my class.

  JW44:

  DID YOU KISS HIM?

  Corareef12:

  What? NO! We were just acting. Nothing happened.

  JW44:

  BECAUSE I DON’T THINK I’D LIKE IT IF YOU DID.

  Corareef12:

  We didn’t, I swear. We just pretended to. No one wants to kiss me, anyway. Everyone hates me.

  JW44:

  I DON’T THINK THAT’S TRUE, CORA.

  Corareef12:

  How do you know my real name?

  JW44:

  DUH. YOUR USERNAME STARTS WITH CORA. I KIND OF FIGURED THAT WAS YOUR FIRST NAME. I’M RIGHT, AREN’T I?

  Corareef12:

  But how do you know? Are you like God who knows everything?

  JW44:

  WELL, I’M NOT GOD, BUT THANK YOU. IT’S HARD TO EXPLAIN, BUT I JUST KNOW. I KNOW THAT YOU WEAR A PINK COAT AND HAVE A PURPLE BACKPACK WITH WHITE POLKA DOTS. I KNOW YOU HAVE BLOND HAIR AND BLUE EYES. AND I KNOW THAT YOU’RE VERY PRETTY. A LOT PRETTIER THAN THOSE TWO GIRLS YOU HANG OUT WITH.

  Corareef12:

  Well, I don’t really hang out with them anymore and everyone else thinks Jordyn and Violet are the pretty ones.

  JW44:

  NO WAY. BESIDES, YOU HAVE A MUCH BETTER PERSONALITY.

  Corareef12:

  I wish they were my friends again.

  JW44:

  ARE YOU SURE? I THINK THEY MAKE YOU SAD.

  Corareef12:

  It’s lonely at school.

  JW44:

  WELL, I’M YOUR FRIEND, TOO. REMEMBER THAT. MAYBE WE COULD MEET SOMEDAY. IN PERSON. WHAT DO YOU THINK?

  Corareef12:

  Are you really Wither? I feel like maybe you’re just pranking me.

  JW44:

  YES. I WOULDN’T LIE TO YOU, CORA. I CARE ABOUT YOU TOO MUCH.

  Corareef12:

  I don’t know what to believe anymore.

  JW44:

  I’LL PROVE IT TO YOU.

  Corareef12:

  How?

  JW44:

  COME TO THE TRAIN YARD. WE’LL MEET IN PERSON. YOU’LL SEE...

  JW44:

  CORA?

  JW44:

  WHERE’D YOU GO?

  Thomas Petit

  Tuesday, April 17, 2018

  Thomas’s first thought is the attic. He places a step stool beneath the hatchway in the ceiling and pulls on the cord that unfolds the stairs. He threads his arms through the straps of the book bag and, with it resting on his back, clutches the wooden rungs just above his head and makes his way upward.

  By the time his head pokes through the narrow opening in the ceiling he knows the attic won’t work. The wide-planked wooden floor is covered in a thick layer of dust. He hasn’t been up here in about five years, when he and Tess cleaned it out.

  If Thomas stows the backpack up here he will disturb the nearly half-decade worth of dust. His footprints will give him away and he doesn’t have a good enough explanation as to why he would venture up the wobbly steps. He slowly makes his way back down the rungs, fearful that a misstep could result in a broken leg and he’d end up in the hospital in a bed right next to Tess. Then what would happen to Jordyn?

  Next, Thomas tucks the backpack behind a stack of neatly folded sheets and towels on the top shelf of the linen closet. He knows this won’t work, either. He’s seen enough crime shows to know that the police will look there, too. He wanders the house trying to come up with the safest spot. He knows in his bones that it is just a matter of time before the police chief will knock on the door, warrant in hand, and begin to ransack each and every one of the closets in the house, look beneath the beds and behind the furniture.

  His eyes land on the old fireplace that they light a few times per year. Using the stone mantel for balance, he lowers himself to the floor and cranes his neck to look upward into the flue. The fireplace is swept and cool to the touch. If anyone walks in at this moment, he can say that a starling or a swallow has flown down the chimney and he is searching for any sign of a nest.

  Lying on one shoulder he shoves the backpack as far up the chimney as it can go. He stays there for a moment, trying to catch his breath and waits to see if the pack filled with Jordyn’s clothing, textbook and tennis shoes will tumble to the ground. It doesn’t move and Thomas breathes a sigh of relief, sending a small windstorm of ash into the air.

  He knows the flue is just a temporary solution. When he has the chance he will have to get the backpack out of the house for good. There are plenty of dumping places around Pitch. Locust Creek with its fast-moving current, strong enough to sweep the contents far away, or he can bury them in a cornfield to eventually be chewed up by a combine.

  “Grandpa,” comes Jordyn’s tremulous voice from above him.

  “Down here,” Thomas calls back, struggling to get to his feet. By the time Jordyn comes down the steps he is washing his sooty hands in the sink. “Did you have a good rest?” Thomas asks as Jordyn slumps into the kitchen and rubs her eyes.

  “Uh-huh,” Jordyn answers, stifling a yawn, and takes a seat at the table.

  Thomas pulls a clean dish towel from a drawer and wipes his hands dry before pulling out a chair and sitting next to his granddaughter. He has planned what he is going to say, has murmured it over and over to himself the past two hours.

  “Jordyn,” he begins, keeping his voice authoritative and matter-of-fact, “the police will be back to ask more questions about what happened at the train yard.” Jordyn’s chin begins to quiver but Thomas plunges forward. “They are going to ask you over and over about what you did at Cora’s house and what you did at the train yard and it’s very important that you say the same thing each time. Do you understand?”

  Jordyn nods. “You told them you left Cora
and Violet at the train yard, right?” Again, Jordyn nods and her eyes begin to fill. “No,” Thomas says sternly. “No tears, Jordyn. This is important. When they come back around, you tell them the exact same thing. You were going to go to the train yard but you stopped before you actually got there. You took a drink of beer, dumped it out and then you left. The girls were fine when you left and then you came straight home.”

  Thomas waits for Jordyn to nod in understanding and then reaches out and runs a calloused palm across Jordyn’s sleep-rumpled hair. “You left your book bag at the train yard, but don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll find it.”

  “Grandpa—” Jordyn’s forehead creases in confusion “—but I didn’t...”

  “Shh, I know,” Thomas says, trying to gentle his voice. “Don’t worry, we can get you a new one for school if need be. Next time just don’t be so careless. They’ll ask you what was inside and you’ll tell them you had your pajamas and social studies book in there. And your house key. That’s all, right?” He waits for Jordyn to agree and when she doesn’t, Thomas says, “Jordyn, I found that map in your backpack and that list. There was blood on your jacket. Do you understand how that would look to the police?”

  Jordyn nods and bites her lip. “Nothing bad was supposed to happen. I don’t know how she got hurt so bad, Grandpa. I promise. I didn’t do anything.”

  “Okay. You just tell them you left the backpack at the train yard, got it?” Jordyn nods again. Thomas stands and goes to the kitchen sink and looks out the window.

  With forced cheerfulness Thomas returns and drops a kiss atop Jordyn’s head, saying, “I called the hospital and talked to Cora’s mom earlier. She says Cora is doing better and is up for visitors. Go on and get dressed and we’ll go see her.”

  A spasm of alarm crosses Jordyn’s face and she looks ready to protest. “No arguments,” Thomas says, though in the back of his mind he can hear Tess telling him that he should wait until Cora is home from the hospital before taking Jordyn to see her in such a state. That it might be too upsetting to her.

  He tries to nudge Tess’s intrusion from his head. “We’ll stop and see Grandma and then your friend. I think that will be a nice thing to do, don’t you? Cora is one of your best friends, right?”

  “Right,” Jordyn repeats.

  “You know,” Thomas says. “You girls are lucky. Even Cora. Her mom says she’s got quite the head injury and may have to have plastic surgery on her face, but the stab wound wasn’t as bad as it could have been. She could have died. You all could have died.”

  Thomas watches Jordyn’s face. He sees fear and revulsion. Good, he thinks. This is why he’s taking her to see Cora. Jordyn needs to know that it’s dangerous for three little girls to go out in the middle of the night. Not that he thinks they were asking for it; he doesn’t think that at all. But it would have never happened if they had just stayed put like they were supposed to.

  “Then go on, Jordyn, go on now and get ready,” he orders.

  Jordyn pushes herself away from the table in resignation and slouches off. Thomas hopes he’s not making a big mistake. But wouldn’t it look more suspicious if Jordyn didn’t go to visit Cora? Wouldn’t she look guiltier?

  Beth Crow

  Tuesday, April 17, 2018

  Pitch is a small town so you’d think there’d only be a few places Violet could hide but really there are dozens: back home, Jordyn’s house, school, Hickory Park, even outside of town where there are miles and miles of winding gravel roads. Hickory Park is in the far southwest part of town, the school is closed for spring break and I don’t think she would go back home.

  “Try the depot,” Max says.

  “Why?” I ask. “Wouldn’t that be the last place she’d go?” I ask, thinking Violet would be terrified, worried that the monster who stabbed Cora could be there.

  “She’s been hanging around there with her friends a lot lately. I think that’s where they filmed the movie for their school project. There’s lots of places she could hide,” he explains. I had no idea that Violet was spending time at the train yard. I have so many questions but decide to save them for later.

  My phone rings and I hand it to Max to answer.

  “Hello,” he says. “Yeah... No, we haven’t found her yet, either. We’re heading to the train yard in case Violet went there.” He hangs up. “Officer Grady,” he tells me.

  “Yeah, I figured.” Part of me wishes that Max wouldn’t have told Grady where we were headed. His mere presence freaks Violet but I couldn’t exactly tell my son to lie to the police.

  I take the same road we drove the other night and park next to the boarded-up depot building. A bright red-and-white sign warns me against trespassing but I get out of my car, anyway, after telling Max to stay put. The train station doesn’t look quite as scary as it did in the dark of night but with the tall, weedy grass and the abandoned rusty boxcars it’s still eerie.

  With one foot I test the steps that lead up to the depot platform. The wood cracks and pops with my weight so instead I hoist myself up, the rough concrete biting into my knees and the palms of my hands. I stand, brush the grit and dirt from my hands, and look out over the train yard. A scrap of yellow crime tape lies on the ground near where Violet collapsed. The only sound I hear is the rustle of the tall winter wheat waving back and forth in the light breeze.

  Dozens of boxcars with rusty pockmarks sit throughout the yard. Violet could be in any one of them or in none at all.

  First, I walk around the depot building. The brick is cracked and crumbling but each window and door is sealed up tight with heavy plywood. I can’t find any way that Violet could have gotten inside.

  That leaves the boxcars. I hop down from the platform and make my way to the nearest car and look inside. Its corners are filled with cobwebs and candy wrappers and crushed beer cans but no Violet. I move on to the next car, this one tipped on its side. I peer over the edge and an animal, a mouse or ground squirrel, blinks back at me, then scurries away. Violet’s not here, either.

  The third car sits back away from the others and is nearly swallowed up by the tall grass that has grown up around it, nearly concealing the faded, flaking paint that spells out Primrose Sugar. The area around the side door seems undisturbed but I decide to check, anyway. I wade through the grass, its stalks scratching at my chin. Unlike the other boxcars, the door to this one is only open a bit.

  The tall grass blocks the sun from reaching the opening so I pull out my cell and shine its light through the narrow opening. Nothing. I’m about to move on to the next car when I hear a whimper.

  “Violet?” I say, trying to see through the darkness. There’s no answer. I yank on the door, trying to open it so I can get inside, but it’s rusted in place.

  The opening is only about six inches wide but if I turn sideways I might fit. I squeeze my upper body through the small opening and scan the far corners of the car with the light from my cell phone.

  Sitting crouched in a corner is Violet. Her hand is clamped across her mouth as if trying to hold back a scream. “Violet, it’s Mom.” I try to force my way inside but the angle is all wrong and for a second I’m stuck. “Violet,” I say again. “It’s just me. Officer Grady isn’t here. What happened, sweetie? Why did you run away?”

  She looks at me with eyes filled with fear but doesn’t speak. “I know you’re scared but I promise that I won’t let anyone hurt you. We’ll get this all cleared up and have you home in no time. I promise.”

  Outside comes the sound of tires on gravel.

  “He’s coming,” Violet whispers.

  “Officer Grady?” I ask. “Is that who you are afraid of? I promise, Violet, I won’t let him hurt you.” But she’s not listening. Holding my breath and squeezing my stomach in as tightly as I can, I’m somehow able to wriggle inside the car, my jeans catching and tearing on the ragged, corroded edges of the door.

 
“Violet, it’s just me right now. It’s going to be okay.” I reach my hand out to her. Her skin is ice cold and she’s shivering. “Please tell me what’s going on. Why did you run away? Why did you come here?”

  Using the light from my phone I scan the walls. Stenciled in a now grimy white are the words Primrose Sugar—Do Not Damage. The boxcar is surprisingly clean. There are no signs of any critters taking up residence here, as if someone has been tending to it. I wonder if the boxcar is some sort of clubhouse for Violet and her friends.

  Violet is sitting on a blanket that I recognize as an old one of ours. There is a wooden pallet in a corner and atop it sits an empty mason jar with a several scraps of paper stuffed inside.

  “Shut the door, shut the door.” She slaps my phone from my hand and it skitters across the floor. The car is plunged into shadows. “Shh, Mommy, he’ll hear.” The terror in her voice is unmistakable.

  “Officer Grady?” I ask again, this time in a whisper. “Violet, I don’t understand.”

  In the distance I hear a car door slam; next to me I feel Violet tremble. “Violet, come on, this is ridiculous.” In the distance the blare of sirens come closer and closer. I don’t think I’ll be able to get her out of here now. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

  With difficulty I climb out of the boxcar to find Officer Grady walking toward me.

  “Your son told me you came this way. Any sign of her?” Officer Grady asks, looking over my shoulder toward the boxcar. Before answering I wait for the sound of sirens to fade but instead they only get louder.

  “What did you do?” I ask.

  “She just took off,” Officer Grady tries to explain. “She’s out of control, Beth. I called an ambulance for her own safety.”

  “An ambulance?” I ask in disbelief. “But she’s not hurt,” I say before I realize what he’s getting at. “Oh, no.” I shake my head. “She’ll be fine. I just need a few minutes alone with her and she’ll relax. She just doesn’t understand what’s going on. She’s scared.”

  “You found her?” Officer Grady begins to move toward the boxcar and I step in front of him.

  I nod. “Please, just stay outside and I’ll talk to her. If I can keep her calm, will you please send the ambulance away?”