Read Online Gone for Good by Harlan Coben - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Harlan Coben
Tags: Fiction, General, thriller, Suspense, Detective and Mystery Stories, Family Life, Domestic Fiction, Mystery Fiction, Brothers, Missing Persons, new jersey, Fugitives from justice
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We went off to separate colleges, sure our commitment could stand the time and distance. It couldn't, though it hung on for longer than most. During our junior year, Julie called me on the phone and said that she wanted to see other people, that she'd already started dating a senior named I'm not kidding here Buck.
I should have gotten over it. I was young and this was hardly an unusual rite of passage. And I probably would have. Eventually. I mean, I dated. It was taking time, but I was starting to accept reality. Time and distance helped with that.
But then Julie died, and it seemed as though a part of my heart would never break free of her grip from the grave.
Until Sheila.
I didn't show the picture to my father.
I got back to my apartment at ten o'clock at night. Still empty, still stale, still foreign. No messages on the machine. If this was life without Sheila, I wanted no part of it.
The scrap of paper with her parents' Idaho phone number was still on the desk. What was the time difference in Idaho? One hour? Maybe two? I didn't remember. But that made it either eight or nine o'clock at night.
Not too late to call.
I collapsed into the chair and stared at the phone as if it'd tell me what to do. It didn't. I picked up the scrap of paper. When I'd told Sheila to call her parents, her face had lost all color. That had been yesterday. Just yesterday. I wondered what I should do and my first thought, my very first, was that I should ask my mother, that she would know the right answer.
A fresh wave of sadness pulled me under.
In the end, I knew that I had to act. I had to do something. And this, calling Sheila's parents, was all I could come up with.
A woman answered on the third ring. "Hello?"
I cleared my throat. "Mrs. Rogers?"
There was a pause. "Yes?"
"My name is Will Klein."
I waited, seeing if the name meant anything to her. If it did, she wasn't letting me know.
"I'm a friend of your daughter's."
"Which daughter?"
"Sheila," I said.
"I see," the woman said. "I understand she's been in New York."
"Yes," I said.
"Is that where you're calling from?"
"Yes."
"What can I do for you, Mr. Klein?"
That was a good question. I didn't really know myself, so I started with the obvious. "Do you have any idea where she is?"
"No."
"You haven't seen or spoken to her?"
In a tired voice, she said, "I haven't seen or spoken to Sheila in years."
I opened my mouth, closed it, tried to see a route to take, kept running into roadblocks. "Are you aware that she's missing?"
"The authorities have been in touch with us, yes."
I switched hands and brought the receiver up to my other ear. "Could you tell them anything useful?"
"Useful?"
"Do you have any idea where she might have gone? Where she'd run away to? A friend or a relative who might help?"
"Mr. Klein?"
"Yes."
"Sheila has not been a part of our life for a long time."
"Why not?"
I just blurted that out. I imagined a rebuke, of course, a big, fat none-of-your-business. But again she fell into silence. I tried to wait her out, but she was better at that than I. "It's just that" I could hear myself begin to stammer "she's a wonderful person."
"You're more than a friend, aren't you, Mr. Klein?"
"Yes."
"The authorities. They mentioned that Sheila was living with a man. I assume they were talking about you?"
"We've been together about a year," I said.
"You sound as though you're worried about her."
"I am."
"You love her, then?"
"Very much."
"But she's never told you about her past."
I wasn't sure how to respond to that one, though the answer was obvious. "I'm trying to understand," I said.
"It's not like that," she said. "I don't even understand."
My neighbor picked now to blast his new stereo with quadraphonic speakers. The bass shook the wall. I was on the portable phone, so I moved toward the far end of the apartment.
"I want to help her," I said.
"Let me ask you something, Mr. Klein."
Her tone made my grip on the receiver tighten.
"The
I should have gotten over it. I was young and this was hardly an unusual rite of passage. And I probably would have. Eventually. I mean, I dated. It was taking time, but I was starting to accept reality. Time and distance helped with that.
But then Julie died, and it seemed as though a part of my heart would never break free of her grip from the grave.
Until Sheila.
I didn't show the picture to my father.
I got back to my apartment at ten o'clock at night. Still empty, still stale, still foreign. No messages on the machine. If this was life without Sheila, I wanted no part of it.
The scrap of paper with her parents' Idaho phone number was still on the desk. What was the time difference in Idaho? One hour? Maybe two? I didn't remember. But that made it either eight or nine o'clock at night.
Not too late to call.
I collapsed into the chair and stared at the phone as if it'd tell me what to do. It didn't. I picked up the scrap of paper. When I'd told Sheila to call her parents, her face had lost all color. That had been yesterday. Just yesterday. I wondered what I should do and my first thought, my very first, was that I should ask my mother, that she would know the right answer.
A fresh wave of sadness pulled me under.
In the end, I knew that I had to act. I had to do something. And this, calling Sheila's parents, was all I could come up with.
A woman answered on the third ring. "Hello?"
I cleared my throat. "Mrs. Rogers?"
There was a pause. "Yes?"
"My name is Will Klein."
I waited, seeing if the name meant anything to her. If it did, she wasn't letting me know.
"I'm a friend of your daughter's."
"Which daughter?"
"Sheila," I said.
"I see," the woman said. "I understand she's been in New York."
"Yes," I said.
"Is that where you're calling from?"
"Yes."
"What can I do for you, Mr. Klein?"
That was a good question. I didn't really know myself, so I started with the obvious. "Do you have any idea where she is?"
"No."
"You haven't seen or spoken to her?"
In a tired voice, she said, "I haven't seen or spoken to Sheila in years."
I opened my mouth, closed it, tried to see a route to take, kept running into roadblocks. "Are you aware that she's missing?"
"The authorities have been in touch with us, yes."
I switched hands and brought the receiver up to my other ear. "Could you tell them anything useful?"
"Useful?"
"Do you have any idea where she might have gone? Where she'd run away to? A friend or a relative who might help?"
"Mr. Klein?"
"Yes."
"Sheila has not been a part of our life for a long time."
"Why not?"
I just blurted that out. I imagined a rebuke, of course, a big, fat none-of-your-business. But again she fell into silence. I tried to wait her out, but she was better at that than I. "It's just that" I could hear myself begin to stammer "she's a wonderful person."
"You're more than a friend, aren't you, Mr. Klein?"
"Yes."
"The authorities. They mentioned that Sheila was living with a man. I assume they were talking about you?"
"We've been together about a year," I said.
"You sound as though you're worried about her."
"I am."
"You love her, then?"
"Very much."
"But she's never told you about her past."
I wasn't sure how to respond to that one, though the answer was obvious. "I'm trying to understand," I said.
"It's not like that," she said. "I don't even understand."
My neighbor picked now to blast his new stereo with quadraphonic speakers. The bass shook the wall. I was on the portable phone, so I moved toward the far end of the apartment.
"I want to help her," I said.
"Let me ask you something, Mr. Klein."
Her tone made my grip on the receiver tighten.
"The
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