Forsaken An American Sasquatch Tale - By Christine Conder Page 0,13

screen. By the looks of it, the shot hadn’t been taken long before she’d disappeared. And Liberty hadn’t been there.

She pointed at the screen. “When was this?”

Sage leaned one hip against the pool table, arms crossed, a bag or purse of some kind rested on the floor next to her feet. Even the clothes and jewelry weren’t familiar.

A fleeting look of confusion crossed Mitch’s face and then recognition. “Oh, I think that was last fall. Just before…” He waved his hand. “You know.”

She knew. Before they lost her. “Did Ellie take it?”

“I guess so. You know how those two liked to play dress up.”

Huh. Why hadn’t Sage mentioned it? “What’s she wearing?” Liberty motioned toward the screen. “I don’t recognize any of it.”

When Sage had played dress-up as a child, it was usually in heels too big for her, bright red lipstick, and long chiffon gowns from Ellie’s younger days. In this picture she wore a white top and hooded sweater, and what appeared like dark blue jeans tucked into fur-lined boots. The photo was taken from a distance, and the lighting was poor, so Liberty couldn’t begin to count how many, but Sage had on several necklaces, bracelets, and a couple of rings. Her hair was tucked behind one ear, exposing an earring.

She squinted and pointed at the silver hoop dangling from a lobe. “Sage’s ears weren’t pierced, Mitch.”

“No?” He raised his brows, pondered it. “Probably some of those clip earrings Ellie had.”

Liberty nodded. Had to be. But why wasn’t Sage smiling? Liberty traced around the image on the screen. “She looks sort of sad, doesn’t she?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “Ellie probably had her posed for one of those Fancy Shots, like they take at the shopping mall. She always wanted to do that herself.”

Sage did look sort of glamorous, leaning back like she was waiting for a cab, feet crossed at the ankles, face staring somewhere off in the distance, not a care in the world. Just like her dad. Her red hair and milky skin made her look like a model. Their beautiful girl.

Mitch handed her a tissue out of the box. “Here you go, didn’t mean for you to cry.”

She didn’t realize she’d started again. She dabbed her eyes, “Thank you, Mitch. And thank you for the slideshow.” She tapped the screen. “This is my favorite, I think. Would you mind if I had a copy?”

“I’ll have Becky print you off one.”

Liberty nodded, noticed he struggled to keep his eyes open. Knowing how rare a circumstance rest was for him these days, she put the laptop back on the stand, pulled the quilt over his body, and left as he started to snore.

* * *

Liberty played chicken with the sunrise, putting off going home as long as she could. Hopefully Nathaniel’s family would be asleep by the time she returned.

She quietly shut the hatch to the cavern, crept down the corridor, and tiptoed past the darkened guest room. She breathed a little easier seeing their lights out. She wouldn’t have to discuss the proposition anymore. At least until they woke.

As she entered the bedchamber she pulled the heavy velvet curtain closed behind her. A hand lingered on the fabric. Though she loved the softness against her fingers, she wished for the thousandth time for a real door. A wooden one that opened to a room basking in sunlight. Warm rays coming in through four, five, or ten windows. No shades or curtains would cover those windows. She’d have no reason to hide. And wherever she lived, it wouldn’t have a basement.

She closed her eyes and played it out inside her head. Her fairytale dream was of life on the upside. To be fully human with a home, and maybe a little dog she could take for walks on bright, summer mornings. She’d wave at her neighbors and then stop at the mailbox to talk to the mail carrier. They’d talk for ages, until, upon realizing how much time had passed, she’d laugh and excuse herself. Lunches for her husband and daughter wouldn’t prepare themselves after all.

Liberty opened her eyes and let go of the curtain. Were big dreams hereditary?

Nathaniel rolled to face her. “Hey,” he said, and though the lantern wick was set low, she saw he stifled a yawn.

“Hey, yourself.” She took off her robe and laid it over the chair near the doorway. He scooted toward the wall and pulled back the quilt so she could climb in.

She quickly searched his expression