Chapter 34

I Long for Freedom

The next few weeks pass uneventfully and I hate this feeling of boredom. The waiting and watching start to seem worse than my fear of Mike Donahue’s next attack. Mom and Dad have me on a very short leash and I long for the freedom I took for granted before. The bad guy holds me prisoner even though he’s nowhere near me. I’m dying for my captivity to end. For my mother to bend the rules, just a little.

It’s late Friday afternoon and the last track practice of the season has just ended. Nathaniel drops me off in the driveway and Jeff walks me to the door. No one in my life, not even the dog, is willing to leave my safety to chance. I kiss Jeff’s cold wet nose and look up to wave goodbye to Nathaniel. He grins and waves from the driver’s seat. As I walk into the kitchen, I’m disappointed that no food smells float out to greet me. I’m starving. My mom pokes her head out of the pantry where she has obviously been working on one of her herbal concoctions. She looks disheveled and comforting. A few stray flower petals decorate her chaotic curls and her reading glasses are sliding down her nose. She looks like home.

“Everything okay, Annabelle?”

Her seemingly harmless question irritates me right out of feeling pleased to see her. I resist the temptation to complain about how I’m sick of everyone asking me if everything’s okay, tired of being escorted everywhere I go and hankering for freedom. Wyatt’s latest big fat genius idea is to have the two biggest guys on the cross-country team flank me every time I head down the trails for practice runs, kind of like how the secret service guards the president everywhere he goes. It’s nice that my boyfriend’s branching out and making new friends. Until recently he mostly hung out with his soccer teammates, but lately he’s been making an effort to get to know some of the kids on my team. He told them I’d been getting prank calls on my cell and they said they’d be happy to help him out by keeping an eye on me and making sure I stayed safe.

I never get to be alone anymore, ever. Either Wyatt or Nathaniel shuffles me back and forth to school like I’m a prisoner going from jail to the courtroom. The soccer team made the playoffs, so I haven’t seen much of Wyatt lately. There are a lot of practices. I’ve been to every game and they’re intense. The Eastfield team has eliminated two rival towns so far. If they keep going they could end up in the final game for the state championship. The next game is this weekend in Somerset and Meg and I want to drive down together. I’m hoping my parents say it’s okay. I want to hop into the old Prizm and drive somewhere—anywhere, as long as it’s with no bodyguards.

Anthony checks up on me now and then, in between visits with Wyatt, but the case is at a standstill and even the ghost is bored by my monotonous existence. Our earthbound investigation is stagnating.

The cops can’t find Mike Donahue. Oliver and Jackson questioned Dr. Peterson and Dr. Summers, but the psychiatrist and the pediatrician said they knew nothing about the death of Daniel Warren or his nonexistent roommate. The three people we’ve found who worked at the hospital in the mid 1980’s claimed both ignorance and forgetfulness when questioned about Daniel Warren and a mysterious patient named Anthony. Everyone refuses to acknowledge Anthony ever existed, except Nurse Mary McGuire in her secret note and Daniel in his journal. Unfortunately, neither of these documents can be authenticated. They were written over twenty years ago and left to rot; hidden at Wild Wood. Plus, even in the journal and the letter, the Lonesome Boy remains nameless.

Also, we acquired both of these secret documents through illegal and unofficial means, while we were trespassing on government property. So the police could never use them to prove anything in court. Only Uncle Johnny knows the source of most of our clues has been dead for more than two decades. The rest of the Eastfield police force would never believe us. All this adds up to frustration.

Even Anthony can’t tell us anything new. He wants to know what happened on that night in February of 1986 more than anyone, but can’t remember. He can only think coherently now because he’s been inside of Wyatt’s mind. Back in the 80’s his thoughts were chaotic. He wants to help with the investigation but he’s stuck in the same holding pattern that’s frustrating the hell out of me.

The state of absolute safety which I’m forced to live in has become a boring place to be, especially in contrast to the excitement I got used to in the beginning.

Boredom deadens my every thought and move.

The good guys are continuing their fruitless quest for clues and waiting for the bad guy to make his next move.

Although neither side can see each other, we’re in a staring contest. I wonder who’ll blink first.

“What’s for dinner? I’m starved,” I whine at my mother.

“It’s early and I’m kind of busy. Look in the fridge. You can heat up some lasagna in the microwave. I made an extra pan the other night so we’d have plenty of leftovers.” She’s yelling to me from inside the pantry because she’s working on one of her concoctions and doesn’t even want to come out into the kitchen.

“Is there any good bread?” I yell back.

“I picked up a loaf of whole wheat fresh this morning.”

I butter up a slice of bread and stick my lasagna in the microwave. It’s hot in no time and I start in on it right away, scorching my tongue only a little. What did hungry people do before microwaves? I could barely wait the two or three minutes it took to get my food hot. I was practically drooling. If I couldn’t heat everything up so fast, I’d be starving to death right now.

I yell to my mom. “Can you heat up leftovers in a regular oven?”

She pokes her head into the kitchen and laughs. “That’s what we did back in the day. Either that or we ate them cold.”

“How long would it take to heat up something like this lasagna in the oven?”

“Maybe fifteen or twenty minutes.”

“How could you stand waiting that long when you were really hungry?”

My cell phone starts vibrating before my mom can answer. It’s sitting on the countertop and the polished granite surface sends the sound reverberating around the room. Dashing over, I snatch it up and look at the screen.

It’s a text from Jen. Can U come ovr right now? We need 2 talk.

I tick out my reply on the miniature keyboard. What’s up? R U okay?

Guy trouble.

What guy, Connor?

Can we talk in person? I need U now.

Come 2 my house. We have lasagna.

Something’s wrong with my car. Can U give me a ride 2 school 2morrow? PLZ come over.

I look longingly at the plate of steaming lasagna. Jen’s always there for me, though, plus I’m curious. Nothing like guy trouble to perk up my interest. I decide to join Jen at her house. My next challenge is to get Mom to agree that I can drive a mile down the road, alone.

We argue for a few minutes, but she finally caves. I promise to text her as soon as I arrive safely and also when I leave. With a whoop, I spring free from the house and jump into my car. I’m flying solo for the first time in weeks.

The second I pull into Jen’s driveway, shift into park and turn off the engine I text my mom. Safe :)

She sends back her thank you and I emerge from the car and head up Jen’s back steps to her kitchen door. The door’s locked. Usually I barge right in without knocking. Why did she lock the door if she knew I was coming over? I knock and get no answer. Then I pound and get no answer. Perplexed, I head back down the steps to the driveway. I look in the garage window. No cars. Where’s her car? She said she had car trouble. Did it break down somewhere else?

I pull my phone out of my pocket so I can text Jen a WTF.

Suddenly someone grabs me from behind, pins my arms to my body and lifts my feet off the driveway.

My cell phone crashes to the pavement.