BooksBarbecue
Back Don't Look for Me
Chapters (62)
  1. Cover
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. Chapter One
  5. Chapter Two
  6. Chapter Three
  7. Chapter Four
  8. Chapter Five
  9. Chapter Six
  10. Chapter Seven
  11. Chapter Eight
  12. Chapter Nine
  13. Chapter Ten
  14. Chapter Eleven
  15. Chapter Twelve
  16. Chapter Thirteen
  17. Chapter Fourteen
  18. Chapter Fifteen
  19. Chapter Sixteen
  20. Chapter Seventeen
  21. Chapter Eighteen
  22. Chapter Nineteen
  23. Chapter Twenty
  24. Chapter Twenty-one
  25. Chapter Twenty-two
  26. Chapter Twenty-three
  27. Chapter Twenty-four
  28. Chapter Twenty-five
  29. Chapter Twenty-six
  30. Chapter Twenty-seven
  31. Chapter Twenty-eight
  32. Chapter Twenty-nine
  33. Chapter Thirty
  34. Chapter Thirty-one
  35. Chapter Thirty-two
  36. Chapter Thirty-three
  37. Chapter Thirty-four
  38. Chapter Thirty-five
  39. Chapter Thirty-six
  40. Chapter Thirty-seven
  41. Chapter Thirty-eight
  42. Chapter Thirty-nine
  43. Chapter Forty
  44. Chapter Forty-one
  45. Chapter Forty-two
  46. Chapter Forty-three
  47. Chapter Forty-four
  48. Chapter Forty-five
  49. Chapter Forty-six
  50. Chapter Forty-seven
  51. Chapter Forty-eight
  52. Chapter Forty-nine
  53. Chapter Fifty
  54. Chapter Fifty-one
  55. Chapter Fifty-two
  56. Chapter Fifty-three
  57. Chapter Fifty-four
  58. Chapter Fifty-five
  59. Chapter Fifty-six
  60. Chapter Fifty-seven
  61. Acknowledgments [TK]
  62. Also by Wendy Walker

He laughed at me. He ordered me to back away. Then he locked the door. And he made me wait all through the next day, and through the next night, wondering if I would get another tray. Wondering if he was now going to let me starve.

The door opens now, after the third night, and I stand against the far wall. I let the light feed my brain which is starving for it. I watch him place the tray on the floor, close the door, turn the lock.

I stumble as I walk toward the tray. My pupils have narrowed from that quick burst of light and now they can’t detect the shadows they have grown used to. I take the tray and sit down. I can feel with my hands the cold sandwich. And something else.

It’s small and metal. I feel glass at the top. A button at the bottom. I click it on and light floods the space.

A small flashlight. A gift I don’t understand.

I do not deserve a gift after the second night.

I don’t stop to think. I leave the flashlight on as I eat the sandwich. I’m thirsty, but there is water in the sink and I decide to eat first because I am sick with hunger.

When I lift the sandwich, I see something beneath a paper towel. An article from a paper he’s printed out. The online paper from my hometown.

Warmth floods my veins as I see the logo, the letters forming the name, the familiar print and advertisers. Grayson’s Flower Shop. Buster’s Bagels. The Law Offices of Walsh, Sandberger, LLC. It’s always the same. Every day. Every time I open the page. And for the smallest, most insane second, I feel the safety of home.

But then the warmth turns cold as I read the headline.

Search for Local Woman Missing Upstate Called Off

And colder, still . . .

Evidence suggests Molly Clarke left of her own accord after abandoning her car.

Tears burn as they pour down my face.

Emotionally unstable after the accidental death of her daughter . . .

Ran over her own child on her way home from work . . .

“She never seemed right after that,” says a source close to the family . . .

I read every word. I read about my abandoned car being out of gas. I read about my phone left behind. I read about my visit to Evan’s school and how he ignored me and everyone saw it and how I cried by the side of the field house.

Did I? Did I cry by the side of the field house?

It takes me several minutes to find the answers. It takes until I see a passage underlined in red ink to know what has occurred.