Missing

Chapter 7

Terry was a quiet man. His house was still, its windows cracked open halfway to catch passing breezes. I had the impression, looking around, that he'd kept most of the furniture that his parents had had in his youth.

"Would you like a Coke, or some iced tea?" he called from the kitchen. "I've got orange juice, too, but it expires tomorrow, so..."

"Iced tea is fine," I called back.

He emerged carrying a couple of glasses of tea. "My mom used to make sun tea all the time when I was a kid, so I got in the habit of making it after she passed away."

I nodded, taking the glass and sipping it slowly. I'd forgotten how good sun tea could be. "Terry, I was hoping you could tell me a bit about Sara when she was a child."

"Oh." He sat across from me, his eyebrows raised in surprise. "Um... I guess so. No offense, but do you have any proof that you are who you say you are?"

"No offense taken." I pulled out my wallet, taking out a series of photos of me and Sara.

He looked at them all, and I knew he was noticing how happy Sara looked in them. "What sorts of things did you want to know?"

"Well, for starters, what was her early childhood like?"

"Loud," he said, nodding to himself. "Sara was the loudest kid in our elementary school. She'd call out the answer in class, no matter how many times Mrs. Thompson told her to raise her hand. And when Mrs. Thompson would remind her to raise it, Sara would just tell her that when she did raise her hand, she never got called on."

I smiled faintly.

"She'd yell on the kickball fields, and the soccer fields, and oh." He stopped, chuckling.

"Oh?"

"I was just remembering when a bunch of us boys made a No Girls Allowed tree house in my backyard," he said. "We had one of those rope ladders, and when any girls came around we'd pull it up. But Sara, she would just stand at the bottom of the tree and holler at us. Every single day, without fail." He took a sip of his iced tea. "We'd sit up there, trying to trade baseball cards or read comic books, but we couldn't hear anythingbecause that Sara Sidle girl was yelling too loud. Eventually we gave in, and changed the sign to read No Girls Allowed, except Sara."

"What about her family?" I asked.

"I didn't see them much when we were really little," he said. "They ran a bed and breakfast out of their house, so we weren't supposed to play over there, in case we disturbed the guests. I'd see her mom gardening sometimes. And her brother Peter used to mow lawns on our street for extra cash. They didn't have much."

I cocked my head. "Cash?"

"Yeah. The house had been in Mr. Sidle's family for generations, so they didn't have a mortgage or anything. That house was their only source of income, and you don't make much from a bed and breakfast. My mom used to invite Sara over for dinner at our house pretty often. She'd get plenty to eat in the morning - you know, when her mom served the guests breakfast - but there were days when that was her only meal."

"Did, um," I swallowed, but the lump stayed in my throat at the image of a hungry young Sara. Just a case, I told myself. It's just a case, and you're doing an interview, and you need to stay objective. "Did Social Services ever get involved?"

"Yeah, they stopped by pretty often," Terry sighed. "I think we were around seven when they started realizing how often she was visiting the hospital with broken bones. But Sara, she'd just tell them she'd fallen out of the tree house or something." He looked at me, frowning. "We all knew. We saw the bruises. But for some reason, when Sara shrugged and said that's the way things were, we didn't push. I wish we'd pushed. But then the accident happened, and-"

"Accident?" I interrupted.

"Yeah, it was bad. Her brother had just gotten his license, and he took Sara on a joyride down to the beach. He swerved to avoid a biker, overcompensated on the turn, and ended up driving into the side of a building."

"Jesus." Sara had never mentioned it.

"The impact was on the passenger side of the car. She broke her leg in two places, and the force of the crash snapped her collarbone. And Peter went to jail."

"For getting into a car accident?"

"After drinking three bottles of Heineken, yeah."

I nodded. "How was Sara's recovery after that?"

"Physically, took about a summer. But emotionally, she was devastated. She adored her brother. And her dad was so angry about Peter's drunk driving that he wouldn't let any of the family visit Peter in jail. Wouldn't even let her write to him."

"How was it for her after that?" I asked, picturing life for Sara as the new center of her father's abuse. "With her parents, I mean."

"Fine," Terry replied, sipping his iced tea.

"Fine?"

"Yeah, for some reason, after her dad saw her all banged up from something other than his own fists, he got all protective around her. Never laid a hand on her after the car accident. They actually got pretty close for a while there."

I sat back, thinking. This was all news to me. "So she and her dad were close..."

"Yeah. He used to take us fishing, camping, hiking, you name it. As many kids as could fit in the car."

"And the abuse stopped."

Terry leaned forward, shaking his head with a serious expression. "The abuse of Sara stopped. Mrs. Sidle was still as banged up as ever. Maybe more so, now that she was the only target."

"And then..."

"Yeah." He shook his head. "And then. None of us could believe it at first, when we heard. Seems like something that would happen somewhere else. We're a quiet neighborhood; we don't see a lot of murders around here."

"Was that the last time you saw Sara?"

"When?"

"When her father was killed."

"No, she went to a foster home near the middle school."

"How was that?"

"Not great," he said. "Most days after I got home from soccer practice, I'd find her up in my tree house, all curled up in the corner. Eating Hershey bars and crying."

"Hershey bars?"

"Yeah, they probably reminded her of her dad. We used to get a ton of Hershey bars and make s'mores when we went camping."

I nodded, thinking. "So how long was she in the foster home?"

"Maybe a year," he replied. "But by eighth grade, she was gone. Last I heard, she was at a group home over in Oakland." He motioned to my empty glass. "More tea?"

"No, that's okay." I stood, still thinking. "Did she ever mention anything about a curse?"

"A curse?"

"Yes, anything about being cursed, anything like that?"

He thought for a moment. "Not that I can remember, sorry."

"It's no problem," I replied, my heart sinking. So much for discovering the root of Sara's supposed curse. "Thanks for your help, Terry."

"Not sure I helped any, but you're welcome," he said, shaking my hand. "Hope you find Sara safe and sound."

We walked outside together, breathing in the clean air. Sara's old house didn't look any more haunted than it did before, but it hurt to look at it. "Seems like a nice place to grow up," I said quietly, looking down the street.

"Yeah." He pointed over to the left. "You see that church steeple, over in the distance?"

I squinted a little. "Yeah."

"I grew up two doors down from that church." He grinned a little. "Sara and I used to throw water balloons at the parishioners after the Sunday service every week. We weren't raised by churchgoers, neither of us."

We said goodbye, and I looked around, thinking. Imagining a little Sara, riding her bicycle and chasing after the boys. Remembering how she'd chased after me, and realizing that she hadn't changed very much in that respect. I stuck my hands in my pockets and walked down the street. I wasn't any closer to finding Sara, but I'd found part of her here anyway. She had told me a little about her past, but I hadn't realized how many details she'd left out. A man walked by with a boxer on a leash, and I felt a pang at the dog's wagging tail.

The ringing of church bells startled me, and I looked up to find myself across from a large church. It was four o'clock. Sara had been gone for over a day. I'd been alone for twenty-five hours.

It felt like more.

I turned back toward the car, smiling suddenly when I caught sight of a crudely built tree house two doors down from the church. So this was where my Sara had lain in wait, a supply of bulging water balloons at her side. The big house looked empty, so I ambled into the backyard. The rope ladder had been replaced by a series of boards, nailed into the trunk at intervals to create a built-in ladder. Taking a peek behind me, I climbed up, hoping the old boards wouldn't break.

Part of me, I realized as I reached the top, had hoped Sara would be waiting inside. Maybe throwing a water balloon at my head in greeting. But I was alone, sitting on the old planks. There were some markings on the wall, but they were too faded to read.

The funny thing was, Sara had probably been more of a boy than I'd been. She was the one with the baseball cards and the scraped knees and the camping trips. I was the one who helped my mother with her gardening and collected seashells on the beach.

We were a pair, the two of us. Yin and yang, different and yet complementary. I looked around the tree house, wondering if I'd ever have my other half back. Wondering if I'd be one of those sad souls who lived alone, and-

My heart stopped. There was a fresh pile of Hershey bar wrappers in the corner.