The next morning, the sun got up early, but Coraline did not. She stayed in bed, thinking.
Perhaps I haven't been fair to her, Coraline thought. It isn't her fault that the questions she asks are hard for me to answer. Maybe it's time I tell her everything.
Coraline pushed the covers off and took a step towards the door.
I'll tell her about the Pink Palace...
She took another step.
And how I met Wybie...
Almost to the door now.
And how I defeated the—
She couldn't!
Talking about it made it real. Coraline had spent years convincing herself it had been nothing but a fantasy: the imaginary exploits of a neglected child with an overactive curiosity.
She remained in her room for a while longer before her stomach reminded her about breakfast.
The house was hushed as she descended the stairs. It was unusual for Coraline to be out of bed before her daughter.
Breakfast began by getting the egg carton out of the icebox. She made herself an omelet and sat down to eat it.
I only liked cheese omelets when I was little, she recalled, stabbing an olive with her fork. I was a picky-eater. Finley is much better.
Coraline left her omelet sitting half-eaten on her plate. She hurried up to Finley's room. The door was slightly ajar.
"Finley, are you awake?" she called softly.
There was no reply.
She flung the door wide and her breath caught in her chest as she surveyed the room.
The empty room.
Be calm. She went to see me and fell asleep in my bed, or perhaps she's playing in the attic.
She checked her room, the attic, and even Spencer's room.
No Finley.
Taking the stairs two at a time, she almost fell.
A quick search found the downstairs as deserted as the upper level.
She woke up early and went out to play, or perhaps to visit Mrs. Stevens.
Through the front window, she saw the snowy yard, the cracked sidewalk, and nothing else.
She hastened into the kitchen and picked up the phone, dialing the number with an unsteady hand.
After what felt like forever, a slow, crinkly voice came on the line.
"Hullo?"
"Hullo, Mrs. Stevens, it's Coraline Jones, from next-door. Finley's mother."
"Why, good morning, Mrs. Jones. What can I do for you?"
"Is Finley there?"
A short pause, then a chuckle, "I imagine she's in her bed, fast asleep. Those young people can sleep 'til noon."
"Have you seen her at all today?"
The worry in Coraline's voice betrayed the seriousness of the situation. Mrs. Stevens cleared her throat and didn't speak for a moment.
"Come to think of it, I do remember seeing someone leaving your house. It was early and I didn't have my spectacles on, so I assumed it was Mr. Price. But now that I think about it, this person was too short to be him."
"Why would she— ?" Coraline's words came out rushed, and disconnected. "Where did she go?"
"I'm afraid I have no idea. Oh, she was carrying some sort of bag, though. Or was it a backpack?"
"Thank you," Coraline said. Then she hung up.
Where could Finley possibly be going? Why didn't she tell me anything?
Coraline hesitated for a second, and a horrible thought crossed her mind. She dialed another number.
"NYPD here, what's the nature of your call?"
"I'd like to report a missing child."
"All right. What is your relationship to the child?"
"She's my daughter." Coraline's voice was laced with worry.
"Any idea where she might be, ma'am?"
"None. She's never gone far from the house before. Our neighbor saw her leaving this morning, and—"
"Okay ma'am, can I get your name?"
"Coraline," said Coraline.
"Well, Coraline," said the man, who sounded a little annoyed. "I'll see what I can do. Of course, your daughter will have to be missing for a while longer before a missing person's report can be filed. Let's sit tight for a bit. And— who knows— your neighbor may be mistaken, and this girl of yours is simply hiding in a closet."
"I don't pay my tax dollars for you to sit around at a time like this!" Coraline lost her temper.
The man paused, and Coraline heard him ask a question to someone in the background. When he came back on the line, his tone was friendly. "We'll send two of our best detectives right away. What's your address?"
Coraline gave the man her address, hung up, and collapsed into a chair.
"My daughter is missing," she kept telling herself, each time believing it a little more. "I've got to do something."
But what?
I know! I'll search her room for clues.
Coraline flew to Finley's room. It smelled fruity, thanks to an air-freshener plugged into the wall.
The floor was bare, so she opened the closet. Several of Finley's favorite clothing articles were gone.
Turning around, something sticking out from under the bed caught her eye. She took a step towards it.
But then she saw something else: a piece of paper lying on the desk.
A letter.
She read it.
Then she went outside to wait for the police.
About twenty minutes later, a police car drove up and parked next to the house.
Two detectives hopped out and introduced themselves to Coraline. They told her to give them all the facts. For the next few minutes, Coraline relayed all she knew to police detectives Smith and Wesson.
"—and just now, while I was waiting for you," she said, trying to keep herself together. "I went up and looked around in her room again. Some clothes are missing, but I also found this."
She handed the letter to Detective Smith.
"A letter?" he said, in his deep voice (which Coraline somehow found vaguely familiar, as if she'd heard it before, a long time ago).
Coraline nodded. She was afraid that if she spoke, her words would turn into sobs. Her daughter, the only thing worth living for, had vanished.
"Do you know who wrote this?" Smith questioned, while Wesson read the letter from over his shoulder.
"Yes," she choked out.
"It's signed, 'Wyborn'. Does that name mean anything to you?"
Coraline closed her eyes and told them about Wybie. He had known her when she was a girl. Both of them had lived at the Pink Palace. He had not wanted her to leave. He had been sending Finley packages and letters for months now.
"Is he a dangerous sort of person?" Smith wondered.
Coraline remembered how she had called him the 'village stalker'.
"It's been so long since I've seen him. I couldn't really say."
"Well, don't you worry about your daughter," Police Detective Smith told her. "If anyone can find her, we can! I'm the brains, and Detective Wesson here is the brawn."
Wesson smiled at her.
Coraline did not feel any better.