Page 20 of Requiem & Reverie

When I close my eyes, I see Oliver. Not as the angry, upset boy he’s become over the years, but the baby I held in my arms and swore I’d protect with my life. I see the innocent blue eyes of a child whose world was only just beginning. Who hadn’t yet been touched by the things in those dark spaces.

Just as it was with my sister’s disappearance, I don’t know if he left to get away from me, or if he was swiped up by something in that darkness.

I tuck my head into my knees and let another exhausted sob break through me.

“I’m going to meet with a few more volunteers. They’ve offered to hand out some flyers.” Jonah’s voice reminds me of my father’s, soft and comforting, whenever he approached our mother. As if the volume of his words alone could crush her.

I raise my head, wiping away more tears. “Okay.”

“I won’t be long. Maybe a half hour, tops.”

“You don’t have to stay here with me, Jonah. You have a wife. A job. I’ll be fine.”

“My wife wants me here, as much as anyone. And I’ll still have my job after …”

“After what?”

“After we find him.”

“You still think that’s a possibility, Jonah? Be honest. You’re the one with all the statistics on missing kids.” Knees tucked into my chest, I rock back and forth, trying to settle the anxiety pounding through my muscles, the constant string of jitters that’s become as much a part of me as blinking, or breathing. “Thought it was like … after forty-eight hours, the possibility decreases. A lot.”

“The first few days are critical, yes. But kids have been recovered later than that.”

“Yeah. The ones held captive. The ones used and beaten and kept in basements and—” Another sob chokes my words as the scenarios take hold inside my head again.

“Listen to me, Nola. I’m not giving up. I’m not going to stop until Oliver is back in this house. I’m going to use every available resource to return him to you. I promise you this.”

“I know. I know you’re trying. I appreciate it.” Swallowing a harsh gulp, I wipe my nose on my sleeve, and Jonah disappears out of the room, returning with a box of Kleenex. An empty box sits on the bed beside me, filled with used tissues that have collected hours of snot and tears. “How long before the surrogate delivers?” The question is out of place, maybe even awkward, judging the confused look he returns, but it’s necessary.

As much as I fear changing the subject, I need to. I need distraction from the thoughts that Oliver could be hurt in all of this, while I sit here helpless to save him.

“She’s due in about eight weeks.” He casts his gaze toward the floor, as if he should feel guilty about the joy of a new baby.

“Boy or girl?”

“We’ve decided not to find out. Wait until delivery.” Shoving his hands into his pockets, he doesn’t even allow himself the slightest crack of a smile. One I know would be plastered to his face if circumstances were different. “When I come back, we’ll go for another drive. Think you’ll be up for that?”

Tissue pressed to my nose, I give a tearful nod.

Jonah plants a kiss on the top of my head and exits the bedroom.

He’s right. We shouldn’t give up yet. I can’t give up on my son yet. He’s counting on me to find him, whether he’s out somewhere in the cold, or taken hostage by someone, he won’t be found with me lying here, sobbing about the what ifs. The what ifs don’t matter.

My father never gave up looking for Nora, not even when he knew, himself, the possibility of finding her was no longer a possibility, at all. Every night, he went to bed looking over files, with clues and notes that he kept nearby, in case something came to light.

I push off my bed and enter my bedroom. The necklace my father gave me, the twin to the one Nora was wearing when she was taken, sits out on my dresser. I found it while searching my things for the Valium prescription my psychiatrist wrote me a couple months back. I don’t know why I bothered to keep the script. Maybe I knew there was a small part of me unable to face everything life threw at me. Thankfully, it was already expired, otherwise I have a sick feeling I’d have filled it that first night Oliver went missing.

Slipping the gold around my neck is a reminder of the day I took it off, about a year after Nora went missing. Seemed silly to wear the necklace that said sister, when my sister was no longer around. My father walked in, as I set the necklace down on the dresser. At first, I felt embarrassed that he’d caught me removing it, but those feelings quickly turned to animosity and a steadfast belief that it was the adult thing to do.

“No point in wearing it,” I said to him.

“Maybe not.” He strode across the room and lifted the small infinity charm into his palm. “But I wonder if she’s taken hers off. See, while you look at it as pointless, from your perspective, she may just as well be viewing it as purpose. A reason for living. For fighting. For wanting to come back home.”

Tears fill my eyes as I stare down at the charm in my palm. I squeeze it in my hands and close my eyes, hands clasped together in prayer. I stopped going to church years ago, but I believe God is patient with those of us who can’t seem to get our shit together. He has to be.

Nora, if you’re out there, watch over him. Protect him. And bring him back to me. And, God, please don’t take him yet.

My body is yanked backwards, knocking the breath out of my lungs. A hand slaps across my mouth before I can let out a scream, while another arm bands tight around my body, crushing me against the intruder.