Calliope: Voice of the Writers
The Great Novel Race 2008:
Shattered Places
by Emily Craig
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Chapter 2
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Have You Seen this Child?
Lisbeth Ann Windsor
DOB: April 5, 1998 Sex: Female
Missing Date: June 19, 2004 Race: White
Age now: 8 Height: 45 inches
Missing City: Faye Weight: 44 lbs
Missing State: AL Hair color: brown
Missing Country: United States Eye color: brown
Circumstances: Lisbeth Ann was discovered missing from her home on Cotton Mill Drive at 12:30 AM
The fliers were posted everywhere. When Kae quietly left Andrew’s office and wandered out of the east wing of the faculty house and into the west wing it was as if she had entered another building. Her pink sneakers felt more at ease against the darkly stained carpet, and she strolled through the second floor as though she might have lived there her whole life. The chandeliers seemed to shine brighter here, and gossipy voices teemed in every study and every alcove. Here laughter was welcomed, and Kae was unsure whether it matched or clashed with the photographs of the little girl.
There must have been about fifty fliers in all, one per yard on every single wall. They were all identical, and not so much as a spot of blurred print was different. Until she reached the west wing, she had not seen anything like it. Actually, she considered, there had not even been a hint of Lisbeth Ann’s name since Kae had come into town until an hour ago when she had seen the framed drawing in Andrew’s little dark office. These pages were each hung neatly, every one hung the same distance from the floor. They were also fairly new, all smooth and untouched, and it made her unsure if someone had enthusiastically remembered, or if someone had cruelly made a point—that no cost of print and paper or amount of effort could ever bring back a little girl who had disappeared two years ago.
A woman’s voice from the end of the hall brought Kae back to her surroundings. Again, the flood of voices reached her ears, and she could smell a fresh pot of coffee as it brewed somewhere in the house.
“Katherine Danner?”
Kae shook free from all the distractions, and those disturbing words that hung like wallpaper, discovered missing from her home… discovered missing from her home…
“Yes,” she answered. “Yes, it’s Kae, actually. That’s me.”
She could see the woman now, a warm and familiar face—finally there was more familiarity, another sign that somewhere underneath this strange new place was home.
“You taught him piano, too, didn’t you?”
Mrs. Brandrick had grown considerably older since Kae had last seen her. Her hair had silvered around her ears, a new and pretty frame for an older, pretty face. Her skin was tanned a dark she had earned from years spent picking cotton, but its creases softly outlined her wide blue eyes that glowed with a young vibrancy most adults outgrow. She was like the energizer bunny, Kae thought. She kept going and going… For the next half hour after their reunion, the older woman barely stopped moving long enough to catch her breath or keep her balance. Once she had dragged Kae up another flight of stairs in search of more coffee, and back again to the second floor, she immediately began to show her every office door. She formally introduced Kae to each professor’s little brass plaque, and attached a long string of juicy characteristics to each and every name. In a little under five minutes, Kae hadn’t just learned about the mathematician’s nasty habit of snuffing out her cigarettes on the stair rail, but also the history professor’s tendency to rant and rave over some ancient battle as he paced up and down the hallway every Saturday afternoon. Mrs. Brandrick finally stopped in front of her own office door, and pulled a key from her coat. “He may seem insane,” she was saying, “but I promise he’s safe. His family lives in an old church.”
Kae looked up. “A church?”
Mrs. Brandrick turned the key, and let the door creak open. “Look at that,” she mused. “Pathetic piece of wood reminds me of my limbs. What decrepit houses this building and I are!” She kicked the door open the rest of the way and shuffled inside, and flicked on the lights. “Ancient spirits haunting both of us…”
“Spirits?”
“Well, I don’t intend to live on earth forever… as for this place”—the older woman set the stack of portfolios upon her desk, then leaned back and surveyed them—“as for this place, it’s about a hundred years old. Did you know it use to be a hotel? Well, the crazy kids have made up the campfire stories, and supposedly we have ghosts haunting every hall, including ghosts of people who aren’t even dead yet!”
Kae could not help but smile. Years ago, her and Andrew use to be some of those crazy kids, with imaginations both brave and unlimited. At least, his always was. When his father brought the two of them along when he had work to do here in the faculty house, she and Andrew spent their time roaming the halls, peeking into the many studies and filling them with ideas, stories, and fictional characters. And who could possibly blame them? The molding was elaborate, the walls rich with red and gold papers, and the air smelt of fine cherry wood and antique books. It was a wonderland, a sort of playground for the mind.
“You still with me?” Mrs. Brandrick asked from across the room.
Kae looked up and stepped into the office. “I’m sorry, I just keep thinking of how things use to be… So many memories here.”
“Aren’t there, though? Shut the door, sweetie, or Doug will come steal my coffee.”
Kae obeyed, and turned back to the room to take it all in. The office was huge, and much less tidy than Andrews, yet the clutter somehow added to Mrs. Brandrick’s prestige. From the worn leather volume of poets that set on the far right corner of her desk to the various quotes scrawled across her desk calendar to the gold-framed glasses perched on the tip of her nose, the woman’s belongings only confirmed scholarship.
With her eyes aglow, she finally said, “Now. You asked me a question earlier about Andrew. Well, the answer is yes. I did teach him piano. I wish I could say that I taught him everything he knows, but God knows otherwise.” She grinned warmly, “Have a seat, dear. I’m going to.” As she sat into her leather armchair, she continued. “Andrew has surpassed me in every way imaginable.” Her bright eyes held firmly onto Kae’s. “The man is brilliant—to say the least. But me--I can’t even play the chopsticks anymore… Arthritis tortures the pianist’s ambition.”
Kae nodded slowly with eyes squinted as though she understood, but her fingers crisscrossed each other as daintily as they pleased. “Um… I was wondering, does Andrew still play?”
Mrs. Brandrick leaned forward and reached for a gray booklet. “I haven’t heard him in some years, but yes,” she said as she straightened her glasses, “I imagine he still does—in the privacy of his home, of course.” She licked her fingers, and turned the first page of the booklet, as she added crisply, “The only place his modesty will allow his talents to flourish.”
“He plays rather well… or did.” Kae looked down to examine the intricate patterns on the rug as though suddenly they were of utmost important. It was silly to be shy, to be a little embarrassed that once upon a time she knew Andrew so well, and was his very dearest friend. But somehow she was shy, and somehow she was embarrassed, though not because of whom he was, but maybe because of whom she was.
However, Mrs. Brandrick thought nothing of it; she stayed ever attached to the uncertain compliment Kae had given to the quiet pianist. “Oh, he plays marvelously,” the older professor exclaimed. “And he knows what he’s mastered. He uses music and literature though they were tricks and spells. With them he gives us everything we want, and makes all the impossible possible.” Her eyes peered mystically over the gold rims of her glasses. “He’s not just a writer or pianist…he’s a magician.” Her smile stretched up to her sparkly eyes and she smacked her lips together in finality, “He’s just that good—and nobody knows because he won’t ever tell.”
“Seems a shame…”
“A waste, really.”
The gray booklet flapped down onto the desk top and Mrs. Brandrick raised a questioning eyebrow. “So now. You’re my new advisee, and we have a schedule to construct. Will you be in my English class, or has Andrew stolen your heart?”
Kae blushed. “Well, I—“
“Poets do, you know. Steal hearts, I mean. Have you met his wife?”
“You mean Miriam—“
“I think she’ll adore you. She adores everyone.”
“I’m sure she’s nice.”
“Well, she is. But right now let’s get you signed up for classes.” She grabbed a pen as though it was a knife and vigorously jabbed it into a yellow legal pad. She peeked up at Kae, “You’ll have history of course?”
“I suppose—“
“Western Civilization with Carmichael?”
“If—“
“It’s settled then,” she said with a jot of her pen. “I’m sure you’ll love him.”
The cool metal of the chain lock slid into place with a soft rattle. Here was her sanctuary, this dark motel room where she heard only her breath and only her voice. Here there was safety, with no quiet pianists and no black and white photographs of disappeared children. All the dangers were barred out, the tangle of evils she read of only in books and letters and newspapers and fliers.
Kae slid down onto the floor, her back against the blue painted door.
“With them he gives us everything we want, and makes all the impossible possible,” Mrs. Brandrick had said.
And makes all the impossible possible, thought Kae.
She hugged her legs together and buried her nose between her knees. It was so very quiet in here, and the loneliness felt very much alive, like a little cold creature sitting right beside her.
All the impossible possible.
But only in her dreams.
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