Lost & Returned

Overrated, overpaid and exaggerated- that’s what Paige Jones thought about the Media industry as she watched the Tuesday morning news. There was the standard close-up on Jeff Murphy’s tan and botched face as he shifted topics from toxins in Dairy products to the longest mass murder investigation ever known in Orange County. The case opened up a couple of weeks ago when people disappeared. When police had no evidence leading to the bodies, they deemed it as a “missing person’s” case; stamping pictures of the victim’s face on milk cartons and putting up posters on street lamp posts. Paige happened to stop in the entrance of Wal-mart the other day and saw their posters, still hanging on the back wall. There was footage of the families reaching out to their communities for help in finding their baby girl, loving husband, and sickly grandparents.

Then, after a month of searching, police finally found a body-a sixteen year boy, washed up along the shore of a beach. It was supposed to solve everything, or so the police thought. Other bodies started turning after that, which only led to more questions, rather than answers and the police had no plausible leads. There were only theories-a rapist who enjoyed leaving scratches on their victim’s body and a serial killer who mauled off their faces. Now after several weeks of waiting, the lab results were in. Paige held her breath, trying not to hope for the worst.

“Forescenic’s found traces of unidentifiable animal DNA on the victim’s, leading police to believe that these are indeed animal attacks.”

Paige turned her gaze down at the floor. Just an animal attack they say-another theory. They made it sound so cliché, almost like it just another hip-cup from mother nature. It was man vs. the wild, the oldest tale ever known to humankind. Yet, Paige knew they didn’t even know half the story. She could only imagine what the county police would think once they realized it wasn’t just some crazed person or animal that did this. Paige had seen many things in the last two years, things no human could within stand or stomach. She had seen mutilated bodies that were far beyond recognizably human, the gushing blood and exposed intestines-it was happening all over again. No matter how many times she turned off the tv, her radio in the car or how many sleeping pills she took within a single night, she couldn’t ignore what was happening out there to those innocent people. Although Paige hated to admit it, this case was far beyond the police’s jurisdiction. No one could really do anything to stop it, except one, Megan Fauls, her ex.

Paige checked the clock hanging over the flat screen on the wall. It was a quarter to eleven. Only twenty minutes away from her actual appointment time. Paige sat in her chair, anxiously looking around the small waiting room. A balding man, reading the Daily Times sat in one corner of the room, while a teenager with a shaved head, texting single-handedly sat in another. In between them, were a bickering husband and wife. Neither of them could decide who was taking custody of the child-a Beagle, named Pluto. Whenever they raised their voice, Paige glanced in their direction. She dreaded becoming those types of people; wasting eighty-dollars per session on a shouting match all because of a damn dog.

She had rather been single than in misery but sometimes, those things went hand in hand. Her grandmother taught her about two kinds of women in the world, those meant to live alone and others who marry. Paige was thirty-five, with no children, no ring and no husband, or rather, a wife. Marrying another woman, however, was not the issue here. Her excuse used to be that it was the Churches fault for refusing legalization of her right to marry another woman. But times were different and the world was tearing down its walls. But even in the name of all things free and right, she was having difficulty letting down her own barriers. Ever since she turned twenty-five, she yearned for the married life, a nice house, a good wife and five beautiful children. It was all she ate, drank and slept on. Now those dreams were locked away somewhere inside her, not completely gone but somehow, dormant. Paige knew deep inside the real issue wasn’t the state or the Churches. It had been staring her in the face, gnawing at the back of her mind and haunting her in her dreams for the last two years. It was the very reason why she started seeing a shrink every Tuesday morning.

The only woman she wanted, craved for, lived for and embarrassingly desired was non-existent- she wasn’t even human. Perhaps she should’ve seen it coming; Megan was a ghost to the world of humans. What they had, what they went through was irrelevant, because to the outside world, it wasn’t real. Relationships didn’t thrive on the fairy-tale depiction of Beauty and the Beast; a human falling for a monster. But somehow, her’s did. And maybe other’s would find it hard to believe but Paige didn’t care. She knew what she felt for Megan was real. It was realer than any anything she ever experienced before. Knowing that, however, didn’t seem to soften the pain of heartbreak any less than it did the day Megan walked out on her.

Paige saw the door to Dr. Jenkin’s office open and found Sylvia standing in the doorway. She was dressed in a bland suit and pants, with the grandmother shoes to match. Her blonde hair wound tightly into a neat bun. “Paige,” she said. She waved her over with a clipboard.

Paige rose from her chair and followed Sylvia into her office. She took a seat by the glass windows, gazing out at the clear skies. Below was the usual morning traffic; cars were crammed behind cars, putting on their screeching breaks and blowing their horns at one another. Her favorite radio host on 93.1 said there was an accident on the highway coming from the west.

There were only two reason’s why Floridians got into car accidents; they take their eyes off the road for too long or were driving too fast to begin with. Paige wouldn’t be surprised if it were second one; the speed limit was almost always seventy or higher on the highway. Sometimes she thought Orlando might as well be New York.

Sylvia sat on the opposite end of the room, settling nicely into her leather chair. She briefly looked through pages of notes over her clipboard before looking at Paige. A forced smile sliced her face. “So how are you?” she asked. “How’s these last couple of weeks been for you?”

Paige folded her hands and then unfolded them. “Better, I guess . . . there’s still a lot to get through-with the boxes and the movers,” she said and rubbed at her temples. “There’s just so many boxes in my apartment now.”

“Have you decided to call them yet?” Sylvia asked.

Paige chewed on her lip before shaking her head. “I haven’t decided yet. She keeps telling me ‘no, don’t call them, I’ll come get them’ but . . .,” Paige said, stopping herself short.

She shook her head.

She tried not to think too hard about the boxes full of Megan’s stuff back home. Paige’s apartment may have been large, with a master bathroom and bedroom, but it was tightly packed. Crammed boxes took up all the wall space of her bedroom. What belonged to her anymore was anyone’s guess. More boxes stood in teetering stacks amid the rest of Megan’s leather jackets, chokers and chains. One night, she spotted a very particular object-a vibrator-from the large collection of sex objects Megan either purchased or borrowed from the girls down at the club she worked at. Paige had broken the tool in half. After that, she threw her leather jackets out her apartment window-a free donation to the homeless who always hung around her apartment at night. It had been a hard night.

It was even harder accepting her girlfriend’s lifestyle. She danced around poles for a living, liked the company of other women (besides the very one she was committed too), and left for days without one phone call. She also had a bad habit of making friends in the wrong places and killing them later. It was a curse, passed down to her from her father and she had no control. The moon was her ruler and she obeyed. There were others like her, who she often called her family. Now she was their leader. She was a part of a world most failed to understand. There were limitations in her world and secrets hidden for centuries by those before her and her father. Exposure would lead to hunts, deaths and war. Paige was knowledgeable of these matters, more so than she liked to admit. At times, she worried if it were a bad thing; to know so much while other’s around her knew so little.

“I just wish she would mean it, when she’s say’s it. She’s going to come do this, come get this or that when she says going to do it. No excuses. You know?” Paige said.

Dr. Jenkins nodded her head. “How does that make you feel when she doesn’t show up?”

Paige sighed and said, “Stuck, I feel stuck.”

“Have you had any formal contact with her recently, outside of text?” Sylvia asked.

“Not in the last three weeks no,” Paige said. She looked out the window again, thinking of the time her and Megan went skinny-dipping at the beach. Paige remembered worrying about some weirdo spying on them or worse, getting busted by the cops. Since she wouldn’t come willingly, Megan carried Paige into the water herself, kicking and screaming. She remembered her telling her to shush and to look up at the sky. Paige had stopped and gazed up at the silver moon. It was beautiful and she turned back to Megan, giving a slow smile. But it faded once she saw her eyes; they were a neon green. “It’s better that way, anyway. I don’t have the reminder staring me right in the face all the time. I can just forget everything.”

“You can but it’s a process. I’m certain you’ll get there,” Dr. Jenikens said. “You’ve already taken the first and most important step.”

Paige gazed up at her.

“You walked away,” she said. “You were smart enough to know you deserved better.”

“Yeah, right,” Paige scoffed. “Sometimes it’s hard getting out of bed or even walking to my car. I still go to work, workout at the gym, and been on a couple of dates but . . .”

“Have there been good ones?” Slyvia smiled, a bit too eager for Paige’s taste.

“No,” Paige said. “I don’t want anything serious, anyway. It’s too soon.”

Slyvia nodded, the smile slowly faded. “Understandable. It’s a process and right now, you seem to be moving in the right direction.”

Paige smiled weakly. “Trying my hardest.”

Slyvia scribbled something on her notepad, her glasses slowly falling down the bridge of her nose. Without looking up, she asked, “Going back to your earlier point about the struggle of getting out of bed and the walk to your car – I know we’ve talked about you gradually working on forcing yourself to do activities, which you are. Do you feel more comfortable being alone now, than our first session?”

“Not entirely,” Paige said. “I still feel as though I’m being followed . . . before it was a couple of times but now it’s happening more often. The voices and the noises-they’re everywhere.”

“I remember you said after the break-up, you thought this girl was stalking you. That maybe she was mad at you for ending the relationship,” Slyvia said. “Have you given any thought to calling the police?”

Paige looked away from the window. “I don’t need to-she would never hurt me. Not intentionally.”

“People are capable of anything Paige,” Slyvia said.

“Not her.”

Slyvia took off her glasses and sighed.

“Besides, I can protect myself,” Paige added. “I carry a tube of pepper spray in my purse and kick-box on a regular basis.”

Slyvia grinned and shook her head. “You’re better than most of us.” Paige smiled.

“So tell me about your sleep patterns?” Slyvia continued. “How’s the medication working for you?”

Paige thought back to two nights ago. The dream was vague and abstract, yet laced with the same overwhelming theme of an unrecognizable animal with steel, green eyes, chasing her through the woods. They reminded her of Megan’s eyes but were unfamiliar. “I slept fine after taking the medication but for the last couple of weeks, the nightmares have become more frequent. The last one was different, not like before where it was the same dream.”

“What do you mean?” Slyvia asked.

“I’m usually chased by . . . a person, with her eyes,” Paige said.

“And you said once that it was your ex.”

“Yes but this time, it wasn’t her,” Paige said. “It was . . . . someone else.”

“Someone else?” Slyvia asked. “Did you recognize this person?”

Paige bit her lip. Any other shrink would have thought she was crazy but not Slyvia. She wanted ever last dollar she could get. “No.”

“You don’t think it could’ve been your friend, an old girlfriend, your father or possibly your mother?” Slyvia probed.

Paige frowned. She hadn’t spoken to her mother since high-school. In her senior year, she made up her mind to introduce her long-time girlfriend to her parents. Her dad, a Native American man who grew up on the theory of Two-Spirited people, accepted her regardless. On the other hand, her mother was the traditional, black Christian woman who would not allow the

Devil to defy God’s good word. That following summer, all her college decision’s pointed in the direction of Keiser University.

“Sometimes dreams and nightmares are a result of repressed memories and recollections from our past,” Slyvia added.

Paige looked to her. She hadn’t paid her shade of lipstick any attention before but she noticed how greatly it contrasted with her light skin. Fusca did not suit her well. “I think we’re done here, for the day.”

Slyvia paused in her writing and put down her pen. “Alright,” Slyvia said. She glanced back at the digital clock on her wooden desk. It was twenty minutes to twelve. “Are you sure there’s nothing else you would like to discuss? We still have more ti . . .”

“I have a lot errands to run and my house hasn’t been cleaned since last week,” Paige interrupted, forcing a smile. She rose up from her chair before straightening out her skirt and blouse.

Slyvia smiled back and scribbled something else over her notepad. Afterwards, she stood up, tore off the yellow slip and handed it to Paige. It was an order for anti-depressants and sleeping pills, all increased by two or four milligrams.

“The dosages should help with the anxiety and sleep deprivation,” Slyvia said and walked

Paige to the door. “I’ll see you next week.”

Paige smiled politely and without another word, she left Dr. Jenkin’s office. Before returning home, she made stops at Dave’s market and picked up her medicine at the Pharmacy. For a while she hung out at the Florida Mall, window shopping at Nordstrom and chatting up the twenty-something year old, male reps at Apple who occasionally checked out her breast. She was willing to do just about anything to stay out. But the dwindling gas in her car eventually forced Paige to return home that night.

She parked her black coupe in the public garage and headed for the elevators. The familiar sound of footsteps followed close behind. Right on cue, she thought. She turned, whipping out her tube of pepper spray only to aim it at yet, another imaginary ghost. Paige lowered her weapon and breathed deeply.

“Megan?” she called softly into the empty garage. There was no reply. This was ridiculous. “This isn’t funny, Megan. We’re done, it’s over, okay? Just stay away.”

Paige paused for a moment, looking around the dim-lit garage. She half-expected a response this time, a final confirmation that it wasn’t all in her head. But as usual, no one responded.

Paige sighed and stepped behind the metal doors of the elevator. Once inside her apartment, Paige threw down her grocery bags on the floor and retrieved a bottle of wine from the frig. She poured herself a glass and a white fog of chill circled the rim. Paige took sips of her wine, savoring it’s taste. She looked to the phone sitting on the kitchen table. There were five missed calls. Reluctantly, Paige played the messages. Monica, her best friend since junior high, called about their lunch date for Thursday, adding I’ve found your new beau. Paige shook her head, she wished Monica would drop her part time job as a matchmaker. She loved her like a sister but sometimes she wished she’d back off. Paige didn’t have the heart to tell it to her face, especially after the accident from a month ago. She sighed and deleted the message. Next,

Sallie Mea left an automated message about her student loans, referencing last month’s payment and a late fee of ninety-dollars. The education system in this country was a damn sham. The other message’s that followed were promotions and bill collectors with foreign accents-all of which she deleted promptly.

Paige sauntered into the living room, kicking off her heels and took a seat on the couch. She turned on the television, aimlessly flipping through channels. Nothing except Progressive commercials was on tv. Paige downed one of her sleeping pills with wine, before settling for Love and Basketball. She used to hate sappy-chick flick movies because they adhered to patriarchal customs and male theories of the female psyche. Women were all emotional trainwrecks, indecisive or in her case, the alleged Angry Black Woman. Yet, she was captivated by Sanaa Lathan’s performance, leaving her in tears. Whether that was the wine, her medication or her inner femme talking, she couldn’t decide. All she knew is that whenever she thought back to the last two years of her life spent with Megan, it made sense to watch something utterly stupid and cry about it. Paige sobbed all the way into the wee hours of the night, until she fell asleep on the couch.

The next morning, Paige got dressed for work at Brookdale Press as usual. She spent most of her time working at the desk, scribbling up manuscripts for what seemed like decades.

There were comma splices, fragments, and transitioning issues on almost every submission. Maybe it was a bad morning; she only got six hours of sleep last night. Not to mention there was an uncomfortable crock in her neck from sleeping on the couch wrong. Eventually, a few submissions caught her attention. Five of them were supernatural pieces, dealing with witches, vampires and unfortunately, werewolves. Paige wished the literary Press would change the guidelines on the submission page to all genre fiction is welcomed, except rein dentitions of Twlight and Teen Wolf. It was becoming redundant to read manuscripts that dealt with one specific were-animal. Why couldn’t the author’s write a story about something as innocent as a wererabbit, or vibrant as a werebird or even a damn coyote? Hadn’t she been punished enough?

When her eight-hours were up at Brookdale, she had been more than happy to leave. Paige drove home in the late afternoon, hitting traffic on the highway. The ninety-degree weather made steam rise from the concrete in wavelengths. Even with the air conditioning on, Paige could feel her body starting to perspire. She decided to open the windows, hopeful for a natural breeze and tranquility. However, there was nothing but more humidity, the smell of car exhaust and screeching breaks. Paige felt a headache coming on and she wanted nothing more than to drink a chilled glass of wine; a fruity Mascato preferably.

The drink reminded her of the night she first met Megan. Monica had dragged her to a new night club on the upper eastside that had just opened. At first, Paige refused to go. To have drunk chicks pick her up, a butch grab her ass every five minutes and making out with groupies wasn’t her scene anymore. At thirty-two, a quiet evening paired with an Apple Martini was good enough. Yet, Paige’s boss, Cynthia, had been on her ass that week. She suffered a nasty divorce and took out it on everyone at the office. Paige, being the Senior Editor and pretty much the face of the company, needed a break.

Upon entering the club, Paige was shocked to find half-naked girls twirling around poles and grinding on stranger’s laps. Monica promised it wasn’t anything crazy and wild. Knowing her best friend, Paige should’ve expected the unexpected. For the entire night, she stayed by the mini bar, quietly sipping at her cherry-banana flavored Mascato while Monica threw one-dollar bills at the girls on stage. Then Paige noticed Megan, a girl with dirty blonde hair and green eyes watching her from across the bar. She looked to be in her late teens, which was just what Paige needed; a Poppa with a fetish for mature women. Worst-case scenario, she was looking for a mother. Megan had been talking with a group of scantily clad girls, while shooting Paige occasional glances. Eventually, she rounded the saloon and offered her another round. Paige had laughed in her face. What was a teenager doing offering her a drink? She was at least twice her age and Page made sure she knew the deal. Megan argued she was a couple of decades older than her. Page couldn’t get over the ridiculous biker, slut look; blotchy mascara, the black leather and excessive cleavage. Page knew for sure Megan wasn’t her type. She was too ratchet.

Yet, there was something about her that made Paige curious. Most times, Paige wished they never met.

When she finally made it off the highway, Paige pulled up into the public garage of her apartment complex and parked her Mercury Cougar on the second level. Tired, she took the elevators up to her apartment floor. Once inside the complex, she flipped on the light switch and went straight for the frig. She paused at the door when something familiar caught her eye. Paige peered over the kitchen island and noticed a young girl sitting on the couch in the living room.

All she could see was the back of their head. She had a head full of hair, curly and a dirty blonde.

No, Paige thought. She felt her heart sink when the teenager returned her gaze.

“Hey,” she said.

Paige watched her rise from the couch in disbelief.

“We need to talk.”