Missing Like You

FIFTY-THREE

ISABELLE DONOVAN
THURSDAY JUNE 30, 2022

I sit there, staring at him, unable to process what he's just said.

"My husband," I say the words aloud, as though this will somehow make sense of it all. "What are you talking about?"
"My wife was murdered by your husband. Scott Donovan."
I stare at him, utterly perplexed. "I don't think so..."
"Alexandra Chambers."
At the mention of the name, I lose all feeling in my body. Alexandra Chambers. Alexandra Chambers.
"You probably remember seeing her on the news," he continues. "She went missing last September. They never found her. The police thought I had something to do with it."
"Your wife," I barely get out the words. "Was Alexandra Chambers?"
"Yes. You know of her then, I presume? I don't know how anyone in this city wouldn't."
My mouth is dry. I can't swallow. My heart is stammering through my chest, but I try to remain composed, maintain a solid front. His wife was Alexandra Chambers. She went missing and was never found. And now he has me.
I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.
"Your husband," he continues. "Was having an affair with my wife. Did you know that?"
I shake my head profusely.
"Figures," he sits back, looks at the ceiling. "You said the two of you separated. How come?"
I swallow, wondering how fast my pulse is right now. "He cheated on me."
"But you didn't know with who?"
I shake my head again.
"Well, surprise. The mystery woman that your husband had an affair with was my wife."
"I..." I stammer. "Why do you think that?"
"I don't think that. I know that."
"But... How? If you think my husband had something to do with your wife's disappearance last year, why didn't you say anything to the police?"
"I wasn't aware at the time. After she went missing, and throughout the entire duration of the investigation, I had no idea. It wasn't until afterwards that I found out about Scott.
"The police were useless and couldn't even do their jobs. They were determined to pin it on me from the beginning. They tried to build a case against me with lack of evidence and false motive. They didn't care about what really happened to her. All they wanted was a scapegoat; a face to blame so they could close the investigation. Even when I began developing theories of my own in the new year, they disregarded anything I told them, thinking I was trying to deviate the attention away from myself. I eventually began looking into things myself. When I came to the realization that my wife quite possibly could have been having an affair during the time of her disappearance, I knew I needed to figure it out myself and get my own justice."
"Your own justice..." I say, letting the words hang. "What does that entail?"
"Why do you think you're here, Isabelle?"
I stare at him, confused. "Your form of justice is kidnapping me because you think my husband killed your wife?"
"It's not that straight-forward, but yes, essentially."
"But you're wrong. My husband didn't kill your wife. You have no proof of that."
He looks me over, then takes in a deep breath, preparing himself. "I heard her talking on the phone one night. It was last May, a few months before she went missing. She wasn't aware that I was in the hallway outside of our bedroom. I was about to push through the doors and go inside when I caught the final cusps of her conversation. She said, Alright, well let me know when you're done at the vet with Zeppelin. Then there was a pause and she said, Goodnight, Donovan.
"I guess I didn't think much of it at the time. I played it off as a simple phone conversation and never thought about it again. Until the new year, that is.

"After I began taking matters into my own hands, I started digging through her life meticulously, seeing if I could find anything that the police missed. There wasn't a rock they left unturned. During the investigation, the lead detective had asked me if I thought Lexie could have been having an affair. I said no, because there was no way. Even through all of that, I was blind to it all. But it was late in January, as I was going through her things, that I recalled that vague memory of her speaking on the phone. Goodnight, Donovan. There was something about the way she said it, the inflection of her voice. At the time I had brushed it off because an affair had never crossed my mind. But once I thought back to it, I realized that something was amiss. My wife was having an affair and subsequently went missing. I needed to find out whoever he was in order to get some sort of answers.
"It wasn't easy, tracking him down. I called every veterinary clinic in Philadelphia, claiming to be Mr. Donovan needing an appointment for Zeppelin. Most of the clinics had no record of either names, but I didn't relent. I wasn't even sure what species this animal was, but I hoped that my bluff worked. Sure enough, it did. I eventually got through to a clinic that immediately knew who Mr. Donovan and Zeppelin were. I scheduled an appointment for the following month, then asked her to call the number on file the day before as a reminder. The only way this could have failed was if Mr. Donovan – your husband – didn't recall making the appointment and therefore cancelled it. I guess I got lucky there. Maybe he was too daft to realize, or maybe he didn't care. Either way, I waited an entire month, hoping and anticipating that this worked.
"When the day of the appointment came, I went into the clinic and sat in the waiting room for twenty minutes before the scheduled time. I watched every single person who walked through those doors. I wondered which one he would be.
"Finally, a man came in with a Doberman on a leash. I watched as he walked straight to the reception and said he his name as well as his dog's name. I nearly stood upon hearing it, but I forced myself to stay seated.
"I waited for half an hour, until the appointment was done. Then I watched as he came back out, pulling the dog behind him. They went to the front desk to pay and I took this opportunity to slip outside and wait for him. Once he came out, I bumped into him as casually as I could. I asked him for a smoke, and he told me he didn't have any. I tried to get a good look at his face to see if I recognized him at all. I didn't. The only way I could confirm whether my theory was correct or not was to say her name and gage his expression.
"I looked him directly in the eyes, then feigned familiarity, telling him I recognized him from somewhere. He told me he didn't think so. Then I said, "Perhaps you knew my wife – Lexie Chambers?"
"Immediately as I said her name, his expression changed. I've met a lot of good liars in my lifetime, and your husband is not one of them. It didn't matter what he said after that, or that he claimed to not know her. The answer was clear as day, written all over his face. That was how I knew. That is how I know. Your husband killed my wife."
I stare at him, trying to process everything he's just said to me. It's a lot of information to take in, and most of it sounds far-fetched, as though he's going off a hunch. "That's it?" I say. "That's all you've got? A simple phone conversation? That means nothing. Like you said, they could have been friends. They could have known each other in some other way."
"No," he says, adamant in his ways. "Lexie didn't have friends. I know what I heard. I know I'm not wrong about this. It's intuition. As soon as I was face to face with him, I just knew."
"Okay, so what? Even if they were having an affair, that doesn't mean he killed her. Her body was never found. She could still be out there somewhere."
"You're absolutely right," he says. "I could never prove that he did it. I couldn't prove anything. And I knew better than to rely on the deadbeat police to help me. They'd dismiss my claims and probably arrest me instead. Hence where you come in."
"Me?"
"Yes, you. I've told you from the beginning that you're here for a reason. You are leverage. You are all I have left. You're the last puzzle piece of my theory that will finally give me the answer I need. Because in order to get to Scott and find out the truth about my wife, I need you."
I swallow, unsure where he is going with this.
"Please don't take it personally," he tells me. "You're simply a pawn in a much larger game, collateral damage at best. Because, you see, I believe that your husband murdered my wife. I've never quite resonated with the saying, an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind. No, I'm much more a man of justice. Retribution, if you will. So look where you are, Isabelle. Take it in. My wife disappeared and was never found. And now here you are, missing just like her."