Savannah Burning

Chapter Four

As Daisy pulled onto my street later that evening, I noticed a cop’s truck parked across the street from my house.

“Wonder what that’s all about,” Robbie murmured, nodding towards the truck. I shrugged in response.

“No idea,” I admitted. As I got out of Daisy’s car with my purchases, I noticed the cop doing the same, heading our way.

“Hey, there,” he called with a half-wave.

“Hi, officer,” I said as Daisy rolled her window down to hear what was going on.

“I’m Officer Stanley,” he said, holding his hand out to me. I shook it, still confused as to why this man was introducing himself. “Do you kids live around here?”

“Yes, sir,” I nodded, pointing to my house. “I live there and these are my friends.”

“Good, good.” Officer Stanley said, clearing his throat. “I just wanted to introduce myself. I’m going to be patrolling this street for the next couple of days.”

“Patrolling?” I asked, shifting my weight. The handles to the bags of apples I was holding was beginning to cut off the circulation to my hands.

“We’ve gotten a few calls about reporters sneaking around here. Trying to get a look at the Skye’s, I imagine.” Oh. I nodded. That made sense. “If you see anything,” Officer Stanley holding his card out to me, “you’ll call me, okay, son?”

I stared blankly at him, unable to take the card from him for obvious reasons. He blinked at me once, twice before realizing. “Oh,” he laughed, his cheeks turning pink. He slipped the card into one of the apple bags. “There you go. And, remember; if you see something, say something.” And with that last original statement, Officer Stanley turned and walked away.

“Anyone else feel like they just entered the Twilight Zone?” Daisy asked.

“Seriously,” I agreed, shaking my head. “See you guys tomorrow?”

“You got it,” Robbie said, holding his fist out of the window for a fistbump. I used my elbow to do its journey justice before heading up the stairs to the front door.

“Mom?” I yelled as I kicked the front door shut with my foot.

“In the kitchen!” She yelled back. I placed the pumpkin on the table next to the front door before heading into the kitchen where Mom was making dinner. She stood in front of the stove, stirring up a large bowl that was tucked under one arm.

“I got you apples.” I put the bags on the counter and they both immediately toppled over. Apples rolled off the counter onto the floor and I scrambled to pick them up before Bear could steal them and bury them out back.

“Hey,” Mom said, picking up the card Officer Stanley had just slipped me. “Who’s Officer . . . Bradley Stanley?”

I snorted with laughter. “He’s posted right outside our house. Said something about reporters trying to sneak a peek at the Skye’s or something. I’m surprised you haven’t seen him lurking out there.”

“I’ve been generally avoiding the outside world today,” Mom said, clipping the card to a magnet on the fridge, right next to a family tree I made back in elementary school. “Too many phone calls. Too many emails.”

“You should just quit adulthood,” I grinned, eyeing what she had cooking on the stove. “Need help?”

“I would love some,” she grinned.

Dad came home right as we were finishing up making dinner, his hair disheveled, tie loosened but still managed a grin when he walked through the front door.

“Smells like I walked in on an amazing dinner,” he said, giving Mom a quick kiss. “That means this was all Tyson, right?” Mom snapped a rag in his direction and he laughed, dodging it only to kiss her again.

“How was work today?” Mom asked as we sat down around the table.

“The worst,” Dad smiled. “Kids are animals these days. Trust me when I say, Tyson; you don’t want to grow up. Ever. And definitely don’t become one of those college kids. They’re the worst.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” I grinned back. “In fact, I was thinking about staying here forever. Rent free. Don’t even worry about it, Dad. I have no plans to grow up anytime soon.”

“Atta boy,” he winked.

Later that night I headed into the living room, turning on the T.V. to get my mind off of the events of the day. I tried to relax myself into an HBO coma, but my mind wouldn’t focus on the movie in front of me. Sighing, I gave into my curiosity and grabbed my laptop. I opened up Google and typed in Katie Skye’s name.

The first link to pop up was for the Katie Skye website. Launched by her parents, it was used to update the public on how the search for Katie was going.

I had known, of course, of the story of Katie Skye. It had become something of a myth to us Oyster Point kids. One minute Katie was sitting next to her babysitter at the beach and the next minute she was gone. The coast guard and police were all called in. They shut the beach down, searching for any sign of her in the ocean to no avail. When a body never surfaced the Skye’s turned to the public, pleading for any information, any witnesses to what happened to their little girl on the day she disappeared into thin air. The last post on the blog was one written by Karen, letting the public know that they had decided to hold a private funeral for their lost daughter. “For closure,” Karen had written, “or as close to it that we can get.”

That had been twelve years ago. Twelve years of nothing and then, bam. Katie Skye had crash landed in my backyard, right where she was supposed to be all along.

I continued scrolling through the search results. There were links to videos of the Skye’s on national television, sharing their story in desperation for their daughter; ones that connected me to stories about the Skye’s very public – and ugly – divorce. Karen was painted as a gold-digger, a manipulator and Brady was portrayed as a cheater and womanizer. The last post on the Katie Skye website was by Mrs. Skye asking for time and space for their broken family to heal.

My head spun from all of these theories and I wondered where the truth in all of it was.

I shut my laptop and turned the T.V. off. I wanted to know Katie Skye’s story just as much as the next person, but digging through Google felt dirty when she was right next door.

Once upstairs I tried to avoid my window but, like a moth to the light, I found myself drawn to it. Directly across the way, Katie’s own window was lit up, the white curtains shielding my view. I was about to give up and go to sleep when the curtains moved aside and she stepped into view as if she had been waiting for me this whole time. She crossed her arms, c****d her hip and raised her chin, staring me down.

I’m not here to hurt you, I pushed the thoughts across Mom’s vegetable garden, over the fence, across the pool and into Katie’s room. I promise I won’t hurt you. I just want to know who you are.

There was a moment, one, brief moment, where the world held its breath as it waited for Katie to react, to do something and then . . . Her arms fell to her sides. Her chin dropped, and she gazed down at the floor. She stood like that for a few minutes and I stepped even closer to the window, my breath fogging the glass. She looked up, considering, before pressing her palm to the window. I reached up and pressed my own hand against the glass and together we stood, watching the other fog up the glass, hand to hand, wondering who the other person was.