She suffered from schizoaffective disorder and had been since being a teenager. Depression had set in quickly after, no doubt because at the time no one had understood what was wrong with her. It had been only years later that everything had come to light and much help sought after.
It was a lifelong condition, but manageable with pills and therapy, and though it would never go, not completely, she could live a relatively normal life if she kept up with everything. It was when she didn’t that things went wrong. The voices started. The depression ate her up.
Yet through all of this, not for one moment did Elijah ever consider ending things with her. He’d fallen irrevocably in love with Delores and everything that she entailed. He would stand by her, through this and worse.
He could keep her safe, he swore. He would stay by her side, he promised. He would do a better job than Michael ever could, because clearly something was wrong. She wasn’t coping, she wasn’t well. Elijah could see that, and yet Michael obviously couldn’t.
We’ll get you help, he’d said later that day.
I’m okay, she’d replied and taken her next tablet.I’m okay, just a bump in the road.
He should have made her get help. He should have forced her.
And then you’d be no better than Michael, Elijah scolded himself.
Elijah shook out two painkillers and swallowed them down before replacing the medicine bottle. He placed his next to Delores’ as if keeping them side by side was somehow a small representation of the real world. He stared at the small white bottle now, seeing the date on the front was barely three weeks ago. She must have collected them that day, or Michael had.
“He saw her,” Paul finally spoke into the cell phone, pulling Elijah back to the present. “The kid at the motel, he saw her.”
“And?” Elijah prompted, needing something more. Anything. “Did he say anything else?”
“He remembers her. Said she was nervous, distant,” Paul paused as if considering his next statement. “Seemed pretty broken up about something. Said she fled out of here once she’d paid and went straight to her room. Thinks he remembers seeing her heading into the diner later that night, but he can’t be certain.”
Elijah dragged a hand down his face, feeling the roughness of a beard coming through. She was alive, at least she had been. There was a witness now, not just a name in a motel computer. “She was alone?”
“Kid doesn’t remember anyone being with her, and the records show she was the only person signed into the room.”
“Anything else?” Elijah asked, not feeling any better about any of this information.
“Said she had scratches all over her hands and arms. Looked fresh from what he can remember. Kid’s pretty messed up to be honest, I’m not sure how accurate what he’s saying is, but it’s something.”
“It’s definitely something,” Elijah muttered unhappily.
“It’s going to be okay; she’s going to be okay. We’re close to finding her and bringing her back home, I can feel it,” Paul said, though he didn’t sound pleased by the fact, more frustrated by the whole situation. “But this also gets you off the hook; we have a witness and now we can prove that you weren’t the last one to see her alive.”
The sound of cutlery and people talking echoed in the background and Elijah wondered pensively if it was the same diner that perhaps Delores had eaten in. She had to have eaten somewhere. She had enjoyed food and all its undertakings—shopping, preparing, cooking. But mostly she had enjoyed watching other people enjoy her meals.
At home she was the only one who cooked, but at Elijah’s house, he insisted that he help. He enjoyed it. She would chop and he would fry, or he would sieve, and she would bake. He’d been raised to take half of the chores and half of the workload, and besides, he enjoyed spending time with Delores no matter what they were doing.
“Did you check out her room?” Elijah asked, feeling frustrated at not being able to be there working the case. It’s where he should have been, where he would have been, if it wasn’t for her husband. No one at the station knew about him and Delores, they’d had to be discreet, always. The thought of losing her children to Michael were what had kept her with him for so long, and she wasn’t about to lose them now because of her indiscretions.
“Of course, but there was nothing there. No bags, nothing left behind. Shower was still wet, bed not slept in. Elijah, buddy, have you considered that she might not want to be found? Perhaps she just wanted some space.”
Elijah sucked in a breath of disappointment. He’d been thinking the same thing since he’d answered Paul’s call, but to hear it come from someone else was harder than he imagined it would be. Yet, deep down, he knew that Paul was right. No crime had been committed as far as he could see, and if she was avoiding both him and her husband, it was for a reason that she didn’t want to share. Yet something about this whole thing was erroneous. Elijah could feel it in his bones, and his instincts had never been wrong.
“I have,” Elijah took a breath. “But look, Paul, if she’s not taking her meds anymore, then she could be a danger to herself. So yeah, she might not want to be found, but it’s safer if she is.”
“Is that what you think? That she’s off her meds?” Paul probed. From somewhere in the background a plate was dropped, the clatter of cutlery and smashing of porcelain drowning out everything for a split second. Elijah thought back to the image of Delores placing the beige tablet on her tongue. The embossed M on it dissolving away slowly, like her mind seemed to be doing day by day.
“No,” Elijah finally said, not wanting to lie to his partner. “No, I saw her take them. She was religious about it. But I know something isn’t right.” Elijah turned towards his coffee pot, listening to the slow glug and gurgle of it. “She’s in danger, Paul. I can feel it.”
Paul thought about this, feeling even more frustrated than previously. He knew Elijah well enough to know he wasn’t going to drop it until he found Delores safe and well. And he knew enough about Michael Stanton to know that everything about his little show at the station had been just that. For show.
The line between the two men went silent, both of them thinking over their own things. Elijah knew he was losing the argument on this one. He didn’t blame Paul, he couldn’t. If the situation were reversed, he’d be doing and saying the same things. Because when it came down to it, as a cop he had to follow the clues, and the clues were only leading him to one conclusion.
“Did you tell her husband yet?” Elijah asked, flicking off the coffee pot and grabbing a mug from the tree stand. He poured himself a cup, forgoing the creamer in need of the caffeine jolt.
“Not yet. That’s my next call. You were my first priority.”
