I balled up my scarf, the only spare piece of clothing I had besides my coat, and tried to use it as a pillow. The few other passengers quietly chose their seats. I turned to the window and looked out on the blackness of the tarmac.
There would be snow when we landed. I would have to buy not only boots, but days’ worth of clothes and all my toiletries. I would have to rent a car, drive in a strange city, and navigate a mountain range. I almost wished I were going to Washington; at least I knew where to catch the taxi at the airport.
There’s still time to get off the plane and get home before anyone notices—
“I don’t suppose this seat is taken.”
I didn’t dare open my eyes. I couldn’t have fallen asleep and dreamed this—
“Seriously, Lynn, move your purse. This stupid coat is going to take up a seat in itself.”
“How are you here?” I asked.
Roxy struggled to take off her long overcoat and unwrap her scarf before unceremoniously plopping down. “We have about two seconds to get off this plane. But we’re going to raise some eyebrows if I start dragging you down the aisle. So, I’m here to yank you home if—for the first time in your life—you’re drunk. Or perhaps overly medicated. But most importantly, I am here to find out what the hell you’re doing.”
“I don’t know what I’m doing. How are you even here?”
“Here are the Cliffs Notes, as the attendants are circling. You didn’t make it easy, sister. Stella called me after midnight, pretty frantic, even though you texted her to say you were all right. I figured you were driving around, maybe even got a hotel room to get some peace. You never carry cash, and you lost your debit card last week—as you will recall—so that meant you used your credit card. And for shits and giggles, I checked the Peddler charge card—thanks for putting me on that account, by the way—and it showed you’d bought a ticket to Denver. So I booked myself a ticket too and hustled my fat ass over here. I stopped to kiss Ed and tell him to burn the stash and pop a few extras to numb the pain. I told him I could be back this morning. Or it might be a few days, if you needed to meet Tom in Champaign.”
“You can’t leave Ed, not if he’s having pain—”
“For Christ sake, Lynn, he has stage-four colon cancer. He’s gonna have pain. But he’s fine. I filled him in on what happened with Steven’s arrest. Well, not everything—for God’s sake, I don’t want the man to have a stroke as well as cancer. Now, Lynn, what are you doing?”
“I’m so glad you’re here.” The words barely came out of my throat. “I can barely breathe, I’m so nervous.”
“Lynn, you need to tell me right now if whatever it is you’re doing—you are doing it of a sound mind and body. Or if you’ve been threatened and are in danger of some kind.”
“At this second, I am lucid. But my stomach is doing backflips.”
“Well, there’s a convenient puke bag right here if things go south. But let’s avoid that if we can. Do I need to order you a drink?”
I shook my head, and Roxy waved over a tired-looking flight attendant. “Can we get a cup of water? Thanks.” Roxy then dropped her voice. “Why are you going to Denver?”
“I’m not going to Denver. I’m going to a town called Argentum, somewhere in the Rocky Mountains.”
“And why, pray tell, are you going there?”
The flight attendant brought over a small cup and reminded Roxy to fasten her seatbelt, as they were preparing to take off.
“Time’s up, Lynn. This is when you tell me if you need me to get you off this plane, or if we’re about to make a cross-country flight.”
“You can’t go with me.”
“I most certainly can and will. Case closed. Now, why Colorado?”
I set the cup down in the console. “I think it’s where Steven thinks they’ve taken William.”
Roxy’s eyebrows rose. “That little nugget of information was not shared during our wonderful experience with the girls. And just who is it that’s taken William? I can’t believe I continue to say this, but—the aliens?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know anything. And I could be completely wrong about all of this. All I know is I have to try, because if I don’t…”
“Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to use this flight as good long nap when we take off. But first, you’re gonna spill it all, friend. Everything. Got it? Start with telling me everything about going down to Murfreesboro and seeing Dr. Richards. OK?”
I took a long drink.
Roxy nodded and bit her lip a few times to keep herself from interrupting. I couldn’t bring myself to talk about Daddy’s letter to Steven, so I finished with the discovery of the celestial map fitting onto the road atlas. “There wasn’t time to ask him if that’s what he intended me to figure out. And God, Roxy, I could be wrong. Steven could be insane, he could be trying to confuse me to keep the investigation off himself. The FBI could be completely right, and I’ll be in Colorado when my family needs me the most.”
He couldn’t have faked my father’s handwriting, though.
Roxy settled into the chair. “I need some time to think this through. Of course I brought nothing useful, as I had no time to pack anything, but I happen to carry my sleeping mask during Ed’s chemo. So it’s yours. It will be daylight soon, and you need sleep.”
“I can cry myself to sleep and now no one will see.”
“You’re due some tears. Now lower that window shade.”
* * *
We slept the entire trip, waking groggily to a ding alerting us that we had landed at Denver International Airport. After the plane came to a halt, we walked down the connector onto a red carpet, standing amongst the sea of people at the gate.
“Well, I’ve been wearing these clothes for two days now; shall we buy ourselves some nice ‘I love Legal Marijuana’ sweatshirts? Speaking of love, I’d kill for a shower. Can we get a room and sleep some more?”
I powered up my phone. “I can only imagine how many calls I’ve missed.”
“What do you want to do, Lynn?”
“If we’re going, we’ll need clothes and a car. And I did get a new debit card after I lost mine, thank you very much, and I took out a bunch of cash before I headed to the airport, so there’s no way for anyone to know where we are now.”
“You don’t watch Dateline as much as I do. If Tom starts to suspect you’re not in Nashville, it will take the FBI two seconds to get access to all your credit cards, and they’ll see our flights. And I know Tom never balances your checkbook, but if he looks at your account, he’ll see the money you took out. And if they want to know where you are, all they have to do is track your phone to the closest cell tower. Wherever we’re going, we better get there fast. Or seriously convince your family you need time alone to grieve. I also clearly watch too much Dateline.”
I pressed my phone to my forehead. “I’ve missed fifteen calls and there are ten voice mails. I have twenty-five texts. I can’t even look at them.”
Roxy pointed to the rental-car signs. “We can get a car. It’s now or never. We either book a flight back home or head to Enterprise.”
I sat down in an empty row of chairs. “Tell me doing this isn’t crazy.”
“Lynn, we are nearing seventy.” Roxy sat down beside me. “Women our age are dyeing wool and wandering through yard sales. Instead, we have gone to Illinois, broken into an office and a house, met with UFO researchers, and you just witnessed an FBI raid. So I think we’re already far along on the crazy train. Flying to Colorado on a hint from someone who could be a lunatic seems pretty par for the course.”
“He’s not a lunatic.”
“Listen, I’m not going to tell you this isn’t crazy. The last six months have been horrible. You’re desperate to find your grandson, and I don’t blame you for that. And I know what you’re thinking: It’s not only William you’re trying to find. You’re trying to bring Brian back from whatever dark place he’s in. But you have to be prepared for all of this to be a hoax, and the possibility that right now the man who kidnapped your grandson is in police custody and William is gone. I won’t judge you, whatever you decide to do. I’ve told you that before. Even if I don’t believe in these alien abductions, I have always believed in your instincts. So tell me, what does your gut say—?”
“You’re her.”
We both looked across the aisle at a teenager with floppy bangs hanging over a forehead of acne. He pulled out his earbuds, the light from his iPad reflecting in his glasses. “You are. You’re her,” he said.
“I’m sorry?”
“You’re the alien lady. The one who believes aliens took your grandson.”
“What are you talking about?” Roxy demanded.
Taken aback by Roxy’s tone, he pointed to his screen. “I just saw you online. Don’t be offended. I agree with you. I think aliens are real—”
“Give me that.” Roxy strode over and swooped up the iPad.
“Hey,” he said, but her look froze him to his chair.
“Oh sweet Jesus,” she said.
I hurried over. “What is it?”
Roxy scrolled up to the top of the NBC News home page, where a red headline screamed: “Professor arrested in U.S. Senator’s grandson’s disappearance.”
Below the headline, a subhead read, “Video shows Senator’s wife asking for help from UFO researchers.”
I was suddenly so flush I thought I would break out in sweat. I wanted to sit down, but I forced myself to keep reading.
PROFESSOR ARRESTED IN U.S. SENATOR’S GRANDSON’S DISAPPEARANCE
VIDEO SHOWS SENATOR’S WIFE ASKING FOR HELP FROM UFO RESEARCHERS
By Dave Botcher
Champaign, Illinois—FBI agents raided the Champaign, Illinois, home of a former University of Illinois professor overnight and announced they have found clothing belonging to the missing grandson of U.S. Sen. Tom Roseworth, D-Tennessee.
Dr. Steven Richards was taken into custody late Thursday evening in Nashville, Tenn.
FBI spokesman Raymond Lewis said Richards had attempted to abduct Roseworth’s wife, Lynn, at a hotel in Murfreesboro, Tenn.
Lewis said Richards lured Lynn Roseworth to the motel with the help of accomplice Barbara Rush, who is also now in custody.
“These two took advantage of a grieving grandmother in her most vulnerable moments to try and convince her of her grandson’s whereabouts,” Lewis said, “when all along it appears the boy’s clothing had been in Richards’ basement. We’re searching the residence now.”
Lewis would not elaborate as to the connection between Richards and the Roseworth family.
Hours after Richards’ and Rush’s arrest, a group of supporters of the professor released a video on YouTube, decrying the charges and posting video of what appears to be Lynn Roseworth meeting with Rush and others in a basement in Champaign late in October.
In the video, Doug Ellis, identified only as a researcher, talks about how Richards and Rush are innocent of any crimes and were only trying to assist Roseworth in finding her grandson.
“The FBI has pushed our hand to release this video,” Ellis said in the video. “But we have no choice but to show the world that Lynn Roseworth herself met with us and acknowledged our work into the existence of extraterrestrials. Barbara sought to help her, nothing else. As did Steven Richards.”
The video shows a brief interaction between Lynn Roseworth and Rush. Ellis can also be seen in the background. You can watch the clip here:
I raised a trembling finger and hit the link.
The video player that emerged showed a still frame of me standing in the basement of Steven’s house, surrounded by the other Researchers.
“That bastard recorded us,” Roxy said. “Little shit had one of those GoPros or something set up.”
I swallowed and hit the play button.
“It really is you,” the researcher in the tweed jacket could be heard saying. “I guess it’s true: You believe in the little green men like the rest of us. You look just like you do on TV.”
Barbara could be seen walking up to me. “Rupert, you prove yet again your impeccable skill for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. It’s been a long time, Lynn. You may not recognize the few of us who were here back in the day.”
In the video, you could hear me clear my throat. “I doubt you would have recognized me, or even remembered my name, if it hadn’t been for my husband.”
The video then cut off, and Doug Ellis once again leaned towards the camera. “Lynn Roseworth once was one of us and came to us for help. To think Steven Richards or Barbara Rush had anything to do with that boy’s murder—”
I stepped away. “Put it away.”
“Here.” Roxy thrust the iPad back at the teenager.
“Can I take a selfie with you?” I could hear the teenage boy ask as I ran towards the nearest bathroom.
I barely made it to the toilet. Very little came up, as I’d eaten almost nothing in the last twenty-four hours. I wished for a heart attack or a stroke—any way I could die at that very moment.
Instead, I waited till my temperature dropped, sitting on the toilet. I then flushed and went out to wash my face and hands.
Roxy stood waiting for me. “Lynn, I’m so sorry.”
I rinsed my shaking hands. “It’s what the text messages and phone calls are about. It’s everywhere now. Everyone has seen it.”
“I’ll go see about the latest flight back.”
“No.” I looked up at my haggard face. “Go buy me some sunglasses and a hat.”
* * *
The four-wheel-drive Suburban was much too big for the meager clothing and basic toiletries that we carried in plastic bags from the shops in the airport, but when Roxy explained to the rental-car worker where we intended to go and that we needed a Mazda, he arched his eyebrows. “You realize it’s December in Colorado. The mountain towns can easily be snowed in. That car won’t make it.”
Roxy asked for specific directions to Argentum. I stood behind her wearing dark circular sunglasses and a ridiculous sock hat. “I have to be honest with you, ma’am, I’ve never heard of it, and I’m from the mountains near Pueblo,” the worker said.
I’d already worn out my phone’s battery trying to find anything on a town named Argentum, but the search engines gave me nothing. Why the town showed up on the old road map but nowhere else was a nagging enigma.
I showed the guy behind the counter the page from the atlas Steven had given me. He raised his eyebrows.
“Huh. It would have to be San Juan or Hinsdale County. Pretty isolated. It’s all national forest out there. I wonder if it’s not even a town anymore. That map looks pretty old. Are you sure that’s the right place? Do you plan to take a four-wheeler with you? ’Cause that’s the only way you’re going to get in. We’ve had a break from the snow for the last few days, but a whopper of a storm is coming. You’d have to take 160 and just ask around, as long as it stays open. But any roads leading off it won’t be when the snow starts.”
Roxy mumbled that she wouldn’t be riding any four-wheeler, but she would be driving. When the worker explained that they only took credit cards, I mentioned how much he looked like my son, who was waiting tables in Fort Collins. I said that I always carry cash so I can tip people who work hard but don’t make a lot of money. He accepted my cash, including the extra twenty dollars I counted out and gave him, and had me fill out paperwork, which I returned filled with blatant lies. I breathed a sigh of relief when we were safely in the SUV and on our way to the interstate.
From the airport we turned south on I-25. I nervously tapped my phone as it repeatedly dinged. “How easily can they track my cell signal?”
“Easily, but only if they ask the cops to look for you. And they’re probably getting to that point. Say you’re too upset to process what’s happening and need some time alone.”
“It just sounds so pathetic. The girls won’t buy me disappearing like this. They know I wouldn’t leave them under any circumstances. Tom won’t believe it either. I have to convince them that I had to leave. No … you convinced me to leave.”
“I have no problem being the bully.”
“That’s our story. I wanted to drive to Champaign. But I saw the YouTube video and am terribly embarrassed, and you said the last thing I needed was to show up there and have the attention focus on me. So you’re driving me to a halfway point—let’s say Paducah—and we will head to Champaign as soon as there’s confirmation of anything.”
Roxy nodded with appreciation.
“Give me your phone. The text is going to come from you.”
“Throw in a few F-bombs to make it seem authentic,” she suggested.
I sent a group text to Tom, Kate, and Stella.
It only took a minute for Roxy’s phone to ring with my husband’s number displayed in red.
“You have to answer it.”
Roxy picked up the phone. “Hi, Tommy. Yes, we’re fine. Yes, she’s fine. She’s right here with me. She’s tired and scared and embarrassed and a little sick to her stomach. We’re in Paducah. It was my call; it’s a good place to wait. No, we’re not going to Little Rock. No, we never went to Little Rock in the first place, but that’s a conversation to have with your wife when she’s feeling up to it.”
I watched as Roxy listened for a while, her face finally wrinkling in annoyance. “Yes, we’ve seen the news. We had no idea we were being recorded in that basement. Lynn’s taking it hard. Real hard. Uh-huh. Yes. Uh-huh. She wanted to come to Champaign this morning, but she doesn’t need to be anywhere where there’s going to be cameras. You tell Anne that her momma is close by and will be there in a heartbeat if you get confirmation— Yes, Tom, I am aware of how far Paducah is from Champaign, you’re going to have to handle this until there comes a point when we need to get there. Uh-huh. She knows it, Tom. She hates to be away from Anne. Listen, I love you like a brother and I hate that this is happening, but you are getting on my nerves so I’m going to go.”
Roxy hung up and sighed. “He is so used to everyone doing what he says, he can be a real pain.”
“Did he buy it?”
“He actually said it was a good idea. He’s used to you handling all the family drama stuff. He knows how to bark orders, not how to calm Anne when she’s upset. So as long as there’s no word on William, and Anne holds it together, we’ll be OK.”
“What did he say the FBI were doing?”
Roxy gave me a worried glance. “It’s not pretty. The media is going nuts. That’s why Tom thinks it’s wise you’re staying back for now. They caught the other woman, I can’t remember her name. The one who brought you down to Murfreesboro.”
“Barbara.”
“She and Dr. Richards are being kept in complete isolation. His house in Illinois is blocked off with police tape, and the agents are scouring it. They’re giving Tom and Chris and Anne hourly briefings, but they haven’t come up with anything yet, besides the discovery of pajamas. Lynn, if they found what they think are William’s clothes.…”
“They could be manufacturing all of it. You didn’t ride in the car with the agent. She was very clear about how far they would go.”
“But why, Lynn? Why do all this? What does the FBI gain? What does anyone gain by framing the wrong guy?”
“I don’t know. I have no idea. Maybe they look bad because they haven’t found the person responsible? Maybe … they’re covering something up.”
Roxy gave an exasperated sigh. “OK, sorry for that. But come on—”
“Let’s not talk about it anymore.” I leaned my head against the strap of the seatbelt while watching the bleak landscape rush by. “Look for Route 50 and take it west.”
* * *
We expected the ease of the Smokies. Like many Tennesseans, we’d breezed past the goofy golf courses and Dollywood attractions of Gatlinburg in order to climb through the mountains to get to the Biltmore Estate on the other side. We’d laughed nervously when the air became crisper, and sighed with relief at the decline towards North Carolina, slightly embarrassed that we’d been anxious at all to travel through the mountain range.
The Rockies, however, were like arrogant giants, towering above in annoyance at the vehicles scurrying up the highways crisscrossing through the peaks, like ants crawling up their pants legs. I’d never seen such white, even having lived through the bitter winters of central Illinois and the occasional whiteouts in Tennessee. But here, everything was blanketed in it: the earth, the mountain peaks, the miles and miles of evergreens scouring the valleys. I was grateful for the sunglasses. If I didn’t have them, even the deep crow’s feet around my eyes would be weary from my squinting.
The further we drove, the whiter Roxy’s knuckles became as she gripped the steering wheel, asking every five minutes if our exit was coming up. Even as we approached hour five, I didn’t mind the repeated questions. I couldn’t imagine making the harrowing drive alone.
I looked down at my phone, hovering my thumb back and forth over the voice mail icon. I finally touched it, and a row of messages appeared, most from Tom, several from Stella, and the most recent from Kate, from just a few moments ago. I’ll start with hers and work my way down. I pressed the phone to my ear.
“Mom. We are all worried sick. Dad just told me that you were in Paducah with Roxy. Please just stay there for now. I’m really worried that you’ll try to find those people. Those … Researchers, or whatever they’re called.
“Mom, I hate to leave this on a voice message, but you cannot talk to them again. I know some part of you thinks they want to help you; that maybe this Steven Richards wants to help you. He does not. They do not. They are crazy. Steven Richards had maps of our property. The FBI says he hates Dad. Do not speak to these people. Do not promise them anything. We can handle the fallout from the video. We can say you were desperate. No one will judge you. But we have to make sure the story is about William from here on out. If you get in touch with these people again, all the public will ever hear about is how you believe in—I can’t even say it. It’s going to be plastered on every tabloid. It will be the top story on every website. But it’s a twenty-four hour news cycle. The video story will pass as long as you never have anything to do with them again. Please, Mom. Whatever you’ve done, call me. Please, Mom, just call—”
I hit end and turned off the phone.
Roxy endured the silence for a few moments. “I keep telling myself, ‘It will be easier going down. It will be easier going down.’ We have to be close now. Tell me again what I’m looking for?”
“The man at the counter said it is either in San Juan or Hinsdale county—”
“The least populated counties in Colorado, according to that charming fact from Google. It has the fewest roads, the fewest people. It sounds delightful.”
“Look, San Juan County. That exit,” I pointed.
Roxy exhaled loudly as we veered onto an exit ramp and were immediately surrounded by pine trees. The suburban started crunching over hundreds of fallen pinecones. The ramp rambled down to a road without a sign. One way led back onto the highway, the other curved into the trees.
“When is this snowstorm supposed to start?” she asked.
“I’m trying not to think about that.”
“We’re going five miles—tops—and if there’s no sign of where we are, we’re turning around.”
We surpassed five miles, then ten, then fifteen. I hoped Roxy wasn’t watching the odometer as closely as I was.
“Thank you, Jesus, there’s a gas station,” she said. “And don’t think I don’t know we’re well past five miles.”
We parked next to an ancient pump and stepped out to the smell of fried chicken coming from a building covered in badly faded cigarette and beer ads. The smell was both nauseating and comforting, a reminder that the southern favorite was a staple of gas station fryers all over the country.
“We don’t have much gas,” a man called out, sucking his teeth. “Trucks won’t be coming up for another two weeks.”
“We’ll take what you’ve got,” I said. “Is this the exit for Argentum?”
The man leaned on a post. “Never heard of it. I’m not from around here.”
I once more brought out the old map and approached him. He took a close look and nodded. “Well, how about that.”
“Any idea where it is?”
He shook his head.
“Can you direct me to the next closest town? They might have heard of it.”
“Only unincorporated towns around here. Little pockets of people. Old mining towns scattered here and there. Impossible to know all the names.”
“I’m guessing if there’s a gas station here, there must be a town nearby. I didn’t pass any on the way from the interstate. I’m assuming they’re farther up the road?”
He nodded and again sucked his teeth.
“All I can get is five dollars out of this,” Roxy said.
“I told you we were low.”
“Thanks for your help,” I gave him a small wave.
“Do you want some chicken for the road?”
I waved Roxy into the Suburban, knowing if the man made the noise again, there might be a brawl.
“Better hurry,” he called out. “Feels like a storm’s coming.”
* * *
After sixty-five miles of nothing, Roxy started driving at a crawl, looking for any sign of life. We passed no towns, not even a side street. It became abundantly clear why the gas station was low on fuel; there couldn’t be enough people to justify frequent deliveries.
“Hon, I don’t even want to think about what we’d do if this SUV broke down.”
“Someone has to be out here. Just a bit more.”
We both pointed at the same time when the barn and a side road appeared. Hoping a house would be nearby, we turned onto the road, potholes and other precarious dips causing us to bounce in our seats. The closer we got to the barn, the more our hopes teetered. As we pulled up in front, it was clear the wood slats were beyond dilapidated. The doors had long since fallen away, revealing an empty interior.
I began to suggest we get back on the road when I caught a glimpse of a large letter A painted in faded white on the edge of the barn’s eastern side.
“Can you drive around there?”
“Please keep an eye out for sinkholes.”
Next to the painted A there was an empty space, and following it were a faded G and an E.
“Pull back a bit,” I said.
Roxy looped around and then stopped. “Well, shut my mouth.”
From that view, we could see that a long time ago, someone had painted a single word with a stream flowing underneath. Time had erased two of the letters; now it only read “A GEN UM.”
“Argentum,” I said softly. The painted stream ended in the tip of an arrow, pointing down the crumbling road.
Roxy applied the gas. “Well, here we go.”
We drove down the road, navigating more potholes, a fallen limb, and a perilous rise, finally stopping on a ridge.
“Well, this is…” Roxy said.
“Quaint.”
“I was going more for bleak. Does this town only have one street?”
“I bet it was a silver-mining town.”
“It looks like a ghost town.”
It would have been easy to dismiss the town as abandoned. The road leading into Argentum was ruined from endless cycles of snow and ice eating away at the aging infrastructure. The pine trees cleared enough to reveal a town that had taken on the colors of winter; the wood of the weary buildings was the same shade as the dirt-caked snow that clung like moss on a fallen tree.
Roxy pulled up to the first structure, a whitewashed building with two strong wooden posts holding up a front porch. A sign read, “The Argentum Inn,” and smoke drifted from the chimney.
“At least someone is alive in there,” Roxy observed.
Wincing in the icy wind, we scurried up the front steps and opened the door. The front room was cozy, with overstuffed chairs and a crackling fire. I suddenly felt very tired.
“Well, hello there,” said a young woman with deep red hair, who came from a back room to sit behind the counter. “I thought I knew everybody in town. I’m Sarah.”
“Just visiting for the day,” Roxy said.
“Visiting? I’m not sure we’ve ever had an actual visitor! But you know about the storm, right? Once it hits, we may be shut off from the hard road for a while. I don’t mean to be crass, but are you lost?”
Roxy shook her head. “We’re two old spinsters who like to visit all the mountain towns. Do you have any vacancies?”
“When exactly is the storm supposed to hit?” I asked.
“Tomorrow, the radio says,” she answered, and then blinked. “Oh, we’re not an inn, despite what the sign reads outside. We’re more of a boarding house for the locals who like having their beds made and not having to shovel steps.”
“Do you have rooms we can rent for just the night?”
“Come to think of it, we do. Just one, though. Mr. Peterson died over the summer and no one has claimed the room yet.”
“Charming. We’ll take it,” Roxy said. “Tell me it has two beds, though.”
“Sorry. One queen.”
“That’s fine. So tell me, what do we need to see? And more importantly, where do we eat? Are you a local?”
“I’ve lived here and there. It won’t take you long to see the town. You may be ready to go home in an hour.”
* * *
“All right,” Roxy said as we slid back into the Suburban. “Even if we knocked on every door in this town, we’ll probably be done in twenty minutes.”
“Sarah said that off Main Street, there are a few more streets.”
“What’s your plan, Lynnie?” Roxy wiped off her sunglasses with her scarf. “I mean, we are, absolutely, in the middle of nowhere. There are probably two hundred people in this town, tops. I know we’ve talked about this, but why in the world would Dr. Richards tell you this is where William was taken?”
“I don’t know.” I looked at the empty storefronts in the street that made up the entire downtown.
“And Lynn, who exactly took him? The government? Homegrown terrorists who hate Tom? Maybe some even more wacked-out version of the Researchers from Illinois? There’s never been a ransom note. No one has ever asked for money in exchange for returning William. Nothing legit has come from the reward. Do you think maybe Steven knew he was about to be arrested and needed to come up with something to try to make you believe he’s not guilty?”
“All I know is that when I worked for Steven, the word ‘Argentum’ came up more than once. He didn’t even know anything about it—he called it an urban legend about aliens. So for him now to direct me here…”
“OK. So all you know is that people—who believe in alien abductions—mentioned a theory about something called Argentum, but Dr. Richards had no idea what it was?”
“I remember his frustration about it. That it was an unproven theory. I took it to be almost like a code word for something. He even mentioned once that it was a theory about other dimensions or something. He said several times that he and his fellow Researchers were told to outright dismiss it. So imagine my surprise when he whispered it to me in the hotel room. That and … other revelations.”
“For Christ sake, Lynn, you hadn’t kept a secret from me in sixty years, I thought. Now you keep popping them out, one after another.”
“I’m sorry. Everything has been a blur since Barbara waited for me outside the shop two nights ago.”
“Wait, what? That Barbara woman came to the shop?”
“She waited for me in the Christmas trees.”
I told her of the two names Barbara had given me to research, and how I went to the library and found that the girl, Amelia Shrank, had vanished in 1935, and that the hunter, Josh Stone, disappeared a decade later.
“And they both went missing in the woods behind my house. In the same month William disappeared.”
“We’re talking nearly three missing people in a century’s time, Lynn, how can there possibly be a connection. I mean, don’t get me wrong. It sounds strange.”
“It gets even stranger.” I took a deep breath, and told her about seeing my father and the men in the woods. Then, I reached into my purse and brought out the letter Daddy had written to Steven.
When she was done reading it, Roxy looked at me in astonishment. “Is this real?”
I nodded. “It’s Daddy’s handwriting.”
“Lynn … your father believed you were abducted as well? From the woods?”
“I still have trouble accepting it. But this is my father’s letter. And … I believe him. That he and Mama found me once. I can only hope I can do what they did.”
“Did they find you here?”
“I don’t know.”
“I still can’t believe any of it.” Roxy looked out the windshield. “I need a moment to wrap my head around all this. As long as you have no more revelations for the moment, I suppose we need to figure out where the hell we go now.”
“I have no idea.”
“Well, I’m old and cranky and scared and need caffeine. I don’t suppose they have a Publix out here anywhere, so that charming country store sign must indicate our only option.”
We rolled down the street to stop at the end of the businesses. A sign hung from the porch; it depicted a man waving from atop a mountain, with the word “Climbers” underneath.
“I’ll go in,” I offered. “If there are any customers, I’m going to show them William’s picture while I get you a drink. It can’t hurt to ask.”
“That depends. You realize that everyone in the country knows William’s picture. And if they have a TV, or a radio, or wifi, they’ve seen the video and may be talking—at this very moment—about the alien-obsessed wife of the senator.”
“Oh God, you’re right.”
“Let’s stick with me asking about William. You can’t see me in that video. And if anyone makes a joke about it, I’ll give them a fat lip. Just keep that sock hat and your sunglasses on if you run into anyone. And be quick with that Diet Pepsi. I’m dragging.”
I slid out of the car and walked across the wooden porch, entering the building that smelled like pipe tobacco and cardboard. Three rows of boxed goods, limited produce, and random medical supplies made up the entire shop.
“Can I help you?” asked an older man sitting at the front counter, a pipe in his mouth. He had hair that curled like ducktails around his ears.
I almost asked for the sodas, but all I could think about was that video released online. How dare those people use William’s disappearance to try to shame me into supporting them? They only made it harder for me to find him.
“Yes, I’m actually looking for someone.”
“By the ring on your finger, I’m sad to say it’s probably not me,” the man said, smiling kindly.
I brought out the picture of William. “Do you happen to recognize him?”
The man squinted and looked closely, then shook his head. “Sorry. Never seen the handsome devil. And I know everybody in this town. Let me guess: custody dispute? You the grandma? Your daughter won’t let you see your grandson or something?”
“No, nothing like that. It’s a long story. He’s my grandson, and I’m trying to find him.”
“His parents hippies or something? Come up here to take a stab at the marijuana trade? Can’t think of any other reason someone would bring a little boy this far out here. We don’t have many kids. All the ones I know are locals.”
“I wish it were that simple. Well, thank you. Oh, do you happen to have any sodas?”
“Got a few Diet Cokes and some Mountain Dew from my quarterly trip to civilization for supplies. Can’t get any of the delivery trucks to come here.”
“I’ll take a Diet Coke.”
The man reached under the counter, and I heard the faint whoosh of a small refrigerator door. The man placed the bottle on the smooth wooden surface. “On the house for the pretty lady.”
“Thank you.”
“I have to be honest with you: If there was a new kid in town, I’d know. We only have a few hundred people anyway.”
“I understand. But I have to try.”
“Good luck!” He added a small wave.
I opened the door of the Suburban to Roxy’s scowl. “Jesus, I hate Diet Coke.”
“You’ll survive. Let’s start at the bar.”
“OK, I’ll go there. I carry a flyer with William’s picture on it wherever I go, so I have something to show.”
“I’ll wander up and down the main drag, see if I run into anyone.”
Ten minutes later, having only seen abandoned stores and no people, I found Roxy sitting in the Suburban. “Sorry, Sis, no luck. In the laundromat, there was only a stoned couple—thanks for that, Colorado. Apparently, TV—and the internet for that matter—isn’t big around here, so they hadn’t seen him. Nor had the three people inside the bar, and their TV was set to SportsCenter. Let’s leave this booming metropolis and just start driving.”
We got in and drove for an hour, up and down the few quiet streets, seeing no one. “It’s getting dark now. And I’m beat. Let’s find somewhere to eat.”
I nodded. “I think that Scotty’s bar is all that’s open.”
At Scotty’s, we took a booth and ordered two small salads and grilled chicken sandwiches.
“What if he’s not here?” I asked.
“Honey, all you could do was check it out. And you did. You have done everything you could for William. And Brian. And Anne. You were supposed to call her tonight. I’m actually surprised there haven’t been any calls or texts. But I guess no news is good news.”
We ate our meal in silence. After a short drive back to the inn, we climbed the stairs to our room. Roxy opened the door and a small piece of paper fluttered to the floor.
“They didn’t wait long to stick us with the bill,” Roxy said.
I picked it up, realizing it was no bill. The old postcard had an artist’s rendering of the Argentum Inn back in its prime, perhaps the early twenties, surrounded by images of small waterfalls landing in creeks. Written in flourishing cursive were the words: “Stay at beautiful Argentum! Where the Water Falls.”
My arm immediately tingled in pinpricks.
“Where the Water Falls.”
The poem on the cards that I, and untold numbers of Researchers, had given so many times to the families of the missing came whispering in my mind.
You are with me.
You are in the rain.
You are in my tears.
You are where the water falls.
All those years ago, Steven had dismissed the poem. He grumbled that he didn’t even know why we handed it out. He’d only said one of his colleagues started doing it and insisted all Researchers follow his lead.
Steven hadn’t realized the poem wasn’t intended to comfort families. Whoever that colleague was, he had meant it as a guide.
You are where the water falls.
“Sweet God,” I whispered. I looked again at the picture and quickly turned it over to show to Roxy when I saw the writing on the back.
In all capital letters, someone had scrawled: “LEAVE BEFORE THE STORM.”