CHAPTER 57

Connie didn’t know where she was so she had no idea of where she was going. It was very dark and very late. Under ordinary circumstances she would have felt uneasy at best, but surprisingly, she felt very little. Physically and emotionally, she was numb and it took most of her concentration just to place one foot in front of the other and move forward. Weariness was kicking in and even after crossing several streets and circling many blocks, she didn't know where to go or what to do. Then she stopped. Across the intersection was a building that contained some activity even at this late hour. She wouldn’t exactly describe it as a safe haven but it would do. It was, at least, off the street and it was a place where she would probably go unnoticed. Connie waited for the light to change, reflexively looked both ways, crossed the empty street and stepped through the smeared door of a Trailways bus station.

The bus depot was an old one that looked like the movie set for a docudrama about the disenfranchised. Connie counted only six people in the terminal at this hour, including a distracted ticket seller who was currently captivated by a tabloid which proclaimed on its cover that the Blessed Virgin was alive on earth and living in a trailer in Scottsdale, Arizona. Fluorescent tubes provided practical but cold light which made people look a little more sinister than they probably were. One of the tubes flickered now and again, threatening to give out altogether. The air was thick and heavy, despite the chill caused by an over-active air conditioner. Empty soda cups littered the floor near unemptied, sand-filled ash cans that overflowed with cigarette butts. The general appearance of the station could best be described as ‘seedy’, the atmosphere – ‘bleak’. It was perfect. Connie would be relatively safe and invisible.

She took a seat at one end of a long, wooden, two-sided bench that lay at the far end of the station. There she sat facing a wall with her back to the ticket window. She had tried to avoid the pain of reexamining what had happened earlier today but the lack of distraction was making it difficult to focus on other things. The image of Kevin, naked and with another woman, played on a continuous loop in her mind’s eye.

Connie glanced over her shoulder. No one seemed to notice her. When she shifted back around in her seat, her eyes fell to a newspaper that some traveler had left behind on the bench. People often use reading to feign preoccupation when they’re alone and feeling a little self-conscience. Connie was no exception. Even though she was fairly certain that no one was paying her any mind, she felt the need to look ‘busy’. Busy people rarely raised curiosity.

She picked up the newspaper, unfolded it and stared at the newsprint. The words ran together into faded, gray stripes as she studied the page. She comprehended nothing, however after a few minutes she opened the paper and folded back the page, her mind still relatively blank. Again, all she really saw in front of her was a nonsensical jumble of letters and words that were occasionally broken up with hazy photographs or advertisements. But then, down near the left corner of the page, her brain targeted a single word, magnified it and delivered it to her conscience. The word was ‘Backstreet’.

Connie’s brain began to process the words in the short column, even against her will. Her heart, already frozen, began to splinter as it became wrapped in the revelation that Kevin Richardson, the oldest of the Backstreet Boys, was engaged to be married. Connie’s eyes traveled to the candid photo above the short paragraph. Although the woman in the picture held her hand up, blocking a small portion of her face, Connie had no trouble recognizing the blond as the same woman who had been in Kevin’s bed. She stared for a few more minutes as her mind drew obvious conclusions. Then she slowly ran her finger tip across the tiny pixels which formed the engagement ring that dressed the woman’s left hand before laying the paper back onto the bench and returning her gaze to the empty wall before her.

Blessed relief. Connie’s mind was quickly shifting into overload and shutting down, leaving her to wallow in a type of mental drunkedness. She sat facing forward, knees together and hands folded neatly in her lap, never moving except for the unfelt tremors that occasionally rocked her body. She had suffered rejection, fear and self-loathing at the hands of men but never such a sense of emptiness. It was if she were hollow inside – like a department-store mannequin. She even doubted her ability to bleed.

*****

“Shit, Kevin! Just try and cool it, will you? If anything bad had happened to Connie, we would have heard about it by now!”

Jeffrey had his hands full. Between attempts to control media sharks with explanations and retractions, he had to deal with an emotionally and mentally distressed client whose usual stoic demeanor was now fluctuating between anger, worry, self-abasement, regret and helplessness. His comments had actually been an attempt to calm Kevin but in reality, Jeffrey had little faith in his own statement. A lot of things could have happened to Connie that they might be completely unaware of. As he glanced around the room, he could see that everyone shared this thought although they all had the good sense not to verbalize it.

The bulk of Kevin’s frustration came in ‘not knowing’. He was unable to buy into the theory that ‘no news is good news’. The remainder of his misery was rooted in the helplessness that washed over him. All he knew to do was pace. All anyone else knew to do was watch him.

“She could have been picked up….” Kevin speculated out loud.

“Sure!” Howie smiled, trying to offer some reassurance. “She’s probably sitting in a…..”

“….by some psychopath.” Kevin interrupted.

Howie’s smile faded. Kevin continued as his imagination projected increasingly morbid possibilities.

“She could be in the trunk of a car or the back of a van right now - unconscious and being taken God knows where. Held against her will. Hurt…”

“Kevin…. Don’t…” Brian said softly, shaking his head.

“Or she could be injured or lost!” Kevin’s voice began to rise as he became more agitated. “She didn’t have a fuckin’ car, but she’s gone! Vanished! She could be anywhere in any…” Kevin paused and swallowed. “…condition. And I can’t do a goddamn thing about it! The police won’t do anything for another sixteen hours! I can’t even…”

“She has a pager,” Hannah broke in.

Kevin screeched to a halt and stared at Hannah’s back as she scurried out of the room.

“What?” Kevin shouted. “What did you say?”

Hannah reappeared and began flipping through a small address book.

“I had almost forgotten,” she said as her finger followed a list of names down the small page. “Connie has a pager. I never noticed it when I first knew her because she usually keeps it in a pocket – out of sight and she doesn’t carry it unless she’s going to be away from friends. I know she must have had it on her when she flew down here.”

Nick gave voice to the obvious question.

“Why does Connie have a pager? It’s not like she can even hear the thing. What does she need one for?”

“She sets it on ‘vibrate’,” Hannah explained with a patience she didn’t feel. “If someone needs to contact her, they can put in an e-mail address or a phone number. She can’t do much with phones but she can IM or e-mail the person who’s trying to reach her. She tries to make sure she’s close to a computer whenever she can be.”

“And if she’s not near a computer?” Amanda asked.

“If she needs to, she’ll ask someone to place a call for her. She’s a little proud but not stupid…”

The room grew quiet as all eyes turned to Kevin.

“What if she ignores the page? What if she doesn’t answer it?” he murmured.

“What if she does?” Hannah answered.

“What if she can’t?” he choked.

“What if she can?” Hannah countered.

Kevin rubbed his eyes, trying to steel himself against any unrealistic hope. Emotionally, he was hanging on for dear life but he had to try to be practical. Right now, this possibility was all he had. His hands dropped from his reddened eyes as he issued the order.

“Do it, Hannah. Page her.”

Chapter 58

Pappy Dawson almost had a heart attack when the small plastic box he was examining began to emit a series of short loud beeps.

“Shit!”

He had almost dropped it but managed to surprise himself by intercepting the pager before it hit the floor. It was still beeping.

“Christ… What’d I do?” he mumbled.

He had just been fiddling with it a little. He had moved a small button on the side from ‘VIB’ to ‘TONE’ but, hell, he hadn’t meant to mess it up and now the damn thing wouldn’t stop making that irritating screech. It sounded like a damn alarm or something…. He turned the plastic over in his hands several times before he found a button near a small display screen and pressed it down with a ragged fingernail. Thank God, the noise stopped – but a number appeared on the screen. 813-831-7272 911.

“Awww, fuck…..”

Somebody was trying to get in touch with that pretty red-headed lady. That wouldn’t have concerned him so much since he had watched her toss the pager away in the trash. Apparently, she didn’t want for anybody to get in touch with her, but whoever was looking for her had put a ‘911’ after the phone number. 911 meant emergency. Pappy frowned as he walked over to the window and looked down at the street. Everything was closed up now – even Pete’s. The woman was nowhere in sight.

He placed the now silent pager on the window sill, determined to ignore the damn thing and get it sold as soon as possible, but even as he straightened and swept, his eyes continually darted back to the sill and the small black box. A half-hour later as he leaned against his broom handle and brought his flask up to his lips, the pager sounded again. Its shrill tones seemed to echo off the walls and, once again, startled him. This time, his flask fell to the floor, spilling it’s precious contents.

“Goddamn it!” he cursed as he bent to retrieve his liquor. “Fuck!” The flask was all but empty.

Pappy sighed in disgust and marched back over to the window, bound and determined to figure a way to turn that damn thing off. It was starting to spook him a little. This time, when he checked the screen, the same telephone number appeared – this time followed by ‘911…911…911…’

*****

Back at the grove house, the atmosphere was growing increasingly intense. Leighanne had finally reached the point where she couldn’t stand anymore and excused herself to go back to her room. Amanda, Jeffrey and the rest of the group had left the room as well, in order to give Kevin some space. He had stopped talking and had been staring at the phone, willing it to ring. AJ couldn’t help but think of the similarities between the dynamics in this room and those you’d find at a wake. He patted Kevin on the shoulder as he passed through the door but his small gesture went unnoticed. Kevin had stopped responding to questions and remarks some time ago.

Now only Hannah remained. As Kevin’s eyes remained riveted on the telephone, Hannah’s eyes remained riveted on him. She felt sorry for his anguish. She really did – but she was angry with him, too. So terribly angry… Finally, she sighed, pulled herself up from the chair and stepped over to a small bar against the far wall of the sitting room. There, she filled two tumblers halfway to the top with Jack Daniels and took one of them over to Kevin.

“Thanks…” he said softly before accepting the glass and raising it to his lips.

He took two large swallows of the amber liquid before he spoke again.

“I know you must hate me, Hannah…”

Hannah sighed, turned away from Kevin’s gaze, and went back to her chair in the corner where she sat and pulled a cigarette and match out of her pocket. She lit the smoke and inhaled deeply as she formulated a response to Kevin’s statement. Then she exhaled slowly and locked her eyes onto his.

“Kevin, I feel bad for you right now. I know you’re hurting and scared. I know Connie’s hurting and scared. I don’t exactly understand all of what happened today with you and that…that woman,” Hannah scowled. “But I gotta tell you this. If anything has happened to Connie, then yes, I will be hating you.”

Kevin peered into the depths of his glass and nodded with a degree of understanding. “I love her Hannah,” he said simply, his voice cracking and strained.

“I hope to hell that’s true,” Hannah answered seriously. “But I’m not the one you have to convince.

*****

It was almost two AM and Connie still hadn’t moved. No one bothered her. No one approached her. No one noticed her – or so she thought. The ticket seller, a ‘sixty-something’, black-haired, hard looking, tabloid-reading woman with large, horseshoe shaped earrings and a bad dye job had noticed her. Pretty ladies like Connie didn’t usually hang around bus stations in the middle of the night and Bertha Parker doubted that this red-head was waiting for a bus to arrive. If she was, she was a bit early. The next coach, coming from Jacksonville, wasn’t due in until seven AM – five hours from now – and she hadn’t bought a ticket or even asked a question about arrivals and departures.

Bertha thought that the young woman looked a little lost and judging from the shakes that rocked her every so often, she also wondered if this girl was coming down off something. She didn’t normally butt into other people’s business but something was off kilter here. Connie just didn’t belong here and Bertha thought that she had looked a little dazed or something. Besides, she hadn’t moved in over an hour.

Bertha left the ticket window and approached the bench where Connie was seated. Connie didn’t seem to notice her and when Bertha spoke to her from one end of the bench, Connie never flinched – and her eyes never left the wall in front of her.

“Hey, lady!” Bertha asked in a sharp tone. “You waitin’ for a bus or somethin’?”

Connie didn’t answer.

“Ain’t no bus comin’ for five more hours….” Bertha announced.

Connie still stared and began to rock slowly as her eyes closed.

“Hey! You sick or somethin’?”

No response.

Bertha didn’t come any closer. She backed up a couple of steps and turned back to the ticket window. The girl must be crazy or retarded or something. Ain’t never seen her before and she sure as shit don’t belong here… She belongs somewhere, alright, but not here. She just ain’t right… She wasn’t sure what to do. This innocent looking young woman could be a real nut case, for all she knew. Or maybe she hit her head and doesn’t know where she is… Bertha finally decided to give her friend Hank a quick call. Hank was an old friend – a flat-foot who worked out of the precinct station two blocks away. He was on duty tonight. Maybe he would know if someone was looking for a pretty, red-headed, retarded woman….

*****

Pappy sat at the warehouse manager’s desk with the phone placed directly in front of him. He had picked up the receiver and put it back down several times as he thought of reasons not to call the number that had come up on the pager.

“It’s a mistake to get involved in crap that ain’t none of your beeswax…” he muttered aloud as he replaced the receiver. “Besides, I know I’ll catch some shit for even havin’ this pager.” Pappy hesitated. “But it said ‘911’…” He picked the phone back up. “Hell, she might have a sick kid or something… But this is a damn long-distance number. I’ll get in a world of trouble for usin’ this phone to make a long-distance call…” He returned the receiver to its cradle. “But it said ‘911’…. Fuck. I hate women…”

Pappy wiped his hand across his mouth, picked up the phone and began to dial.

*****

It was 2:30 AM when the phone at the grove house broke the silence with a piercing ring. Kevin almost jumped out of his skin and it took a second or two for his coordination to return before he could answer it. He was alone in the room now. Most of the others were still awake but had gone into the back yard so they could discuss the matter at hand without alarming Kevin any further. After several minutes, he stumbled out onto the veranda. Nick noticed him standing there first. Kevin’s eyes were wide and his mouth was slightly opened. He held a sheet of paper in his hand.

“Kev! What happened?”

Nick’s question caused the others to turn, surprised to see Kevin standing a few yards away. His earlier expression of distress had now become one of shock. Hannah’s stomach lurched. She couldn’t read Kevin’s eyes and feared that the unthinkable had happened.

“Phone. Te – te –telephone…” he stammered. “I think she’s in Lakeland….”