There's No Place Like Here (39 page)

“I found the place,” I said excitedly, the sounds and visions around me still blurred and faraway. My own voice was muffled. “I found the place where all the missing things go.”

“Yes, sweetheart, Jack told us,” Mum said in a worried tone.

“No, I’m not mad, I didn’t imagine it. I was really there.”

“Yes.” She hushed me. “You need to rest, sweetheart.”

“The photographs are in my shirt pocket,” I said, trying to explain all the details clearly, but it felt muddled in my head. “It’s not my shirt pocket, it’s Barbara Langley from Ohio’s. I found it. I put them in my pocket.”

“The guards didn’t find anything, honey,” Dad said quietly, not wanting anyone else to hear. “There aren’t any photographs.”

“They must have fallen out,” I mumbled, getting tired of trying to explain. “Is Gregory here?” I asked.

“No, shall we call him?” my mother asked excitedly. “I wanted to call him but Harold wouldn’t let me.”

“Call him” was the last thing I remember saying.

I awoke in my childhood bedroom and stared at the same floral wallpaper I was forced to look at all throughout my teens. I had hated it then. I couldn’t wait to see the back of it, but now it gave me a strange sense of comfort. I smiled, feeling delighted to be home for the first time in my life. There was no bag by the door, no feeling of claustrophobia or fear of losing things. I had been at home now for three days, catching up on sleep and resting my injured and weary body. I had broken my leg, twisted my ankle, and had ten stitches on the crown of my head, but I was home and I was happy. I often thought of Helena, Bobby, Joseph, and Wanda, and felt a longing to be with them but knew that they would understand what had happened, and wondered if they perhaps understood the entire time.

There was a knock on the door.

“Enter,” I called.

Gregory peeked his head around, then entered with a tray of food in his hands.

I groaned. “Not more food. I think you’re all trying to fatten me up.”

“We’re trying to make you well again,” he said somberly, placing the tray on the bed. “Mrs. Butler brought you the flowers.”

“That’s so sweet of her,” I said gently. “Do you still think I’m crazy?” I asked.

I had told him about where I had been as soon as I had felt well enough to explain it properly. My parents had also obviously asked him to talk to me about it as it was issue number one on the agenda, although he was keen not to take the role of counselor. Not anymore. That was then, this is now.

He avoided the question. “I spoke to Jack Ruttle today.”

“Good. I hope you apologized.”

“I definitely apologized.”

“Good,” I repeated, “because if it wasn’t for him I would literally be lying in a ditch somewhere. My own boyfriend didn’t care enough to join the search party,” I said, in a huff.

“Honestly, Sandy, if I joined a search party every time you disappeared…” He had meant it as a joke but it changed the mood.

“Well, it won’t be happening again.”

He looked unsure.

“I promise, Gregory. I’ve found what I was looking for.” I reached out to touch his cheek.

He smiled but I was sure it would take time before he’d truly believe me. The past few days I had questioned whether I believed myself.

“What did Jack say on the phone?”

“That he went back to the place where he’d found you to look for the photographs you’ve been talking about, and he didn’t find anything.”

“Does
he
think I’m crazy?”

“Probably, but he still loves you because he’s convinced you and your mum helped him find his brother.”

“He’s a sweet guy. I fit wasn’t for him…” I repeated, just to annoy Gregory.

“If you didn’t already have a broken leg, I’d break it for you,” he threatened, but then became serious again. “You know how your mum received a phone call from the Sheens? The people who bought your grandparents’ house all those years ago?”

“Yes.” I tore the crust off a slice of toast and put it in my mouth. “I thought that was weird. I can’t believe they were ringing to tell her they were moving.”

Gregory cleared his throat. “Actually…well, that’s not why they called; your dad concocted that story.”

“What? Why?” I put the toast down, no longer hungry.

“He didn’t want to worry you.”

“Tell me, Gregory.”

“Well, your parents may not agree with me but I think it’s important you know that they’d actually called to say that they’d found a teddy bear belonging to you. A Mr. Pobbs, lying underneath a bed in the spare room with your name embroidered on his striped pajamas.”

I gasped. “Everything’s turning up again.”

“They found this particularly unusual because they had used that room as storage for a number of years and only turned it back into a bedroom last month. They had never noticed the teddy bear before.”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“Your parents didn’t want to upset you again, with you talking about this missing place and—”

“It’s not a missing place, it’s a place where missing people and things go,” I said angrily, realizing once again how stupid it sounded.

“OK, OK, calm down.” He ran his fingers through his hair and leaned his elbows on his knees.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Gregory, I know when something’s wrong with you. Tell me.”

“Well.” He wrung his hands together. “After their phone call I gave further thought to your…theory.”

I rolled my eyes with frustration. “What disorder do you think I have now?”

“Let me finish,” he said, his voice raised, and an angry silence fell between us. After a while he spoke again. “When I was emptying your hospital bag I found this in your shirt pocket.”

I held my breath as he removed something from his top pocket.

The photograph of me with Jenny-May.

I took it from his hands as though it were the most fragile thing in the world. Trees framed the photograph.

“Do you believe me now?” I whispered, running my finger over her face.

He shrugged. “You know how my mind works, Sandy. For me this kind of thinking is nonsensical.” I looked to him angrily. “
But
,” he said firmly before I had a chance to snap, “this is very difficult to explain.”

“That’s good enough for now.” I accepted what he said, holding the photograph close to me.

“I’m sure Mrs. Butler would want to see that,” he said.

“Do you think?” I was unsure.

He thought about it. “I think she’s the only woman you could show it to. I think she’s the only woman you
should
show it to.”

“But how could I explain it?”

He looked at me, spread his hands apart and shrugged. “This time, you’re the one with the answer.”

55

S
ometimes, people can go missing right before our very eyes. Sometimes, people discover you, even though they’ve been looking at you the entire time. Sometimes, we lose sight of ourselves when we’re not paying enough attention.

Days later, when I was feeling fit enough to venture outside on my crutches, under the gaze of Gregory and my parents, I hobbled my way across the road to Mrs. Butler’s house with the photograph of her daughter in my pocket. The lantern-shaped porch light provided a warm orange glow above the door and drew me in, like a moth to a flame. I took a deep breath and knocked on the door, once again feeling a responsibility and knowing that I’d wished for this moment my entire life.

We all get lost once in a while, sometimes by choice, sometimes due to forces beyond our control. When we learn what it is our soul needs to learn, the path presents itself. Sometimes we see the way out but wander farther and deeper despite ourselves; the fear, the anger, or the sadness preventing us from returning. Sometimes we prefer to be lost and wandering; sometimes it’s easier. Sometimes we find our own way out. But regardless, always, we are found.