JENNY: TWO

[mystery_sim]

 

JENNY: TWO

 

 

Dead on arrival. The phrase rattled around in her head, which, like the rest of her body, had been hollowed out by grief. The first person who had said it was a police officer with warm eyes and a round face, but too curt of a way of saying it. Glabe Curious was dead on arrival. Halfway to the door, she added – as if it made a difference – I’m sorry.

It did not, of course, make a difference. Not even in the way she blinked.
 

But at least she tried to give her condolences.

The other officers – both military and police – had yet to consider that Glabe Curious had anyone who might have cared for her; cared that she was gone. What was it the last man had said? What they took from the crime scene was a corpse, sweetheart. She can’t hurt anyone anymore. As if that, like he had hoped, would be any motivation for Jenny Smith to tell what she knew; any comfort.

Instead, the emptiness Glabe’s influence had left behind just gave Jenny a stomach ache.

And, of course, everyone she encountered tonight had the same opinion as the officers. Their starched, polished opinion had poisoned the water in this place: Glabe Curious, as a “master manipulator,” who subscribed to her own delusions about the skies above Strangetown and the things they may contain. Even the interns who had carried boxes of confiscated English 201 essays and Chloe’s diary had a certain arrogance about them.

Sore winners, Jenny thought grimly and wrapped her arms around herself.

The officers might have thought differently, or at least reconsidered their opinion for a second… had Jenny spoken up tonight. But Glabe was gone. And with her, the only family that Jenny could ever see herself being a part of. And so every time an officer spun one of the plastic chairs around and took a seat across from her, Jenny felt herself sinking farther and farther inside of herself…

What could she say? How could she explain it?

Impossible.

The word rose up in the front of her mind without her ever really thinking it.

Victory is impossible now. Maybe it had been, all along.

And so Jenny Smith had answered the questions like her own mother would. Did you know the girls were leaving town? We haven’t made any contact lately. What was the last contact you had with Glabe Curious or the twins? I don’t keep their company.

“What have you got against grilled cheese?”
 

The young man’s question – jovial sounding – made her jump. But it couldn’t pierce her hopelessness, or the impossibility it grew from. Jenny hardly glanced over her shoulder – just enough to see Buzz Grunt standing in the doorway.
 

“It’s just that you could have taken mercy on the sandwich,” he said, motioning toward the tray of untouched food on the table. “I hear there might have been a hungry recruit, fresh out of P.T., who would have taken it in.”

“Fine,” she snapped. “I mean, go for it. You should.”

Maybe it’ll give you food poisoning, she bitterly hoped.

“Sorry, I only eat dairy that’s been out of the fridge up to the three hour mark. We’re going into, what, the fourth? And a half?” He flipped the light switch. A bright, buzzing light flickered on. “Jenny?”

 

 

“Yes, it’s been four and a half hours,” she snapped, whirling around from the gate that had occupied her real attention all night. It separated the room into two: the interview part of the room, with armchairs and a desk lamp, and the evidence room with shelf after shelf of junk confiscated from decades of crime scenes. She didn’t know if the stuff from Glabe’s house had already been added to the collection. But the whole night, she hadn’t been able to stop herself from searching for something familiar in there. Is this your idea of a joke? she wanted to shout. Or is this just your idea of hospitality – shoving me up against my family’s belongings? But no one, not even Buzz, had any business knowing that Jenny cared. So instead, she hissed, “Is this your idea of hospitality – sequestering me in the basement? I didn’t do anything wrong. I don’t even keep company with those kind of Sims.”

“Well we did send you down a grilled cheese,” he pointed out and smiled.
 

Jenny watched him, expressionless.

 

“My parents would probably book you for gross negligence, for what you did to that sandwich. But I’m not opposed to sneaking you out the back,” he joked and motioned toward the door. “You’re probably ready to go home.”

Home. 

The sound of that was like a cattle prod, charged with nearly enough power to make Jenny run laps around the half-of-a-room, shouting answers the investigators hadn’t even thought to ask, if it meant not going home.

Not yet. Just not yet, her mind begged. That place had never been a ‘home’ to her – but there had at least been the possibility, the opportunity, to escape it by going to Glabe’s house. And now, even the hope was gone.

 

“Jenny?”
 

Her eyes snapped back up to Buzz. She chewed on her lip for a second.

 

“Try turkey next time,” she huffed and swept out of the interrogation room.

Glarn pulled the chain on the lamp on his desk and motioned for his wife to turn around. She pulled her hair, still damp from the shower, over her shoulders and showed him the plum-colored marks that spotted her back. He clasped her by the shoulders, careful not to touch the marks himself.

 

 

“It’s just bruises,” he said dismissively. “You’ll heal.”
 

“Heal? How do we know they aren’t from the vessel?” Kitty worried, twisting to look over her own shoulder at the marks. “You know, there are people who get struck by lightning and develop marks exactly like these.”
 

 

“Well, have you been struck by lightning, darling?” he sniffed and turned away from her to select a novel from one of the eye-level book shelves.
 

She didn’t answer; just picked her cardigan up off the corner of Glarn’s desk.

“That didn’t scratch the wood, did you?” He thumbed through a hardback edition of a business manual, snapped it closed, and re-shelved it. As he read the back of another book, he added like a second thought: “The buttons… Could have scratched…”

“The desk is fine,” Kitty sighed and buttoned her sweater at the middle, without ever really checking the surface for a scratch.

He turned around and motioned at the book he had tucked under his arm.

“I’m going to read in bed.”

Kitty moved toward him to give him a goodnight kiss. But both she and Glarn froze, hearing keys in the front door. While she was still staring down the dimly lit hall, he grabbed the front of her cardigan and buttoned it all the way up to her neck, so that the bruises were completely covered.

 

“You’ll deal with her, won’t you?” he chirped.

And without waiting for her to answer, Glarn headed toward his bedroom with his book.

“Fine, but you owe me a new pair of boots,” she muttered at his disappearing shadow. Her last pair sat on the curb, soaked through with mud, caked in dust, and peeling apart at the soles. "It's the least you could do for the woman you asked to save the world..."

 

Jenny pressed the front door closed behind her, as quiet as she could. Over her shoulder, the alarm rearmed itself with a subtle beep. The cool air swirled around her, soothing her sunbaked skin.

 

Since hearing the news about Glabe, Jenny felt like she was dragging all of her dead body weight around. At first, it was straining. But now, it was exhausting. She stared at the staircase up to the second floor with dread. Her pajamas, her bed, her pillows… but all those stairs…

“Imogen?” 

The sound of her name echoed off the vaulted ceiling. Jenny’s head snapped up to the balcony that dissected the darkened hall. Her mother stood perched at the railing, staring down at her.

She braced herself for this interrogation. What did you tell the authorities? Do they want to speak to us? Do they want to speak to you again? Have they tracked down the twins? Are you staying away from the General’s son like I told you to? Suddenly, she missed the grilled cheese sandwich.

“You have school in the morning,” Kitty said, her voice completely normal.

Like you aren’t reveling in someone’s death tonight, Jenny thought bitterly.

“Wash that make-up off. The headmaster won’t approve,” her mother added.

 

Jenny didn’t point out that she knew that. She didn’t point out that she was already planning on showering. She didn’t point out that, of course, she knew she had school in the morning – or that she couldn’t believe that was all her mother had to say to her. She could point out all of those things. She could argue with her mother.

 

But what had ever been the point?

 

“Yes, ma’am,” Jenny said, mimicking the evenness of her mother’s voice. “Good night.”
 

“Good night,” Kitty replied and watched her daughter disappear down one of the halls.
 

TWO YEARS LATER

 

“I have to go,” Jenny whispered for the hundredth time. Although, this time, she really meant it: the sound of applause had started on the stage. She could hear it through the curtain. That could only mean one thing: “I really have to go…”

“Yeah, yeah, political princess,” Buzz sighed, grinning.

Jenny’s cheeks flushed under all the layers of makeup. When he had started working security at the political rallies, she wasn’t sure how it was going to work out. But this – she had to admit – had turned out better than she had expected.

 

She kissed him one more time.

“Really really.”

Begrudgingly, Buzz retracted his arms from around her waist. In the blueish glow of the vending machines, they straightened their clothes and smoothed their hair.

“Do I look okay?” she asked as she redid the top button on her blouse.

“Like it never even happened,” he quipped, doing his best to hide his usual air of disappointment. He reached around and smacked her on the back pocket. “Nice slacks.”

“They make me look like I’m forty,” she groaned.

"A cute forty," he countered. "You kept your figure."

Like they had at the past several rallies, Buzz and Jenny had raided the craft service table and stolen away to the storage area backstage. Amid folding chairs and political signs bearing Kitty Curious’ face, the couple had stolen time together that her parents would never allow. His parents, either – if they knew the truth.

But Jenny could only be missing for so long, before someone started to notice. Especially on a day like today, where she was supposed to sell one sixth of the happy political family picture, all buttoned-up and show-shined.

“I’ll see you after the rally?” Buzz asked.

She felt his hand brush something off her shoulder.

 

“Yes, of course,” she promised and parted the curtain with one hand.
 

The spotlight shone in her eyes. After they adjusted, she could see that her brothers and father had gathered on the stage amid the applause that had welcomed her mother to the podium. She slipped through the parted in the curtains and edged into the image of a happy political family - whose mother you should vote for.

The sound of applause and competing voices pushed at her like a wave that never washed back out to sea. Glarn extended a hand to her and quickly pulled her in, right behind her youngest brother, Pascal. 

To everyone on the outside, his was a kind gesture; inclusive.

But as his hand pressed against her back, edging her farther into the spotlight, Jenny felt her throat constrict. She bit down hard on her teeth and forced a smile.

Buzz had wound his way around to the wings of the stage. He stood off in the shadows, watching the family smile for all the cameras that lined the back of the room. She’s never faked her smile well, he thought. Since seeing her in the precinct the night Glabe died, Buzz had known that about Jenny.



If I could just get her to glance over here, just see me once, I could fix that. I could get her to smile. She wouldn’t even know she was doing it, up there in front of all those cameras.

 

But she didn’t have the attention, or the time, to look. Jenny clenched and unclenched her fists, focusing on the red blinking lights that hovered in the darkness, just over the edge of the stage. As Kitty raised her hands, the noise in the arena died down a bit. Jenny and the rest of her family were shuffled off to take their seats in the audience. For the next hour and a half, they would listen to the same speech they had heard rehearsed around the house for the past two weeks. After that, they would listen as Kitty took questions from the audience.

 

But after that, Jenny thought with a smile as she tried, but failed, to spot Buzz in the wings, I’ll get to see him.

TWENTY-ONE YEARS LATER

 

“Twenty-one years ago, Congresswoman Catherine Curious spoke at a rally in Veronaville, Ritland. Her husband and children, including seventeen-year-old Imogen, also attended and accompanied her on-stage for a photo-op,” the news anchor recounted, hardly glancing at the papers on his desk. “What no one knew is that this would be the last time that Imogen Curious was seen.”

Kitty grabbed a pair of sapphire earrings out of her jewelry box and tucked her hair behind her ears to put them on. Sitting at her make-up table, she barely paid attention to the news anchor droning on and on behind her. But every once in a while, there were a couple of indistinguishable words that snagged her attention.
 

“Twenty-one years later, police are still hoping for a breakthrough in the missing persons case,” the anchor continued.

The SLU! SLU! morning news cut to a shot of Imogen.

“What you’re looking at is a still from a news recording, taken the night of Congresswoman Curious’ rally,” the reporter’s voice continued overtop of the slide. “It’s the last known image of Imogen, who vanished within hours of it being taken and has had no known contact with anyone since.”

Kitty’s eyes flashed to the screen, in the reflection of her mirror.
 

The station put up an age-progressed picture of Jenny. 38, the caption read. 

For a moment, Kitty sat there, frozen, with one earring still in the palm of her hand. Was the woman on the show really Imogen staring back at her – really what she would have looked like? Her heart skipped a beat.

 

Then she heard her bedroom door close.

“Glarn, honey? The news isn’t showing the weather! Have the butler check the paper,” she complained over her shoulder. She stuck her other earring in and examined her appearance in the mirror. Grumbling, she pushed and pulled at a wrinkle that had popped up in the middle of her forehead. “And have him move up my appointment! I’ve got to be in front of the camera in less than twenty four hours.”

The low rumble of their voices bled through the walls of the motel room.

“All I’m saying is I’m a man who needs the basics in life. Hair gel. Showers. Food that doesn’t come out of a box,” Don hissed, pulling at his long, floppy hair for emphasis. 

 

“Then I will take you out to dinner as soon as we are done tonight,” Cassandra insisted, but he didn’t look pleased. She sighed, doing her best to suppress the frustration rising up inside of her. Through gritted teeth, she admitted, “Don, I am going as fast as I can. If you’ll just cut me a break for a little while longer-”

“Fine. Tell me how much longer,” he said. “Tonight? This week? This month? How much longer, Cassie?”

 

“Don’t you think if I knew that I would-” Her voice fell away, constricted by frustration. She stepped back and took a deep breath, staring at the dark spot that was growing on the ceiling tile in the corner.

“Look around this place,” he sighed, motioning at the surrounding motel room. It was so small, he could practically touch both walls at the same time. And it was so crowded, neither one of them could take a step without walking on junk anymore. “This isn’t how we started. We can’t even afford the places we started out in.”

“You want me to put you up in a nicer hotel?” she snapped. “Fine. You know my credit card number. I’ll go out and you stay here packing.”

“I don’t want a nicer hotel. I want to get married and I want to go home. To our home!”

“And we will. I just don’t know when!”

“Then I don’t know how much longer I can stick this out,” he admitted. “Most people come home from a trip with a suitcase of souvenirs – not an entire motel room full. Cassie, you have started buying furniture for this place!”

“Just a—”

Just a couple of lamps! she was about to point out. But the ringtone of her cell phone cut off her words.

“Cassie,” he warned.

“I’m sorry, but I have to take this.”

As she took the call, Don dropped onto the edge of the mattress and crossed his arms. 

He stared at the dark, gray wall behind the bed with no headboard. Over the course of the past month, her collection of photos and newspaper clippings had exploded. At the beginning of their trip, she had focused on reported sightings of her mother. Then, most of their conversations still revolved around their plans to elope. Which chapel should we stop at? What postcard should we send home to our families? How do you want to sign our names at the bottom of it? But now, her wall of “leads” had just become a wall of gossip.

And the only time she brought up marriage was as an argument against his wanting to go home already.

She snapped her fingers. Don looked back at her.

“Don’t be mad,” she pled, mouthing the words. 

“Ms. Bachelor? Your car is out front,” the voice on the other end of the call announced.

“Thank you,” she said and hung up.

She stuffed her phone back into her pants pocket and looked at her fiancé. A wave of mercy washed over her; over thoughts like you’re not the only one who wants a hot shower and a home cooked meal.

“Well, personally I like your hair like that,” Cassandra sighed and sat on the bed beside him.

She pushed it back from his eyes; then slung her arm around his neck and tipped him closer for a kiss.

She slung her arm around his neck and tipped him toward her for a kiss.

“Come on, Donald. I’ll work faster,” she promised, planting a peck on his cheek, rough with whiskers. “We’ll tie up loose ends here and then we get married on the road back home. Don’t you believe me?”

“I’ve believed you every time so far,” he reminded her. And I’ll believe you every time you say it, going forward. “How long, Cassie? How long until we go home?”

Until we throw the towel in; admit that my mother is gone for good, is all she heard.

“End of the month,” she offered instead.

“Maximum. We can’t bring a baby home to this. We can't even safely make a baby in this,” he grumbled, staring at the thin, stiff blankets and lumpy pillows.

She didn’t say anything – just waited for that slow smirk to form on his face, like always. Once it had returned, she felt the pressure release inside of her chest. At least, the pressure that had come with all the arguments lately. Locating her missing mother was a whole different kind of burden.

“So you’ll still come with me tonight?”

“Fine,” he sighed begrudgingly. “But I’m taking you up on that dinner afterwards.”

“Fine, but I’m taking one of your sweatshirts,” she retorted quickly and pecked him on the cheek. “All of mine need laundered.”

He rolled his eyes and dove out of her grip, smiling in spite of himself.