4. Chapter 4 (1/2)

sarasesarase

it

was the oddest sensation.

i

could feel my heart bursting out of my chest, and at the same time, i

felt nothing. my head was clear. my

eathing felt normal. i looked

down at my hands; they were not shaking. i tried out my voice.

"missing?

are you sure?" my voice was calm, collected. i felt a spike of

self-loathing deep in my belly.

the

police officer, on the other hand, seemed relieved not to have a

hysterical mother on his hands.

"we're

sure, ma'am. the private school she was enrolled in? christina gur-

gruth-guth-"

"christina

guruthward." i said automatically. "what about it?"

"yes.

the—school. they've just reported that she's missing since this

morning. apparently, the windows in her dorm room were open, so we

assume she left sometime during the night."

"left?

on her own free will? how do you know that?"

"there

was only one set of footsteps in the vicinity. the ground was

extremely muddy, if someone had kidnapped her, they would have left

tracks."

"oh."

i feel befuddled, as if someone had put me under hypnosis. i feel

frustrated, because this news could not have come at a worse time.

and i feel angry, because no

one takes something of mine

without my say-so.

i

consider what to say for a moment.

the

policeman mistook my silence for grief.

"don't

be worried, ma'am," he soothed. "i'm sure she'll turn up

sooner or later. they usually do, you know. and we've got quite a

few leads already so—"

"what

are they?" i snap, suddenly jolted into motion again.

"excuse

me?" said the startled policeman. "what are what, exactly, ma—"

"leads.

what leads do

you have?" i gesture impatiently, even though he can't see me. my

aides eye me warily; they know this can't be good news.

i

can hear his adam's apple going up and down on the other end of the

line. maybe he's realizing the hole he's dug himself into. i can

imagine his eyes bugging out a deep-sea fish, suddenly

ought up to

the surface, and i try not to clench my fists.

i

suddenly cannot stand staying here, away from my city and my

daughter, any longer. my skin itches with the urge to flee, my legs

ache with a need to seek what has been taken from me, and my heart

feels, unexpectedly and unwantedly, as though it had been torn into

little paper pieces.

i

hang up on the silent officer and run—run, out of the building, out

of my ambitions, out of everything i thought i had wanted, to seek

what i had lost, and, in some way, had never found.

i

am coming, my daughter.

jude

maybe

it was my dream, or maybe it was just recent events catching up to

me, but i've found myself thinking about sarase lately. my old

lover, and my old enemy.

i

met her on a terrible night in baltimore, coming back from an

exhausting conference. this was when i was still a young man, not yet

tutored in the ways of business, not yet successful, just another

college grad with a burning desire to make something powerful and

ruthless out of himself.

it

was a cheap hotel that i came back to, all peeling wallpaper and

hateful clerks. i despised it. it represented everything i was at

that moment, everything i was trying to pull myself from. it was so

desperately lower class: and i was set upon other things, things that

looked, from my perspective at the time, impossible.

i

stopped by my room to drop off my

iefcase. it was, as i had said, a

terrible night, and i was in a vicious mood. i wanted to sleep, or

beat someone up in a nameless alley, or go whoring, or all three.

when i walked out of that room, looking for trouble, i heard voices.

they

were coming from the conference room down the hall, the room that i

could not remember being used in my months living there. curious, i

walked down and listened at the door.

it

was a feminists' conference, and the current speaker had a

remarkable speech-making capability. i had never had any talent at

that sort of thing, and i marveled at this nameless woman's flair

for words.

the

conference soon ended, and the women walked out, most looking

suspicious at finding me at the door. but the woman i was looking for

was still in the dingy room, shuffling up her notes.

i

walked in.

"that

was quite an extraordinary speech," i said, trying to put the same

flourish into my words. i found myself wanting to impress this woman;

it was an unfamiliar feeling, but not a wholly unwelcome one.

she

raised her

ows.

"you

were listening?"

i

nod.

"but

only for the last three minutes," i said, as if that made it less

like eavesdropping.

"i

see." she snapped the clasps on her bag shut, and swung it upon her

shoulder. "well, i'm glad you liked it, mister..."

"jude.

jude thunderbolt. but i'm having it changed to just bolt."

her

ows crinkled, and her lips curled into a small amused smile.

"thunderbolt?"

"i'm

an orphan," i hastened to add. "i was named for the statue i was

found under."

"uh-huh,"

she said, her smile getting larger. "a statue. i suppose that must

account for it."

i

realized then that she was laughing at me, and when she laughed, her

eyes sparkled, her face lit up, and my stomach felt like i had taken

a blow.

"it

could have been worse," i answered, unable to help it. "the

statue was called 'god with a thunderbolt in his hand passing

judgment upon the world.'"

our

shared laughter echoed through the halls of that dingy, moth-eaten

hotel.

"so,

sir statue," she said. "what

ought you to the door of a little

insignificant femme-group like us?"

"it

won't be little nor insignificant for long with a speechmaker like

you," i told her. she smiled at the flattery, but she didn't

blush. i liked that about her.

"actually,"

i continued, "i live down the hall from here. just for the time

being, you understand. in room 109." i said it importantly,

although i could feel myself acting the fool. she raised her

ows in

half-condescending way and gave me a coy look.

was

she flirting with me?

...i

hoped so.

when

we finished talking, it had been well past an hour. she had made some

vague comments on speaking at the hotel again; i had said something

ambiguous about having a lot of free time at the hotel. we grinned at

each other, delighted by our double-speak, and she walked off, never

having told me her name or where i could find her. but sarase was

like that, and always has been.

as

for me, i went back to my room, and i stayed there, watching the

digital numbers on the clock change, hoping she would knock on the

door even though i knew she wouldn't.

sarase

the

ride to baltimore was excruciatingly long, even though it was barely

three hours. my fists kept clenching my skirt, even though i took

pains not to. i stared out the window, not speaking, not doing

anything, and willed the traffic to pass by faster.

like

everything else, it refused to obey.

i

was out the door of the car before it had fully pulled up in front of

the baltimore police station. i took, unsuccessfully, a moment to

calm myself, and walk in, not quite composed.

the