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Just Let Me Die Here (A Serialized Novel) 24

Chapter 24

By Megan ClancyPublished 3 years ago Updated 2 years ago 10 min read
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Just Let Me Die Here (A Serialized Novel) 24
Photo by Ray Hennessy on Unsplash

When I was little, I loved New Year’s Eve. We would always go to my aunt’s house to celebrate. She lived in a cabin next to a lake in Minnesota and I loved going there. On New Year’s, it was always freezing, but the adults would sit outside on the deck and watch the massive fireworks show that the town put on. It was the one day of the year I was allowed to stay up so late and I loved it. I would take a big blanket from the living room, a quilt my grandmother had made that smelled of mothballs and the chili that my aunt had cooked for dinner that night, another tradition, and go sit on the end of the small dock at the bottom of the yard. I would wrap myself up in the blanket and watch the fireworks.

I was the only kid and all the adults stayed up on the deck, so I had the space to myself. Before the fireworks would start I just sat there, staring into the absolute darkness of the remote wood. I could hear the water below me and be absolutely terrified of what lurked down below, but I was determined to stay right where I was. I was brave and I could prove it. Then the fireworks would start and I would get lost in the spectacle. The sky and water would melt into one, with the reflections of the fireworks just as bright as the real thing, so that it felt like I was completely surrounded by the shimmering lights. And then, I would invariably fall asleep. At some point, my dad would walk down, pick me up, still bundled in the quilt, and take me into the house. The next thing I knew, it would be New Year’s morning and I would be waking up to the smell of waffles. I could only hope that these fireworks would provide a familiar comfort, a bit of salve to my wounds.

Unfortunately, I don’t make it to the fireworks. The uneasy feeling of being followed haunts me as I arrive at the festivities. I walk the street lined with revelers, and constantly feel like someone is getting closer. I weave through the food stands, stopping briefly to look at a menu, but I move on when I feel the man standing in line at the next booth is looking at me a little too intently. There is a vulnerability I feel and I get the sense that I am in danger. It’s a feeling I know well and am eager to avoid.

When Millie was just able to sit up, I took her to the park to spend some time on the swings. We had been to the park many times before, but this time was different. To start, no one else was there. Literally not one other person was at the park. This was strange as it was right around the time school would let out for the day and this particular park was usually packed with screaming children and exhausted mothers and nannies. But when I arrived, pushing Millie in her stroller, the whole place was silent and still. It felt odd at first, but then I realized it was actually quite ideal. No waiting for the swing, no bigger kids to bother Millie, no pushy, talkative moms imparting their thoughts on childrearing or judgmental mothers giving me strange looks. Great, I thought. We had the whole place to ourselves.

I parked the stroller just next to the jungle gym, pulled Millie out, and slipped her into the swing. She was all smiles and giggles as she soared through the air, her chubby little legs swinging freely. But as I pushed her, back and forth, back and forth, a small worry in the back of my mind began to grow. We were all alone there. And no one else knew where we were. What if something happened? What if someone showed up, snuck up behind me, knocked me out, and stole Millie.

As Millie kept swinging, this fear grew. I tried to face the front entrance of the park, figuring I would be able to see anyone who arrived, only to realize that my back was then turned to the other park entrance, a small gate along the far fence that opened up to a residential road. Someone could be in and out of the park within minutes, child taken, and hidden back in the shelter of one of those homes. Back and forth my little girl swung and bigger and bigger my anxiety grew until I decided it was a certain fact that if I stayed any longer, this awful scenario was going to become a reality. I grabbed Millie mid-swing, pulling her out of the seat and quickly carrying her, kicking and screaming, to the stroller. I had never gotten her locked into her stroller as quickly as I did that day and never had I walked the five blocks home so fast. After that, I refused to ever enter an empty playground again. My worries needed witnesses.

Strangely, now, I am surrounded by witnesses, but the worry still persists. Someone is watching me. Someone is following me. And through the worry, a thought takes hold. Something that I am suddenly certain is true. Tucker is here. He has brought Millie to show her the fireworks. To delight her with the spectacle and keep an eye on me. They are here.

Watching the skaters, I notice a person on the far side of the pond that seems to be inching away from me. He is just a dark figure, too far away for me to recognize, but he appears to be just about Tucker’s size. I first see him standing with what appears to be his family, a woman and two children just in front of him. But then I see him moving further along, mixing with different groups as he goes but continually moving further away from me. Part of me wants to believe it’s nothing. He’s just another festival-goer. A local who knows plenty of people and is just mingling. But another part of me, a bigger part, the part that is becoming increasingly consumed by anxiety and fear, tells me something is off. This man is not just some other person at this celebration. It’s Tucker. He knows I’m here. He’s keeping her from me. Where is Millie? I have to find Millie. I start to move toward him, but the figure keeps walking. I work my way through the crowds getting closer and closer, but the faster I move, the further he seems to slip away.

“Tucker!” I shout. The man disappears into a group of people standing next to a big bonfire. “Tucker!” I shout again, pushing through the crowd. But when I get to the other side, I don’t see him. There is nothing there but a big empty lot. He has disappeared. I glance back at the group of people that I just ran through and they look at me strangely. A crazed woman interrupting their fun time. I spend two more hours circling the skating rink, looking in the shadows, peering into the windows of parked cars, desperate to find him. But it’s of no use. Tucker is gone, if he was ever here at all, and I, once again, am alone.

As you should be.

Alone.

Alone.

Alone.

Upon returning to my room, it occurs to me that it is a new year. I am meant to be back to work next week. Classes will start soon and there are meetings to attend, textbooks to order, syllabi to finalize. But I won’t be there. It was difficult enough to think about going back to work and leaving Millie at home with a sitter or in daycare. It’s impossible to imagine going to work not even knowing where she is. I need to put in a request for more leave. It’s a request that I know will be met with unsympathetic ears, but I truly don’t care. At this point, to hell with my career. Nothing else matters.

I grab my phone and scan my contact list for Jack’s number. He is the dean, my boss, and the one I will need to submit my request to. But this is not a conversation I want to have with him. I don’t think I could handle actually verbalizing what I need to say to him and responding to all the questions I’m sure will follow. I will just call and leave a message on his office phone. Single-sided. Say what I need to say and be done with it. But when I hear the beep of the machine, I freeze. How can I say what I’m about to say? Right now, Millie’s disappearance is confined to my world here. Once I announce it to my world back home, it makes it very real. Permanently real. Unchangeable. I let the silence stretch on for too long and then hang up. I can’t speak those words.

Email. That’s how I will have to do it. Besides, he would probably want it all in writing anyway. Writing has always come more naturally to me as well. The written word doesn’t get swallowed by choked tears and emotion. I will just send Jack an email. Common courtesy would require him to respond in the same fashion and then I will never have to put voice to this experience.

I tap out a brief email, telling Jack that I will need to take a sabbatical for the coming semester included with a short explanation of why. A family emergency, I write. I don’t add any more details and, social norms and courtesy would dictate that he doesn’t ask for any in response. I then shut off my phone and toss it onto the bed. No more distractions, I just want sleep.

I go to the window to pull the curtains shut further. There is still a thin line of moonlight coming in and there is no way I will be able to sleep with it stretching across the pillows. But as I reach up to the curtain, I once again get the feeling that I’m being watched. Is someone out in the garden, staring up at my window? At me? Something moves and a shadow crosses the moonlit snow. A deer or other animal, maybe? Or is it a person? Could it be Tucker? Did he follow me here? Or is this someone else? How long have they been there, watching? I wait to see if the shadow moves again. Nothing.

But just as I am about to close the curtains, try to ignore what I might have seen, something or someone moves from the shelter of the tree in the corner of the yard. I shut the curtain and drop to the floor. They have seen me and they know I have seen them. I stay on the floor and watch the red numbers on the digital clock next to the bed flash from one minute to the next. After sitting on the floor for ten minutes, and an eternity of heartbeats, I crawl back up onto my knees, open the curtains just a hair, and look out the window. Whatever, or whoever it was is gone.

I crawl back to the bed and climb in, but thoughts of my night won’t let me sleep. My mind is spinning in circles, trying to find reasons behind all this madness. Nothing comes. I am awake when a pack of wolves cross through the forest on the other side of the river, howling at the moon. I am awake as the sun crests up over the horizon, splashing the mountains outside my window in harsh pinks and blinding golds. And I am awake as the other residents of the house begin to rouse, seeing each other for the first time this morning, and sharing warm greetings.

“Happy New Year!” rings out through the halls.

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About the Creator

Megan Clancy

Author & Book Coach, wife, mother, adventure-seeker.

BA in English from Colorado College & MFA from the University of Melbourne

Writing here is Fiction & Non-Fiction

www.meganaclancy.com

Find me on Twitter & IG @mclancyauthor

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