Only Daughter - Anna Snoekstra MIRA

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you remember these people?” he asks.

      “Yes,” I say. “Of course. But…you know. It’s been a long time.” My heart is pounding and the T-shirt squeezes under my arms, making me sweat. This feels like a test.

      “Do you remember her?” He points a finger at a young girl. She’s very pretty, even in the ugly uniform. Her blonde hair is pulled up into a ponytail and her eyes sparkle. I realize I do recognize her; she was in most of the pictures on Rebecca’s wall.

      “She was my best friend,” I say, and then I remember the father’s words from earlier. “Lizzie.”

      “And the others?” Malik asks. That must mean I got it right.

      “I remember Lizzie. The rest… I know that I know them…” I try to look upset. “I hate being confused like this.”

      “It’s okay, Bec. We’ll take it slow.” Andopolis’s voice is soothing. “These are the last people who saw you before you disappeared. This is Ellen Park. She was your manager.”

      She looks like she’s in her midtwenties maybe, with a look of premature worry in her eyes.

      “This is Lucas Masconey.” He points to a good-looking guy in his early twenties.

      “And Matthew Lang. He was the cook.” This guy is big and beefy with a bunch of silver rings through his ear. “Do you remember him?”

      “Kind of,” I say.

      “Anything specific?” Malik presses. This Matthew guy must have been a suspect. Trust the cops to go for the most obvious person.

      “No,” I say, a little too harshly.

      I look down at my hands and force myself to breathe. I had to do something; I was already breaking character. I couldn’t be anything other than a victim, not even for a moment.

      “So, how long until you gave up looking?” I ask.

      Andopolis looks up at me, something dark passing across his face.

      “It’s not that we gave up. The investigation just went cold.” He averts his eyes as he continues and I realize what he’s feeling: guilt. “Every lead was followed. Do you understand?”

      “Yes.”

      I see the guilt there again, even though he tries to hide it.

      “Let’s try to concentrate on that day,” says Malik. “We were talking about your last shift at McDonald’s.”

      I had to get rid of Malik. I could see he was a good detective, yet he didn’t seem to have much of an ego. He just saw this case as his job and I was an important part of it. But that’s all.

      “Actually, I wouldn’t mind a cup of tea. If that’s okay,” I say quietly, looking at Malik.

      “Okay,” he says. “Won’t be a minute.”

      As soon as the door clicks shut I lean forward.

      “I don’t like him!” I say in a panicked whisper.

      “Why?” Andopolis asks, surprised.

      “He scares me. I don’t feel right when he’s here. Can’t it just be you?”

      I can see Andopolis’s chest swell ever so slightly. Idiot. He didn’t like him either; he probably didn’t want to share his case with some new hotshot.

      “I trust you,” I add. “Please?”

      “Let me see what I can do.”

      He pushes himself off the couch and walks out of the room. I wonder what conversation they’re having behind the mirror right now. I force myself not to look.

      After a few minutes Andopolis comes back with a cup of tea and the tiniest trace of a triumphant smile on the corners of his mouth.

      “Okay, Bec, it’ll just be me from now on.”

      “Thank you!” I say.

      “It’s fine.” He puts the tea down on the little table next to me. “If you ever feel upset or uncomfortable I want you to tell me. I’ll do everything I can to try and fix it. Deal?”

      “Deal,” I say, giving him my best innocent eyes. He thinks we are on the same side.

      “Great. Now, when you’re ready, we really do need to talk about that night. The night you were taken. Anything you remember would be so helpful in finding who did this.”

      He was treating me like a fragile child, which was exactly what I wanted.

      “I do remember something,” I say.

      “What?” he asks.

      I stare into the middle distance for a while, counting to ten in my head, letting the heavy silence fill the room.

      “I was cold and scared,” I say when I reach ten. “Everything was black.”

      I talk slowly, letting the suspense build. “I remember hearing sirens. They were getting closer and closer. I thought I was saved. But then they kept going. They got quieter. I knew they weren’t for me.”

      I look up at him and his face is twisted with guilt and shame. I have him.

      “I’m tired now. And I’d like to see my parents.”

      * * *

      As the father drives us home, I want to fall asleep in the back seat. I really am tired.

      “Do you mind if I have a little nap before they get in?” I ask. I’ve already forgotten the brothers’ names.

      “Of course. You must be exhausted.”

      Lying down between Rebecca’s sheets, I wonder for a moment whether they were changed. Or whether these are the same sheets that she had lain in, eleven years ago, on the morning that she would leave her house and never return. They must have been changed, surely.

      Soon, I hear the front door opening and then two male voices. Her brothers must be here. They’ll expect me to go down and greet them, but the idea of getting up again seems impossible. My arm is throbbing. The bandage feels too tight. I’ll go in a minute, I decide. Let the mother be the one to fill them in on the details, on the memory loss and my arm.

      Turning over, I realize I don’t care if they changed Rebecca’s sheets or not. They feel warm and silky soft. Having my own bed in the hospital had been good, but this was amazing. Feeling so safe and comfortable made the week that had just passed feel unbelievable, like some sort of nightmare.

      When I wake it’s starting to get dark. I don’t even remember falling asleep. I pull myself out of bed, a foul taste in my mouth, brush my fingers through my hair and open my bedroom door. I have to face them sooner or later and the longer I put it off the harder it will be. Walking down the stairs, I notice the house is strangely quiet, but all the lights are on. For a moment I think maybe they’ve gone out, but surely they wouldn’t have left me here alone so soon.

      I hear very faint movement on my right. I turn toward it and the kitchen opens up in front of me. There they are. The mother, the father and the two brothers sitting around a circular kitchen table. Dirty plates are in front of each of them. They must have just had dinner. No one is speaking or even looking at one another.

      I hesitate for a second in the doorway, waiting for them to move, to notice my presence, but they don’t. They sit together in silence with straight backs but empty eyes and lowered heads. I guess it’s been a tough day for them, too. Still, something feels strange, slightly off, about this sparkling image of family. But I have bigger problems right now, so I ignore it and walk in to join them.

      Bec, 11 January 2003

      It was almost one in the morning when Bec finally

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