“THEO?”
The voice came out of the void. Out of utter and total blackness. It drew me back like a harpoon through my temples. Like fire under my skin. For a second, I was nothing. Then I was painfully conscious. My eyes cracked open and the daylight made me blink. I saw Greg from the third floor. He stood over me, obviously concerned.
“How’d you get in?” I asked, the words like gravel stuck in my throat.
“What?”
Something seemed very off. My head turned. Despite the throbbing pain and the horrid taste in my mouth, I looked around and realized I wasn’t in my apartment. No, I was lying on the ground in our building’s lobby.
“Shit,” I whispered, as the image of the halo came back to me.
“Have you been here all night?”
Trying to stay calm, I looked up at Greg. “Yeah … I guess. I … uh … got locked out.”
“That sucks,” he said. “I can call the super.”
“No,” I said quickly.
With my palms on the floor, I pushed myself up. Surprisingly, it wasn’t too bad. I definitely felt better than the night before, at least until that flower flashed in my mind again. And the realization struck in full. Jasper had been to my apartment!
Panic surged, wiping away the last of my disorientation. He’d been there. He was out of prison. He was coming for me. I staggered back, away from Greg.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“What? Yeah!” I stared at him. “Did you see the news this morning?”
He looked totally confused. “Some.”
“Was there … did someone … break out of prison?”
“Huh?” Greg frowned. “Maybe I should call—”
“No,” I said, throwing my hands up. “I’m cool. Just tired … I guess.”
Greg backed toward the door. I smiled, trying to make him feel better. Once he left, I looked at the stairwell and felt very cold. I dreaded the idea, what I was thinking, but I had to know. So I forced myself to go up, one agonizing step at a time.
“It didn’t happen,” I kept telling myself.
But the memory was so real, so vivid. More so than anything else from the night before. I could have convinced myself that the meeting with Stephanie had never happened. I’d pushed myself way too hard. I was obviously exhausted.
At the door to my floor, I froze. I had to know, though. So I fought back the fear and pushed it open. Holding my breath, I leaned forward, stretching my neck so that only my eyes crested the doorframe. And there was no sign of the flower.
I sat down on my bed, focused solely on my breathing. In and out. In and out. There was no flower. It was all a hallucination. I could barely think straight. It was all in my head. The Halo Killer was in my head.
“Shit,” I hissed.
With a spastic swipe, I fished out my phone. I saw the call I’d placed to Zora. Closing my eyes, I dug a finger into my temple. I vaguely remembered a rambling message I might have left.
“Reckless,” I muttered, falling back onto the mattress.
It started with Geri Bender. That’s what I told myself. I’d fallen for the wrong woman. An honest mistake. Nothing reckless about that.
Now, Cassandra. Zora was already nervous. Closing my eyes, I let the phone drop from heavy fingers. It rattled to the hardwood, but I didn’t have the energy to check the screen, see if it had cracked. Instead, I closed my eyes. With the briefest, maybe clearest, thought I’d had in over a year, I truly regretted every bit of my past success before falling into a fitful sleep, full of Jasper’s shrill voice and eyes staring out of the darkness.
The ringing wouldn’t stop. It pulled me out of the darkness, though it didn’t touch the despair that clung to me as strongly as it had when I first shut my eyes. I needed to quit. Do something different. Normal.
“I should have been a barista,” I said, leaning over the edge of the bed.
Grabbing the phone, I answered it without looking, trying to catch it before it went to voice mail. I was sure it was Zora. Calling to let me down easily. A laugh escaped my lips at that thought. She’d never do it easily.
“Hey,” I said. “Sorry—”
“Hello?”
The voice was strong, firm, but definitely not Zora’s. I bolted to my feet.
“Hello, uh … this is Theo Snyder.”
“Mr. Snyder. This is Meg Jones. Miracle’s—”
“Miracle Jones’s mom,” I blurted out.
“Yes,” she said, properly. “I’m very sorry to be bothering you. My neighbor, Virginia Harris, gave me your card this morning.”
“Yes, I was down there talking to her …” I had to pause to be sure exactly when I had been down there. “Yesterday. I’m so glad you called.”
“Okay,” Meg said. “I want to be clear here. I have no interest in taking part in your movie. And I hope my daughter will feel the same.”
“Mrs. Jones—” I said, trying to protest.
“He doesn’t deserve it, you know. The attention. You should just leave it alone. Have you thought about how the families are going to feel? How my daughter would feel?”
“I …”
My earlier doubts flared. I’d thought about it before, but as harsh as it may sound, it hadn’t mattered to me. The work was more important than an individual’s emotions. But hearing her words, piling them atop the doubts I’d felt before the call—they threatened to swallow me whole, weigh me down until I sank into the darkness of it all.
“That’s not why I’m calling, however.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“I just wanted to ask you. Have you … seen my daughter?”
“Miracle?”
“Of course,” she snapped. Then her voice returned to its businesslike tone. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called. I just needed to know if you had spoken to her. Or seen her.”
My heart missed a beat. “Is she missing?”
“I don’t know if I’d say that.”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“It’s been almost three days.”
“That’s not too long. Do you usually see her every day?”
Meg hesitated before answering. When she spoke, she seemed to choose her words with great care.
“She left her baby son with me. And said she’d only be gone for a couple of hours.”
My eyes widened. “She left her baby?”
“It’s not like her,” Meg said defensively. “Not really.”
“Do you have any idea where she might be?”
“No,” she said. “Things have been … I don’t know. Since they caught that man last year. Maybe even before that. I’m not sure. But I don’t want to bother you with that. If you haven’t spoken to her, I’ll let you—”
“Meg,” I said. “I don’t mean to alarm you, but I think your daughter might be involved in something. I’m not sure what it is yet, but I think Jasper Ross-Johnson may have—”
“He’s in prison, Mr. Snyder. I don’t appreciate—”
“No, sorry. I just … look, I work with one of the best investigators in the country. If anyone can find your daughter, she can.”
“I didn’t mean to bother you. I’m sure you’re busy.”
“Ms. Jones, please. Let me help you.”
I could hear her breathing for a moment. When she spoke again, that ironlike strength was gone.
“Could she be in trouble?”
“I’m not sure,” I answered, hearing a baby in the background for the first time. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on.”
“Okay,” Meg said, still sounding unsure.
Then she told me about her daughter. And, at the mention of Miracle’s name, the camera in my head began to roll.
ACT TWO/SCENE 4
EXT. BAYSIDE HOME—DAY
MIRACLE JONES sits on the gentle rise of the roof, looking out over the water. She hugs her knees, her expression locked on some thought deep in her mind. The text notification on her phone sounds. She glances at the screen, then back at the sparkling bay. A CHYRON appears at the top of the screen: MAY 14, 2016.
At twenty, Miracle still lived close to home. She rented a room above Ginny Harris’s garage. She was no longer that wiry, emaciated newborn with balled fists and a face red from screaming. There were still signs of her early trauma. She’d only grown to be an inch under five feet. Although the doctors had no way of knowing the height of her biological parents, they posited that her intense malnutrition might have had a lasting effect. Miracle could also eat nonstop for days and not put a pound on her frame. But most of all, to everyone who came across her as an adult, it was Miracle’s eyes that hinted at the truth. Dark and large. A sharpness painted the edges of her pupils. A hardness seemed to reflect off their shining surface. Those who only saw her and had no idea who she really was might shy away, cringing with discomfort when she trained her unblinking attention in their direction. Those close to her saw it differently. The officer who had first responded the day she was found put it best. During his last visit, near her sixteenth birthday, he had said:
“She’s looking for it to happen again.”
On that clear spring morning, with the bay’s briny finger gently touching the crisp, dry air, Miracle climbed out her kitchenette window. With the sun shining on her back, she sat near the peak above the garage, hugging her knees and looking out at the light as it danced across the soft current of Rehoboth Bay. As the moments stretch out slowly, the stillness was broken by her cell phone receiving a text. Miracle’s hand moved like an afterthought, lifting the Samsung and turning the screen so she could read it.
Babe, where are you. I’m freaking out.
With the slightest shake of her head, she checked the time before slipping the phone into her back pocket. A lazy smile—brought on not by the text but by the thought of her dog—lifted the corner of her mouth as she rose to her feet. Max would be home in minutes. Crouching, she moved back to the window and slipped through.
The sound of his claws skittering up the cedar steps lifted Miracle from the couch. Before she reached her feet, something slammed into the storm door, rattling the metal panel and the chain dangling from the frame.
“Max!”
The door rattled again, this time more aggressively, as if it might fly out of its hinges and slam into her as she rushed to grab the handle. She threw the door open, and Max, Miracle’s three-year-old Shar Pei, burst into the tiny apartment. His entire body seemed to vibrate with excitement as he headed straight for her. At the very last instant, he veered, only enough to avoid full impact. His stonelike skull struck Miracle’s knee. She grunted in pain and Max froze on a dime. He twisted to look at her, as if he would attack anything that might hurt his Miracle.
“I’m okay,” she said.
He remained frozen, his head tilted slightly. The folds of his face pressed over the tops of his eyes, giving him a comically serious expression.
“Maxy!” she said, kneeling.
That was enough. He decided Miracle was okay and returned to a barely contained chaos. His tail struck the lamp by the couch, and it fell to the thick carpet. His body clipped her, almost tipping her over. His bristly fur felt like sandpaper against her face as he tried to wriggle out of her hug and kiss her face.
“I missed you, buddy.”
He moaned, an old-man sound he’d made since the day she brought him home from the shelter. Then he snorted, his wet jowls slapping her wrist and leaving behind a trail like a slug. She wiped it on her pants as her mother stepped through the open door.
“Hi, sweetheart,” she said, excited. “I missed you.”
“Was he good?” Miracle asked.
Her mother stood in the threshold, a hand on one hip. Her eyes, still soft, were undeniable. Miracle looked away, a recent habit, fiddling with the phone in her back pocket.
“Something’s wrong,” Meg said, matter-of-fact.
“What?” Miracle asked, too quickly.
Her mother’s head tilted. “Something happened.”
“Mom, come on!”
Meg’s mouth opened, staying that way as she watched her daughter. Slowly her lips closed, but her eyes narrowed.
“You know we’re here for you anytime. For anything.”
Miracle looked up then, into those kind eyes. She smiled, but it was forced. And she knew her mother noticed.
“So, was he good?” she asked, changing the subject without much grace.
“Max is Max. He’s offended by us, I think. So …” Meg paused, her eyes still narrow. “How was your trip?”
“Good,” she says.
“Where’d you go?” Meg asked.
“To visit Gemma at her dad’s place in Dover.”
“Huh,” Meg said, and paused. “I’ll give you time. Come by when you want to talk. You can bring Max too, if you like. Your dad already misses him, I think.”
Max took in the entire exchange as someone might have watched a significant moment in history. When Meg moved, he looked up to Miracle. Then the dog slipped on the wood floor as he scurried up to Meg. He did a quick circle, bowing his head as she tried to pat him. Then he was back at Miracle’s side, panting and flopping to the ground as if it was all just a little too much.
The next morning, Max lay curled up in the perfect space created by Miracle’s bent knees. His hooded eye cracked open as the sun peeked over the Atlantic. He yawned and licked his lips, his massive drooping jowls slapping against his teeth. Rising with a stretch, he padded up the bed and poked Miracle’s eye with his wet, cold nose.
Still half-asleep, she reached out and swiped her Samsung off the bedside table. He had texted twice, both times waking her in the middle of the night but not enough for her to check the messages. As she sat up, the screen flashed on. She read the texts without unlocking the phone.
Text number one had come at 11:23 PM. It read:
Babe I miss you. Just want to make sure you made it home.
Text two came at 1:58 AM:
What did I do?
Shaking her head, she put her phone back on the nightstand, screen down. She looked up at the ceiling, letting the silence protect her for as long as she could. It didn’t last, though. Within seconds, she vaulted off the bed and into the bathroom. Dropping to her knees, she dry-heaved twice. The second time, some of her long, dark hair dipped into the water of the bowl.
“Shit,” she hissed, wringing it as she stood.
With a hand running along the wall, she moved to the kitchenette and swung open one of the cabinets. The motion sent another wave of nausea up from her stomach, but she swallowed it down. Pulling out a sleeve of saltines, she sat on the cold tile floor and forced herself to nibble one until her stomach settled.
With a groan that belied her youth, Miracle rose from the floor. She showered, got herself dressed, and drove her Honda Civic to the local CVS. She stood, alone, in the aisle with the pregnancy tests, chewing on the nub of a fingernail.
“Can I help you?” one of the employees asked suddenly.
“Nope,” she answered as quickly.
Miracle’s hand slashed out and she grabbed a box, identical to the one she’d bought two weeks earlier. Without making eye contact, she hurried to the front and handed the test to a cashier who looked like he couldn’t be older than seventeen. The kid turned the box in his hand and frowned.
“We have digital tests that are easier to read,” he said.
Her head down, she said, “I’ll just take that one.”
“The digital ones are cheaper.”
“No thanks,” she snapped.
The guy shook his head, like he knew so much better than she did. Her teeth grinding together, she paid $23.75 and nearly sprinted out to her car. Back at her apartment, she went straight to the bathroom. There was no need to read the directions. As she expected, the specimen collection wasn’t the hard part. It was the three minutes after that, the waiting, that nearly did her in, again. She paced her tiny studio, counting steps. Ten from the bathroom to the bed. Fifteen to the oven. Five to the door. Three to the crappy couch her friend Gemma had saved from a dumpster three weeks ago. One to the picture of Max with a stuffed bear in his mouth on the coffee table.
When the timer on her phone sounded, she bolted back to the bathroom. She grabbed the stick from where it lay in the basin of the sink. Moisture touched the tip of her finger, but she barely cared. Instead, she stared at the two lines on the display. Yup … still pregnant.
Leashing Max, Miracle set off. For the first two miles, through neighborhoods and across the highway, Max went mad. He pulled at his tether, dragging her at times, his nose snorting along the ground as if he followed some nefarious trail. By mile three, he slowed, still leading but not tugging as he had. Eventually he glanced back at Miracle, like he was checking to see if they might turn back. She smiled at him but kept going.
Miracle made it to an upscale community with enormous homes right on the ocean side of the highway. She slipped under the lowered gate at the untended guard house and walked east down the deserted street. On Friday, they’d be back, the owners of these multi-million-dollar properties. Their young children would play on a nearly empty beach during the day. Preppy college kids just home from school would listen to bad rap music through Bose speaker systems way too loudly while playing beer pong on their spacious waterfront decks. An older neighbor might call the local police, who would come and ask nicely for the music to be turned down.
For now, however, she was alone. She slipped down one of the cedar-planked walks over the softly rising dune. The tall reeds of green grass swayed along with the breeze off the ocean as the sound of the surf surrounded her. Max found his second wind, his paws dancing as patiently as they could until Miracle was able to unclasp his leash. Once free, he bolted to the water, vaulting into the rounded foam of a small wave.
“Max!” she called out as she reached the flatter sand near the ocean and turned south.
His head whipped up. When he saw Miracle walking away, he leapt out of the water. He broke into a spastic sprint, his butt tucked under as his back legs outraced his front. He passed her and wheeled around. Still dancing, he stopped to look up at Miracle.
“Good boy,” she said.
And he was off again to fight the surf, one eye on the water, one on Miracle.
As she neared the spot, her dog seemed to sense it. He left his fun and kept pace with her, looking up every few feet. Max whined once and Miracle reached down, scratching the bristly hackles above his shoulders.
Slowly she approached the crest of the dune. Below her, a small parking lot appeared, a single, lonely outhouse in the corner. She stopped, a chill bringing up gooseflesh on her arms. Max sat in the sand as she tried to keep her breathing steady. Without realizing it, Miracle let her hand slip past her waist, cupping her belly.
She stood there for a time, just staring and holding herself. Then, slowly, she moved, inch by inch. The closer she got to the outhouse, the more charge she felt. Her mouth dried. As did her eyes. But she pushed through it until she reached out. Her fingers touched the cool metal handle of the door. Her chest heaved as she swung it open and stepped inside.
Max followed her in. His nose lifted, taking in what to Miracle was a faint smell of urine and salt. Her eyes locked on to the sink. Everything else seemed to fade away. Her feet shuffled, moving her closer. Miracle touched the chipped porcelain, lightly, much like she had her own stomach. But it felt lifeless under her skin. Cold and harsh and lonely. Forgotten. Lost.
Her eyes closed. The pain seemed to enter her through that contact, rising up her forearm into her shoulders. It bunched there, sending tendrils along her spine and up into her neck. A throbbing started behind her eyes. Miracle blinked and her head lifted. She looked into the cracked mirror above the faucet. She saw a stranger staring back at her, someone she’d lost a long time ago.