Chapter Three
But one question remained: what should I do with Lucas’s things?
His gym bag and a few leftover items were buried in the back of the closet, a haunting reminder.
It seemed strange to take them with me to Cleveland.
We’d been together almost two years when he vanished, and now another two had passed.
I thought I had said goodbye to the hope of seeing him again, but getting rid of his things seemed sacrilegious.
I hesitated for a moment, then pulled his bag out of the closet.
I could recite its contents: the battered boots with a skull-shaped hole on the right heel, the deodorant only half-used, the white towel with a green hair dye stain on one corner from a Halloween costume gone wrong.
But I’d rarely touched them. The memories hurt, and I wanted to preserve them.
I pushed aside the ‘lucky’ mine shaft socks, grazing the green stone I’d gifted.
And there, pressed between the crumpled pages of a textbook, was the Post-It note.
I studied the photo Amanda had taken and compared it to the other.
Lucas’s symbol was less detailed, just the main shape.
But it was close enough to make me wonder if they depicted the same image.
I placed the talismans back in the bag, except for the Post-It note, which I kept aside.
I would go to the police and share this newfound information about Amanda and the psychic, but nothing more.
I wouldn’t pursue the investigation. I wouldn’t mention the occult symbols.
This way, I could assuage my conscience and not lose myself again.
The police station was quiet and stained with the sterile, institutional scent of disinfectant.
It took me a few minutes to approach an officer.
The whole ordeal with Lucas suddenly felt like an open wound to be feasted on again, and I had barely recovered from the last ravage.
When he went missing, they invited me as a witness, and I fell for it, foolishly unaware of their intentions.
After hours of intense interrogation, they finally disclosed that they had footage of me during the time of Lucas’s disappearance.
Surprisingly, they were already aware of this information before bringing me in for questioning but as I was informed later, they were simply trying to tire me out and extract a confession.
An attorney explained that I had the right to leave at any point, but clearly, the police had never informed me of this.
I slipped a pre-printed document containing the information Mitchell and his sister had shared with me onto the counter. But as I recounted their story to the young man, I realized how implausible it was.
"And how are these people connected?" he asked, visibly bored.
"I don’t know, but I thought you could look into that."
The duty officer raised an eyebrow. "Ma’am, what’s your relationship with the missing person?"
"I’m his girlfriend."
He jotted something on a piece of paper. "Do you have any identification with you?" I handed him my driver’s license. He placed it down with a weary expression and tapped the keyboard.
"I see that the missing person’s report was not filled out by you."
"That’s correct. His parents filed it. I was a witness in the case."
"I understand; however, I’m not authorized to share case details with non-family members," he said, returning my license.
"I’m not asking you to disclose anything," I said, trying to suppress my frustration and annoyance. "I just want you to consider this new lead and investigate it."
His eyes rolled ever so slightly, and he said in a ‘I am not paid enough for this’ tone, "Ma’am, I’m sure the detectives have everything they need for this case."
I pushed the paper further across the counter. "Please, just look into it."
The officer took it, skeptically turning it in his hands before handing it back to me.
"Ma’am, I don’t see any connection."
"I just told you what the connection might be!" I said, exasperated.
Footsteps echoed down the hallway, and a woman in uniform scrutinized the scene. I must have been louder than I’d thought. "What’s the matter, Officer?"
The duty officer gestured towards me. "Miss Foster is asking about a missing person case, but she’s not a relative."
I let out a frustrated sigh.
The woman was quick to pass judgment after a thorough examination of my person. I probably looked more composed than most who ended up in her office—clean jeans, smooth hair, unblemished skin. I wasn’t any more of a threat than a perturbed cat. Even so, I still shrank a little under her gaze.
"I’ll take it from here, Officer." She had a cloud of red curls that bounced as she took the vacated seat. I hoped mine didn’t look as unforgiving. "Please, start from the beginning."
I recounted the events while she listened attentively, her pale eyes never leaving mine. After examining the printout with equal focus, she typed the name into the database at a deliberate pace.
"Mary Flynn... nothing found," she murmured, scanning the screen. "Let me try another approach."
I held my breath as she clicked away, fearing any movement might disrupt our progress. The previous officer’s skepticism had been suffocating, but this sergeant’s demeanor was refreshingly different.
"The name is too common for a nationwide search," she explained, drawing to a halt, "and even if this is her real name, there won’t be any records if she’s never had any violations."
Disappointment settled like a stone in my stomach. But the sergeant continued, "However, I’ll keep the printout and ensure it’s attached to the case. Leave your contact information, and I’ll reach out if anything develops."
"Thank you."
She led me to the door. "Miss Foster, I’m inclined to remind you that this may take time. It’s possible these women aren’t connected to the case at all."
I stepped out into the dust and exhaust fumes of downtown Minneapolis, less relieved than I’d expected. I hoped that leaving Lucas’s disappearance in the presumably capable hands of law enforcement would ease my guilt about not going to Duluth, but instead, a growing sense of unease gnawed at me.
For a while, I sat in the car, hands resting on the steering wheel, unmoving.
The sun was inching towards the horizon, and clouds gathered from the west. On the other side of the street from the police station, a massive billboard advertised a rehabilitation facility, urging passersby to "Take the first step towards a fresh start before it’s too late! "
My mind was empty.
As much as I hated to admit it, my mom was right.
Returning to Cleveland was the only sensible choice.
There, in a place where nothing reminded me of Lucas, I could focus on myself and my life.
I could find a job, continue my education, or try something new.
I’d have a chance at a normal life, free from the constant reminders of the tragedy.
And I wouldn’t have to stay forever. Once back on my feet, I could start fresh somewhere else, where no one knew me or my past.
But I couldn’t silence the feeling that I was being heartless and selfish for wanting to leave and move on, no matter how hard I tried to justify it.
Would I be able to live with myself if I didn’t at least try to find out what happened to Lucas?
This lead, slim as it was, offered a chance at answers.
The worst that could happen was I’d hit another dead end, sending Mitchell, June, and me right back to square one.
I needed someone to confide in, someone to help me untangle my thoughts and hopefully silence the guilt. But I had no one to turn to. My college friends were gone, and I hadn’t formed new connections. All I had was my mom.
She answered my call right away as if she’d been waiting for it.
"Hi, Mom," my voice trembled. Something warm slipped down my cheek. I hadn’t even noticed I was crying.
"Nellie, what happened?"
"I wanted to bounce some ideas off of you. It’s about Lucas."
Her irritation flooded through the speaker. "Nellie." Her voice was cold as a tomb.
"I’ve met some people looking for their sister. She’s missing... like Lucas. I thought maybe we might be able to find new information together. But—"
"You called me to say you won’t be coming? So typical."
"Mom..."
"Can’t you just leave well enough alone and avoid more drama?"
"Mom..."
"Was the police investigation not enough for you? And the attack on that poor girl?"
"Mom!"
After venting, she fell silent for a beat before adding, "I’m not going to enable this decision. It’s yours to make. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you."
I hung up, slamming the phone onto the seat with such force it bounced off and fell to the floor.
I cursed under my breath as I bent down for it.
Duluth was just a short distance away. I wondered if it would be a bigger mistake to pass up the chance to uncover something, even if it turned out to be nothing.
Besides, I clung to the hope that getting some kind of closure could potentially save me from the uncertainty of moving back home and relying on my mom indefinitely.
With that thought in mind, I sent Mitchell a text with the picture of Lucas’s Post-It note:
"I’m coming with you. What time should we meet?"
September, 2016
He gave off a ‘fuck boy’ vibe. And he could get away with it, too.
Beside the enormous bowl, where bottles of beer and cider bobbed in a sea of semi-melted ice, he spoke to me for the first time.
Tall, with wheat-blonde hair that he casually tossed back with a flick of his hand, he exuded a confidence that permeated the room.
He was undeniably attractive, but it was his gentle assertiveness that truly commanded the space.
The boys I went to school with weren’t like that.
Lucas was laid-back and effortlessly cool.
"Need a hand?" He nodded towards the bottle I was struggling to open against the corner of the kitchen table. He pulled keys from his pocket and applied them to the bottle’s neck.
"I’m told the secret to a killer party is bein’ able to open a bottle with whatever’s lyin’ around. Luckily for you, I can open a bottle with just about anything."
"I was getting desperate. Thanks." I eagerly embraced the role of the distressed damsel. The cap jumped up with a click, almost hitting me in the face.
"Sorry!" He seemed genuinely embarrassed, quickly picked up the fallen cap, and twirled it in his hand. "This one’s got a little attitude, huh?"
The joke was silly, but I laughed. "Now that we’ve narrowly avoided a Prohibition-level disaster…" I was about to leave, not sure if he was willing to continue the conversation.
"Wait," he said, tilting his head. "Who’d you come with?"
"Just the girls from the track team."
"Track? No way! I would’ve pegged you as a cheerleader, hands down." He noticed my puzzled expression and flushed slightly. "Sorry, that’s... uh, not what I meant. You have really beautiful hair…And, ah, the rest of you, too."
I almost laughed again, observing his charming struggles with eloquence.
Turns out first impressions can be wrong.
We settled onto the blanket in the yard of the house, where the party buzzed. The thumping beat of music surrounded us, and in the distance, cheers and laughter erupted from a game of beer pong. In mid-September, the nights were cool. Lucas draped his jacket over my shoulders.
He had this cocky country-boy look, and the way he talked, prolonging vowels in words, turning ‘cat’ into ‘caet,’ and sprinkling in that ‘aw’ sound here and there, added to his overall charm.
Through the tattered clouds, the moon appeared. Lucas pointed to it. "You know, they say moonshine is best brewed durin’ the wanin’ moon."
I chuckled. "Family business or a hobby?"
"Neither, unfortunately."
"So, you haven’t tested it yourself?"
"Personally—no." His frown was all disappointment. "But my high school chemistry teacher conducted experiments."
"Breaking Bad style?"
"Somethin’ like that."
"And what were the conclusions of their research?" I asked.
Lucas looked sideways, slightly wrinkling his nose as if trying not to laugh, and replied, "If you brew moonshine in the school lab, you’ll get fired."
"Maybe they just brewed it during the wrong moon phase?"
Lucas laughed and leaned in, placing his hands on the back of my head, and my breath hitched as his lips pressed against mine.