Lost and Found: The Complete Series Read online

  Lost & Found: The Complete Story

  by Nadia Simonenko

  Lost & Found

  Complete Series Anthology - First edition.

  Published November 1, 2013.

  Copyright © 2013 Nadia Simonenko.

  Table of Contents

  Subject Matter Warning

  Seven Years Ago...

  Seven Years Later...

  Friday, February 15 – 11:45 AM

  Friday, February 15 – 8:35 PM

  Friday, February 15 – 11:40 PM

  Sunday, February 17 – 12:00 PM

  Wednesday, February 20 – 3:45 PM

  Wednesday, February 20 – 4:00 PM

  Saturday, February 23 – 8:10 AM

  Three minutes earlier...

  Saturday, February 23 – 7:30 PM

  Wednesday, February 27 – 3:30 PM

  Wednesday, February 27 – 10:30 PM

  Friday, March 1 – 2:30 AM

  Friday, March 1 – 4:30 PM

  Saturday, March 2 – 10:30 AM

  Saturday, March 2 – 7:00 PM

  Wednesday, March 6 – 3:00 PM

  Friday, March 8 – 7:30 AM

  Friday, March 8 – 5:00 PM

  Friday, March 8 – 5:30 PM

  Friday, March 8 – 10:45 PM

  Saturday, March 9 – 9:30 AM

  Saturday, March 9 – 10:30 AM

  Saturday, March 9 – 3:00 PM

  Sunday, March 10 – 7:00 AM

  Wednesday, March 13 – 5:30 PM

  Saturday, March 16 – 10:00 AM

  Saturday, March 16 – 7:00 PM

  Monday, March 18 – 3:30 PM

  In the middle of the night...

  Sunday, March 24 – 9:22 AM

  Monday, March 25 – 3:55 PM

  Tuesday, March 26 – 3:20 PM

  Tuesday, March 26 – 8:10 PM

  Wednesday, March 27 – 8:00 AM

  Wednesday, March 27 – 2:40 PM

  Wednesday, March 27 – 4:10 PM

  Wednesday, March 27 – 5:15 PM

  Friday, March 29 – 3:45 AM

  Twenty Minutes Earlier...

  Friday, March 29 – 6:20 AM

  Friday, March 29 – 3:45 PM

  Tuesday, April 2 – 8:15 AM

  Thursday, April 4 – 12:15 AM

  Friday, April 5 – 5:00 PM

  Friday, April 5 – 5:35 PM

  Friday, April 5 – 9:15 PM

  Sunday, April 14 – 6:45 PM

  Monday, April 15 – 11:00 AM

  Monday, April 22 – 2:45 PM

  Monday, April 29 – 7:30 PM

  Monday, April 29 – 7:50 PM

  Owen in the darkest hour...

  Maria in the darkest hour...

  Tuesday, April 30 – 10:00 AM

  Tuesday, April 30 – 1:15 PM

  Thursday, May 9 – 4:30 PM

  Thursday, May 9 – 7:00 PM

  Saturday, May 18 – 11:30 PM

  Sunday, May 19 – 10:15 AM

  Sunday, May 19 – 1:30 PM

  Sunday, May 19 – 6:30 PM

  Wednesday, May 22 – 10:15 PM

  Thursday, June 20 – 11:00 AM

  To my love - don't ever go where I can't follow you.

  Subject Matter Warning

  Please note that this novel contains heavy subject material and detailed portrayals of domestic violence, child abuse, and sexual assault.

  This material is derived from the author's personal experiences and from the accounts of other victims, and the events of this story may act as a traumatic memory trigger to certain readers. Please exercise caution in reading this novel if you believe you are at risk of triggering on any of the above subjects.

  I'm sorry that you have to live with those memories.

  -Nadia

  Part I

  Seven Years Ago...

  Owen

  I hear him start yelling and I’m up from the couch in an instant. My heart pounds in my chest and my breathing quickens. Where is he? What did I do? Is he coming for me?

  “If you cared one goddamned bit about this family like I do, you’d be...”

  He’s yelling at Mom. I can hear his drunken words slurring together as he screams at her. I don’t even wonder what they’re fighting about anymore; it’s been like this for as long as I can remember.

  As I got older, I began to understand the truth. It isn’t about anything.

  The fight is so one-sided that it’s not even a fight anymore. My father is being what he always is: a drunken, violent asshole.

  A glass shatters against the floor in the kitchen, and I instinctively raise my hand to my face, feeling the ridge of the long scar running along my jaw. It’s nearly invisible now after so many years, but I can still feel exactly where it is. I got this one from a glass, but my parents told the school I’d been in a bike accident.

  In the kitchen, Mom starts to cry.

  “...stupid fucking bitch! What the hell is wrong with...”

  His yelling grows louder, more violent and terrifying to me, and I quietly head upstairs to my room. I feel like I should step in and try to help Mom, but I know I’ll just make things worse. She wouldn’t help if it was me, either; if I’m the first person Dad sees, she disappears and leaves me to take the beating. She comes crawling back when it’s all over to tell me that everything is going to be okay, but I haven’t believed her since I was twelve.

  The only person I’d protect is Samantha, but I thankfully haven’t had to yet. My sister is only eleven, and Dad doesn’t go after her.

  Yet.

  I close my door, sit down at the wooden desk in the far corner and pretend I’m working on my homework. I’m staring at numbers scrawled near-illegibly in my physics notebook, but they don’t mean anything to me right now. My mind is still hiding in terror behind the couch downstairs.

  The fight spills out of the kitchen and toward the stairs. Their voices echo through the heating vent connecting my bedroom to the living room, and the aluminum ductwork distorts Dad's cold, hate-filled voice and makes him sound like a monster out of a bad movie. I wish this was all just a bad movie.

  I hear my mother’s light footfalls as she runs up the stairs. She is trying to get away from the fight, but the loud, dull ‘thud’ of Dad’s boots are following behind her. He was honorably discharged from the army almost ten years ago after he hurt his back, but he still wears those same old combat boots everywhere. It’s obvious enough to me that he isn’t ready for civilian life, but the army disagrees.

  They’re fighting at the top of the stairs right outside my door now. I close my eyes and hunch over, trying hard not to shake as I hear the sickening sound of his fists hitting her again and again. He’s beaten me so many times that I’m terrified of him even when I’m not the target of his rage.

  A new voice cuts through my thoughts and I bolt upright in my chair.

  “Stop that! Stop hitting her!” cries Samantha. She sounds terrified, and I can see her wide-eyed, fearful look in my mind. I imagine her jaw quivering in fear, but even if it is, she’s still braver than I am. I’m hiding in my room, trying to pretend that I’m not here.

  I promised I’d protect her.

  I get up from the chair and start toward the door.

  As I reach the door, though, I stop. No, she’s not in trouble yet. Dad won’t hurt her. As I turn around and head back toward my desk, I hear the loud clap of my father’s palm against her face, and she starts to cry.

  A door slams down the hall. Mom has abandoned Samantha.

  I spin around and hurry back to the door, but again my hand hovers at the knob and refuses to budge.

  “He’ll kill me!”

  “If you don’t go, he
’ll kill Samantha!”

  My hand trembles and my teeth grind as I try to force myself to open the door. I need to protect my sister, but my mind screams at me to step away from the door. In the end, my cowardice wins the battle and I turn away.

  My entire room shakes as Dad slams her against the door, and I nearly leap into the air in shock. A framed photograph falls off the wall and its glass shatters as it strikes the ground. It’s our family photo from ten years ago; we were all smiling back then.

  I can hear Samantha’s terrified whimper just outside my door, and my legs begin to shake. I’m such a fucking coward.

  I have to protect her.

  I open the door just in time to see my father’s outstretched arm and my little sister tumbling down the stairs.

  Samantha crashes into the wall at the middle landing with a terrifying thud, her neck contorted in an impossible way and her gray eyes staring blankly up at me.

  The world freezes around me as I stare back into her empty eyes, and everything is strangely silent.

  I’ve failed her. I’ve failed her in the worst way I possibly could have.

  My father’s face is as white as a sheet as he looks down at what he’s done, and I shove past him and race down the stairs.

  “She fell, Owen,” he calls after me. “It ain’t what it looks like.”

  I don’t care what his excuse is this time; my sister isn’t breathing. I can’t tell if my heart is sinking into my stomach or if my stomach is rising into my chest. I feel like I’m going to throw up.

  “Owen Maxwell, you come back up here and...”

  I ignore him and race for the telephone in the kitchen. I have to call 9-1-1.

  The phone is nowhere to be found, and I hear the thud of his boots coming slowly down the stairs after me. I shove papers off the kitchen table, knock over a vase by the sink as I push aside all the clutter and broken dishes, and then I finally see it lying on the floor next to an overturned chair.

  I pick it up and just as I start to dial, Dad’s fist connects with the side of my head.

  I hit my head on a chair as I collapse to the ground. I’m dizzy and my vision goes almost entirely black except for a few strange, floating blue spots. He grabs the phone out of my hand, and as I try to get back up, he kicks me hard in the chest and knocks the wind out of me. I can’t breathe and I feel like I’m going to pass out.

  I hear him dialing a number above me as the toe of his boot catches me squarely in the ribs again. Somehow, I barely notice the blow this time. Maybe I’m too far gone already.

  “Hi Betty. Sheriff please,” he says in a shaky voice. He steps over me and starts to straighten up the kitchen. He sets the chair upright as on-hold music blares through the receiver, and even from down here I can smell the alcohol oozing from his pores.

  “Hi, Bill? Yeah, it’s Todd. I need you to send someone over here with an ambulance. Samantha fell down the stairs. Please hurry.”

  He’s so good at putting on an act when anyone else is around; it’s only his family that sees the other side of him.

  “Thanks Bill. I really appreciate it,” he says with a tone of terrified concern, and I almost believe him for a second. My belief shatters instantly as he hangs up and shoots me an ice-cold glare.

  “Don’t you ever tell the town about our dirty laundry like you were gonna, you hear me boy?” he snarls, and he kicks me again for good measure. “Now get the fuck up and help me clean up this mess.”

  I continue to lay motionless on the floor. A strange chill is spreading down my body, and I can’t be bothered to listen to him anymore.

  “God, please take me away from here.”

  His boot connects with my stomach, and I gasp as he knocks the wind out of me again. I close my eyes and brace myself for the next blow.

  “You heard me, you stupid shit! Get up!”

  He kicks me again and again, and I don’t care about the pain anymore. It doesn’t matter. None of this matters.

  The only thing that mattered to me is lying dead at the bottom of the stairs.

  Seven Years Later...

  Friday, February 15 – 9:48 AM

  Maria

  My breath forms a thick white cloud in front of my face, and I shift my weight from leg to leg awkwardly as I wait at the top of the stairs. The bus is ten minutes late, and my feet are starting to go numb.

  “Jesus Christ, it’s so cold today!” complains Tina, her teeth chattering. Even after four years here at Cornell, she still can’t handle the cold. Sometimes I wonder why she chose a school known as much for its bleak winters as for its education. It’s upstate New York—what exactly did she expect?

  I’m happy she picked this college. I’d be completely alone if she hadn’t.

  “Who the heck even gets up for class this early, anyway?” whines Tina. “Maria, why am I even out of bed? Seriously.”

  “It’s almost ten o’clock, Tina.”

  “Hey, that’s early for a Friday!”

  I roll my eyes at her, but I can’t help but smile anyway as her blond ponytail bounces up and down as she tries to keep warm. Tina has only one class on Fridays—one of the benefits of being a second-semester senior, she claims—but she decided to ride up to campus with me today anyway.

  My feet are freezing. The only thing stopping me from just giving up and walking to class is that our apartment is two miles away from campus... and it’s all uphill, too. It’s a fantastic apartment and so much cheaper than living in the dorms, but I sometimes feel as if I’m commuting from the moon.

  The dirty blue bus caked in salt and muddy road spray pulls up to our stop, and we race up the stairs and into the warmth. The bus is as humid as a rainforest from the melted snow from countless students’ winter boots, and I watch condensation drip down the window as we pull away from the curb.

  I sit in the middle of a gap of three empty seats and Tina sits down next to me. Two stops later, a swarm of students crowd into the bus, and I feel like I’m a sardine in a tiny can.

  A boy in a green jacket and blue jeans sits down next to me and my stomach turns over. He’s too close to me. My chest tightens up and I suddenly feel like I’m short of breath.

  His leg touches mine as he sits back and relaxes, and my heart starts pounding. I close my eyes and try not to shake, but I can feel my jaw trembling. My neck muscles tense up and start to cramp as I sit rigidly in my seat, nearly paralyzed with fear.

  I can’t breathe. I’m going to suffocate.

  I open my eyes as Tina nudges me with her elbow. She gets up from her seat and grabs onto the handrail as she looks down at me in concern.

  “Hey, wake up, Maria,” she says, winking at me. “You’re gonna miss your stop.”

  She waves to the driver and drags me out of my seat as the bus pulls over to the side of the road. I follow clumsily behind her as she takes me away from the boy sitting next to me and outside to safety.

  I feel completely helpless and devastated by my embarrassment, but I'm also grateful beyond words for her saving me yet again. This isn’t the first time she’s pulled me back from the brink of a panic attack.

  She links her arm around mine and we walk the last half mile to campus together.

  “Thank you, Tina,” I whisper after several blocks of silence. My heart is still racing, but I’m finally starting to calm down a little.

  “Don’t worry about it. I know how you get around crowds,” she answers with a warm smile and understanding eyes.

  I smile back at her. She’s too good to me; she’s even pretending that the crowd is what upset me.

  “You didn’t have to do it, though,” I whisper back to her, feeling guilty. “You didn’t have to take care of me. Now you have a long walk to class and it's all my fault.”

  “Big fucking deal,” she says. “My fat ass could use the exercise, so let’s walk.”

  I grin at her. Tina has the dirtiest mouth of any girl I’ve ever met, and it only gets dirtier from here. At first glance, she seems like a dainty
little blonde with a penchant for pink, but that’s as far as her party-girl façade goes. Her mouth is downright legendary after a few drinks.

  I’d expected her to be a typical sorority girl when I first met her. Instead I met someone almost as broken as I am—someone who I could trust—and I’ve never been happier that my first impression was wrong.

  She turns to me with a grin after another long silence.

  “If you ever see that guy again, please offer him some deodorant, okay?”

  I burst out laughing and the cloud of fear and depression dissipates around me.

  Tina is great because I can talk to her about anything. I’ve known her since freshman year, and when she broke down crying and came to me—when the stress of her own terrible secret was too much to bear—I knew I’d finally found someone I could trust.

  “So what’s on the schedule for today, Miss Ayala?” she asks with good-natured snark. We have very different ideas of what ‘organized’ means: it's showing up within ten minutes of when she promised to arrive for Tina, and for me it involves a daily planner and my week plotted out in in meticulous detail. I like things to be predictable.

  “First exam of the semester,” I say. “Stats 440, remember? I was studying for it all last night.”

  “Oh, right. I forgot about that,” she says, quickly holding out an arm and stopping me from walking straight into traffic. “We missed you for spades last night, me especially. Dinah’s a shitty partner, and Lacey and Mike are dirty fucking cheaters.”

  I laugh happily as I imagine my roommates trying to play spades together. Lacey and her boyfriend Mike—who I don’t much care for, to be honest—have been dating for so long that they might as well have their own secret language by now. I’ve played cards against those two and there’s no way they aren’t telling each other what’s in their hands somehow.

  The light changes, and I step out into the street. The clock tower starts to chime at the top of the steep, icy hill, and I know that in about two minutes I’m going to have the alma mater stuck in my head. I can’t stand Cornell’s school song.

  “Yeah, I’m really not looking forward to the exam,” I say. “It’ll be easy, but all tests suck. It’s kind of a rule.”