September 2012
The layers of goose down were suffocating but all I wanted to do was lie there under the weight of my despair. The Black Dog. Churchill’s name for his gloomy periods. I felt the black dog beside me, as faithful as any dog had ever been. The numbers on my alarm clock swam into view. Noon. Alex must have left for work hours ago. I had swallowed a sleeping pill sometime during the night and was still in a groggy state between sleeping and waking when the phone rang.
“Dr. Rendeau. Meyers here. I understand you have serious reason to believe Finn Koski threatened you in the last session before his discharge?”
“What?” I sat up straighter, still disoriented.
“I’ve been reading over your patient notes …”
“Aren’t those confidential?” I was finding it difficult to follow any rational train of thought. It was as if the wheel spun around me but the hamster was dead.
“Dr. Rendeau, this is a criminal investigation. The records were subpoenaed. Koski made a threat against you. Unless the medical center wanted to block it, Warden Briscoe had no choice but to hand them over.”
“Finn Koski is an elderly man who killed his wife in an act of mercy, Detective,” I insisted and then gulped greedily from a glass of water on the night table. I felt as nauseous and hung-over as when I’d drank peach schnapps in college. I’d never been able to look at it again. “He was upset about being discharged, yes, but I didn’t take it as threatening.”
“I have Koski here saying, ‘Congratulations. You must not know anything about halfway houses, young lady. Or about being unwanted. I’m sorry, but this is not the last you’ll hear of me.’ You didn’t take this as a threat, Doctor?”
“No, I … I thought he was distraught at the time. I didn’t take it as a threat or we wouldn’t have released him. I guess working with psychiatric inmates has taught me something. I can distinguish real threats from run-of-the-mill bull, Detective.”
“Just the same. I’m having him brought in for questioning right now.”
“I’m quite sure he would never do anything to harm me or my children. I’ve seen him outside Oakwood Manor. Josie found him a job at a nursery. He’s eighty-years old, for God’s sake.”
“The other lead we’re following is Emanuel Venegas. He is a patient of yours, I believe?”
“Yes. He was transferred to Puerto Rico during the time I was away. He actually did make a threat, but it was against an FBI agent.”
“He escaped days after being transferred to the Detention Center, and has not been recaptured to date.”
“I heard. Josie brought him there with a marshal.”
“She and Officer William Torres delivered Venegas to the Metropolitan Detention Center without incident by air charter with a flight crew, an armed lieutenant, a medical assistant and car escorts. Two days later, Juan Ríos Maldonado, an individual who worked for a company which had a contract to supply produce to the federal prison’s kitchen, assisted him in breaking out during a shift change. The United States attorney for the District of Puerto Rico announced his escape.”
Oh, God. At one point, he was psychotic, but he had been doing so well. He couldn’t have come back. “Why would he come back here? As tight as airline security is these days, I can’t see him going anywhere near an airport if he doesn’t want to be recaptured.”
The hangover from the sleeping meds began to dissipate as I pondered these developments. “Detective, isn’t it true most children who are abducted know their abductors? I just don’t see why Mr. Koski or Emanuel would have any reason to harm Caleigh and Dane.”
“We’re following every lead, Grace. These are dangerous men we’re talking about. Anybody else ever threatened you that you can recall?”
“No!” I held my head in my hands and then dropped the phone and rushed to the bathroom. I retched until only copious amounts of acidic yellow bile splashed into the toilet. Cold sweat ran off my forehead as I dry heaved. I washed my face, my tears mixing with sweat.
Back in bed, I dialed Detective Meyers’ number. “Detective, I’m sorry. I was sick. I just don’t know how much longer I can take this.” The AC blew full blast and I shivered. “Detective, Dayna Light, a psychic, called my service and left a message saying she said she might be able to help. Dayna’s a spiritualist, a psychic detective of sorts.”
“Grace, listen to me before you say anything. We’ve received dozens of calls from so-called psychics,” Meyers grumbled. “They’ve never provided any information we’ve been able to use in a case of missing persons. They’re actually harmful because we have to waste a lot of police and volunteer effort and resources following up on their worthless ‘clues.’ She claims she ‘sees things’ have never been proven. She says she has psychic abilities but who’s to say?”
“But what if she’s right? What if this is the once-in-a-million chance she could provide some information?”
“I can’t stop you from going, but just keep in mind what I’ve told you, okay? After the Elizabeth Smart case, the police got as many as nine thousand tips from people who called themselves psychics. It took a lot of police hours to respond to all these tips and in the end, I know it wasn’t a psychic tip that helped nab the guy. It was someone who recognized Elizabeth on the street from seeing a report of the kidnapping on America’s Most Wanted. I’d like for you to consider giving an interview, Grace. Get their faces out there.”
“I can’t even leave the house without reporters swarming me like barracudas, detective. But if you think it would help …”
“I do. I have someone on KTTC news who I’d like you to talk to, Grace. I want to get your children’s faces out ASAP. Appeal to people’s emotions. Someone may recognize them or see something odd. That’s what usually happens, Grace. The FBI and U.S. Marshals service also announced a reward of up to $50,000 for information leading to the location of the children.”
Meyers hung up and I sat listening to a dead phone before calling Dahlia. My motherin-law answered on the first ring.
“Dahlia?”
“Oh, Grace. Is there anything new? Oh, Grace, you don’t know how terrible Stan and I feel.” She broke down and sobbed. “It’s all my fault. If only I hadn’t left them. I’ll never forgive myself for this.”
“Dahlia, listen. A psychic called me. She lives up in Stillwater. She said she might have some information. I want you to go with me. Her name is Dayna Light.”
“Are you sure this is wise? You know I’ll do anything to help but I don’t know if you should get your hopes up by something like this.”
I pictured Dahlia sitting and waiting for God to intervene. “Will you go with me or not? I’ll call her and see when she’s available.”
Ten minutes later, I was on the phone with Dahlia again. “She’ll see us at two. We’d better be on the move. Stillwater’s at least an hour and a half away. She said to bring something personal, an item of clothing or something Dane and Caleigh have worn recently.”
* * *
Do you really think she can help?” Dahlia asked as we merged onto Highway 52 North. “I’ve heard the police have used psychics a few times but they say there’s no proof their information is real. I just don’t know about this. What if this comes from a dark place? What if it comes from Satan and his demons?”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Dahlia. You can’t really believe that, can you? Even if there’s a chance in a million what she says is true, I have to try.” I stroked Caleigh’s bathrobe and Dane’s pajama top. “I’m sorry. I know this is hard for you too.”
Dahlia had aged in the few weeks since the children’s disappearance. She sat and stared as impassively as a bus driver collecting tokens, but I could tell I had hurt her. Her eyes were downcast. She had her rosary beads in hand, and silently mouthed what I imagined were the sorrowful mysteries. Finally, she brought the crucifix to her lips and kissed it.
Life had pulled the rug out from both of us. Matt and I had planned our lives so carefully and now it had played the cruelest jokes imaginable on us. First, Matt’s death and now this. I had lost my place in the life I had so carefully constructed. My illusion of control tumbled with each fallen brick.
Stillwater was a small town nestled in the bluffs of the St. Croix River, about twenty miles east of St. Paul. With only about 18,000 residents, it was quaint as a picture postcard. I wanted to shrink from my chaotic reality and howl like a wounded animal on the street. We turned onto Nelson Street, along the river and parked behind a two-story red-brick building. Santosha Studio was on the first floor of the picturesque building. Dayna’s studio was the first door on the right.
A woman with silver-streaked hair, pulled into a waist-length braid greeted us. “Welcome, Grace. And this must be Mrs. Rendeau.” The women shook hands firmly. Dayna’s green eyes, watery behind thick, iron-rimmed glasses were as deep as a pool. Her long drop earrings had violet gemstones and dangled almost to her shoulders. Her skin was ivory satin. Her age was impossible to determine. She was dressed casually in a loose flowing fern-green skirt, long-sleeved white blousy top, and sandals.
“Won’t you come in?” Her voice was breathy and soothing. I felt calmer than I had felt since the nightmare began.
“Go ahead, Grace. I’ll be right here,” Dahlia said, sitting down on a love seat in the waiting room. Bamboo shades were drawn in several windows, allowing filtered afternoon light to bathe the office.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come in?” I asked Dahlia.
Whether it was because of her religious or personal beliefs, she refused. Natural wood-paned French windows were open to the outside air. A few moments in the sun might do Dahlia some good and if there was anything to this business, I couldn’t risk Dahlia’s skepticism scaring anybody off.
I entered the room and had a sudden impulse to take my shoes off and bury my feet into the lush thick-pile carpet. Instead, I lowered myself onto a cranberry-colored leather sofa. Several thriving potted plants and a gurgling aquarium provided a splash of color to the neutral tones of the walls and carpet. Expecting something out of a Stephen King novel, I was relieved to see bright tropical fish providing a welcome sense of normalcy. A table opposite the window, surrounded by four straight-backed chairs similar to those in the waiting room, looked out onto the street. I wondered but didn’t dare ask if this was where Dayna held séances. There were no crystal balls or Ouija boards.
“I’m a medium. An intermediary between the world of the living and the world of the dead. I listen to the spirits of those who have passed and pass on any messages they want to send,” Dayna said, sitting directly across from me. “May I have the items please?” She closed her eyes and the room seemed to turn inward.
“There has been a death,” she said quietly without opening her eyes.
I gasped. The world revolved in rapid-fire revolutions, sucking the air right out of me. “It’s a man, someone you loved very much,” Dayna said, opening her eyes and looking at me. “Am I right?”
I nodded. My heart was a beating bruise. “My husband died two years ago.”
“He died at home but had been away.”
“Yes, he died at home after a nine-month illness. He was in the hospital frequently during the last few months,” I whispered. The aquarium gurgled and I turned to look wondering if it was a sign of some sort.
“He wants you to know he is happy, and he wants you to be happy as well.” The light in the room seemed to grow dimmer. I watched, mesmerized as Dayna’s brows knit together. “I see a boy. A young child.”
It was as though a boxer was sparring with the inside of my lungs. I couldn’t breathe. I had hoped but really hadn’t expected any contact with the supernatural. I grasped the armrest of the sofa and leaned forward, speechless.
“A girl. They are together, but it’s cold and dark. No sound except for some sort of hissing noise.”
“Are they okay? Do you see anyone with them?”
Dayna’s foam-green eyes focused on me. She shook her head and seemed to return from a trance-like state. “That’s all I could see. The images are like pictures. They flit very quickly across my mind. They are alive. I’m sorry I can’t tell you more.”
“Thank you! They’re alive, I knew it! Dahlia!” I opened the door to the waiting room. “They’re alive!”
An uncertain look passed between Dahlia and Dayna Light, but I paid no attention. “How about we stop for a cup of coffee before heading back?” Dahlia suggested. “I saw a place nearby called the Dock Café. The sign said they offer lunch and dinner.”
“I can’t wait to tell you what she said.” I felt more optimistic than I had since the children were taken.
We sat at an outdoor table. The sun shone on the restaurant deck without a hint of forgiveness. Relieved to be in the shade of the large patio umbrella, I twisted my damp hair into a knot and secured it with a clip, less stylish than practical. Our seating afforded us a view of the river. There were several canoes passing by and a couple stepping off the dock onto a gondola. We ordered two coffees from a bosomy young woman with short, spiked, black hair.
As I was about to tell Dahlia what Dayna saw, my phone vibrated and I jumped. It was Detective Meyers.
“Grace? Meyers. I’ve got the interview lined up for the day after tomorrow, 5:00 p.m.”
“Detective, I just saw Dayna Light. They’re alive!” I said with a surge of optimism coursing through my veins.
Resignation echoed in his voice. “Don’t get your hopes up, Grace. You can tell me all about it on Thursday. I’ll pick you up. There are bound to be a lot of media around. Four thirty, okay?”
“I’ll be ready. That was Detective Meyers,” I told Dahlia. “We’ll be on the news on Thursday. It’s a good thing to get the children’s faces out there, in case someone has missed all the fliers we’ve put up around town. Dahlia, Dayna connected with Matt!” I said with less excitement than I’d had before speaking to Meyers.
The older woman’s hands flew to the crucifix at her throat. She made the sign of the cross over her heart and closed her eyes.
“Dahlia!” I went around the table and took her hand. “Here, take a sip of water. It’s okay. He’s fine. She told me she saw the death of a man I love very much and he wants us to know he’s fine. I just don’t know what to believe. How could Dayna have known about Matt’s death?”
“Grace, I have to tell you the Bible gives us no reason to believe deceased loved ones can contact us.” Dahlia breathed deeply. “What did she say about the children?”
A cold chill traveled through my body. “She saw them in some sort of cold, dark place with a hissing noise.”
“Oh, no!” Dahlia picked up a napkin to wipe her eyes. “Does that mean …”
“No! She said it was a flitting image, but they’re together and they’re alive! I have to believe they’re okay.”
“Oh, Grace. I don’t know what to believe. I need to talk to Father Tupper about this.”
Dayna’s startling revelations brought back the painful memories that being with Alex had all but erased. I stirred my coffee absently and stared at the young couple in the gondola. “Dahlia, we’ve never really talked about the last months of Matt’s life. Would it upset you too much?” The quick pinprick of pain I always felt when thinking of Matt’s death jabbed at me, although I knew the memories had begun to shrink. I was terrified to think someone I had once loved more than anyone could begin to fade like laundry on a line.
“No, sweetheart. I always thought it would be too painful for you to talk about.” Dahlia smiled. “For as long as I could remember, Matt wanted to be a doctor. Stan and I were so proud when he got into the University of Minnesota Medical School.”
“Do you remember the apartment he lived in, in Dinkytown, when he rotated at the University Hospital?” I laughed, the pain becoming more of a dull ache. “He had to share a bathroom with four female students and hated being late.”
“I sure do. Once Matthew graduated, and he took the position at Mayo Clinic, his living situation improved dramatically.”
“Yes, but the hour-and-a half trip between Rochester and Minneapolis was hell. It was so much easier once we got married.”
“Matt was lucky to find someone like you. Stan and I have always loved you as a daughter, my dear.” Dahlia covered my hand with her own.
“After that it was four years of residency training, and Caleigh was born.” I remembered the day with perfect clarity. “It was one of the happiest days of my life. I still can’t believe what happened. Matt’s illness. We were so happy. After Dane was born, we really had it all.” I remembered bringing the tiny bundle wrapped in blue blankets home. The pain of not having my children in my arms felt like the phantom limb pain amputees described. “I was so angry when Matt died.”
“Do you want to talk about it, Grace?”
“A light snow had fallen that day. We went to the clinic and rode the elevator to the eighth floor. It was horrifying to think Matt was a patient there.”
Dahlia sniffled. “Matt’s care was so draining for you. Stan and I enjoyed the better days when we could take him for drives in the country, just like everyone else, enjoying life. Do you remember when we all went to the eagle center in Wabasha and saw the bald eagles over the Mississippi? Remember that tiny town, Stockholm, Wisconsin?” she laughed. “Population ninety-seven! We had coffee and fresh-baked pie. What was the name of that place? It was the best apple pie I’d ever eaten. The Stockholm Pie Company! That’s it.”
“Those are such bittersweet memories, aren’t they? Later he began to dread the chemo. It was clear to me he wasn’t going to make it when the cancer metastasized to his liver.” Dahlia tugged her sweater on as the sun dipped below the horizon and a chill wind sprung up off the river. “His fingernails and toenails, his lips. They were all blue. The light in his eyes dimmed. The nausea and vomiting were so hard. He finally said he didn’t think he could do it anymore.” The memory brought him back as vividly as a slap.
“If it wasn’t for my faith and for Stan, and you, and the kids, I don’t know how I would’ve gotten through it.” Dahlia reached for her crucifix again. “Are you cold, dear?”
“A little bit. Do you remember when we positioned his bed in front of the living room window so he could look out at winter one last time? I sat with him and held his hand and he seemed at peace. And then one afternoon it was over.” The temperature was dropping and I hugged myself. “Afterwards, I felt so ashamed at how angry I was at him for leaving us.”
“We’ve been through a lot, haven’t we, sweetheart?” she asked.
“Dahlia?” I steeled myself. “We haven’t talked about Alex. I know how hard this must be for you …”
Dahlia hugged me. “Alex is a good man, Grace. I see how happy he makes you. It’s time for you to move on, dear. I know you’ll get the children back and that you and Alex and the children will be able to rebuild your lives.”