Provocation Page 4

  My screen suddenly blinks out, replaced with a message telling me this web domain is no longer available. I hit the back button to no avail. And efforts to find the link again on the original website prove futile. It looks like the consortium caught up with the hackers at last.

  I check my soup to find the greens are tender and the mussels have all opened. I pull the pot off the fire and let it cool, mulling over this latest information. I’m no closer to learning who’s behind the disappearances, but at least now I know the victims aren’t simply vanishing into thin air as the news sites imply. I wonder where they’re getting their information. Factual evidence appears to be available. Why isn’t it coming to light on a broader scale? Is there really an effort being made to conceal it, or was the website bogus? I know underground sites are often rife with ridiculous conspiracy theories, but this one struck me as legit.

  I blow on a spoonful of soup and take a tentative bite. It could use some salt, but it’s not bad. And it’s nutritious. I settle in to eat and click another news website. This time a political headline takes up the top of my screen: Representative Poletti Lashes Out at President Dempsey over Disappearance Legislation.

  Sounds promising. I read on.

  In another burst of fiery contempt, Representative Michael Poletti has challenged President Dempsey’s latest attempts to legislate an end to the string of disappearances that have plagued the country for the last five and a half months. The new law is designed to funnel funds into local law agencies to hire additional officers and tighten security measures in at-risk areas. To date, the vast majority of victims have been teenagers, but a recent slew of work-related abductions now has adults on the alert as well.

  Proponents of the new measure claim greater prevention strategies will benefit the population across the board, but dissension runs strong. The most strident voice against the law is veteran lawmaker Michael Poletti.

  “The people of the North American Republic deserve a leader who will look out for their best interests. This kind of legislation is a weak attempt to placate public outcry while doing nothing substantial to solve the problem. There is no oversight of the allotted funds, no guarantee that they will be used for the intended purpose. We need a strong commission in place at the highest levels, an Ubercommittee made up of men and women from both houses of Congress, dedicated to investigating the causes behind the disappearances and implementing stronger strategies to stop them altogether…”

  I like what I’m reading, but I’m not very politically savvy. I pause to do a quick search for Representative Poletti and locate the facts in half a second. He’s forty-six years old, from the East Coast, and has served in the Continental Government for fifteen years. Formerly a political science professor, he ran on a platform to strengthen national security and beef up the economy. He’s made himself quite visible since the disappearances began. A scan of his recent activities shows he has spoken at several joint sessions of Congress and undertaken a lecture tour at a number of national institutions, calling for stronger governmental controls: mandatory curfews, a freeze on immigration, restrictions on movement within the country, increased military presence, and the formation of occupied zones within the cities where the majority of abductions have occurred. Most people criticized him as an extremist when he first started speaking out, but his supporters have increased dramatically as the months rolled on and no better solutions presented themselves.

  I click the tablet off and finish the last bites of my dinner. I’m anything but an expert, but in my few years of national awareness, the government has felt fragile and tenuous, with a long string of weak leaders. The latest, Ichabod Dempsey, hasn’t done any more to lead the nation back toward prosperity than the rest of them. Since the war—thirty years before I was born—medical and technological advances have flagged, a record number of companies have gone bankrupt, and confidence in the democratic process has plummeted. Michael Poletti seems to be a breath of fresh air. Perhaps we’ve finally found a leader who can get something done.

  With that thought, I curl up beside my campfire and let myself drift into sleep.

  The next morning I’m up with the sun. It takes two days to walk to Bedford. When I arrive, I stop first at the local police station. They’re already aware of Ruby’s case and have no leads in their jurisdiction, but they promise to do what they can to help, for what that’s worth. I leave the station and walk straight to the printer to pick up the flyers I’ve uploaded to them. I spend the next day posting pictures of Ruby all over town and then hang around for another week scouting the surrounding areas and asking if anyone’s seen or heard anything suspicious. No one has.

  That evening when I check in with Granddad, he tells me someone’s been waiting in his kitchen for me to call. The phone changes hands, and Billy’s voice comes on the line. “Opal?”

  My hand wobbles at the sound of his voice. “Hi, Billy.”

  “Where are you?”

  “In Bedford. Why?”

  “I’m coming to see you.”

  “Here? Right now?”

  “Yes. Meet me in front of the library in twenty minutes.”

  “Okay…” The word stretches out long and uncertain. “I’m not coming home with you.”

  “Understood. I just want to talk.”

  “You’re talking to me now,” I point out.

  “I’m leaving. Wait for me,” he says and hangs up before I can ask him to put Granddad back on the phone.

  I click my tablet off and slip it into my backpack, pausing to sniff under my armpits. I haven’t been too conscious of hygiene lately, only bathing and washing out my clothes when I stumble on a lake or stream. But tonight I purchase shampoo and head down to the showers at the public beach. Twenty minutes later, I’m sitting on the curb right where Billy told me to meet him.

  I stand and smile at the sight of his approaching pickup. He pulls to the side of the road and puts it in park. Seconds later, I’m being crushed against his chest.

  It feels so good having my friend back. But when his embrace shifts into another kiss, all those wild new emotions churn back into wakefulness.

  I draw away, suddenly realizing that this is the reason Ruby left in the first place.

  “What was so urgent that you had to see me right now?” I ask.

  But he’s looking me over critically. “You’ve lost weight.”

  “I haven’t exactly been stuffing myself.”

  “Let me buy you dinner.”

  I won’t turn that down. “All right.”

  “Carter’s?”

  The year we got our driver’s licenses, we must have eaten at the burger joint fifty times. “Sure.”

  We sit in our usual booth and Billy orders. He doesn’t need to open the menu or ask what I want. “Two cheeseburgers, extra pickles, a large chocolate shake with two straws, and a side of onion rings.”

  I smile, feeling like I’m back in high school when Billy and I were so close. When Ruby was still a little kid. How often I’ve wished for a return to those days.

  “What’s this all about?” I ask him. “You could have spoken to me on the phone.”

  He grins. “You aren’t glad to see me?”

  “Of course I am. But you sounded so urgent…” My breath sucks in expectantly and I jerk upright. “Billy, do you have news?”

  His eyes cloud over and he shakes his head. “Not that kind.”

  I slump back in my seat.

  He reaches across the table for my hand and rubs his fingertips over my knuckles—another habit from long ago. “But I have news of another sort. We didn’t want to tell you over the phone.”

  I clamp a hand over my mouth.

  “The police got the lab report back,” Billy continues. “The water in the bottle was tainted with GHB, the date rape drug, and the prints and saliva were Ruby’s.”

  A buzzing starts deep in my brain and the room starts to spin. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. This isn't evidence of death. “What did the pol
ice say?”

  “They just quoted a bunch of statistics. Basically, the odds of finding her alive after this many days are about one in a thousand. And Opal? David Carmichael’s missing too. His parents haven’t seen him since graduation night.”

  “David? The boy Ruby walked with?”

  “The same. His prints were on the bottle too.”

  “David Carmichael,” I repeat and press four fingers against my forehead to steady my vision. The implication sinks in. My stomach lurches, and I think I’m going to throw up. I leap out of the booth and sprint for the restroom. I heave into the toilet but nothing comes up. My stomach is empty. Sweat breaks out on my forehead, and my body alternates from hot to cold. I run water in the sink and splash it on my face.

  Could David truly be the kidnapper? It doesn’t make any sense. He and Ruby were friends. But I can’t think of a single objective reason his fingerprints would be on a water bottle laced with GHB. And, I realize, his body type matches the man who followed me the evening of graduation.

  Billy taps on the door. “Opal, are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” I lie. “I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

  I stay in there for ten. By the time I rejoin him, the waitress has brought our meals. As I slip into the seat, I can sense Billy’s gaze but I don’t look up. I grab hold of my burger with both hands and take a huge bite. I don’t taste a thing, but I eat the whole sandwich anyway. My body needs the protein. I let Billy have all the onion rings and most of the shake. We don’t talk; we just sit together in silence.

  When we’re finished, I finally I ask, “How’s Granddad?”

  “Holding his own. He’s a tough old codger. Mom and Annabeth Ransom have been bringing him meals. But he’s missing you girls. I can tell. He loves you, and he’s gotten used to having you around.”

  My heart contracts. I didn’t meant to bail on Granddad, leaving him to deal with Ruby’s absence alone. And I had no intention of making extra work for others.

  I’m glad for the supportive arm Billy throws around my waist on our way back to the truck, but when he kisses my temple, I push him away. It’s a friendly gesture that he’s performed a thousand times before, but it feels intimate after the more-than-friendly kissing we’ve been doing. And the timing is all wrong.

  “Billy, I appreciate your coming here and your concern and the food, but I can’t even begin to think about entering a relationship right now.”

  He maintains the distance I’ve placed between us. “I understand. Just come home, Opal. Let the police take it from here.”

  I shake my head. “I can’t. Not yet.”

  “I worry about you out here alone. And with David still at large...”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “It’s not just that.” He starts to reach toward me but stops himself. “You always try to fix everything, often at your own expense. I just don’t want you to expect more of yourself than you can give.”

  “I won’t.”

  He holds my gaze. “Will you please come back with me? Your grandfather needs you.”

  I shake my head again.

  “How much more do you think you can do?”

  I have no idea. If David has truly taken her, if she hasn’t simply wandered off, what can I possibly hope to accomplish? Yet my gut feeling rejects the evidence. I knew David Carmichael. He was a good kid. My doubts leave enough wiggle room for one last-ditch idea.

  Billy sighs. “Just be careful, Opal.”

  I watch him climb into his truck and drive away. The night feels a little chillier, a little lonelier. I wrap my arms around myself and walk back to my camp.

  FOUR

  The next morning I travel on to Bridgeton, a high-end community twenty minutes from Odessa, right on the shore of the ocean. It takes me two days to walk there. I could have returned home first and driven the car, but it would have taken me about the same amount of time, and I can see and hear more on foot.

  I walk directly to the home of Lowell and Neve Sutherland. Lowell was one of my father’s best friends. They met in law school. While my father was content with a small town practice, Lowell had greater ambitions. He went on to serve three terms in Congress, but he was so enamored of the sea after his frequent trips to Tidbury that he maintains a summer residence in Bridgeton. He’s kept in contact with me and Ruby, even after my father’s death. Right now I desperately need his counsel.

  The Sutherlands live in a gated community near enough to the ocean to hear the sound of the surf. The houses here are huge, easily ten times the size of Granddad’s cabin. A cement wall topped with decorative daggers surrounds the entire neighborhood. It contains only two access points—one on the road and one on the beach.

  I walk up to the security gate and hold my eye to the retina scanner. I may look like a hobo, but the scanner knows me as an approved guest and announces my presence within the Sutherland house three streets away. The lock clicks and I enter.

  Neve waits for me on the front porch and spreads her arms wide as I near. “Opal, it’s so good to see you.” She wraps me in a warm embrace despite the distinct odor I smell rising off myself, then glances around for my car. “But how on earth did you get here?”

  “I walked.”

  Her faces registers her astonishment. “All the way from Tidbury? Why, it must have taken you days!”

  “I haven’t been home in almost two weeks.”

  “My goodness, child! Come inside.” She leads me to an island in a bright, cheerful kitchen and sets a glass of orange juice in front of me. “Sit down and tell me what’s going on.”

  I drop my pack at my feet and sink onto the barstool, gulping the juice gratefully. Neve promptly refills my glass. I drink half and swirl the sunny liquid around the sides. “Ruby’s missing.”

  Neve gasps. “She’s vanished?”

  “The night of graduation. I’ve been searching for her ever since.”

  Sorrow fills her eyes and she lays a hand on mine. “Oh, Opal, I’m so sorry. Have the police gotten involved?”

  “Yes.”

  Neve’s face turns grim. “Lowell and I will do everything in our power to help.”

  “I was hoping to speak with your husband. Is he here?”

  “He is. We were just about to sit down to dinner. Why don’t you freshen up with a quick shower and join us on the back patio when you’re ready?”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Sutherland.”

  She pats my cheek. “You’re old enough to start calling me Neve, dear.”

  The guest bathroom is larger than my bedroom at home. The entire ceiling is glass, allowing tropical plants to grow in pots around a tub large enough to swim laps in. I’m tempted to skip dinner and luxuriate in a warm bath for an hour or two, but I’m anxious to speak with Lowell. I launder my clothes in the shower and leave them to drip-dry. Within fifteen minutes I’m joining the family on the back patio.

  The Sutherlands have two children, a fourteen-year-old daughter, Reni, and a ten-year-old son, Leroy. They both offer a cordial welcome, but because of our age differences, neither of them knows me well. And we haven’t seen each other since my parents died. In recent years, Lowell has checked in with me and Ruby via phone or video call.

  He rises from the table and kisses me on each cheek. “Opal, how good to see you!”

  “Thank you. It’s been a few years, hasn’t it?”

  “Indeed. You’re looking quite grown up.”

  Neve must have given him some kind of signal, because they both keep the conversation on easy topics until the children are dismissed from the table. The maid clears the dishes as the adults linger over cups of coffee. Then Neve excuses herself. “I’ll see that a guest room is made up for you, Opal.”

  I am left alone with Lowell.

  “Something’s happened,” he says, setting his cup on the table and fixing his eyes on mine. “I could tell immediately by the look on Neve’s face when she announced that you would be joining us. Is it your grandfather?”


  I shake my head. “It’s Ruby. She vanished almost two weeks ago.”

  His features sag into weariness that steals the remaining youth from his face. “I’m sorry to hear it.”

  “The police believe she was abducted by one of her friends. They found a drug-laced water bottle with both of their prints. But I knew the kid, and this is completely against his character. I thought perhaps you’d have some special insight into the disappearances in general. Some other angle I might pursue.”

  He ages another few years. “I wish I did.”

  I feel my optimism slipping away. “You were my last hope for a logical explanation. The ideas being offered up by the media are ridiculous.”

  “Yes, they are.”

  I am alerted by the hard tone of his voice. “That’s significant, isn’t it?”

  “Extremely significant.” He takes another sip of coffee before continuing. “This has been going on for half a year. Thousands of incidents have been reported. Thousands of investigations, with new cases arising daily. And yet we have no idea what’s happening? No suspects? No motives? No methods? The brightest minds in North America are working on this. Experienced law officers. How is it that we have nothing more to show for our efforts than we did months ago? Even Congress is being presented with disjointed and contradictory information.”

  His words reflect my suspicions exactly. “Somebody must have answers.”

  “You’re darn right. Someone does. But that someone also has the clout to moderate the media. To silence law enforcement. To scramble attempts at collecting and comparing information.”

  My eyes narrow thoughtfully. “I was on an underground chatroom where hundreds of users were comparing their experiences. It blinked out before I could read much of it. Who would have power to do that?”

  “I can think of only a handful of people, but one is much more obvious than the others.”

  I gasp. “President Dempsey?”

  His face hardens. “Ichabod Dempsey has been extremely complacent during what amounts to a national emergency. His efforts to aid the North American people have been weak and halfhearted at best. There’s an agenda here, and I believe he’s the one behind it.”