Chapter Fifteen: The Hidden Past

A Chapter by Not here

Everything was dark in the house. Not a mouse moved, as the gigantic sphere of sunlight began to sink below the rows of corn. The tips of it were just visible, but sinking lower every moment. Michael’s mom was asleep in her room, as she normally was, and he sat with Gameboy in hand, having trouble concentrating enough to get past Donkey Kong. More dangerous problems were creeping nearer, though, in the darkness behind him as he sat unaware in the kitchen.

Like icy knives, it grew closer every moment, preparing to launch an assault and change his life forever. It lurked around the corner, waited just underneath the rug, burrowed its way through the pillow under his head; there were many ways it could get him, and even more that it could wreak havoc onto his soul. Every second could be the last one, and although his mind had trouble nailing the cause, his heart knew exactly what caused the uneasiness. Only a few more moments now…

Ring. Ring. Ring.

Michael jumped in his chair, standing up and facing around before realizing it was only the phone. With a sigh, he shoved the console into his pocket and trudged over towards the blasting, annoying noise.

“Will you get that freaking-”

“Got it, Mom,” Michael called out. She was in a terrible mood today, but that was becoming more common every time she woke up.

Finally ending the noise, he took it off the receiver and stated, “Walker family. Who is this?”

A familiar voice answered, “Michael. I was hoping you’d pick up.”

“Detective Daniel? I didn’t realize you’d call so soon.”

“It’s either Detective or Smith, or a combination of the two; I don’t go by Daniel. And yesterday I told you I’d look into the files; I was up all night with them, and I’ve got something.”

“Well, spill it.”

After a pause, Detective Smith said, “No, not now. When can you meet me?”

“Um, I don’t know. I live in Hardy, which is like-”

“I mean in Marcy; when can you meet me here?”

“Well, my mom is going shopping tomorrow,” Michael answered. “She doesn’t want to, but I’ll starve if she doesn’t; I’m the only thing she worries about now. Not herself, not-”

“Okay, okay. Sorry to cut you off, but I got to go now.” Detective Smith sounded hurried, and not at all sorry. He coughed for a few seconds, sounding awfully sick, before finishing, “Tomorrow, meet me at the diner near the creek. I’m sure you know where it is. I’ll be there.”

With that, he ended the call, leaving Michael dumbfounded. Leaning against the wall, he rested his head on it, anxious for tomorrow to come, but feeling doubtful. Whatever he would find out seemed important; at least, it was to the detective.

Where is she right now? What is she doing?

Out of the window, he saw the moon beginning to rise in the sky. It was a clichéd thought that came to mind, sure. But in a situation like this it was comforting, or uneasy. He was not sure which.

Something his mother had once told him, long ago, when he was spending the night away at his grandparent’s house. They had long since passed away, but the memory remained, and with it the feeling of hope that it introduced. That was beginning to die, too.

See that moon up there? No matter where you are, I’ll be looking at the exact same one. And if you look up at it, and feel lonely, just remember it’ll always lead you back to me.

It was the same moon as it was then, and somewhere out there, not far away, she was watching it too. Either with tearful eyes or a smiling face, she was there, seeing it. He knew.

Just remember, it’ll always lead you back to me.

Or me to you.

Lilly.

*************************************************

The door clawed open, leaving scratches on the floor, when Michael pushed the wobbly frame. A few steps in, and the thick scent of pastries and cappuccinos flooded his senses. What the detective had called the “diner over the creek” was actually the Lookout Coffee House, a local, well-run establishment with business growing every day, as more and more people needed a jump-start to their mornings. It was a nice place to spend the morning, for sure, but now at nearly lunch time the herds had dissipated and rejoined in delis and diners all along the streets.

A handful of booths lined one wall, typical red vinyl, scratched in some places, torn in others, all with a wooden base. All along the walls were odd trinkets and pictures, quite a few with either Elvis Presley or Marilyn Monroe, though there were so many of different kinds it was impossible to see each one. Only one man sat in a booth, and a handful of others at tables across the room. Immediately, Michael recognized the back of Detective Smith’s head in the far booth, facing away from the door.

Despite not being particularly quiet while he walked over, the detective did not budge, or even breathe it seemed. He stared at the cup of bitter tea resting on his miniscule plate, back straight and neck tense. Michael walked closer and tapped on one shoulder, fighting back an awkward, curious smile.

Detective Smith leapt out of his seat, grabbing the attention of everyone. They all turned to see a gruff, serious-looking man, standing half-way and staring in shock at a teenage boy, hands clenched in fists. Michael stepped back a few feet, his hands raised and eyes wide in a look of bewilderment.

“Sorry, sorry,” grumbled the detective as he sat back down.

Michael took a seat across from him, smiling in embarrassment at anyone who looked their way, still in the dark himself about what had happened.

“Why’re you so tense?”

“Nothing, really; it’s just…” Detective Smith’s mumbling voice trailed off, his eyes peering through the smooth tabletop.

“Does it have something to do with what you wanted to tell me?” Michael asked. He was not sure why, or how, but the thought came to his mind all of a sudden. How could such a tough, rough detective be daunted, and scared witless, by something found in simple police files?

“Yeah, it does. But, before you can understand, I need to tell you something about her.”

“Lilly?” Michael exclaimed, gathering a couple peculiar stares from the other customers in the coffee house.

“No, not her. Well, not directly. About the-”

“What do you mean not directly? If there’s something you know, tell me now.” His face took on a serious, unwavering expression.

The detective smirked behind his lifted tea cup, before setting it back with a quiet clatter on the plate. He was beginning to regain some of his confidence. “Hold on, now. I’ll get to that soon. What I know -about the woman- is who she is and what she does. The files-”

“Well, we know what she does already!” Michael said loudly again, starting to stand up. “And now you know who she is, so let’s go arrest her; get my sister back!”

“It’s not so simple,” said Detective Smith, shaking his head and motioning for Michael to sit back down.

He had risen from his seat in the fervor of the moment, beginning to slide his way out of the booth. Seeing the exhausted but stubborn expression on the detective’s face, he sat back down with a muffled thud, itching to do something productive. Any step was a good step in his mind, even if it was the wrong way.

“Why not?” he asked. If there was a reason for their stupid inactivity, he demanded to know at that very moment.

“Because... It just isn’t. I can’t explain it.”

“Well, try! I need to know apparently, if it’s not so simple.”

Usually, the teenager’s tone of voice would set Detective Smith on edge, but this was different. He understood the pain, buried in his own memories long ago, and knew back then he would have acted much the same way.

“To understand what’s happening now, you need to understand what’s happened before. Her origins. Her story.”

“And you’re going to tell me that story?”

“Yes, I am. I’m going to tell you, but you’ll have to listen first.

“Twenty years ago -when I was a kid right here in Hardy and Marcy- three children went missing in the span of about thirty days. One teenage girl went missing, along with her younger brother, and his best friend, also a young boy. None of them were ever found, and it is widely regarded that they either were killed, died of natural causes, or something like that. Anyone associated with the disappearances, as a policeman, reporter, or even just a well-informed citizen of the town, has moved away or died since then. Those who remain here are now mentally incapable of remembering what happened then. The three missing cases, which I looked into, are now considered unsolved, closed cases. Cold cases, they may be called. Some people -well, lots of people nowadays- believe the three disappearances are either not connected, or hardly connected enough to be of any interest.”

Michael stared at him with an indifferent, testy expression. “What does that have to do with my sister?”

Detective Smith answered him calmly with another question. “Have you ever heard of the Lost Three?” Michael nodded his head, just barely, and the detective continued. “Twenty years before those disappearances -the year was ‘55, I believe- I just told you about three other children went missing. The first one to go, a teenage boy, had a girlfriend, and she was heartbroken after he was missing for a few days. Then, her little brother, a toddler, also went missing, and for a week she thought about killing herself and just ending it. She was very open and talked to her parents about this, but vaguely. When she went missing nearly a week afterwards, everyone checked the rivers and other places where she may have killed herself, but no body was ever found. Someone was eventually arrested, because the police thought they were kidnapped, but he was released soon after. These three kids are remembered and honored in the summer every year, because that is about when they went missing. Many stories have been made up about who did it and when exactly it happened, but none of them are true. Nobody knew what happened to them, until now. I know.”

Before Michael could interrupt, he went on. “Twenty years before that, back in ‘35, another well-connected trio went missing. Two best friends, both of them teenage boys, were first. Along with them, one of the boy’s younger sister was never found. These cases, being very controversial, resulted in the head detective at the time losing his position and being fired altogether from the department. Now, much like all of the others before them, these three have been forgotten and the case considered unsolvable..

Michael asked, “ What others before them?”

Detective Smith closed his eyes for a moment, deep in thought. “Every twenty years back, for as long as the police records go, there has been a string of three to four missing people, most of the disappearances being thought kidnappings at the time -or, in the teenager’s cases, running away. Every twenty years, though, there are three or four that go mis-”

“Just like now.”

Detective Smith gave him a warning look. “Yes. But there is one other thing. Back in ‘35, another person went missing, but most forget about her, because it happened before all of the others.”

“Who was it?”

Detective Smith said, “Did you not see my face? Don’t interrupt me. And it was a baby girl, just over one years old. But it doesn’t stop there, either. Exactly eighty years before that, according to all the documents and vague reports I found, another baby girl went missing, and if you believe the legends, eighty years prior to that another one. There is a pattern here, plain as day, but even I didn’t see it at first.

“Yesterday, an officer came up to me and said he found something in the case files I asked him to look over. He noticed the almost unbelievable pattern and told me, and I told the head detective what he had found. He blew me off, so I went to the chief of police here in town. He refused to accept it, saying he did not want to cast a shadow on the department and previous policemen, and reopening the cases would do just that. Steven, the officer I had look into it, got moved out west, and the chief threatened me with a similar fate if I investigate further. Only me, him, and the head detective know, and now you too. I had to tell you, of course, because this could help get your sister back. I don’t know how much more I can do for you, but this is a start.”

Michael scratched at his chin, thinking hard. “I don’t see how this helps us know who she is. To commit all of those kidnappings, she would have to be like hundreds of years old for sure!”

The detective nodded. “My opinion is that it’s some kind of chain reaction. The woman kidnaps and murders or does something to the victims, who are all kids or teenagers, since I know your age-group doesn’t like being classified as kids. Then she trains someone else to be her heir or apprentice. That women continues on with the pattern.”

“Who does she get to follow her? That’s just... terrible!” Michael exclaimed in a whisper.

“People will do anything, if the right person leads them,” said the detective, shaking his head sadly.

“But answer me this,” he went on. “What purpose does the baby girl serve? Every 80 years a baby girl goes missing; that’s certain. Always a baby girl, and always 80 years. The other children have a pattern, I’m sure -and I’ll write it down for you here in a sec- but the baby is the key. She has some major role, and I think she -the baby- becomes the next in line, the heir. In some, twisted way, the woman trains her for twenty years, until she is a young woman and goes out on her own to terrorize the town. The older woman dies, and the young one carries on when she is 20, like we said, and then 40, 60, until 80, when she then takes another baby for her own.”

Michael thought for a moment and said, “She would still have to be at least 100 before she dies. That’s crazy to happen so many times in a row with so many women.”

Detective Smith nodded and said, “I agree. Unless there is some supernatural occurrence happening, controlling the women, I don’t see how it’s possible. Maybe they have some sort of secret practices that prolong lifespans? I’m dumbfounded, honestly; I don’t know all the details. Every theory I think of is crazier than the last.

“All I can say is this: To beat her, you need to know her. Feel free to share everything I told you with your three friends; they are in as much danger as you.”

Michael looked out the window and said, “It’s getting late. And I have so many questions, but I know you can’t answer them right now.”

Detective Smith looked at him with compassion. “I really want to help you, kid, but there’s only so much I can do. I’ve never had much of a family besides my parents, but there was a little sister when I was younger. I know how you feel.”

“What happened with her?”

“That’s a story for another time,” he said, standing up and getting ready to leave. “I do want to help you, but there’s only so much I can do. Until next time.”

He nodded at Michael, and slapped a small piece of paper down on the table with his writing plastered all over it. Then he walked out of the diner.

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© 2015 Not here

Author's Note

Fifteen Chapters :) Thank you all who are still reading. I admit this is a pretty long piece to read on this website. Ya'll must have some of the best attention spans I know. Most people I know personally wouldn't take the time to read this, so thank you all again!

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Reviews

Willard Wells

I am now interested in the story and enjoying. Keep up the good work

Posted 9 Years Ago

9 Years Ago

thanks willard :) im glad you liked it. i appreciate your reviews and i know parts of this are writt.. read more

KittyKatgirl

I don't have much of an attention span. But this book has intrigued me and I really enjoy reading it and no matter what I want to keep reading more. Great chapter again Dante :)