What Happened to Erin?

“Hey, Dad, it’s me again,” Mia says, holding her phone with the base of it angled toward her mouth.

She paces back and forth in her bedroom, the straps of her school bag secured on her back.

“Today, the entire town will find out that Keila is missing, officially. I have no idea what could have happened.” She halts. “Maybe that’s a lie…maybe I do know, and I just can’t—won’t face it.”

The worry line etched on her forehead eases and her face softens. A nostalgic look blossoms on her face.

“You used to always say that bravery is being the only one who knows you’re afraid.” She chuckles wistfully and tries to mimic his husky voice. “‘Fear is inevitable, kiddo. But bravery is a choice. You can overcome it.’”

Mia’s face falls into a despairing look. “Sadly, I’m not as brave or as strong as you are. And I wish you were here to convince me otherwise, to advise me and tell me what I should do.”

Her voice breaks and tears burn behind her eyes.

“I really need you to tell me what to do.”

Mia glances down at the screen and wakes it with an irritated tap. She watches as the seconds and minutes increase on the ongoing call, and the time she has to get to school dwindles.

Mia shuts her eyes for a moment’s breath and peels them back open, exhaling heavily. She hangs up and pockets her phone, then heads downstairs.

“Mom, I’m ready,” she announces and makes her way to the staircase, galloping down the wooden steps. She skips the last two and jumps down, emerging into the open-floor living room.

“I’m ready to get this day ov—” she cuts herself off.

Irene whips around, lowering her phone from her ear and placing its face on her chest.

Mia rolls her eyes at her mother’s remorseful expression.

“You have to go again. Don’t you?”

Irene lifts a silencing finger and excuses herself from the call before hanging up.

Irene looks up, bites down on her lower lip, and nods hesitantly.

“The job of an event coordinator,” she says and lets out a rueful sigh.

“There’s a vendor, out of town, looking to spend big money on his upcoming trade shows, and he’s recruited my expertise to help him,” she says, failing to stave off the excitement in her voice.

“I’ll be gone for two days, then I’ll back for a while, until I need to leave again.”

Mia shrugs helplessly. “Congrats, I guess.”

“You think you’ll manage on your own for a while?”

“You know I can take care of myself.”

“Of course you can, because I raised a strong, independent woman.”

She looks around thoughtfully, eyes drawn to the kitchen. “There’s more than enough food in the fridge and in the pantry, but because I’m such an amazing mother, I’ll send you money for takeout.”

The thought of ordering pizza for dinner tugs at the corners of Mia’s lips.

Irene snaps her fingers, then points at the look on her face. “Order as much pizza as you want and…” she trails off to shove her hand in her pocket, fishing out her car keys.

“You get to use my car while I’m away, only because I don’t want you to miss a second of school. I need to get ready to leave, but by the time you get back from school today, I’ll be gone.”

Irene pitches the keys at Mia with a jingle, and she catches them mid-air with one hand.

“Be good and stay safe. Go to school, come back. No gallivanting or going out.”

Mia snorts.

“That would require me to have friends. So, like always, you needn’t worry.”

***

An hour and forty-five minutes later, the auditorium of Braidwood High sits at full capacity. All faculty members are seated in the front rows of the middle and left sections.

The last throng of pupils neatly slips into the back, filling the last open seats. Mild nattering buzzes across the hall. Many feel a sort of concerned curiosity about the impromptu assembly.

Mia’s eyes home in on the vacant stage with a lonely microphone positioned front and center.

Several moments later, Principal Adkins strides out from one wing and makes his way out to stand right in front of the microphone, overlooking the entire student body and staff.

“Good morning, Braidwood High, and welcome to your first day back. And to the seniors who will, hopefully, never experience it again after this year.”

The remark earns him a few scattered laughs.

Principal Adkins assumes a grim tenor.

“I have summoned you here this morning to relay awful news and implore your aid in these troubling times.” He looks upon the audience with all solemnity.

“Toward the end of summer break, one of our own has gone missing. Keila Venus.”

A surge of shocked gasps rips through the atmosphere.

Mia’s hand stiffens around the edge of the armchair.

“Settle down, please. Settle down,” Adkins urges, but to no avail. His plea falls on deaf ears, and the clamor only intensifies.

Principal Adkins raises a silencing hand. “Quiet down, all of you,” he reprimands them with his voice raised. “This is a serious matter, and I need you all to listen very carefully.”

The clamoring thins into a frigid silence.

Principal Adkins nods and clears his throat.

“Keila has gone missing, but with the combined efforts of the town and its people, and the resources of the BPD, she will be found.

“We have already sent emails to your parents.” His head is on a swivel as his eyes rove over the opaque faces of the masses.

“A schedule has been attached to it, for all town-wide search parties, canvases through the woods in search of Keila. And I believe the first one starts today, after school.”

He pauses and lets out a sorrowful breath.

“This school may be an institution of education, but we are more than a student body. We are a family and we must do everything that we can to make our family whole again.

“So, if you know anything about Keila’s whereabouts, report it. There is a special hotline connected to the BPD that you can call. You can even inform one of the teachers if you’re not comfortable, and my door is always open.”

His gaze hovers above the multitudes.

Mia sucks in a sharp breath as it appears as if his eyes have landed directly on her.

“Even if you had nothing to do with her disappearance, but you know something, even if it’s a small clue that can lead to her discovery—then you are as guilty as whoever is responsible for her absence if you keep silent.”

Mia’s heart plummets to her stomach. She drops her gaze to her lap.

Subsequently, Adkins dismisses everyone and the students rise to their feet. Disorderly, they all flood out of the auditorium to the exits that link to the rest of the school building.

Not long after, Mia sits at the back of the classroom, enduring a literature lesson that she would normally enjoy. But today, she cannot stand it. Her playbook is open on a random page and her folded arms rest on the edge of the desk.

Mia’s brows furrow at the curious sounds that beckon her attention. She sneaks a glance at the three girls whispering feverishly with one another.

The one girl in front twists her torso until she can address the two girls that sit together behind her.

She showcases her screen and points to it with a wild look of panic—a picture of Keila with a lengthy-typed post tagged beneath it.

“Right, class. I know we are forced to start the year on such a horrid note, but as they say. The show must go on,” Ms. Jefferson says sullenly, and inhales a deep breath.

“So, let’s start by resuming where we left off in the previous term, by discussing Shakespeare’s use of the technique of elision, in which certain key events take place offstage in Macbeth.

“Why do you think he uses this technique?”

Several hands sprout. Ms. Jefferson elects one volunteer.

Suddenly, a vibration buzzes in Mia’s oversized denim jacket. She pulls out her phone and checks the new message.

Mia lowers the phone absently and drops it, face-down, onto the desk. A shuddering breath escapes her lips. She glances down at the playbook and accepts that she will be thrown out of focus for the rest of the day. Her mind is out of orbit.

***

The following day creeps for Mia, unprepared and unwilling.

The grueling hours of meaningless school ensue. The monotonous routine of subject-to-subject affairs is in play.

This time, Mia clings to every hour, dreading as the time goes by, the more it nears to the inevitability of what comes after.

She could choose not to visit. To reject the invitation and conjure a credible excuse about why she could not come over.

That option would imply the worst.

And not only would it be cowardly, but shameful to all extents.

Deep down, they all feared what this meant. To the rest of the town, Erin’s disappearance began the same—vanishing without a trace.

And now, so has Keila.

When the last bell of the day blares a shrill see-you-tomorrow, Mia flows with the tide of departing students, streaming out of the main building.

Shortly, Mia is on the road, both hands on the wheel, on autopilot, her instinct dictating her actions as she drives to a place, a home that she has not visited in seven years.

But the path is so familiar that it feels like it was only yesterday.

Ten minutes later, Mia rolls into Keila’s neighborhood, and the panic sets in.

The pinpricks of anxiety needle her with tormenting questions.

What is she going to ask you? What will you say to her?

What is so urgent that she needs to speak to you directly? Besides her daughter missing. Why does she think you might know something about it?

What does she know?

Did Keila mention something about what happened to Erin before she disappeared?

Is she suspicious of you?

What does she know?

Mia lets out a tortured groan.

“Shut up. Just. Shut up,” she hisses, seething, trying to quieten the deafening thoughts that suffocate her from within.

She knows nothing. Everyone knows nothing, she reassures her mind to grant herself even a splinter of calm.

To an extent, it is true. No one could fathom the truth of what happened to Erin.

Mia’s only hope is that the terror of their past has not returned to haunt them and to plague her with the gut-wrenching guilt over what she had no choice but to do.

Soon she approaches the Venus house.

Mia parks behind a towering black Dodge Durango that dwarfs her mother’s vehicle in comparison. She kills the engine and extracts the key from the ignition.

Mia pops the car door open and closes it, arming the car with a press of a button. Promptly, she notices two other cars parked near the residence. Mia meanders to the left and respectfully follows the pebble path, avoiding the manicured grass.

She reaches the wooden front porch and slowly ascends the few short steps.

“‘Fear is inevitable, but bravery is a choice,’” she recites to herself, and inhales a readying breath. “And I can overcome it.”

Mia lifts her hand and quickly knocks—three loud thuds, before she can change her mind.

A few seconds later, the beige door opens, revealing Mrs. Venus. Mia looks back at her puffy eyes and she papers on a charming grin. The pastel pink jersey she wears compliments the light tone of her ivory complexion.

“Mia,” she breathes. “I’m so glad you came.”

Mia offers her a wobbly smile.

Mrs. Venus widens the door and steps to the side with her other arm outstretched toward the interior. “Please, come in.”

Mia shoves her hands into her pockets and traipses inside, welcomed into a soaring space crowned with a sparkling chandelier, warm wooden floors, and a bouquet of blooms.

Mrs. Venus closes the door behind her, spins, and walks ahead so she can lead Mia to the living room.

“All the others are already here.”

Mia frowns as she follows from behind. “…Others?”

Mrs. Venus leads her down the expansive corridor. The floor is an old-fashioned parquet in a blend of deep browns. The banister ahead is a twirl of a branch, tamed by a carpenter’s hand.

They drift past the wall of framed pictures; portraits of family snapshots, but most are of Keila alone.

As they pass, Mia watches her evolution from a baby to a happy toddler, then a quirky preteen, then a young woman. Various pictures of her holding up trophies, awards, and certificates, all for unique achievements.

Mrs. Venus pauses in the center of the passageway, large archways on either side of her, mirroring each other. One leads into the separate dining room and the adjacent room is the living room.

Mia carefully walks forward and stands beside Mrs. Venus, exposed to all who already await inside.

The words slip before she can catch them. “You have got to be kidding me,” she grumbles.

The cracks in her calm resurface.

Within the sectioned interior, the living room connects to the kitchen. Aries Black sits on a single armchair, laterally from where she stands, slanted forward with his elbows on his thighs.

Akin Ballo and Opal Chiang share the white classic round-arm sofa, but both awkwardly sit on either end. Far from each other.

In the center of the semi-circle shaped room is a glass coffee table with a plate of neatly piled, home-baked cookies that waft a welcoming aroma that clashes with the artic and hostile atmosphere amid them all.

“Ima, please!” Erin tugged at her mother’s floral skirt. “I don’t want to change my surname. I’m a Mizrahi and I want to stay a Mizrahi.”

She stalked after her mother, who briskly made her way to the kitchen, her heels clicking on the tiled floors. “What would aba say if he were here?”

Katherine Lockwood froze before the island counter, touched her lips with her varnished fingertips, and twisted around.

“Erin…” She trailed off and dipped to fix her daughter with a serious look.

“I know this change has been difficult, to say the least. He’s gone now, baby, but we will always keep him alive”—she patted her hand over her heart—“in here.”

Erin glowered back at her with a seething glare. “How? When you’ve replaced aba with Leonard?” she retorted, and her mother’s empathy evaporated.

The delicate outlines of Katherine’s face hardened into a staid look. “Like it or not,” she said as she rose to her full height, towering over Erin with authority, “you’re a Lockwood now. We both are.”

She waved a dismissive hand, twirled around, and weaved around the island counter to reach the stove.

“Enough. I don’t want to argue with you, Erin. You know what day it is today. Shabbat Shalom. Now if you’ll excuse me, I want to get an early start with dinner. You know how Lenny loves to have his food ready for him,” she chirped.

***

Erin sat on top of the bright yellow duvet draped over her single bed, her legs crossed and her father’s Torah resting on her lap.

Her eyes examined the little personal notes he had written beside a few scriptures. A lot of them he had linked to his wife, Katherine, and his daughter, Erin Mizrahi.

The rebounding sounds of heavy boots thudded on the wooden steps.

The soft smile on Erin’s face faltered.

He’s back.

Erin lifted the Torah from her lap to place it beside her protectively, bracing herself for the inbound peril.

The door was flung open and Leonard marched inside.

“Evening, Erin,” he greeted her with unnatural enthusiasm.

“Hi,” she squeaked out.

“How was school today?” he asked, but before she could answer, he interjected, “I mean it must have been a tough day today, because why else did you leave that filth in the kitchen?”

Rage warped his face, teeth gritted.

“The sink is packed with dishes, if you didn’t know.”

“I know,” she began, and suddenly the inside of her throat ran dry. “Today is the Sabbath. Aba always said that seven days you can work, but the sixth is reserved for God, where you rest and do nothing.”

Leonard scoffed and made his way toward her at a daunting, slow pace. “Sounds like an excuse to be lazy to me.” He paused. “Then again, you never needed an excuse.”

Erin frowned.

“Just like you never needed an excuse to drink too much, but you do it anyway,” she bit back, and instantly regretted it.

He lunged for her, snatched her wrist, and yanked her up from the bed to draw her face to his.

“You listen to me, and you listen well.” His fingers dug into her skin with each word and she whimpered helplessly.

“Since I was kind enough to take you in—the burden of marrying your mother—you will thank me by being obedient. My house, my rules.

“And as for your papa—” his eyes glanced at the Torah behind her “—his teaching should die with him.”

His cold eyes bored into hers.

“You’re a Lockwood now.”

He roughly heaved her in front of him. Leonard shoved her from behind and she lurched forward.

“Go clean the mess you made. And if you ever talk back to me like that again, you’re going to wish you’d joined your papa.”