Lost Girls of Kato, page 13
“Thanks,” she says, still scratching away on the paper. “It was my first back piece. A friend let me practice on him free of charge.”
“Was the angel in memory of someone or something?”
“Or something.”
It’s safe to assume by her non-answer that the symbolism represents something she doesn’t want to share. When she fails to offer any more information, I decide I can’t push her on the subject without raising suspicion.
“So what do you think of Mankato?” she asks after a long pause, eyes still focused on her work.
“I like it so far. Sure beats the hustle of L.A.”
“I grew up in Kato,” she grumbles. “Stayed there too damn many years.” She briefly glances up at me. “You should do yourself a favor and get out while you can.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“The people there are what’s wrong. When they can’t fix something, they’ll pretend it doesn’t exist—try to rewrite history.”
“Like the girls that went missing in the eighties?”
Her lips and gaze simultaneously harden. “Why would you mention them?”
“I work for Human Services and came across an old poster. When I looked into their disappearances, I realized something feels…amiss. And this is probably going to sound crazy, especially when I don’t know what you believe in, but I think I have some kind of…karmic connection to them. It’s hard to explain.” My face warms as I decide to come clean. “I just happened to become friends with a bartender—your friend, Beth—who mentioned you were friends with the sister of one of the missing girls. She told me you had a studio here. I thought maybe you could enlighten me on a few things.”
“And you decided the best way to find out what I know was under the guise of wanting a tattoo?” She sets down the sketch pen and shoots me a wicked glare. “Are you a reporter?”
“No, just a friend.” My cheeks flush warm. “Of Theo’s.”
Her skillfully sculpted eyebrows the same dark shade as her hair rise high. “Oh, this just keeps getting richer. You came here to snoop because you’re involved with Theo?”
“I know it might seem uncool, but he’s a complicated guy. He’s obviously hurting over something that happened in the past, and I can’t get him to open up about it. It’s killing me because I really care about him.”
She gives me a look that I can’t quite read. “You’re in love with him.”
The flush in my cheeks spreads down my neck. I can’t admit anything to a stranger before I tell Theo how I feel, but I imagine the truth is written all over my face. “It’s a little soon to know for sure, but I think the foundation is there. Once I chipped away at his icy cold demeanor, I realized he’s a good man—the best I’ve ever been with anyway.” A web of unease wraps around my center. What if they were lovers and she’s still pining for him? I nervously glance at the array of sharp needles at her disposal. “Were you once involved with him?”
“Me and Theo?” she scoffs, stopping to release an abrupt laugh. “We were never anything more than friends.”
Relief and disappointment twin through my core. I was convinced I had worked out their connection. “So you’re not the one who broke his heart? You’re not the reason he moved back home?”
For a moment she clasps her hands together and presses them to her forehead. “Listen, Sterling, you seem pretty cool and I can understand how you’re frustrated with the big guy because of the way he closes himself off to everyone, but if you really care about him like you say, you need to ask him these things.” Her hands fall back at her sides to reveal her irritated scowl. “It’s not my place to disclose his complicated history.” Tearing her drawing of palm trees from the sketchbook, she crumples it inside her hands, tossing it into the trash can at her side. “I think you should leave. Maybe you can call me again sometime in the future after I’ve cooled down to set up an actual meeting place instead of ambushing me at my place of business. Against my better judgment, I’m actually interested in this ‘karmic’ connection of yours.”
Nodding, I slide down from the chair. At least she’s not telling me to take a hike and never speak to her again. I stop to study her thoughtfully. “Can you please just tell me one more thing?”
With a flippant roll of her eyes, she rolls a hand through the air in a motion for me to continue.
“Was Theo close with one of the missing girls?”
Her eyes flutter closed like she’s unable to believe I had the nerve to ask. “Goodbye, Sterling.”
On my way out, I don’t bother asking the receptionist if my deposit will be refunded to my credit card. I did a shitty thing to both K.C. and Theo, and I deserve to pay the price.
It’s dark when I return home from White Bear Lake. I catch Theo adding the finishing touches to my new kitchen island, dimpled grin deep in place as he watches me kick off my flats at the front door.
“It’s Friday night,” he says in a smooth rolling voice. His dark, suggestive gaze sets my body on fire. “I have you all to myself for an entire weekend.”
With K.C. and the angel tattoo and the missing girls on the tip of my tongue, I can only stare back at him.
He crosses the room to gather me inside his arms. “Another bad day?”
I meld against him, savoring the warmth and strength of his body. My lips part.
Ask him, Sterling.
“You don’t have to say a word. I know that look by now. Good woman with a good heart like yours has been taking a beating with the new job.” He nuzzles the crook of my neck. “Pack a bag and we’ll head to my place. I’m gonna shower before spoiling the hell outta you.”
As good as his plan sounds, it’s past time I disclose the details of my conversations with Chief Nielsen and K.C., explain how I believe my dreams are somehow connected to the missing girls and ask him to fill me in on the rest. But I’m unable to stomach the thought of him reverting to the quiet, sullen man who all but told me to take a hike. What if he leaves once I start asking deep questions, and never returns to me?
The moment his mouth claims mine, my thoughts are wiped clean. The need to let him possess me becomes overpowering. Everything about the man is incredibly addictive—his voice, his smell, his taste. Anything that doesn’t involve his sinful body wrapped around mine can wait.
With the hiss of the shower’s spray from inside Theo’s master bathroom, I rise from the sheets that still possess an intoxicating scent of sex and Theo, and slip into the Journey t-shirt I’d stripped off him once we’d arrived. He’d made the first move, but I’d already decided I needed him to quiet my unease, to silence my doubts and fears. When our bodies were joined I’d almost let it slip that I loved him, hoping he’d ruminate on that fact once my inquisition began.
Simply put, I’m a coward.
Now that he’s temporarily occupied, it seems like a good time to snoop around. I’ve learned Theo’s a meticulously neat person who doesn’t have time for material things. Either that or he doesn’t want to attach himself to anything of trivial meaning. Nearly every single piece of furniture inside his house was handmade by him, including the grand sleigh bed we’ve christened countless times. The rest of his belongings are sparse, and everything is in its place. His closet reminds me of a minimalist display in one of L.A.’s finest boutiques—what few items of clothing he owns are neatly hung, including his t-shirts and blue jeans. I imagine it’s akin to getting a glimpse inside a monastery.
I slide out the top drawer on a tall dresser in the same craftsman style as the bed. Among perfectly folded socks and underwear, a small wooden box contains a gold analog watch and a silver tie clip adorned with black stones. It’s more than I expected. Are the valuable items a gift from someone? Things he inherited? I can’t imagine him buying anything from a department store. As he’s pointed out numerous times, he doesn’t like to leave his house unless he’s working, or grabbing a quick bit to eat. When we’d gone to visit his carpenter colleague, there were moments he acted as if he was ready to crawl out of his skin.
Beneath a pair of boxers, I spy the white border of a square picture from an old-school instant camera.
When I slide it out to get a look, the room suddenly takes on an abnormal slant.
My eyes blink rapidly.
It can’t be possible.
Gaping at the yellowed picture, I desperately attempt to find some kind of logic as to how I’m looking at irrefutable proof the boy and girl from my dreams are real, and not merely a lifelong product of my imagination. My head swarms, overwhelmed by the possibilities.
In the same moment I reach out to grab the corner of the dresser to stop myself from collapsing to the floor, Theo enters with a towel draped half an inch beneath his delightfully toned Adonis belt.
Noticing the picture grasped in my hands, his expression turns ice cold. “What are you doing in my dresser?” he snarls.
His sudden change of demeanor doesn’t rattle me as much as what’s grasped in my fingers. “Who are these kids?” I counter, holding out the Polaroid of the young teenagers sitting together on a Rainbow Brite blanket in a room that’s all too familiar, thanks to my dreams.
Baring his teeth, he growls, “Why the fuck are you digging through my things?”
“It’s what women do when they’re falling for maddeningly mysterious men who are kind and beautiful inside and out, but are reluctant to open up about themselves.” I step closer to thrust the picture at him. “Who are they, Theo? I need to know!”
“She’s a friend from my childhood.” He snags the picture from my grip with a tormented look that I feel in the depths of my soul. “And the boy is me.”
17
STERLING - 2018
In a moment that stretches on for an eternity, Theo and I both stare at the Polaroid gripped in his fingers as disbelief and confusion war through my thoughts. Before now, I’ve never believed in my aunt Constantine’s faith in psychic connections and alternate universes. Yet it’s hard to deny that something’s at play that can’t be easily explained. I’ve been dreaming about the blonde girl since I was three. How did a young Theo end up in my subconsciousness alongside her, especially when he looks nothing like the man scowling back at me?
“I think I’m going to be sick,” I say, digging my fingers into Theo’s warm forearm, still damp from his shower. Concern flashes through his dark eyes when I lose strength in my legs.
“I’ve got you,” he says, wrapping his arm around me and assisting me back to sit on his bed. “Can I get you a glass of water?”
“I need something a lot stronger than water.”
He squats in front of me with the Polaroid held up between us. “Why did this freak you out?”
“You won’t believe me,” I say, cradling my surging stomach. I take a slow, calming breath, but it turns into tight little huffs of panic. “Even I don’t believe me.”
“Try me,” he pleads.
The way he tenderly brushes a lock of my hair over my shoulder and looks ready to gather me into his arms, I’m suddenly hopeful that he cares enough about me and our budding relationship to support the crazy things I’m about to say.
“This is the girl I’ve been dreaming about since I was three.”
His jaw ticks. The Polaroid trembles inside his fingers. “That’s not funny.”
“Do I look like someone in the mood for jokes?”
He stabs his fingers through his wet hair. “It’s probably just another girl who looked like her.”
“Theo, I know without a doubt this is her. I’ve been dreaming about her for as long as I can remember.”
Head titled, he studies me like he’s convinced I’m certifiable. “There may be similarities—”
“No. She looks exactly like the girl in my dreams. And you…this boy…ever since I moved here, I’ve started seeing him too.” Blinking back tears, I flatten the palms of my hands over the soft bristles on his strong jaw. How can that boy who’d been abused by his father be the beautiful man I’m growing attached to? He did mention he put on a ton of weight after he’d joined the military, and now I can see the similarities in his whiskey-colored eyes and the rare appearance of his dimpled smile. “I had no way of knowing it was you.”
A conflicted look strains his features as he pulls my hand away from his face. “Sure you didn’t see a photo of me at that age…somehow insert me into your dreams after?”
I glance around the tidy bedroom, void of anything personal. “Because you have so many photos of your childhood—of anything—just lying around?” I take a steadying breath, wishing he would accept the situation as it is so we could try to solve the mind-blowing situation together. “Why did she call you J.R.?”
“Christ,” he chokes out, tossing the Polaroid onto the bed at my side. He stands and turns his back to me, taking a step away like he’s going to leave the room. Then he says, “It was my mom’s nickname for me as a kid. She liked it better than ‘junior.’ My old man’s name was Theodore too.”
“Was? You didn’t mention he also died.”
“He didn’t,” he amends, turning to me with his hands flexing into fists at his sides. “I try to forget that bastard is out there somewhere.”
“Because he hurt you,” I whisper with one lone tear spilling down my cheek. “You told Jackie you were going to run away.”
A dark, angry cloud flashes through his eyes a moment before they dart away. “This is messed up, Sterling.” Again, he stabs his fingers through his wet hair. “How could you possibly know these things?”
I wipe my face and reclaim the picture, pointing at the bedspread beneath the teenagers. “I’ve seen the pattern on this blanket a hundred times. It’s in the girl’s bedroom…she lives in a trailer park…with her mom and sister. Her mom’s a dancer…you thought maybe even a stripper. She met this boy—you—the same place you took me—”
“Stop it!” he roars, bracing his arms out at his sides. His eyes shine with unshed tears when he adds in a less aggressive tone, “Please!”
“Am I right?” I ask quietly. “Did the girl in your picture live with her mom and older sister in a trailer park?” His complexion becomes even more ashen, so I explain. “They come to me in my dreams. And they’re not like other dreams. It’s like…I’m living her life and the things I dream about are happening to me.”
“This is bullshit.” He readjusts the towel around his waist as he begins to pace the center of his room.
“I’m well aware how ridiculous this all sounds, but I’m just as clueless as you as to why it’s happening, or how. But I hope you feel like you know me well enough by now to think I wouldn’t have any reason to mess with you.”
“We still don’t know that much about each other,” he scoffs.
“I know that you can go from temperamental to tender in an instant, and you’re not only talented and kind, but you're incredibly passionate.” I throw him a hopeful look. “I know that you’re someone I don’t want to see hurt because I care about you more deeply than I should considering the short amount of time we’ve known each other.”
With a serene expression, he releases a gruff sigh in a way that makes me believe he’s ready to give in. “What the hell is going on, Sterling? Why are you dreaming about me and a friend I knew before you were probably born?”
“I’d love to hear any theories you may have,” I grumble, flopping back against the mattress with an exasperated sigh.
“The media could’ve leaked a photo of her…us…when you were a kid.”
I lean on my elbow to study him, shaking my head. “That still wouldn’t explain how I knew where she lived or what her mom did for a living.”
“The kids at school teased her about her mom, and everyone knew she lived in a trailer park. It was all over the news after she went missing.”
“You mean after the man abducted her,” I say.
His lips tilt in a half-scowl, the way one would regard a rude stranger. “Why do you think a man abducted her?”
“Because I started dreaming about it—very recently.”
He drops back down onto the edge of the mattress. “What did he look like?” With a shake of his head, he jumps back to his feet. “What the hell am I talking about? This is insane!”
“I wouldn’t be able to describe him. It was dark.”
He’s pacing the room again. “You’re sure a man took her?”
“Positive. I’ve had that same dream several times since I moved here.”
“What happened after he…” His Adam’s apple bobs with a deep swallow, “…took her?”
“I don’t know.” I stand and slowly cross over to him. “My dreams never go beyond the night you fought with her. It always ends with her abduction.”
A pained look flashes through his eyes. “Do you think he—”
“I don’t know what he did to her, Theo. There’s no sense wondering, either. You’ll drive yourself crazy.”
He turns away, scrubbing his hands over his stubble. “Someone found a grocery bag on the gravel road leading into the park, filled with some of her things. That Polaroid included. The police never found any other trace of her, or the three other girls who went missing before her. My old man was a police detective—had brought us to Mankato to work on the case. Some people were convinced Jackie and the others had run away because they never came up with any viable leads except for some guy that had raised some suspicion.”
“The man from the department store,” I remember. “Diane pointed him out for being creepy at the skating rink. He’s he’s the one she spied on in that shed.”
“Yeah,” Theo confirms in a grunted response. Then he threads his fingers through his hair. “I can’t believe you know these things. You shouldn’t know them.”
“What about Becky’s dad?” I ask in a gentle voice, worried I’m pushing him too hard.
“He was arrested for threatening someone with a gun. They never found anything to suggest he was involved in Becky’s disappearance.”
