Before She Was Found(52)

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?”