The Missing Read online

  Justin bared his perfectly straight, store-bought teeth, and then so did Liesa, and Jackie, and the rest of them. “Hungry,” Justin said, only he was hardly speaking anymore. “Hunnneee,” he said, like maybe, if she wanted to badly enough, she could pretend he was calling her sweet.

  She tried not to let them see her tears, but her breasts were cold, and exposed, and she was so ashamed. She tried to keep her mind from comprehending the obvious: They’d been feeding in these woods.

  Someone, maybe Jackie, took the first bite. She tried to keep it inside, but the pain was too great. She screamed.

  FOURTEEN

  A House Divided

  “It was the worst!” Maddie Wintrob announced. “He ate that baby.” She and her boyfriend had just ridden their bikes from the police department, where they’d reported finding a child’s skeleton, along with a spry and very much alive Albert Sanguine.

  “It sounds bad,” Fenstad said.

  The four of them were sitting in the den. Maddie and Enrique occupied one couch, and Fenstad and Meg held the other. A year ago Maddie had been slamming across the wood floors in child-sized tap shoes even though she didn’t take tap; she just liked being loud. Well, maybe not a year ago. Maybe ten years ago. “Tada!” she’d shouted with wide-open arms at the end of every leaden-footed routine.

  Maddie had just finished explaining her trip to the woods. Her reason for being there instead of at school remained a mystery. Fenstad could guess. He’d done the same things when he was eighteen with a girl named Joanne “Giggles” Streibler. But when he looked at his daughter, a psychedelic gazelle in bright colors and ruffles, and compared her to the convenience store clerk with the black peach-fuzz mustache, he didn’t want to guess. “I’m just glad you’re safe,” Meg said.

  Fenstad nodded, but his jaw was locked in place, and his blood was boiling. He looked out the bay window so they wouldn’t see how close he was to bursting. He focused on the lawn, which had recently been mowed, and the dogwood trees in bloom. He focused on the cars driving by with their headlights shining, and his view of the town from the top of the hill. His Victorian was big and impressive. A perfect fit for a family of four. He was proud of what he’d built, even though the world seemed determined, plank by plank, to tear it down.

  “Are you sure it was Albert?” Meg asked. Her leg was propped on the coffee table between the two couches. They’d made love this afternoon on the couch where they now sat, and in the bed, too. Her face was still glowing, and the only sign that she was not pleased by the mention of Albert’s name was the way she scratched the skin beneath her cast in firm, swift strokes. Her fingernails were long, and the sound was as loud as a chirping cricket.

  “I’m sure. But he was strange. He didn’t move like a man.” Enrique’s English was flawless but halting, and clearly foreign. “When he saw us, he ran. He leaped on all fours.” Enrique mimicked the motion, curling his hands into claws and bending forward to prove his point: “Like an animal. It was unnatural. They didn’t believe us at the police station, but it’s true. It was Albert Sanguine.”

  Meg stiffened next to him, and for a moment he got nervous. Could this be true? He’d jumped out a second-story window, and was now in the woods? Like every other paranoid delusional, Albert’s fantasies had always been intricate, but they’d also been something more rare: consistent. In six years he’d never varied from his story: a presence in the Bedford woods had found a home inside him, and would not set him free.

  Had something been calling him all this time? Fenstad wondered. Then he shook his head: No. Albert Sanguine was dead. Soon, someone would smell his body in some dark corner of the hospital where he’d been trying to scavenge rubbing alcohol. The kids had seen something, and in their hysteria, attached Albert’s face to it. That was the only possible explanation.

  “If it really was him, he couldn’t have hurt you. What you saw was the adrenaline rush of a dying man,” he said. Meg was still scratching, but less frequently. Her skin was red, and he placed his hand over hers to make her still.

  Maddie took a hitching breath. “Dad…I think he did something to that baby,” she said.

  “Maddie,” Fenstad said. “You said it was a skeleton. It probably came from Bedford before the fire. It was a stillborn that its mother abandoned.”

  “Bull,” Maddie countered. “Its skin was all dried up, and its bones were broken.” She took a deep breath, and he could see she was working herself into a froth.

  Normally he’d have started comforting her by now, but instead Enrique Vargas was running his thumb in circular motions along the junction of her bony shoulder blades.

  Since he’d enlisted, Enrique had started spending more time at the Casa de Wintrob. At night he and Maddie sat on the front porch and whispered to each other. It wasn’t fun whispering. It was intense, and without humor, and probably involved heartfelt protestations of undying love. Fenstad got the idea that an engagement ring was on its way. Something cheap that would turn Maddie’s finger green.

  “Dad, its bones were broken. That’s not natural.”

  “Sweetheart,” Meg said. “An animal could have done that.”

  Maddie pursed her lips. Enrique leaned away from her, like he knew what was coming. Her lips quivered for one second, two seconds. On three she exploded. The veins along her neck thickened into cords and spit went flying. “That guy’s lips were bloody! Where do you think that blood came from? He’d been eating, Mom! He’s out there, and he went after you. Why won’t you believe me? You never listen. He eats babies!”

  Meg wiped her face with her hands like she was trying to erase it. Fenstad thought about the aspirin in the medicine cabinet, or maybe Tylenol would work faster. No, aspirin; he could chew it.

  Still, watching Maddie, he remembered the way he’d once been. Wet with emotions, a nuclear reactor without a cooling vent. Meg didn’t know where Maddie had inherited these histrionics, but he did. They were more alike than he wanted to admit, only where he’d learned to contain his feelings within walls upon walls, Maddie wallowed.

  Underneath his hand, Meg made a fist. “Madeline Wintrob. You stop your nonsense right now,” she said. “Albert Sanguine did not eat that baby. We’re glad you’re not hurt. We understand it was serious. Don’t exaggerate.”

  Maddie’s eyes narrowed. Her brow knit, just like Meg’s, into a single line. “So why would somebody leave their baby? Even if it was stillborn, why would they throw it away?”

  “The mother was probably a teenager, and unmarried,” Meg said.

  Maddie looked from Meg, to Fenstad, and back to Meg again. “Oh, lay off.”

  “So you left school early?” Meg asked.

  “I’m sorry. It’s my fault,” Enrique said. Then he gently pulled a twig from Maddie’s purple hair. When he saw Fenstad watching him, he blushed. Instead of tossing the twig onto the coffee table, he shoved it into his denim pocket like a dirty secret. Fenstad knew for certain, then, what his only daughter had been doing in the woods. This dime store clerk had to go. Right now, before Fenstad bloodied his lip.

  “It’s not Enrique’s fault. It was my idea,” Maddie said.

  Fenstad’s blood was boiling. A dog was barking. He wanted to kill this scrawny little shit. Meg took his hand, and squeezed. Hard. “I guessed as much, but it’s good of you to say so.” Then she added, “You’re grounded.”

  “Mom!” Maddie pouted. “I’m a senior. I don’t even have to pass that class. We’re learning how to microwave Cheez Whiz. It’s completely retarded.”

  “One week. After school you’ll come to the library where you’ll do your homework, and then I’ll drive you home. I’m doing this for your own good. If what you say is true, Albert might still be out there. Until the police find him I don’t want you riding your bike all over creation.”

  “Are you serious?” Maddie asked. Her mouth hung open in shock.

  Fenstad realized that his wife was a genius. Enrique was leaving for basic training soon. By the time Madd
ie was allowed out again, he’d be gone. No elopement, no green ring.

  “No phone. No trips to the woods. No visiting Enrique at the Puffin Stop,” Meg said.

  “No way!” Maddie shouted. “You’d never do this to David. Not in a million years. I never do anything bad, but you always act like I’m crazy. I don’t need protection. I can take care of myself.”

  “Honey,” Meg said, “You cut school.” Then she elbowed Fenstad.

  “This is for your own good,” he added.

  Maddie glared at Fenstad, and for a second she looked as scary as Meg during her worst rages. “You always take her side. You’re so spineless. You think I don’t get it, but I know. It’s because he’s a spic!”

  Next to her, Enrique went rigid.

  Maddie jumped up from the couch but didn’t go anywhere. Normally she’d be halfway to her room by now, but that would mean leaving Enrique behind.

  Fenstad’s tone was severe. “Maddie Bonelli Wintrob, do not say that word in this house.”

  “Sorry, Dad.” Her face flushed red because it occurred to her that she might have hurt her boyfriend’s feelings. Judging by Enrique’s wide-eyed silence, she was right. The kid looked crushed.

  “Thank you for the hospitality, Mrs. Wintrob,” he said as he stood.

  “You’re leaving?” Maddie asked. Her voice was tiny, and he could tell she was ashamed, and perplexed, too. She didn’t know what she’d done wrong, or why Enrique was so hurt.

  “Yes. I’m going,” Enrique said.

  The difference in age and maturity between them wasn’t usually noticeable, but right now Fenstad could see it. This man had mouths to feed, and Maddie wanted to educate the masses on the importance of recycling. Enrique hugged Maddie fiercely, and before she was able to object, he walked out the front door. Fenstad felt a pang of something when he saw the tears in Enrique’s eyes. Something like regret.

  Meg reached across the coffee table and tried to take Maddie’s hand. “We just think—”

  Maddie whirled. Thick, cordlike veins traced the sides of her neck and she balled her hands into fists. “I hate you!” she shouted. Her lip was curled, and the sight wasn’t pretty. It was scary. She was shaking with rage, and Fenstad thought, for a second, that she was going to strike her mother.

  “You think you’re so smart, but you’re just a couple of jerks,” she said, and this time her voice was cold. He felt like he’d been punched, and the wind left his body. She watched for their reactions. Whatever she saw made her curl her lip in disgust. She clomped up to her bedroom and slammed the door. A few seconds later music blasted so loud that he could feel the bass vibrations through the soles of his feet.

  He and Meg looked at each other and shook their heads. They were both out of breath, like they’d just finished a race. He wanted to follow Maddie up those stairs and take it all back. “Let’s start over, from the beginning,” he wanted to say.

  “When’s the last time we grounded her?” he asked.

  Meg smiled in a disappointed way: “Never. This is the first time. And she’s done worse things than cut home economics.”

  Fenstad shook his head. “This is different.”

  They didn’t speak for a while. Up the stairs, music throbbed. He put his hand on Meg’s firm thigh. She didn’t flinch. She moved closer, and he remembered their sex this afternoon, how it had been exactly what they’d needed. This rage in Maddie would pass of course, just like all her moods. Even her feelings for Enrique would pass.

  “She’s pissed,” Meg said. “She’ll get over it.”

  “Yeah. But I wasn’t thinking about Albert when I grounded her, were you?”

  “A little of Albert. A little of the other.”

  Meg started to scratch her leg again, and he stilled her hand. He folded a piece of paper, and pushed it inside her cast. When it gained purchase he began to scratch. She made a satisfied purring sound, like a cat, and closed her eyes.

  “She never thinks things through,” she said sleepily. “She’d marry him in a heartbeat if he asked, and then forget Brown University. Brown’s down the toilet. She’s so spoiled. She has no idea about working, or money. I mean, he’s a nice kid, but he’ll ruin her life.”

  “Well, that’s an even better reason to ground her.”

  “It’s just…I see all the things that could happen to her, and I want to protect her. She’s so sensitive and sweet. I’d hate for that to change. But she’s a grown woman, practically. We can’t keep treating her like this or we’ll turn her into a cripple.”

  Up above, the music was going strong, and now they could hear objects being hurled against a wall. Books? A lamp? Who knew?

  “Let’s wait,” Fenstad said. “Trust me. She’ll calm down.”

  Meg shrugged. “I’m tired of thinking about it. I need an aspirin.”

  He nodded. “Me, too.”

  FIFTEEN

  The Fat Kids Kept Coughing

  Friday morning marked the third day that James Walker was missing. Fenstad’s sleep the night before was not peaceful. Around three, Maddie blasted the Sex Pistols’ “God Save the Queen” so loud he’d felt the beat rattling in his bones. “You’re kidding me,” Meg’s voice rasped in the dark next to him. “Now she’s a punk?” He started to get up but she stopped him. “That’s all we need, you opening the door on her while she’s naked. She’ll scream incest.” Meg hopped out of bed, and limped without her crutches down the hall. Fenstad heard brisk knocking and a door opening: “We get it, young lady. You’re mad. Now shut the hell up!”

  At the breakfast table all three of them looked like they’d gone through the spin cycle of a washing machine. Meg’s curly hair corkscrewed into a nappy frizz, and she was wearing the same dirty terry-cloth robe from Tuesday morning. Maddie’s eyes were bloodshot and swollen from hours of crying, and since Meg’s injury had gotten her behind on the housework, Fenstad was forced to don the least offensive-smelling pair of jeans he could find in his hamper. These ingredients made a morning argument inevitable.

  Meg pointed at the section of string holding up Maddie’s oversized plaid trousers. “Put on a belt after you finish your breakfast,” she said.

  Maddie slammed her fork against her plate so hard that a chip of ceramic cruised like a missile past his nose. “Why can’t you ever leave me alone?”

  “Because you dress like a clown,” Meg sniped.

  Maddie’s waterworks started fast. “You never care about me. You want me to look nice and be skinny but not anorexic, and date the right people, who aren’t Enrique. Meanwhile I’m a person, and you don’t care.”

  And then, of course, came the shouting. Fenstad drifted for a second or two. He started thinking about that black dog from his dream. Which neighbor’s German shepherd had it looked like? He couldn’t remember, but its jaws had been sharp and relentless as a steel trap.

  He was jolted back to the present when Maddie announced, “After I leave for college I’m never coming back! Then you’ll have to think about your own stupid life and how bored you are, instead of bossing me around!” Her voice was shrill, passionate, and specifically eighteen.

  “Oh, yeah? If you run away who’ll pay for all those clown clothes?” Meg spit back.

  There was more. Fenstad tried to ignore it. When he got involved tensions escalated, so he’d learned the hard way to keep his mouth shut. He got up from the table. Neither of them disengaged from their three-mile stares long enough to say good-bye as he left for work.

  At the hospital his vision was so blurry from lack of sleep that the edges of the fluorescent lights emitted a sickly yellow glow. His secretary, Val, handed him a pile of messages, all written on Post-it notes. “About five from the answering service, and the rest this last hour,” she said.

  He took a deep breath. In his mind the black German shepherd was barking. Val was wearing her usual rubber band-clasped ponytail. Since last night a cold sore the size of a sprig of cauliflower had sprouted on her upper lip. She was an ugly woman, and ri
ght now he hated her for it. Hated her more than Albert in the woods, and his selfish wife, disturbed daughter, and effeminate son. Hated her more than his patients, and Enrique Vargas. The anger burned inside him, and he wondered vaguely if he needed a nap. “What is all this?” he asked.

  “This morning everybody went crazy,” Val answered, completely innocent of the fact that right now he wanted a train to bust through the wall and mow her down, Anna Karenina style. She tapped her felt tip pen against her temple so that it left a black freckle, then recited: “Lila says her kids are acting up. And then something about cough syrup?” She looked to Fenstad, and he nodded to let her know that he got the reference. “You’re free at noon, so I told her she could stop in with the kids. If she can’t wait that long I told her to go to the emergency room. You don’t have to call her back.”

  “Next?” he asked.

  “Jodi Larkin says her daughter’s sick. Wheezing or something. But she thinks it’s mental. She wants you to call. Carl Fritz needs more Ritalin.” Val smiled wryly. “A pill-eating sink swallowed all his last scrip.”

  Fenstad shook his head: Fritz had been snorting his stash again. He called at least twice a month, trying to wheedle second and third prescriptions.

  Val continued. “Your group therapy is acting up. Their families called mostly. Sheila locked herself in her room and won’t let anybody in. She says Albert is the devil and he’s after her…Devil or Satan, or, I don’t know. Is there a difference?” She wasn’t being glib. Val could spend her whole life pondering inanities and mistaking them for depth. He cleared his throat, and she continued. “Bram’s brother called because Bram’s got some kind of chest bug and he thought you could prescribe something. I told him you can’t, and he has to go to his medical doctor.”

  Fenstad took a deep breath. “They really did all go crazy.”

  Val nodded as if to say: What did I tell you?

  After two canceled sessions (both patients were sick with chest infections), Lila showed up around noon with her two kids, Alice and Aran. She was wearing a yellow and black nylon exercise suit that hid all her curves. At first he didn’t recognize her because he’d only ever seen her in full makeup and high heels. Her surprisingly enormous kids stood behind her, like elephants seeking shelter from a palm tree. He gestured at the couch, where all three sat.