(Disclaimer- reeeally starting to loathe them.)

bonjour. here we go with another new one. yay for me. and i am purposely
not telling you whose point of view this is. don't freak out about it and spend your time
thinking about who it could be. just read it. the chapter makes it pretty clear.
:) i did this because...well, i think its fun to torture people. and also because the third paragraph
kind of gives it away. so just read and review, please. :D thanksss.

Promise "Rings"

"What?" The word was perhaps a little more irritated and sharp than I'd intended when I pulled open the door, but I didn't waste time with apologies.

The officer before me cleared his throat, shuffling his feet in an awkward motion, his fist still raised in the air as if to knock again. I was sure that he noticed the bags under my eyes as he studied me, and I wished that he would just go back to the station. Waiting for him to speak, I placed a hand on my opposite forearm, fighting an imaginary chill.

"I'm here on the account of your…er, runaway child, Ma'am." He mumbled almost unintelligibly. His badge posted the name Davis, and I could tell that he was new. I'd never seen him before, which was surprising to me. I'd thought I'd become fairly well acquainted with each and every one of the town's policemen in these past months, but he was not one I could remember. Therefore, I concluded, he must have been new.

This would, of course, be obnoxiously difficult for me. I did not want to have to clue him in on every single detail. The station better have done a good job in explaining to him this case. Otherwise, I would wring his scrawny red neck.

"Missing, you mean." I corrected.

"Huh?"

"Missing—she's missing. You can't possibly know that she's run away. Not really, anyway. Not intentionally."

His eyebrows hooked above his crooked nose. They were graying. "Intentionally?" he repeated, confused. "Ma'am, she bashed in the face of her caseworker! I mean, well, she—she physically assaulted someone. Are you meaning to tell me that she did so…unintentionally?"

I pursed my lips, irritated. "Is it certain that she did that to the Shrink in the first place? How do you know that she wasn't merely set up? That happens. People do it all the time. Perhaps this caseworker had something against my daughter—jealousy? her own insanity?—and did that all to herself."

Officer Davis cocked one brow, dubious. "I'm sorry, Ma'am. I realize that this is hard for you, but you can't honestly believe that the woman would have gone to such extreme measures…Have you seen the pictures? There was blood all over the place—"

"Yes, yes. I saw, yes." I grumbled quickly, cutting him off. I didn't care about the stupid pictures. They proved nothing.

"What could possibly have made Mrs.…. Miss…" He sighed, giving up on formality. "Why in the world would Carol have done this to herself? For what reason? Why?"

I bit my lip. Yes, this was the question, always the question. I refused to believe that my daughter, my Annabelle, whom I had given life to, had run away from me. Could she possibly hate me that much? Because there was nothing—nothing. No phone call, no mysteriously elusive notes, no emails on the net…not one thing.

I couldn't believe that she would leave me like that, without so much as even one single word, even if I did deserve it. But yet why would she have been set up then? Why?

I had no answer for that.

"Ma'am?" The man hummed uncertainly. I forced my staring eyes to focus and saw that his sights were set worriedly on my hand. I looked at it, noticing the way that it was suddenly gripping the doorframe, supporting the swaying body it belonged to. "Are you—?"

"I'm fine." I snapped. And then, a wave of exhaustion pulling over me, I turned on my heels and headed for the couch, not bothering to invite him in. I noticed as I sat down on the soft ivory cushion that he had followed me in anyway, though.

The conversation was kept generally short, though still too long for me, and proved to be entirely stale. It was just another irrelevant discourse in a line of useless powwows. Another heart-to-heart with all the same murmured words and gestures, providing no leads and no conclusion. It was pointless, just as always, and I hated every single minute of it.

Thankfully about a half hour later we said our adieus, my face lit dimly with a forged appreciation. I smiled blandly as he stood in the doorway, sympathy scribbled all over his face. The policeman named Davis shook my hand, asking me to send his regards to my husband, and finally trudged out through the cheerless Texan sunshine, escaping in his cruiser. I glared after the white vehicle, wanting to throw something at it. What good were the police if they couldn't even find a missing nineteen-year-old girl?

The phone rang as I shut the door.

Knowing who it would be and what he'd want to know, I moved sluggishly through the parlor, in no rush to get to the kitchen. Every day about this time, on his way home from work, my husband would call for updates, and every day I remained unsuccessful in providing him with any news.

"Hello," I sighed dully into the receiver, picking it up on the fifth ring.

There was no reply but a subtle breath. I cocked a brow, saying it again.

Nothing.

My heart thumped with sudden hope. "Hello?" I repeated.

I waited a moment, listening, the tears welling in my tired eyes. Could I really say what I was thinking? Could I give in to the selfish craving, the foolish hope, and force myself to whisper her name? Would she answer? Was it her?

My hands shook.

"…Mom," The word was a sigh, trembling and barely audible, afraid.

I sobbed into the plastic phone, unable to control the overwhelming emotion inside of me. With that one whispered word my entire being gave way to the sky, releasing my poor mother's heart from the stabbing pain it had endured. This was my reunion, my baby.

"Honey, oh honey. Oh, are you alright? Are you okay? Where are you? Please. Oh, please baby talk to me." I couldn't stop myself. I was blubbering.

"I'm okay." She whispered—Anna whispered. My Anna. I heard her sniffle. "I'm okay."

"Where are you? Where have you been? What happened? Please, Anna." I couldn't see, but while I was speaking I heard the door open. At first, my husband's footsteps fell in quickly from the hall, alarmed by my violent sobbing, but then, as he heard me utter the last word, he slowed, his mouth loosing a gasp.

Anna. Anna.

I listened as he dropped to his knees. His suitcase hit the linoleum with a vibration of shouts.

"I'm…I'm safe, Mom."

"Oh, honey, where?!" I tried to wipe at the moisture on my face, my neck, my shirt, but it just kept coming back.

"I…I don't want…" She sighed, reluctant and sad. "I'm safe and I'm well and I love you. Tell Dad that I—"

I thrust the phone at him, angling it so that both of us could hear at once.

"Anna? Anna?!" he cried.

There was silence on the other end for a long moment. At the very second that my heart began to drop in despair, I heard her sniffle again. And then there was a man's voice on the other end of the line, low and soothing, encouraging and urgent. What was he telling her? I couldn't hear! Was he her captor? What was he doing to her?

There was a sigh. "Dad?"

"Anna," he choked out, squeezing my hand. "Anna. I love you. It's going to be alright, you hear me? I swear it. Can he hear us? Is he listening?"

"Is that why you won't tell me where you are?" I threw in almost incomprehensibly.

"What?" Her tone was full of confusion. "Who?"

"That man. We can hear him in the background. Who is that man, Anna? Who is he? Did he hurt you?"

"I'll kill him!" My husband growled vehemently through tears.

Again, there was a pause, and we waited in horrified, furious silence for what seemed like forever. Our hands were clasped so tightly together that both sets of knuckles had turned milk white, his wedding ring cutting into my flesh.

My head spun with wild thoughts: he hurt her. He touched her. He hit her. He stabbed her. He raped her. He stole her.

He'll kill her.

My breath caught in my throat.

And then she started laughing.

"What?!" she chortled. "Mom! No, mom. I'm safe and I'm happy. I promise. Please don't think like that. Jacob would never hurt me, you need to believe that."

I blinked in surprise. "Jacob?"

The name was so familiar, like I'd heard it before…because I had heard it before, I realized. Jacob, the name she had screamed in her sleep for an entire year, the one she had cried every morning until I ran in to console her.

Jacob. Imaginary, hallucinatory Jacob. My God. Oh my God. What a fool I'd been. He was real. He was real. And I hadn't been listening. I hadn't believed.

Or was she truly insane, being taken advantage of by some strange man who saw an opportunity in her frail mind?

My head revolved. I didn't know what to think.

"Anna…" I started, voice hesitant, forewarning. "Anna, baby, you need to tell us where you are, you hear me? Just tell us. Please. Don't—"

"I can't."

"The hell you can't!" My husband stormed, making me flinch. "Did he tell you that? That son of a bitch! I'll rip his throat out and—"

"No, no! Stop! I didn't mean it like that. I don't want to." She sniveled defensively. "Stop blaming Jacob!"

I sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm myself and to swallow down a sob. My husband pushed away in frustration, slapping a hand to his face and leaving me to pace around the room. I watched him, seeing how defeated he looked, knowing that I looked the same. "Why?" I managed to say, closing my eyes weakly. "Why?"

"Because."

"Anna, the police are looking everywhere for you. You need to—"

"I know, I know!" She moaned desperately, frazzled. "Crap. You cannot tell them that I called, Mom. You can't. You have to promise me that you won't. I called you so you wouldn't worry, so you would know that I love you. Don't tell them. You know what they would do! They would just lock me back up in that…that prison! I couldn't take it, Mom. Please, please don't…" By the time she was done her voice had risen three octaves, her breath reaching hyperventilation. I bit my lip, eyebrows furrowed.

And then he spoke. I blinked in shock at the sound of the man's voice again, the caring cadence he used when speaking to my child. "It's okay. Hey, listen to me, it's alright. They won't put you back, honey. I won't allow it—not ever. Okay? Calm now, calm." I heard the words so clearly, so…concretely. This was Jacob.

This was Jacob?

I made myself breathe.

"I won't tell them." I promised, shaking my head. "Of course I won't tell them. Of course. Oh Anna, I love you. You know that, right? I didn't mean to do this to you. It's all my fault. I'm so sorry. I should have listened. I should have been a better mother. I didn't know what to do…" I laid my head down in my hand, sinking into myself as the desperation took over. Sad tears rolled down my face. When would I see her again? I needed to control myself. "Please keep calling. Every day, alright? Promise?"

Anna's father stared in incredulity, eyes marked with sadness.

"Yes, Mom, I'll call. I will. I swear. It isn't your fault." she lied. "But I have to go now. I'm sorry. I love you—both of you. Don't tell,"

The phone clicked on the other end and she was gone, leaving me to my tears and, later, the monotone voice of the operator. With a black and blue heart, I finally dragged my hand from my face to press the end button.

My husband, my best friend, wound his sympathetic arms around my shoulders, pulling me against him while our tears fell. "It's alright," he whispered to me, again and again. "It's alright." But I could only hear the screaming words inside my head.

'This is all my fault.'

I had to make it better.