Missing Maggie

Chapter 2

        Sleep came and went in a blur. When I woke up, I felt like I had run a marathon. As usual, my pillow was stuffed behind the headboard, my head resting


on my wrist. The residue of some dream flittered around my subconscious and I foolishly tried to gather its details. Thankfully, I had woken up before the


alarm, so I reached over and hit the off-switch. I looked over at the phone, instantly remembering that I had been waiting for that damn call from Maggie all last night. I picked it up and checked the call log, knowing it hadn’t rung, but just checking to make sure. Nope.





         I sat on the edge of the bed for a minute, trying to remember what my plans were for the day. With the phone still in my hand, I went into the bathroom and turned on the shower.          





         Just as I was about to put the phone on the sink counter, it rang, startling me. I scrambled to turn it on.          “Hello?” My voice sounded more alarmed than I would have liked but I couldn’t help it.





         “Hey, what’s up?” my brother Brian asked


.


         “Ah, nothing.” I replied, mildly disappointed, but still glad to have him on the phone. I wanted to bounce some ideas off of him.


”Are you working?”





         “No, I have the day off,” he said. “What’s your plan for the day?”





         “I’ve got to drop Dad’s taxes off at the lawyer’s office. Listen, have you talked to Maggie lately?” I asked, as I pulled the towel off of the curtain rod and plopped it into the dry sink.





         “Not since Mother’s Day. Haven’t you?”





         “I talked with her the day after and she really didn’t sound good. I have been leaving messages but she hasn’t called back at all. I tried her cell phone, but no answer there either.” I turned the hot water on, closed the curtain and left the room, shutting the door to let the steam build up.





         “So, she’s working probably.”





         “Well, that’s the thing. She always calls me back, even just to say she got my messages. She knows she can call after midnight ‘cuz the phone’s downstairs and she won’t be waking anyone up.” My pacing back and forth through the bedroom was starting to make my voice sound labored.





         “What, are you worried about it or something?” My brother, always the genius.





         I hesitated. Brian tends to get preachy when I tell him I am worried about something, so I had to decide how much to tell him.





         “No, not exactly. But, she hasn’t been in the best of moods and I just hope…”





         As I had expected, Brian interrupted me.





         “I’m sure she’s fine. She’s been working all the time. Have you tried to call Kaylee’s cell?”





         “I don’t have her number,” I said as I went back into the hazy bathroom.





         He rummaged through his phone directory and gave me the number as I wrote it down on the mirror with the bar of soap.





         “Call me when you get in touch with one of them. And, don’t get all ruffled. I hate it when you do that.” Brian was done, empathy in tact.


I hung up the phone and put it on the sink ledge and then switched on the radio.





        The hot shower failed to wash away the worry. As a matter of fact, the tangy smell of the soap awakened my thoughts as I listened to the morning news, a bit more intensely than usual, waiting to hear news of two unidentified people found in an apartment, no names pending the notification of next of kin, something like that. There was a car crash with minor injuries, a robbery downtown, a freak earthquake in the Berkshires, but thankfully, nothing to which I could link my sister’s disappearance.





        I hurried through the rest of my morning routine and settled at the kitchen table with my coffee and the phone, trying to figure out an excuse for calling Kaylee. Just used the wrong number, trying to get in touch with your mom, I’d say. Sounded good.





        When I dialed the number, it went straight to voice mail. Not a comforting result. I hung up without leaving a message and sat at the table a moment longer before gathering my dad’s papers together for the lawyer. After I run this errand, I’m going to check Maggie’s place, I told myself and I headed out the door.





        The ride was nerve racking. With every approaching mile, my blood pressure increased a point and was pounding in my ears by the time the lawyer’s exit came up. Can’t wait, I have to go to Magg’s first. The lawyer will be there later. The exit zoomed by as I headed for the Farmington off ramp.





        Her car was sitting in the driveway, dusted in yellow pollen. I sat for a minute and stared at the house. No broken windows, no door left agape. Hmm.





        My legs were heavy with expectation as I approached the front door. Before I knocked, I listened for music, television, any sound that would say my sister and her daughter were just inside, hanging out for the day. No sounds.





        I knocked on the windowless door and stood back, as if it would come slamming open at me. There was nothing, though. I knocked again and waited, getting up close this time. Still, no answer.





        “Hello?” I inquired in regular street voice volume. I knocked the old shave-and-a-haircut knock, waiting insanely for the two-bits return.





        “Maggs?” I knocked again and then tried the knob, which was locked, of course.





          I walked around to the back door and rapped on the window.





        “Kaylee? Maggs? Are you in there?” I looked through the crack in the curtain and saw the usual tidiness of her kitchen. There were pizza boxes on the floor and an empty soda bottle near a teetering pile of papers. I tried the knob and it slowly turned in my shaking hand.





        With the door opened just a crack, I gave one more warning cry.





        “Hey, it’s me. Are you in here? Maggie?”





        The kitchen smelled faintly of corned beef hash. There were no dishes in the sink but there was a pile of pans on the stovetop with days-old crust in them. I walked into the living room and my attention was drawn towards the faux fireplace mantel that she had bought last winter, after Dad had died. She had said she wanted to warm up the room, make it feel like Dad’s used to back in the day. She even put his model of the Neuschwanstein castle smack in the middle. Dad used to gloat about how he had actually been there, so he had no need to go to Disney’s fake one. My eyes swept over the couch, that hateful lump I was relegated to on our overnight visits, and stopped at the front door.





        Magg’s keys were hanging in the lock.





        My body turned towards the hallway while my eyes remained on the keys.





        In a slightly lower voice, I called out, ”Maggie?”





        I started down the hallway and picked up the tinny sound of her alarm clock radio. The bedroom door was open and I could make out Mick Jagger telling someone he would be their “knight in shining ah-mah.”





        My voice dropped down to a hoarse whisper.





        “Hello?”





        I stopped in the doorway. The room was empty but the bed had been made, which is not my sister’s style at all. The window was closed and the lights were off.





        I pivoted to the right to Kaylee’s bedroom door, which was closed. The paper sign read,” The Princess is not taking appointments at this time.” It was off kilter and splattered with fingernail polish. I knocked on the door.





        “Kaylee?” I nudged the door open.





        The room was a mess, but no worse than any other pre-teen, I guessed. There was fingernail polish was on the walls here as well, words written by bored girls, more than likely, treating the room like a bathroom stall. It was amazing to me that Maggie would let them do this. Seeing no one was in there either, I headed back out to the living room.





        Those damn keys. What the hell is going on?





        I turned to the computer and hit the standby button. The picture of my dad’s house and the cherry tree Maggie had told me about came up. It was a photo of the house 35 years ago, just about the time my parents bought it.  Everything in the picture was tinted sepia, making it look ancient, except for the tree, which was painted an iridescent red, trunk and all. A thought occurred to me and I grabbed at the phone next to the desk.





        “Brian? I got no answer on Kaylee’s cell, but I’m at her house right now. Can you come over here? There’s an issue.”





Word count: 1501