Chapter 14

Vera felt coldness from within creeping under her skin even as she snuggled deep under her blankets in bed. After Officer Burnoe and Vera had apologized to one another, and it became apparent neither were going to get any other sort of response from Mrs. Connors, the two older women departed to leave Vera to her aunt and uncle.

Vera's relatives had – unbeknownst to her until afterwards – been waiting just outside the room the moment the Mrs. Connors had raised her voice, and Aunt Belinda was adamant about getting some ice for Vera's bruising. They had proceeded to fuss over her and make sure she was okay, but Vera's mind had primarily been occupied with thoughts of the young mother; the way she had looked at Vera and the words she had spoken to her, the expression on her face when she knew what happened… This, and the thoughts and fears that were now amassing uncontrollably in Vera's brain like a tumor.

What now? The deceased had an identity, which made things all the more tragic for those involved. What would happen to the family? What if they couldn't recover and something worse happened? Would everyone in Derry know what happened and that Vera was involved by the end of the week? What if more people thought she had done something bad? Would she be an outcast and have to move elsewhere to avoid being judged and ostracized? What would people say; about her and her relatives? And was Officer Burnoe suspicious of her now that she had seen the bruising on her neck? Vera still had no idea what had caused it, but she worried what the police might think after the accusation Mrs. Connors had thrown at her – no matter how untrue and illogical. Absentmindedly she reached up and rubbed the area of her neck. There was a slight tinge of discomfort now and then, but nothing drastic. She would probably stick to collared shirts for a few days to be safe.

Vera felt as though she were swimming in a sea of anxieties, the sheer weight of them keeping her from breaching the surface to relieve the aching in her chest. The feeling remained until at last Vera felt she could take no more and flung herself out of bed, throwing on a light jacket and some slippers before making her way quickly but quietly down the stairs. She made her way to the front door, not even bothering to turn on any lights on her way as she snatched the extra key that was waiting on the small table next to the door. For a few seconds she fumbled with it in the lock in the darkness until at last it granted her access to the outside where she could fully experience her anxiety attack without feeling trapped inside the walls of the house.

Dropping herself down onto the front steps, Vera bent over and clutched her head while squeezing her eyes shut, feeling her heart pound in her chest for several minutes as she struggled to regain some sort of composure. She could feel tears lightly prick the corners of her eyes as all sense of the world around her disappeared, causing her body to home in on itself and what it was feeling. The night outside was silent except for the light choir of insects, but inside her head Vera could hear only an endless cacophony of her own thoughts. She could neither banish nor redirect them, and her body responded in like by remaining frozen, as though she were cemented in place. It was shocking she didn't collapse into an emotional, blubbering mess given the circumstances.

As she sat there on the steps illuminated only by the porch light overhead, the feelings of suffocation and panic eventually began to gradually subside. Despite this, Vera remained hunched over tightly for some time afterwards, indifferent to what time it may be or how long she might have been stooping there. Instead, she merely listened until she could perceive the night around her and feel the slight coolness in the air through her jacket.

It wasn't until Vera began to feel the strain in her body from how tense her muscles were that she finally moved from her curled position. She took a few deep breaths and let them out long and slow, ridding herself of the last waves of the attack. Her anxiety wasn't totally diminished – not that she ever expected it to be, but it wasn't as overpowering as it was before, and was now being diluted by an overpowering sense of exhaustion. Weariness was setting in fast, and it took all of Vera's will to force herself up off the steps and back into the house, to lock the door, and make her way up the stairs and into bed.

She didn't sleep heavily, or much, but at least there was some reprieve from the recent concerns of waking life.


As expected, waking up didn't come easy when Vera's alarm went off the next morning. She was tired again, but now the weariness seemed more mental and emotional than physical, making it seem as though all her feelings had been numbed. It wasn't a great feeling, and her body still carried a sort of exhaustion within it. For a few minutes, Vera contemplated calling out of work, wanting nothing more than to just roll over and bary herself alive under her blankets, yet her still-anxious mind quickly convinced her otherwise.

Calling out on such short notice might invite unwanted questions from Mrs. Peterson, and Vera was determined to avoid such things; she didn't need the knowledge of her current personal issues spreading to others outside her family and friends. For an instant panic seized her at the thought that her aunt and uncle might talk with their friends and acquaintances about her and what happened, but she hastily reassured herself that they would never do such a thing, not when they knew if affected her so.

Vera knocked her head back against her pillow once and let out breath. She had to get up now.

Like a machine she went about her morning routine: eat breakfast, brush teeth, shower, get dressed, pack lunch; everything completed as per usual and without interruption. As she finished locking the front door behind her, Vera let out an audible sigh. Last night was still on her mind, and she would have to tell Greta and James about it. To not do so would likely weigh on her mind, as would the desire to talk with someone about it without them obsessing over her, like her family would.

Assuming Mrs. Connors hasn't gone out herself and spread word, Vera's mind suddenly mused negatively, making her frown. The woman did seem – Vera didn't like the word, but – unstable, as time had gone on last night. Certainly the shock and grief of losing her daughter was incomparable to anything Vera could imagine, and as much as she worried about what might have happened to Jane, a part of her definitely felt for her mother too – and the father, though Vera hadn't met him. Perhaps he had been waiting at the police station in case someone found something?

Trying to clear away the unpleasant thoughts that clouded her mind like smoke from a fire, Vera forced herself to think about what menial tasks Mrs. Peterson might have her perform at work for the day as she began her walk to the library. Sure, it wasn't something exciting to think about, but at least it was something relatively simple to imagine, and that was what Vera desperately needed at this moment: something simple. No what-if thoughts and anxieties, just a routine, uneventful day on the job.

It seemed fortune was on her side regarding this matter, as the day went by rather quietly for Vera. Much of her time was spent re-shelving books and handling returns as Mrs. Peterson had foretold a week earlier; many students were in the midst of completing their final exams in school – and some still at the university, so there were more books coming back to the library as essays were written and studies were finished. The work was tedious, but at least it kept Vera occupied throughout the day.

Sometime after her lunch, Mrs. Peterson had introduced her to Mrs. Brooks – or "Rosa" as she preferred to be called, another elderly lady with short white hair and round spectacles who apparently worked on-and-off during the year as a volunteer. In comparison to the head librarian, Rosa seemed much more laid back, and her dainty movements and easy-going expression led Vera to call up thoughts of the stereotypical image of a sweet old lady who might bake cookies and spoil one rotten if given the chance. Vera quickly decided she liked the older woman.

The two had conversed for a bit while working in the same space, and Vera couldn't deny she felt as though she were talking with her grandmother as talk flowed comfortably between them, mostly circulating on the topic of what it was like down in Georgia where Vera was from and Rosa's variety of job experiences. As it turned out, the woman had done nearly everything, from teaching to accounting to landscaping, and was now helping at the library to further her own knowledge and experiences – if not because she was admittedly slowing down and unable to perform as she used to.

In her own way, she gave Vera some semblance of hope, that working in multiple and differing trades was okay, and no one was required to settle down immediately – if at all – within only a single area of work in life.

Although Vera knew they talked about a good number of subjects, she was surprised to find that over two hours had gone by when Rosa was finally needed elsewhere. While a part of her was disappointed by this, she reasoned that it was for the best, as they had likely been less productive as a result, and she didn't want either of them to receive a word of disapproval by Mrs. Peterson. As such, they had left things as they were and went about the rest of their day separately, but not without saying their goodbyes as the library closed up that evening.

Like the previous day, her friends came to meet her after she got off, James heading over from work and Greta from babysitting for a neighbor down the street – an "income-awarding job" she might be doing more of during the summer months she had elaborated, as opposed to only unpaid help at the library.

"So have you heard anything else from the police?" Greta finally broached the subject a while after the group had gotten comfortable on a park bench overlooking an expanse of grass and trees. "Officer Burnoe came to check on us earlier the other day, but she didn't have much to tell us. She was going to visit you later, I think," she elaborated.

God, please give me strength, Vera bit her bottom lip as she felt her heart begin to pound like a drum. She had known she would have to be the one to convey the news to the cousins, and indeed the knowledge of that had been on her mind all day, but she had still pushed it to the back of her head, as though doing so could make the world forget it ever happened.

But Vera didn't want to forget. As horrible as it was, to forget would somehow be an insult to Jane, as if saying she wasn't important, or not worth remembering. No. Greta and James needed to know. Vera took a steadying breath to calm her nerves as though she were preparing to recite a speech to a large audience.

"Officer Burnoe came by last night with Mrs. Connors. They showed me a picture of her daughter, who was reported as missing. They must have put two and two together after taking down my description of the little girl and when Mrs. Connors came in saying she couldn't find her daughter." Vera gave brief pause as she wrung her hands together nervously, unable to look at her friends' faces in case doing so distracted her from her recount. "Her name – the little girl's name was Jane, and she was the one I tried to save the other evening. Officer Burnoe told me they hadn't found her, nor was there any sign of her anywhere. No one knows what happened. She's just… gone."