Reality Check (2010) (11 page)

to the signs--for two blocks, then turned up Mountain Road. The helicopter's drone grew louder, and once or twice he spotted it, dipping low over the wooded hills to the north. After a few hundred yards, he reached two tall stone gateposts: Dover Academy, 1886. There were no actual gates. Neither was there a wall: The school was separated from the rest of the town not by an obvious barrier but by something invisible, like a force field. Cody could feel it.

He drove through the gateposts, followed a long drive, began to see grand buildings he recognized from the TV report. Kids of about his own age walked across those big grassy quadrangles; the boys all wore khakis, the girls wore khakis or skirts. That was one difference from home, where just about everyone wore jeans. Another difference was that while most of the kids wore fleeces, as at home, these fleeces were better quality; somehow, even at a distance, he could tell. A few of the Dover kids, boys and girls, also wore scarves; you might see a girl or two at County in a scarf, but a boy? No way.

Cody passed a tall bronze statue of a man in a long coat holding a book and began seeing signs: Admissions; Baxter Hall; Goodrich Field; Griffin Dance and Performance Theater; Carnegie Gymnasium; Kravis Observatory; Mellon Memorial Museum of Art; Dover Equestrian Center. He took that road, a road that curved around a covered hockey rink with walls that seemed to be made mostly of glass, went by a series of tennis courts--an arrow pointed to Golf--and up a tree-lined hill, nice houses spaced far apart on either side. He saw a few little kids out playing. Were these houses for the teachers? Cody thought so, but mainly he was thinking:
This is a high school?

A huge red barn--also familiar from the TV report--appeared on his right, at the end of a white-gravel lane. He let out his breath, as though he'd just accomplished something. But-- apart from the journey, making it all this way to something glimpsed on TV--exactly what? Where was he at? Maybe square two. Cody turned onto the lane, followed it to a parking lot beside the barn, and found a space between a horse trailer and a North Dover Police cruiser.

Cody got out of the car, his knee stiff, and felt the wind, a cold wind and rawer than the kind of cold wind he knew, maybe because there was more moisture in the air. He zipped his fleece to the top, shoved his hands into his pockets, and walked toward the barn, limping for a few steps and then not. There was no more time for any of that. In the distance the helicopter hovered over the hilltops.

A notice tacked on the shingles by the open barn door read:
SEARCH HQ
.
Cody went in. Stalls lined both sides of the barn, horses in most of them; in the broad hallway between the stalls, people stood around a desk. But what Cody noticed first--before the stalls, horses, or people--was the photograph displayed on the desktop: Clea. Cody recognized that photograph, even knew when it had been taken: at the sophomore class picnic up at Custer's Point; and by whom: a
Guardian
photographer; the
Guardian
had included it on the monthly What's Up at County High page. The picture showed Clea sitting on a park bench, a smile on her face and a soda in her hand. In the original, Cody had been sitting beside her, also with a soda and a smile. In this print, here at the Dover Equestrian Center, Cody had been cropped out.

Cody approached the desk. A white-haired woman behind it was passing out flyers. People took them, turned, walked past Cody on their way out: a middle-aged couple, a few men a little older than that, and a bunch of Dover Academy kids. They had a look that Cody could spot already. In a few moments Cody and the white-haired woman were alone.

"Hi," she said, glancing up at him. She had a soft, friendly face, like someone's friendly grandmother. Not Cody's: His mother's mother had died young, also of breast cancer; his father's mother, who lived up in Casper, did not have a friendly face.

"Hi," Cody said. "What, uh--"
"First time here?" she said.
He nodded.
"Thanks for helping out," she said. "I'm Mrs. McTeague,

volunteer coordinator. Help yourself to a doughnut." "Uh, no thanks."
Mrs. McTeague helped herself to a doughnut, chocolate

with sprinkles. With her free hand she shuffled through some papers, produced a map overlaid by a grid. "Familiar with the woods around here?" she said, not quite finished with her doughnut.

Cody shook his head.
"You're not at the academy?"
"No."
"We've had a number of volunteers from the high school,"

Mrs. McTeague said, and Cody offered no correction. "And we appreciate it very much. So nice to put some of those old towngown quarrels to rest." She turned the map so he could see, pointed with a pen. "We are here--at the red X. This is the Dover campus, the village green, and Route Seven would be over there, just off the edge of the map, meaning north is like so. The main riding trail enters the woods here." She pointed to the beginning of a blue line on a green background. "It's a three-mile loop, with many trails, marked in blue, branching off as you can see, and even though some aren't suitable for riding, the search has expanded to include them all."

"But the horse came back," Cody said. "Doesn't that mean--"
Mrs. McTeague shook her head, cutting him off. "Because we're working on the assumption that she was thrown from the horse and got confused, we have to check all the trails, and the woods in between, of course. Naturally, we've canvassed residents for miles around, all the backwoods people." She pointed again. "These boxes have been searched--A-one through B-three. Today we're working on C-two." She handed him the map. C-2 was about a thumb's width east of the loop. A single blue line labeled Upper Mountain Crossover cut across it from the loop all the way to the right-hand edge of the map.
"So I just go up there?" Cody said.
The woman nodded. "It's a bit of a hike. You'll find a police officer where the loop meets the crossover. He'll assign you a sector." She gave Cody a flyer with the word
Missing
at the top, followed by a smaller version of Clea's photo and her name in big black letters. "Keep an eye out for any clothing items on this list."
"Okay," Cody said, and headed for the door. He heard a sound from the loft, looked up, and saw a man descending a ladder, a rake in one hand. He reached the ground a few steps ahead of Cody, a tall, thin red-eyed man, with a wild graying beard and a long graying ponytail.
"Hey, Ike," said the woman. "Say hello to the new volunteer."
"Too many cooks," Ike said.
"Come on, Ike," the woman said. "Be nice."
Ike glanced at Cody. "Nice guys finish last," he said. Coach Huff liked that one too.
Cody moved around Ike, walked past the stalls. All the horses stood quietly, some watching him, the others gazing at nothing. All the horses but one: The last horse on his left was restless, shifting around in the stall, tossing his mane, rolling his eyes. Cody recognized him right away, from the diamondshaped blaze. "Hey, Bud," he said.
Behind him, the woman called, "That's Clea's horse--how did you know his name?"
Cody made an instant decision, based on no facts, just a feeling. "Yeah?" he said, not turning, "I was just like 'hi, bud, buddy,' you know? A coincidence."
"Oh," said the woman. "The poor thing's been so anxious." Cody went closer. Bud noticed him, grew still. Cody extended his hand, patted Bud's face. He looked into Bud's big brown eyes, thinking:
You know. Whatever happened, you know.
Bud pressed his head against Cody's hand, but those eyes revealed nothing. Bud's like an open book, Clea had once said. But not to him.
"Get a load of this, Ike," said the woman. "Our new volunteer has a way with horses." Ike grunted. "Ike's just jealous," Mrs. McTeague said. "Bud hasn't been letting anyone near him."
Cody stopped patting Bud and turned. Ike stood in a stall, raking out dirty straw, his ponytail bobbing; the woman was watching Cody. "How come he didn't stay with her?" Cody said.
"Good question," the woman said. "We wondered about that. Sergeant Orton--he's in charge--let Bud out the very next morning, hoping he'd lead us back to the scene, but he wouldn't leave the yard."
"Horses ain't dogs," said Ike. The woman looked ready to argue with him, but her cell phone rang. She answered it. Cody lingered, hoping for news, until she said, "I'll pick it up on the way home."
He went outside, checked the flyer. It described Clea-- sixteen, dark hair and fair skin, five feet five, 130 pounds, no distinguishing marks or tattoos.
When last seen, she was wearing black riding boots and black riding helmet, black sweatpants bearing the Dover Academy logo, a short red jacket, red leather gloves, and possibly a light-colored scarf. Clea is an excellent rider and is in good physical condition.
Cody crossed the yard, went by a riding ring with jumps set up inside, and came to the loop trail entrance. The woods--and hills rising beyond them--were different shades of brown and gray with dark evergreens mixed in; wouldn't a red jacket--Cody knew the one--be very visible? He couldn't be sure. Cody had hardly even been in woods before, just a few times on mountain outings; there was nothing you could call woods in Little Bend.
Cody started up the trail. Right away, the wind died down to almost nothing and it got very quiet; he no longer heard the helicopter. The trail was broad and hard packed, with little mounds of horse shit here and there, and sometimes a horseshoe print. The trail curved around a tall spruce tree and began to rise. Going uphill was actually easier on his knee. He picked up the pace, but always glancing to one side or the other, looking for a flash of red. From the map, he knew he was in A-1, a square already searched and probably heavily trafficked, being so close to the search headquarters, but he couldn't help it. Once or twice he almost called her name; and inside his head he was calling it, many times. He could easily picture her coming around the next bend, sitting straight up and still in the saddle, the way she did. Cody got a funny feeling at the back of his neck, like she was close by. He even turned to look, and saw nothing but the empty trail and the tall trees, with no red showing between their trunks or bare branches.

Cody passed several trails entering the loop and soon heard sounds in the distance: a man's laugh, a dog's bark. He went around a big mossy rock, almost the size of a house, with a big crack down the middle, and saw two men up ahead, one in uniform. The uniformed man sat on an ATV, a German shepherd at his feet; the other man stood to the side, a walkie-talkie in his hand and binoculars around his neck.

The dog must have heard Cody coming--its head turned suddenly in Cody's direction, and it started barking. The men turned, too. "Easy, girl," said the uniformed man. The dog fell silent.

at Cody's leg.
Cody nodded, giving her a little scratch between the ears.
Sergeant Orton saw him do it; his eyes--not very noticeable at
first, kind of overwhelmed by his big red nose and bushy white
mustache--shifted slightly, and changed expression; and for a
moment somehow became his dominant feature.
"I'm Ted Orton," said the sergeant. "This is Mr. Stein from
the school." They shook hands, the men with their gloves
on, Cody barehanded because he hadn't thought of bringing
gloves. "And you're?" Sergeant Orton said.
"Cody," said Cody.
"Thanks for coming out, Cody," said Mr. Stein. He turned
to the sergeant. "Want to put him over with those kids on the
east ridge?"
The sergeant nodded. "Just follow the crossover about a
mile. You'll come to a little bridge. There's a party sweeping
the woods off to the right. Tell them I sent you."
"I can walk you over," said Mr. Stein.
"That's all right," said Cody. "I've got the map." He started
up the trail.
"No hiking boots?" Mr. Stein called after him. "It's a bit
steep."
"I'm okay," Cody called back. He felt their eyes on him until
the first bend in the trail, maybe fifty feet away. No gloves, no
boots, no jacket: He knew he stood out, also knew he wanted to
avoid a whole lot of questions, although he couldn't say why. The Upper Mountain Crossover, much narrower and
rougher than the loop, began rising in a series of long switchbacks. His knee hurt, but at least it seemed stable, and stronger
than even a week ago, a good thing because of all the rocks
and tree roots on the trail. Maybe too tricky for horses--there
were no signs of them now. Cody kept scanning the woods.
Nothing red appeared. And if he did spot Clea's jacket, either
she would be wearing it or not. Not wearing it was the better
option; his mind shrank away from the other one.
The trail grew steeper. Sometimes Cody had to grab a
branch to pull himself along. Once or twice he almost went
down on all fours. He began to sweat a little, not good in the
cold--"stay dry or die" was another favorite saying of Coach
Huff's. Although there was nothing about outdoor survival
in the health class textbook, he spent weeks on it, telling and
retelling hair-raising tales of the Old West, the one about the
Donner Party being his favorite.
A while later Cody heard flowing water, soon saw a narrow stream, a stride's width across or less, blinking through the trees. It came closer, running fast and clear on a rocky bed, sometimes frothing over a fallen branch. The trail curved up around a huge oak and then flattened out for ten or twenty yards, and in that flat part the stream cut across, spanned by a little wooden bridge. Three kids, all warmly dressed, were sitting on it, legs dangling--a boy and two girls, one big, one
small.
Cody approached. The kids looked up. "Hey," Cody said.
"They sent me up here to help out."
The kids gazed at him. The big girl had braces on her teeth;
the other looked partly Chinese; and the boy wore the expensive kind of glasses Cody had seen on models in magazine ads.
They were all smart--somehow he knew that at once--much
smarter than him.
"'They' meaning Stein?" said the boy.
"Yeah," said Cody. "Mr. Stein."
"He's insufferable," said the Chinese girl.
Cody wasn't sure what that meant. "I'm Cody," he said. "That's a first," said the Chinese girl.
Cody didn't get that either.
"Meaning you're her first Cody," said the girl with the
braces. "I'm Alex. This is Larissa. And he's Simon." "You from the high school, Cody?" Larissa said. "No," said Cody, wondering about the best way to reveal
who he was. "Where are we supposed to be searching?" Simon waved vaguely at the hill rising upstream. "Right
now, we're on a break." He took the top off a thermos. "Coffee?"
he said.
"No, thanks," said Cody. "I'd like to get started." "As you wish," Simon said. He poured coffee in the thermos
cup and, as steam rose, took a bottle from his pocket--Armagnac, Cody saw from the label, a drink he'd never heard of--and
added some of that. Simon passed the cup to Larissa and said,
"Hang a right after that rock--"
"The one that looks like a giant boob," said Larissa. "And somewhere up there you'll hear Townes thrashing
around," Simon said.
"Townes?" Cody said, remembering the big blond kid from
the TV report.
"Clea's boyfriend," said Larissa.
"The missing girl," Alex explained.
"He never takes a break," Simon said, sipping from the cup. Cody heard sounds from above. The idea of explaining who
he was lost any appeal it might have had.