PART TWO CALEB
Caleb Marsh was twenty-two, a graphic design student in Tulsa.
He was shy and soft and he had never been with anyone either.
He had found Maren on an app in November of the year before.
She had messaged him first. She had said she liked his drawing of a robot in his profile. They had talked every day since.
Caleb was in love. He knew it was fast. He did not care.
Maren understood him. She asked how his day was before he told her.
She remembered the name of his cat. She sent him photos of herself in the morning, still in bed, and at night, in a hoodie, and he looked at them and felt wanted for the first time in his life.
They had talked on the phone. Four times. Her voice was low and warm, not high, not squeaky, just soft, the kind of voice that made a room feel safe. He had fallen asleep to it once. He kept the voice memo on his phone and played it when the apartment was quiet.
By February they had a plan. Maren had said she was ready. She had picked Valentine’s Day. She had picked a restaurant in Denton, near her school. She had said she would be there at seven.
Caleb did not have the money. He maxed a credit card. He told his parents he needed the trip for a graphic novel he was writing, that the change of scene would help him. They believed him. He drove eight hours. He bought a shirt he could not afford. He got to the restaurant at six-thirty.
He sat at a table for two. He ordered water. He waited.
At seven he texted: I’m here.
At seven-fifteen: table by the window.
At seven-forty: I saved up for this.
At eight, the reply came. It was short. It said there had been an accident. A car accident. She was sorry. She was at the hospital.
Caleb’s hands went cold. He texted back fast. Are you okay. Which hospital. Tell me where you are.
A minute passed. Then a second text, from a different number, a number he did not know. It said: this is her friend. She is in critical condition. They don’t know if she will make it. Please pray.
Caleb stood up. He left cash on the table.
He went to his car and called every hospital in Denton.
Then the ones in the county. He gave the name.
Maren Cole. He asked if she had been admitted.
The answer was the same at each one. No patient by that name.
We cannot confirm or deny. No patient by that name.
He drove to two of them. He sat in the parking lot of the third. He called the number back. It was out of service. He called the first number. Out of service. Both gone, like they had never been real.
He went back to the restaurant. He asked the hostess if a woman named Maren had come in. She looked at him as one looks at someone about to break. She said no.
Caleb drove home to Tulsa at three in the morning. He did not sleep. He told himself she was alive. He told himself she had used a fake name, that she would explain it when they met, that there was a reason. He told himself this for weeks. Then he stopped telling himself and started looking.