News at Eleven - Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Backstory

“How do you want to set up this first interview with Faith, Becca?” Clisty asked as she studied the room. “It’s my apartment, but you’re the director. Hopefully, she’ll feel more relaxed here in my home.”

“First of all, do you think Faith will drink coffee? I’ll put some on before she and her parents get here. That could settle things down and make her feel at home. The taping of this first segment will probably be the hardest.”

“Coffee? Sure. If she doesn’t want any, I know I will,” Clisty flicked a little nothing fuzz off the table.

“Do you want to place those two blue Edwardian wingback chairs in front of the fireplace, facing each other?” Becca asked as she looked around and studied the room.

“Maybe,” Clisty thought as she started moving the one nearest to her. “I don’t know, Becca,” she said as she thought about the placement.

“What’s wrong?” Becca paused. “I know we moved the chairs from their assigned spots. You probably measured the distance from the couch and positioned them at a precise angle.”

“Don’t laugh,” Clisty said sheepishly.

“On, no, Clisty, you didn’t?” She threw her hands to her hips and laughed. “I knew you like minimal décor but I didn’t know you took it to a compulsive level.”

“Becca, don’t be silly. I ...” Clisty protested as she pushed the chair in front of her at an odd angle. “There, is that better?”

“It doesn’t bother me,” Becca threw up both hands. “The question is—does it bother you?”

“I’m not going to worry about it. You put the chairs wherever you want them,” she laughed. The coffee table was a huge square tufted leather piece in dark blue. “I know the usual setup for a TV interview is face-to-face with nothing between you.” Clisty stood beside the table/footrest and studied it for a moment. “I’m afraid Faith is going to want to hide, to protect herself.” Her eyes darted back and forth as she checked the possibilities. “What if we put the coffee table between us, but just a little off center? It will give her a place to put her coffee cup and provide some separation between us.”

“That is brilliant.” Becca started to pull the leather piece toward the chairs. “Wait,” she pointed to the ottoman coffee table, “I don’t want to scratch the floors. You pick up one end.”

“I’m sure it won’t hurt anything,” Clisty shrugged as she picked up the end of the ottoman. “I’ll get out some nice cups and saucers and a tray so the whole thing will balance on the footstool, while you set the stage, so to speak.”

The doorbell rang as Becca started the coffee. “They’re early,” Becca gasped.

“No, I’ll bet that’s Clint with the camera. Let’s hope. Faith may become anxious if things are still being set up,” Clisty agreed. She hurried to the door.

Clint carried the TV camera in one hand and an equipment bag in the other and plopped them on the floor behind the couch. “That’s an interesting set up,” he nodded toward the chairs and coffee table. “Open and closed at the same time. That should make her feel more comfortable.”

Everyone connected with Faith’s story knew her background. Long tall Clint would be the one to film the entire process, from Fort Wayne and west into Illinois, maybe Chicago.

The doorbell rang again and the show was on. From the moment Faith walked into the apartment, the focus had to be on putting her at ease while dragging the most horrid memories out of her fragile memory. Her parents came with her.

“It’s good to see you again,” Roma said as she gave Clisty a hug.

“Clisty,” Ralph nodded in her direction.”

“Thank you for coming Mr. and Mrs. Sterling,” Becca began. “I’m sure Faith will feel more comfortable with you two here.”

“We had to bring her. She can’t drive,” Ralph explained as he shook his head. “There are so many things she can’t comprehend. Not because she isn’t intelligent,” he whispered. “She is.” He kept shaking his head in disbelief. “Like, she hadn’t seen a traffic light before her trip home. She said she had figured that drivers stop on red and go on green.” His eyes glazed over with tears. “What has she been through?”

“We’re going to find out, I hope,” Clisty looked over at Faith and smiled sympathetically. Faith looked beautiful, although still weak and unsure of herself. “How do you feel, Faith?” Clisty asked as she hugged her old friend and took her jacket.

“It seemed like spring was late when we first got to Indiana, but now the trees are beginning to bloom and the tulips are popping up a little. It’s only been a week since ... Pooky and I went into the hospital.”

“Speaking of Pooky, my mom was thrilled to watch her today. You have quite a daughter. You’re a good mother,” Clisty kept talking as she ushered Faith over to the two facing chairs. “She took to my mom like a second grandma.”

When the doorbell rang a third time, Becca went to the door so as not to break the rapport Clisty was beginning to build. “Hi Jake,” Becca grabbed his sleeve and pulled him into the apartment. “We’re already setting the mood in here. Go slow with Faith.”

“Don’t worry, I’m here only to observe.” He walked over toward the facing chairs and stopped near the couch. “Hi Faith, it’s good to see you again.”

“Again?” Faith’s body recoiled from Jake’s presence.

“I came to the hospital several times,” he said slowly. “Is it okay if I sit here on the sofa?”

“Okay? I guess,” Faith stammered.

“Do you remember my friend, Detective Jake Davis of the Fort Wayne police department?” Clisty asked.

“Maybe,” she smiled faintly then looked around the apartment. “You have a lovely home, Clisty.” Her blue eyes searched every inch of her surroundings, “It’s so clean.” When her eyes came to rest on the fireplace mantle, her eyes sparkled. “Your prayer angel,” she sighed with a smile.

“You remember my angel?” Clisty asked, her voice upbeat. “Faith,” she paused not wanting to rush her, “we would like to film these conversations. Do you remember what we talked about the other day?”

“About what?” She began twisting a tissue she pulled from her pocket until it began to fall in tiny shreds to the floor.

“Would you like a cup of coffee, Faith?” Becca asked as she poured a cup. “Maybe a cookie to go with it?”

Faith’s eyes shifted from Becca to her mother. “Mama brought cookies to the hospital. I’m not allowed to have sweets.”

“Really?” Clisty asked, and then looked at Clint to see if he was ready to film. He gave a thumbs-up and Clisty continued. “Who told you not to eat sweets?” Then to Becca she added, “Coffee would be great for both of us, and, I know I’d enjoy a cookie.”

Becca brought the hot brew and a small platter of shortbread cookies she had brought in. “Here you are Faith and the pot is full. Roma, Ralph, would you two like some?”

“No thank you,” Roma waved her hand away.

“Yes, please. Maybe it will clear my head,” Ralph agreed.

After a quick break of coffee and cookies, Clisty tried again to make a connection. “You said you liked the flowers. There were always beautiful, large flower beds in Swinney Park. The blossoms were so fragrant; it smelled like perfume was always in the air.”

“Yes ...” Faith closed her eyes as a soft, sweet smile crossed her face. “I can smell them.” Quickly, her eyes popped open, large and frightened. “I’m not supposed to day dream.”

“You’re not allowed to eat sweets, or pause and remember? Faith, who gave you those rules?”

“They did, of course, The Guardians.”

Clisty looked at Jake and the Sterlings. “The Guardians? Who are The Guardians?”

“My family.”

Roma Sterling’s eyes flashed open wide. Ralph scooted to the edge of the couch cushion.

“Their name was Guardian?” Clisty asked and wondered if it all had been too easy.

“No. That’s what they were, not who they were.” Her coffee cup rattled in her hand so she placed it on the ottoman. With her eyes cast down, she explained. “He said, since my parents sold me to them, I was their slave. But, if I was good, he would treat me like a daughter. He said he was my guardian. So, I tried to be really good, no sweets so they didn’t have to spend money on dentists, no day dreaming because that would make me a lazy worker.”

“Is that the way they treated you, the way your life went the whole time you were with them?” Clisty asked as the camera kept rolling.

“With him, yes. I could never call him by name. But, I called her, Lady. Lady would come into my room and read to me. She taught me all the subjects of school. She would brush my hair. Their son, Steven went to school. When I married Steven, I was seventeen and he was twenty. He showed me love and gentleness.”

“Where did you and Steven live, Faith?” Clisty paused and waited patiently. She hoped she was not pushing her friend.

“In our rooms, of course. We used Steven’s old room as our bedroom and my room as a sitting room. There was a bathroom off my room. The Guardian helped Steven put a door between the bedroom and sitting room so it was like a little apartment. After Pooky was born, they gave us another small bedroom to use as a nursery. Sometimes, we ate our meals with Lady and The Guardian, but not very often.” There was a softening in Faith’s words.

“Did ... the man ever hurt you?” Clisty again waited. She didn’t want to lead her friend or coach her in any way. There could be no contamination, no recovery of false memories due to guided suggestions.

“Hurt me?” Faith’s eye lids fluttered and her voice faded. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Did he touch you in ways that made you feel uncomfortable, as a child or any time?” Clisty’s tone was empathetic. She didn’t want to embarrass her or cause her to pull away emotionally.

“After he grabbed me in your living room and then dragged me in the house once we were at home, he never touched me again, except to hit me. The only time he talked to me was to yell rules and bawl me out.” Faith’s expression seemed to wilt, like a beautiful flower that hadn’t had enough life-giving water.

“Did ... the lady, ever hurt you?”

“Lady? No, not like hitting me or anything. She just left me all alone so much. Not ‘cause she wanted to. She treated me like her daughter when she was allowed to spend time with me.” Tears started to flow down her cheeks. “I was so utterly alone most of the time.”

“What about Steven? Did you two talk or play games or anything? Did he spend time with you?”

“The Guardian wouldn’t let him be alone with me.” Faith looked into the fireplace that burned with a soft glow.

“Then how ...?” Clisty started then stopped and let Faith fill in the rest of it.

“The Guardian locked my bedroom door every night. As I got older, and he saw that I didn’t leave my room, he stopped locking it. With no locked door between us, Steven would creep into my room at night and we’d just talk.”

Clisty wondered if Faith was ready for the next question but she had to ask. “Did you and Steven get sexually involved? Is that why you were allowed to marry?”

“No ... no!” Faith shrunk back as she denied sexual encounters. “Finally, when I was seventeen, Steven asked his father if we could be married.” She closed her eyes again. Her shoulders relaxed and she smiled.

“Do you see those sweet memories, Faith?” Clisty asked as she watched her friend’s face fill with joy. “Memories of your marriage and the love Steven had for you?”

“Yes” she whispered.

Clisty leaned forward and tried to breathe trust and love into the space that remained between them. “If you never went outside, and you never saw anyone, who married you and Steven?”

“The Guardian, of course. He’s the Head Master of the Freedom Temple. All the slaves obey The Guardian, even when he’s mean and abusive.” Faith’s sweet expression changed back to the flat, marionette face of one who never thought for herself, she only obeyed. “He cleaned himself up and had his teeth fixed and turned himself into a Head Master.” From somewhere deep within her, she began to repeat in rapid fire delivery, a pledge of allegiance by rote memory. “The Head Master is kind and good, full of wisdom and love. He is all knowing. He is the voice of God.”

Clisty was stunned. How could she get Faith to give more details of her background if some questions caused her to slip into a robotic daze? She hoped that recent memories would be easier to recall than distant ones.

“Faith,” Clisty started a new line of questioning and placed her hand on her friend’s knee. She tried to anchor Faith to the present with her touch. “Faith, let’s talk about the other day, with the bank robber, Melvin Dean Fargo.”

Faith blinked several times and looked at Clisty. “Okay.”

“How did you get away from Fargo, and then end up back at the house on North Gramercy again?” Clisty waited and watched Faith try to recount what had happened only days before.

“He said he was going to go to the bank and Pooky and I had to go with him so we wouldn’t escape.” Her gaze searched the area in the upper right edge of her memory. “We had no idea that he was going to rob it.”

“Where were you when he threatened the teller?” Clisty asked, hoping Faith was not an unplanned accomplice to a robbery.

“He kept his right hand in his pocket and held my arm with his left. He ordered me to hold on to Pooky.” Suddenly her eyes flashed with fear. “Then, Clisty, he pulled a gun out of his pocket and ordered a teller to give him all the money.” Faith put her hands to her face and covered her eyes.

“You must have been terrified,” Clisty whispered. “Where was Pooky?”

“She was still beside me. When Fargo looked at the money the teller was putting in a bag, he released his grip on me. I grabbed Pooky and we ran out. I told her to find the shop we saw you go in on our way to the bank. I would escape and try to get Fargo to follow me and not her.”

“You had seen me earlier?” Clisty asked, amazed at all the interconnected miracles of seeming happenstance.

“I had seen your news program on TV when we first arrived on Gramercy and I recognized you right away. When I saw you go in the shop late in the afternoon, I noticed it was just down the street from your parents’ house.”

“You have quite a memory.” Clisty gathered up the threads of the conversation and pulled Faith back to her escape from Fargo. “So, you sent Pooky away, hoping she could find the coffee shop. How did you feel when you saw her run out on her own?”

“I was so afraid but, she had to get as far from Fargo as possible. Then, I ran to the side when I saw Fargo race out the door. He passed right behind me. I guess he didn’t think I’d stop just outside the bank.”

“We all saw you, Faith, on the surveillance camera. Fargo had on a dark blue hoodie, didn’t he?” Clisty asked.

“Yes. You said you saw me on some kind of camera?” she asked and smiled.

“We’ll talk about surveillance cameras some other time,” Clisty assured her. “What happened next?”

“Then, I ran off and tried to find the coffee shop and Pooky. At first, I tried to make sure Fargo would see and follow me, so Pooky would have a head start.” Faith drank from her cup, touched the cookie and then put it down.

“Faith,” Clisty reached for her hand, “you were so brave.”

“I didn’t feel brave. I just ran. I darted down streets, across lawns and back alleys. I thought I had gotten away from him. It got dark but I could still recognize parts of the old neighborhood. Then I saw your parents’ house but no one was home. It was all dark.”

Clisty gasped in validation. “I thought you were in the yard.”

Faith looked over at Becca. “I saw Fargo knock you down and I panicked. I picked up a broken branch and swung it at him.” Her arms and whole body acted out the attack again. “I know I hit him, but I didn’t know if I had stopped him, so I started to run.” She looked out the window across the room and sighed deeply.

“Then what happened, Faith?” Clisty leaned toward her friend. Behind the camera, Roma held a tissue to her mouth and muffling the frequent gasps that escaped.

“I only managed to get a few houses down the street from your mom and dad’s when Fargo caught up to me.” Her hands trembled as she shifted in her chair. “He grabbed me by my hair. ‘Where is she?’ he yelled. I told him I didn’t know where Pooky was. He dragged me to the truck and shoved me in.” She stopped and looked back at her dad. “Daddy, I was a prisoner again and I just wanted to come home.”

News at Eleven - Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Home Fears 

“I am so glad you and Daddy are home,” Clisty exhaled in relief later that day. There, in her parents’ living room, with the comfortable deep, down-filled pillows of the couch supporting her, she was at home and felt safe. Her apartment, stripped clean of color and memories, except for the Prayer Angel that sat on her spotless mantel, was far different from her parents’ home. Nearly every inch of the tables and bookshelves held memories displayed in pictures, a multitude of books, her mother’s pottery collection, and the little clay self-statue Johnny Swanson had given his favorite elementary school teacher.

“Usually, I just pick up my phone and call you,” Clisty admitted, “but ... now I see how fragile life can be. I want you close by; then I know, God is in his heaven and all’s right with the world.”

“Well, I know God can make all things right, Honey. But, speaking of your phone, you do use it a lot. I’m more concerned about that thing. I bet you sleep with it.” Concern for her daughter was just part of who Carol was. Her smile was so much like Clisty’s anyone could easily see that the daughter was part of the mother as well.

“I don’t sleep with it,” Clisty protested reluctantly. “Actually, it’s on the bedside table.”

“See, I told you.” Carol Sinclair threw both hands up in victory. “I read an article about how all this technology is actually making people feel less attached, rather than more.”

“Mother, I’m not playing games on the thing. Rebecca, or the station manager, has to be able to reach me when there’s breaking news.” She felt her cell vibrate in her phone pouch, pulled it out and checked the message.

“Putting that thing in a pretty Vera Bradley cell phone cross-body does make it easier to keep it close-by, but it makes it harder to get away from, too.”

“Mom, I can’t get away from it.” She shook her head as if to correct what she had said. “I don’t want to get away from it.” Clisty didn’t want to argue, and the truth was they rarely did. Still, she often had a sense that her mother didn’t think her job was “real work” because she did it in front of a camera. “The station depends on me to deliver the news, not just about the birth of baby lion cubs, but about a standoff between police and a bank robber, with a dear friend caught in the middle.”

“You certainly experienced all of that, didn’t you?” her mother agreed. “Clisty,” her voice grew soft, “I don’t say it often enough, but I am so proud of you. The part you played in Faith’s story yesterday was amazing.” Then she added, “And the cute little lion cub named Scruffy was great too.”

Clisty laughed. “You were watching in your hotel room, Friday night, weren’t you?”  She glanced at her text message again. “It’s not over,” Clisty sighed with mixed emotions and a tinge of giddy joy. “I’ve just been given permission to follow this story to the end. Becca just texted me.” Her fingers flew over the touch pad as she typed in out loud, “Yes, Becca. Wow, yes!”

“What’s the end gonna’ be?” Albert Sinclair asked as he came into the living room from the back of the house. He carried a bundle of sundresses and shorts over his arm.

“Hi Daddy,” Clisty paused and gave him a welcome home hug. “The ‘end’ to Faith’s story is as far as we can get, in our efforts at finding where she has been held captive all these years ... and, hopefully, why she was taken?”

“That’s quite a task. How long will it take to find the answers do you suppose?” He brushed some stray hair from Clisty’s eyes as he had always done.

“I think we can do it—Becca and the team and I. We hope to get more location information from Faith, if she can remember.”

“Does she have amnesia?” her dad asked.

“Maybe. I’m no doctor, but, it might be something else, if we could really talk to her. Now, she just answers, ‘I don’t know,’” Clisty said and then thought for a moment. “When we do get a lead, Jake will go with Becca and I and the camera man to see if we can track them down.”

“Jake?” Carol and Al looked at each other with raised eyebrows.

“Okay, okay,” she blushed.

“Who’s Jake?” her mom asked.

“Detective Jake Davis, Mom. He’s with the police department. Laws have been broken.”

“You called or texted us almost every day we were in Florida. Why haven’t we heard about your detective before this?” Al asked with a stifled grin.

“He’s not my detective,” Clisty protested, but inside, she remembered she had denied their growing closeness just yesterday when Becca teased her.

“Why don’t you invite him over for dinner later, here with us? You two can strategize on the progress of the story.” Carol slapped her knees with both hands like she always did when she had made up her mind about something.

“Mom, you and Daddy just got home. Dad’s still cleaning out the car. I will take you two out for dinner.” Clisty smiled to herself. She had finally turned the corner from being a receiver to becoming a giver, and she liked it.

“We do appreciate it, Honey, truly. But, we’d like to visit with you and I really don’t want to go back out on the road, not even down to George’s Diner or the Coffee Emporium.” She sighed as she stood up and took the hanging clothes that Al had brought in from the car.

“Here, Mom, I’ll help you with those” Clisty offered. “You take the ones on hangers and I’ll take the folded pieces.”

As they walked toward the hall that led to the bedrooms, Al called after them. “It makes me no never mind. You two decide and let me know. I’ll get the car-vac going.”

As Clisty passed the bathroom door, she slowed and grabbed the door jamb. Her heart began to pound and her breath caught in her throat. “Oh ...” she closed her eyes as she felt her head spin.

“Honey, are you all right?” Carol hurried and dropped the clothes on her bed inside the bedroom and turned back to Clisty. “You don’t look so good. Let me help you.” She took the clothes that Clisty carried, put her other hand around her daughter’s waist and tried to help steady her balance.

“I feel ... so funny,” she leaning on the wall just outside her parents’ room. She didn’t move, hoping the hall would stop swaying like a swinging bridge.

“What happened?” Her mother asked as she helped her into the bedroom and onto the bed. “Lay down a minute, until you feel a little better.” After Clisty sat down on the bed, Carol reached down and pulled her daughter’s legs onto the covers.

“The bathroom ...” Clisty began but could not finish her thoughts. “I don’t know ... something. It felt like I couldn’t breathe, like I couldn’t take in any more air.”

“Oh, Clisty, I am so sorry. I had forgotten how you reacted when they took Faith. It was a terrifying experience for you. They nearly grabbed you right along with her. You fought off that horrible man. Now, with Faith’s return, along with the memories of the home invasion, your reaction to that fearful day has invaded your thoughts again.” She sat down on the side of the bed beside her daughter and pulled the down-filled duvet across her arms.

“How I reacted when it happened? I don’t remember much afterward, just the kidnapping itself. That is burned in my mind.” She pulled the cover more tightly around her forearms and closed her eyes. “I remember how his rough, dirty hand felt when he grabbed my arm. It was like a vise that nearly cut off my circulation. And, his foul breathe,” she almost gagged as her senses filled with the memory of his odor. “I slipped on the Monopoly game and fell,” she began to wring her hands and her lips were so dry, the words stuck in her mouth. “I’m so sorry I didn’t put the game away, Mom.” She reached up and threw her arms around her mother’s neck. “It was my fault. If I hadn’t fallen, I could have rescued her.”

“Honey, if you hadn’t slipped on those cards and fell out of his reach, you would have been taken, too.” She patted Clisty’s shoulder as she had done for so long. “Try to rest.” Her mother let go so Clisty could lay back, touched her hand and held it in her own.

“I can’t rest, Mom. I can’t remember anything after Faith was gone.” Clisty thought out loud. “What happened?”

Carol swallowed hard. She too had tried to forget the tragic events in her own safe home during the few moments she had been gone. “I found you in the bathroom when I got home from the store with the milk. You had curled up into a ball. You were hiding behind the door. When I asked you where Faith was, you said, ‘I don’t know.’”

“She was here when I left,” I reminded you. “Did she go home?” Carol patted Clisty’s hand. “Again, you said, ‘I don’t know.’ I didn’t know how you could forget such a thing.”

“When the police came, you told them about the treasures you and Faith had found when you two were out exploring. You said Faith had a little trouble with her bike chain, but nothing else.”

Al came in and placed Carol’s hotel one-night-bag on the floor in the corner. “Faith’s bicycle was still in the yard when I got home. When I checked it, there was nothin’ wrong with the chain or anything else on the bike.” He sat down on one of the bedroom chairs and listened.

“Oh Mama, I didn’t help the police at all?” Clisty was devastated. “I thought I remembered that I gave them valuable information.”

“You did,” her mother assured her as she smiled. “They said you were repressing the memory of the kidnapping, so they called in a psychologist to talk to you.”

“Dr. Phillips,” her dad added.

“Did the psychologist help me remember?” Her eyes blinked and she squinted as if she were trying to see into a past long forgotten.

“Yes, the repression was there but she helped you anyway. Since you were a minor, your dad and I sat in the corner of the room when she interviewed you. We had our lawyer with us. They treated the interview like a deposition, recorded it and then they transcribed the recording.”

Al reached into the dresser drawer beside him, sorted through the gold foil-covered, jewelry gift boxes and pulled some papers from the bottom. He handed the few sheets of paper to his wife.

Carol took the legal size type written papers and smoothed out the fold lines with her hands. “This is the transcript of the interview. We saved it all of these years. That was such a difficult time for all of us.”

“Read what it says, Mom. I have to know.”

Carol lifted her reading glasses that hung from the chain around her neck and put them to her eyes. At first she hesitated and then began to read the dialog printed by the court.

Transcript of the eye witness account of Clisty Sinclair, age 9:

Dr. Yvonne Phillips: “Hi Clisty. What can you tell us about the man who kidnapped your friend, Faith? It was a man, wasn’t it?”

Clisty Sinclair: “I don’t know what you mean.”

Carol placed the paper in her lap for a moment. “Dr. Phillips tried to reach your memory using a normal interview method. She quickly saw that wouldn’t work, so she began in a different way.”

Dr. Yvonne Phillips: Someone stopped by your house to pick up a package, didn’t they? Was the person a stranger?”

Clisty Sinclair: “What did you say? There wasn’t any package.”

Dr. Yvonne Phillips: “The package was wrapped in pink ribbon, Honey. It was a sweet package.”

Clisty Sinclair: “I didn’t like him.”

Dr. Yvonne Phillips: “Why didn’t you like him? Was he mean?”

Clisty Sinclair: “He nearly broke the package he was supposed to pick up.”

Dr. Yvonne Phillips: “Did he put the package in the basket of his bicycle, like you and Faith do when you ride?”

Clisty Sinclair: “No, he had an old truck.”

Dr. Yvonne Phillips: “Oh, a truck. How do you know it was a truck if you were hiding?”

Clisty Sinclair: “’Cause it sounded like Grandpa’s truck and Grandpa said his truck made such a racket because it was as old as he was.”

Dr. Yvonne Phillips: “That’s good, Clisty. I’ll bet the man said nothing about where he was taking the package.”

Clisty Sinclair: “He said if the package didn’t stop making so much noise, he’s drop it in the lake, ‘cause he’d drive right down Michigan Avenue.”

Dr. Yvonne Phillips: “So you know where Faith was taken?”

Clisty Sinclair: “What? I don’t know what you mean. I just heard him yelling about driving a hundred-sixty miles away, no one would look for the pink package in another state.”

Carol looked up from the paper and added, “Then you began to cry. When she started

to walk out of the room, you whispered to her, ‘He’ll come back for me. I have to hide again.’ She told me that you gave them a lot of information that they needed, information they didn’t already have. Before she left the room, she told us that you were repressing all the bad memories because they were too frightening for you to remember.”

“But, I did remember a little when she didn’t ask me directly?”

“That’s right. She asked in such a way that you corrected her seeming misperceptions, which gave them a little information. After she talked to you, they realized that the man took Faith into Illinois, maybe to the Chicago area. They would never have found that out any other way.”

Albert had been listening, shook his head and then changed the subject. He must have heard all he could hear. “So, what’s the plan about food, you two? I’d like to eat early, so I can go to bed equally early.”

“We’ll think about dinner in a minute, Al,” Carol got him back on track and stood up. Tears gathered in her eyes as she turned to Clisty. “You had nightmares for months after Faith disappeared. Actually, as frightening as those terrible dreams were, they helped you remember what you had protected yourself from. That’s why the memories are so vivid to you now and that’s why you healed after a time. Faith has lived through it every day. She has never started healing because she has never stopped living it.”

“Then, I know how Faith feels, Mom.” Clisty swung her legs to the side of the bed and stood up. “I feel better now. I’ll call Jake and he can come over after his shift.” She thought for a moment and added, “Faith doesn’t have amnesia, Mom. She’s suffering from the same crippling fear I felt on that terrible day when he stole her. And, we know where she was taken.” 

• • • • • 

The doorbell rang around 4:30 at the Sinclair home. They had gathered in the living room to decide about food. Clisty hurried to the door and looked through the beveled glass. Although the prisms distorted the image with a rainbow of colors, Clisty recognized Jake Davis’s face as he waited on the porch.

“Wow,” she swooned when she opened the door, “that smells wonderful.” He carried a bucket of original crust chicken with potato wedges, green beans and yummy smelling biscuits into the house. In the other hand was a small pie; and a package of soft drinks was tucked under his arm. “Jake, how wonderful!” She gasped as she inhaled the perfume of the Colonel.

“Jake?” both Al and Carol perked up at the same time.

“Mom, Dad,” Clisty began as she took the chicken and placed the bucket on the table. “This is Detective Jake Davis and we have solved our dinner dilemma. Jake is treating and we don’t have to go out. And ... just for you, Dad, we can eat early. We’ll be out of your hair by 6 PM for sure.”

Albert Sinclair’s smile nearly spilled off his face as he jumped up and offered his hand. “Detective,” he squared his shoulders, “I am so happy to meet you. We have heard absolutely nothing about you.”

“Dad!” Clisty blushed and everyone laughed. They all shared great pats on the back and robust handshakes.

Jake looked at Clisty and shrugged. “All I’ve heard about you two is that you were smart enough to get out of our weather and spend your winter in Florida. What I want to know is how did a young man like you manage to retire so early?”

“Retire?” Al questioned.

“If you’re not retired, how were you able to spend two months in Florida?” Jake questioned as he removed the cardboard lid from the bucket.

“I had a month’s vacation; that was March. Then, winter decided to stick around up here. I’m the purchasing agent for Bontrager Manufacturing. Walt Bontrager told me to stay where it was warm and work from my laptop down there.”

“Maybe you can convince the boss of that next year, too,” Jake suggested as he slipped his arm around Clisty’s waist.

Carol smiled as she watched the new couple together. “We hoped that Clisty would finally get away from her work and sterile apartment, come down and stick her toes in the sand; but, it didn’t happen.”

“Okay, okay,” Clisty halted the jabs as she raised her hands in a time-out signal. As the laughter settled like warm gravy dripping over potatoes, she added, “I’m glad my three favorite people have finally met, especially when another long lost friend has found her way home.”

News at Eleven - Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Faint Memories 

The next morning, Clisty returned to the hospital and settled into the chair in the corner of Faith’s room. “I’m glad it’s Saturday. I won’t have to be at the studio this afternoon.” The aroma of freshly baked sugar cookies filled the room. Roma had artfully arranged them on a small platter and placed them on the over-the-bed table.

“Your parents will be home from Florida this afternoon, won’t they, Clisty?” Roma asked as she fluffed Faith’s bed pillow.

“Yes, and I’m glad.” Then she smiled sheepishly. “I’m an adult with serious adult responsibilities, but with everything that happened yesterday, it feels good that they will be home.”

“When life becomes complicated, it’s nice for us to pull our family and friends closer around us, isn‘t it?”

Clisty smiled the smile of sweet memories. Outside, the April day was magnificent. There was no evidence of snow remaining in black, left-over piles along curbs. Pale green tree leaves had pushed out and demanded consistent spring temperatures.

“Yes, it’s always nice to have family around,” Clisty said, “but especially when the world seems to have tipped a little and things are listing to starboard. I’m glad it’s such a beautiful day. Everything about it is glorious, from the blue sky to the fact that Faith is home.”

Roma started to respond, and then her eyes grew large in pleasant anticipation. “Well, Pooky, I wondered when you would wake up.” She walked over to the bed, reached out and gave her granddaughter a long hug. “It’s nice that the hospital allowed you to curl up and nap with your mama this morning.” She smiled as she watched her new granddaughter yawn and stretch. When Pooky spied the platter of cookies, Roma added, “I don’t usually serve children cookies for breakfast, but this is a special occasion.”

“Hi, Miss Sinclair,” Pooky collected the biggest cookie on the plate, bounced down off the bed, went over and planted her feet in front of Clisty. She was so close, the toes of her shoes touched Clisty’s brown, lace up Saturday shoes. “Grandma said you’re a friend of Mama’s.” She bit into the sweet smelling, iced cookie as crumbs fell into Clisty’s lap.

“That’s right. I hadn’t seen her in a long time and I really missed her.” She brushed the cookie specks from her jeans and smiled.

Pooky pressed herself against the side of Clisty’s leg and silently slipped up onto her lap. “Mama talks funny, but I can understand her, a little. She said I could trust you.” The girl snuggled back on Clisty’s arm and rested her head on her shoulder.

“Disinhibited Reactive Detachment Disorder,” Roma whispered without looking at Pooky. “This whole thing must have set her back. She seems to let anyone get close to her, except Al.”

“Maybe she always did. Who knows what her life was like?” Clisty suggested.

“Who, Grandma?”

“Someone Miss Sinclair and I know, Honey.” Roma brushed off the question as she perked up and listened. “It sounds like your mama may be finished with her shower. I heard the water turn off.”

“She’s taking a shower?” Pooky asked as she picked up the locket Clisty wore around her neck.

“Yep. Do you want to shower when she’s finished? I’m sure it will be okay with the nurse. She’s kinda kept her eye on you too this morning.”

“Maybe.” Pooky turned the locket over to see the engraved flowers on the back. “I want to stay with Mama.”

“Do you want to see the picture?” Clisty watched Pooky’s eyes and curious fingers inspect the necklace.

Pooky nodded and tried to force her chewed fingernails down into the place where the front clasped to the back. “I ain’t got no fingernails.” She hung her head in resignation, her bottom lip protruded like a perch outside a bird house.

“So I see,” Clisty tried to ignore the pads at the ends of Pooky’s fingers that stood proud of her nails, gnarled down to nothing. Clisty looked up at Roma. “Maybe Grandma has some pretty pink fingernail polish. Would you like that?” Pooky nodded vigorously. “You might have to stop biting your nails if you want to keep them pretty.”

“Can we Grandma?” Pooky jump down, ran to her grandmother and grabbed her hand.

“Can you what?” Faith shuffled a little as she came into the room in a clean shirt and jeans. She had gained enough energy to wrap her arms around her daughter as she eased onto the side of the bed. “What are you planning to do?”

“We were talking about painting Pooky’s fingernails a pretty, Petal Pink. Is that okay?” Roma asked as she placed a cup of coffee on the bedtable. She had brought it in a thermos from her own coffee pot at home. “I assume you drink coffee. I can find some tea if you prefer.”

“No, coffee is wonderful. Steven and I drank coffee each morning.”

“Steven?” Clisty asked as Roma handed her a cup from the basket she had brought in.

“Who?” Faith asked as Pooky hopped over and tried to help her mama lean back on the elevated hospital bed.

“Steven. You said you and Steven drank coffee each morning. Was that before he went to work?”

“Work?”

“Steven, where did he work, Faith?” Clisty tried again.

“He …,” Pooky began.

“No, Pooky,” Faith whispered in frightening gasps. “Nothing.” She sipped silently from her cup and glimpsed out the window with darting eyes.

“Can you tell us about the man who brought you to Fort Wayne?” Clisty asked.

“I don’t remember,” Faith stated flatly. Suddenly, the coffee began to slosh a little in the cup she held in trembling hands.

“I was asleep,” Pooky said, as Faith pulled her onto the bed beside her.

“Let’s rest a little, Honey,” Faith gently patted her daughter’s forehead. She leaned back on the bed and closed her eyes.

“I’d better leave and let you sleep.” Clisty started to place her cup on the windowsill. “I can come back after you have napped.”

“No, please,” Faith reached out her hand. “I ... I think I know you.” Her eyes, rimmed in red, shed fresh tears that flowed down her cheeks. “I’m sorry.” From her pocket she pulled a tissue and blotted the corners of her eyes. The plastic covered clover fell out with it. She picked up the “lucky piece” and then looked at Clisty. “No, no ... I do know you, Clisty. But ... I was told that you were killed the day I was taken.” With her hand held flat on her chest, she began patting herself as a mother would calm a child. “I ... don’t know what’s true anymore.”

With eyes still closed, Pooky reached up and stroked her mother’s cheek. “It’s okay, Mama.”

Faith patted her daughter’s hand. “I know only what they told me. I lived in one room.”

“Not all the time, I’ll bet,” Clisty cautiously coaxed. “You said Pooky went to school for a few weeks.”

“But, I never went out of the house,” Faith sighed. “Just Pooky.”

“That was when Grandpa was gone,” Pooky’s eyes snapped open. “I don’t know where he was.”

“Jail ... I think,” her mother said softly, with little expression or concern, as if she were talking about a stranger.

“Did Mama teach you to read and write and work numbers?” Roma asked. “You know I was a teacher for a long time.”

“Yes,” Pooky’s eyes flew open in amazement. “How did you know?”

“Because I taught her when she was little.”

Clisty’s heart jumped as she thought of a question that demanded an answer, but she didn’t know how to ask it. “You know I have to ask you, Faith,” she began with a smile and compassionate tone. “Where did you go to school?”

“School?” her eyes blinked and stared into apparent nothingness. “I don’t remember,” she stammered.

Clisty’s heart hurt for her friend and she choked on the next question. “You don’t remember school?”

“I don’t remember leaving the house, ever,” Faith sighed deeply. “I saw children from my upstairs window. They played in some yards down the block, but I could see them down there. I could hear them, too. I saw some of them play tennis in the street once. Our house was on a road that made a circle a few streets down.”

“A cul-de-sac?” Clisty asked.

“I don’t know what that is,” Faith’s voice drifted off. “He caught me standing near the window one time and beat me.”

“Who did, Faith? Was it that man who kidnapped you?” Clisty thought of the smelly man with rotting teeth.

“Kidnapped? What do you mean ... kidnapped?”

Clisty searched for words that clearly were not in Faith’s vocabulary, to explain what had happened. “Do you remember, a long time ago, when we were watching television at my house? A man burst in the door and tried to take both of us, to steal us. I got away.”

Great moans of grief heaved up from deep inside Faith as her face twisted and distorted. “Why didn’t you come with me, Pooky?” A flood of tears angrily raced down her cheeks. “Why did you abandon me?”

“What?” Clisty gasped.

“You ran away and let him take me,” Faith sobbed.

“We were nine years old, Faith,” Clisty cried.

“Honey,” Roma quickly interrupted, “a child can’t fight off a full grown man.”

“I know ... I know,” Faith sobbed. “But ... I was so lonely,” she whispered as she closed her eyes. “He told me that Momma and Daddy sold me to them.”

“Oh, Sweetheart, you didn’t believe them did you?” her mother threw her hand to her mouth in shock.

“No ... they told me every day ... but I didn’t believe it one time.” A faint smile crossed her lips. “I was the winner every day that I didn’t believe their lies.”

Clisty cleared her throat and tried to not sound hurt by what her friend had said. “Then, I bet it became hard to know how to tell the lies from the truth.”

“It was hard, I guess,” Faith swallowed and cleared her throat. “Clisty, I never really blamed you. I just couldn’t stand not having any friends. I did my studies in my room, read, everything in the one space. I could come to the table in the kitchen for dinner sometimes. My mother,” she stopped and looked up at Roma, “my other mother came to my room to teach me. Once in a while, we’d play games.”

“It sounds like she cared for you,” Roma offered softly.

“I guess.”

Clisty knew she had to gather more information if they were ever going to find those who took her friend. “What was her name?”

“Name?” Again, Faith stared with a blank expression. “I ... don’t know.”

Clisty tried another approach. “Did you have a TV or radio in your room?” The questions continued but Faith’s response was always an empty gaze.

“Television,” Faith remembered with a smile. “I could watch Mr. Rogers when I was little. It was an old TV set. I couldn’t watch very often. They would come in and take a tube out of the back when they didn’t want me to watch anymore.”

Clisty fished for words when all the ones she had used were all the ones she could think of. “What did you do the rest of the time?”

“I slept a lot ... I guess. I don’t know,” she closed her eyes again. “Oh,” she opened her eyes and, for a moment, they sparkled. “I wrote letters to you, almost every day, for about a year. I couldn’t mail them, so I found a hole in the wall of my closet and put them in there. I pretended it was my mailbox.” With Pooky in her arms, she snuggled and kissed the top of her head.

“I wish I had gotten them,” Clisty whispered.

“You did ... in my dreams,” Faith said as her voice danced in the space between awake and asleep. “We would play and laugh and ...” she drifted off and her breathing seemed to become normal again.

“You were in my dreams too,” Clisty added. But, what she didn’t say was, her dreams were actually nightmares.