“It was a lovely dream.”
“Yeah. I saved money to buy a ring. I planned to ask her at Christmas the following winter. We both attended the community college. Her parents owned a big farm, and they’d help us get a piece of land to build a house.”
He stared in puzzlement through the windshield.
“On Saturday, June 11th, 1966, Dawn finished work at Patty’s Ice Cream Shop at nine p.m. She’d planned to come over and watch a movie, but stopped at a pay phone near Daryl’s Convenience Store to ask if she should bring snacks.”
Abe parked on the street in front of Hazel’s house, but neither of them got out.
“A man pulled into the parking lot next to her car. He had a beard and dark glasses on. He spooked her. I told her to ask him if he needed the phone. She asked him. He didn’t respond, but shook his head no, which was weird. He’d parked his truck between the phone booth and her car. She wanted to run to her car, but she felt foolish and also scared. I stood in my kitchen, my mom watching ABC Scope in the other room, and I didn’t realize the magnitude of that moment. I would regret it, sitting there, talking. I could have been to that store in the length of time we talked on the phone.”
Hazel wanted to say something to erase the tormented look on his face.
“Dawn whispered, ‘He’s getting out of the truck,’ and then she screamed and dropped the phone. I yelled her name and bolted. Ran to my car, jumped in, drove like a madman to get to the store, and as I got there, the truck passed me. I saw her inside screaming and fighting with the guy. I whipped my car around and chased them. He drove fast, and I kept trying to pull up beside him, force him off the road, but his truck was faster. I drove an old station wagon. I chased him for miles on back country roads. And then…”
He stopped, his face bone-white at the memory.
“I ran out of gas.” He looked up and stared at Hazel with such confusion. “Remember when I asked you if you believe in fate? I think that was the moment for me, the instant that question became like a looming force in my life. I ran out of gas, and I watched that truck disappear into the night. The headlights smaller and smaller. I had gotten out and started running down the road, panting, screaming. Eventually, I stopped. I had to stop. They were gone, long gone.”
He closed his eyes and leaned his head back on the seat, but continued talking.
“I started to walk back to town and, a half-hour later, someone drove by. I flagged them down. They weren’t going to stop. I threw myself in front of their car. Luckily, there was a man and a woman inside. If it had been a single woman, she probably would have sped off scared. They picked me up, and I screamed we had to get to the police. I must have told them the story, though I don’t remember it now. That night, everything that happened after that guy’s taillights vanishing is like a murky nightmare with bits of faces and words all jumbled together. The cops were suspicious. It took hours before they sent someone to look for that truck. They never found it, and they never found Dawn.”
He opened his eyes and tilted his head.
Hazel reached a tentative hand to Abe’s and held it.
He squeezed, and then pulled his hand away, returning it to the steering wheel.
“That’s my story.”
“Were there ever any suspects?”
He shook his head.
“Never. They had evidence from the scene, a button that may have been ripped from the guy’s shirt. They found scuff marks on the side of the phone booth. Dawn fought back, probably kicked the booth. Nothing that pointed them toward a specific person.”
“I think I should tell you something as well,” Hazel said. “I’ve seen Susan.” She had not expected to feel so nervous relaying the tale, but found that her hands shook and her nerves seemed frayed. She bunched them in her skirt and gazed at her garden. The flowers soothed her, their tranquil blossoms shivering in the afternoon sun.
Abe didn’t speak for a long time. When he did, they were not the words Hazel expected.
“On M-22?”
“M-22? The road? No, the first time happened the night Orla vanished. I was leaving Leone’s Restaurant with Calvin. I saw her across the street, barely visible in the rain and dark, though now I think more visible than a regular person would have been, almost as if she were lit from within. The second time was a few days ago at Milly’s Bakery. She was standing on a dock in a yellow t-shirt with a big mouth on it, wearing one shoe. When I looked back a second later, she had disappeared.”
Abe said nothing, but Hazel saw the creases in his forehead as he mulled over her story.
“Why did you ask about M-22?” she asked.
Abe hesitated. “I’ve received some bizarre tips the last couple of days.”
Hazel waited.
“Three separate people have told me they saw Susie hitchhiking M-22 near Sapphire Lane.”
“What? Have you told Liz?”
Abe shook his head.
“Their stories mirror yours. She’s there, and then she disappears. Yellow t-shirt with the red mouth, and one shoe.”
“Unreal,” she murmured.
“Yeah, I wanted to think so, but now…” He waved a hand towards her.
“Yesterday, I visited someone who…” Hazel searched for the right words. “Who communes with spirits, I guess.”
Abe pressed a hand to the side of his head, as if it hurt his brain to hear her.
“She told me Susie is dead. That a man killed her, it was violent, and there were others.”
“She could have read my article and inferred those things.”
Hazel shook her head.
“She doesn’t read or watch the news, Abe. But she said one more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“She said Susie kept showing her the number 3-1-1.”
Chapter 32
Orla
Cold, stiff fingers brushed across Orla’s cheek. She opened her eyes and stared into darkness.
The drugs blurred the lines between dream and reality. She turned her head to the side, searching for the source of the sensation, but the black room offered no clues.
“Is someone there?” she whispered hoarsely. The sedative also made her mouth dry. When she woke in the night, she thirsted as if she’d walked in a desert for days.
She heard the soft rush of a man’s breath, and froze.
“Ben?” she whispered.
“Is Ben your lover? Or is it your daddy you call out for in the dark?”
She bristled at the sound of Dr. Frederic’s voice. The sharp sound of a match striking wood split the silence, and she watched the flame light his awful smile.
He lit a candle and held it before him, stepping closer to her, sliding the candle along the length of her body, scanning her. She could not see his eyes fixed on her body, but she sensed them. The thin nightgown that covered her breasts and thighs left her exposed, vulnerable.
“You are luscious, aren’t you?” he murmured.
The candle tipped, and a bud of hot wax struck Orla’s knee.
She hissed and bit her teeth together.
“I’ll tell Crow,” she seethed.
Frederic laughed, lifting the candle to his face.
“Do you think he would mind, Orla? You are an experiment, an object for dissection. I could strip you naked, rape you, beat you, and Crow would care only that I didn’t damage your precious hands.” Frederic rubbed his fingers over Orla’s gloved hand.