2
Veronica
Spring crept up on me again this year like it usually does. This used to be my favorite time of year, now I dread the memories that it brings, memories I can’t help from crashing in and crushing the little peace I’ve been able to find over the years.
I’m sitting at a corner table of the rooftop bar at the yoga school in the town of Pleasantville, the warm wind whipping my long pony tail this way and that, the sensation causing goosebumps to erupt on my bare arms. The day my little sister was taken started out just as warm and pleasant as this one.
The air was thick with the smell of flowers blooming, overlaid by the tangy yet sweet tang of the thick redwood forest. Just like right now.
But in my mind it’s dusk and I’m screaming my sister’s name.
I’m trying so hard to just focus on the here and now, on the solid, hard chair I’m sitting on, the feel of my hair brushing the back of my neck, the million birds singing so loud they drown out the sound of traffic in the street below.
My best friend Lana and I just finished a ninety-minute yoga class and I’ll need another one before the day is done. But the mindfulness exercise is working at keeping the worst of my surfacing memories at bay for now.
“The Treetop Festival is starting tonight,” Lana says as she sets a strawberry, banana and whey smoothie down in front of me and takes a loud slurp of her own, before sitting down. She hands me a crumpled up, bright green flyer listing all the bands that’ll be playing at the three-day festival that happens every spring.
“Wanna go?” she asks excitedly.
The night my sister was taken was the first day of this festival too, and I really wanted to go then.
I shake my head and Lana grimaces at me.
“Come on, Nic,” she says. “You have to start having fun again one of these days.”
She doesn’t mean to be insensitive when she says things like that, but the words are a jagged, rusty knife ripping straight through my soul.
Fun?
How can I have fun when my little sister is just a shell of herself, just a tiny fleck of the dust of who she could be if I hadn’t stopped at that supermarket, if I didn’t waste so much time inside the store, if I hadn’t been too slow catching up to the van that took her.
She says she doesn’t blame me, but how can she not?
“I’ll have fun when the bastards who hurt Ariel are behind bars,” I say and Lana shakes her head, the look in her eyes sad even though she rolls them.
“You’ve already done so much, Nic,” she says. “Give yourself a break one of these days, won’t you? Come to the festival. I’m sure Liam will be there.”
She is convinced I like this Liam guy. He’s Irish and only here for six months while he studies the California redwood forests for I don’t know what reason. He explained it all to me one evening—the only time I’d agreed to go out in a long while—and now Lana is convinced I like him. Truth is, I hardly remember what he looks like.
“I can’t go,” I say and take a sip of my shake. It’s too acidic, the banana adding almost no sweetness to it. “I’m meeting that guy today… the one serving his court-mandated community service at the foundation, and I want to get to work with him right away.”
She exhales and nods slowly. “He’s a member of that motorcycle club you think abducted Ariel? You really should be careful. These people are dangerous.”
“Yes, I know they are,” I say curtly and leave it at that.
I should be nicer to Lana. She’s the only friend I have left from before, all the others have long since drifted away. Mainly because I had no time for them.
All I had time for was trying to find out who took my little sister and helping as many girls who went through the same ordeal as I could.
It’s a stroke of pure luck that this guy was assigned community service at my foundation. He’s a member of the shady and very secretive Devil’s Nightmare MC, which runs much of the town of Pleasantville. I’ve never been able to get anywhere near them, nor found anyone who knows anything about them. I’m sure they’re the ones who took Ariel.
“You could end up just like your sister if you’re not careful,” Lana says. I am well aware of that risk. I’ve lived with it for the past five years. I’m not afraid, so I just glare at her for a few seconds without replying.
“I know what I’m doing,” I say after she just glares right back.
“Why would you think he’ll even talk to you?” she says. “The moment you start asking him too many questions, he’ll just get rid of you. Won’t he?”
“I’m not planning on just coming at him with a bunch of questions,” I say indignantly and take a long sip of my shake.