AFTER
DETECTIVE BRETT PORTER
By Saturday evening, there's still no sign of Catalaina. News of her disappearance is spreading quicker than wildfire and I have no way of controlling the public's perception. Everyone is coming up with their own stories: she was abducted; she's being held for ransom; she got into an accident and is passed out in a ditch somewhere; she got drunk, wandered off, and got killed; she ran away.
In all honesty, I'm not sure which theory to believe myself. There are so many possibilities, so many avenues to explore of what could have happened to her. And as for evidence, there's not much to go on. There's the money she had stashed away in the bookshelf, and to me, that looks like an insurance policy of sorts; saving up for an emergency... in case something bad were to happen. Usually women do that when they're in abusive relationships, hide money away and then escape in the night.
The police cleared the house and eliminated it as a crime scene. No blood or other bodily fluids that stood out. There's no guns or other weapons kept in the house. And as of right now, Ben is still our prime suspect.
We do a press conference that evening. Her parents, her brother, and her fiancé all stand at the front of the room, microphones and cameras shoved close to their faces. I stand near the back, watching.
Ben steps forward and clears his throat. "My fiancé, Catalaina, went missing in the early hours of Thursday morning." He pauses, as though he doesn't know what to say, even though I'm sure they coached him on everything that needs to be said prior to this. He clears his throat again. "Catalaina is a wonderful woman. She's a teacher at St. Vincent's Elementary School. She spends her spare time doing volunteer work and making cookies for bake sales. She loves her students. She is a passionate, driven woman." He stops again to gather himself. "If you or anyone you know might have any idea of her whereabouts, please let us know. You can call the number displayed at the bottom of the screen anytime."
Ben steps back and reporters go wild, yelling things out to him, asking questions. He remains silent, as instructed.
The Kittridge's step up next, her parents and the brother. It's Mrs. Kittridge who speaks first. "Somebody took my baby. Somebody out there has her right now." She looks directly into the camera lens. "If you're watching this, then please, I beg of you, bring my daughter home. She doesn't deserve this. She deserves to be here at home with her family, surrounded by people who love her. Please," she begs. "If you have any ounce of human decency, you will bring her back."
"We love you Catalaina," her father says. "Please stay strong. Please come home to us."
He steps back and just like that, everything that needed to be said is out there. Now it's up to the public.
_____
I sit in my office with her laptop perched in front of me. I'm on my umpteenth cup of coffee this evening and I'm staring at the screen, trying to stay awake. I read her words, trying to analyze them. What does all of this mean? What was she thinking? How was she feeling when she wrote this?
I must read for hours, not seeming to get anywhere. I read about her life. She talks about her days, her nights, her aspirations in life. She talks about her struggles, her anxieties. She talks about things that matter, and she talks about things that don't matter. It's difficult for me to make sense of it all. To her, it all mattered. Everything in her life was important. It was all worth writing down. Or perhaps not even that, but more so that she needed an outlet. A place to go to escape. And for her, writing was an escape. It was like therapy for her. She could talk and vent and let out all of her feelings in one place. Did she think that anyone else would ever read it? Probably not.
While she did write a lot in here, I'm not naïve enough to think that she wrote down everything. I'm sure that there are certain things she neglected to write about, certain details she chose to omit. She has secrets, this I am sure. And I'm fooling myself into thinking that the answer to her disappearance lies on this laptop. That may not necessarily be the case, but I can sure as hell try my best.
Somewhere between midnight and two a.m., I dose off. I wake myself up, fill my coffee cup, and continue to read. Finally, I come across something of interest.
Do you ever feel like you're only with someone because it's something to do? Because you don't want to be alone? I'm good at being alone. In fact, I used to thrive at it. But somehow that changed over the years. And now I've gotten to the point where the very thought of it scares me. I can't be alone. I can't do it. I need him in a way that I don't quite understand. Because while I feel this longing and necessity for him, I also feel the opposite. As though I'm only with him out of boredom.
How is it possible to feel these two things simultaneously? I'm genuinely curious. Because I think I feel one way, but then my brain reminds me of something else. I need him but I don't need him.
I feel so horrible for saying these things. Ben is such a great guy. I'm the one who's fucked up. But I know that's not necessarily the truth. I may not be perfect, but neither is he. Ben has his flaws. He has things wrong with him that I wish I could change. Don't get me wrong, there are days where I look at him and feel like he's my other half. But I know, deep down, that's a sham. I don't have another half. There's no such thing as soulmates. I'm just a person. He's just a person. We don't "belong together." We just are together. It's as simple as that.
When he proposed to me that day in July, I was caught off guard. We had only been together for two years. And here he was, down on one knee with a ring in his hand. My heart didn't flutter and I didn't feel excitement. I felt nothing. I looked at him, this man who I had come to know so well, and I wondered for the first time if what I felt for him was true love or not. Probably not. I loved him, but in the most peculiar way. I loved him because he was there. And if he wasn't there, I'd probably be fine too. Because that's how I operate. I'm content with somebody, but I'm just as content on my own. Well, not anymore, as you can clearly see. I've developed this problem, this co-dependency for another person. And I fucking hate myself for it. I hate that I've done this to myself. So when he proposed, I guess I kind of thought, why not? What else am I going to do with my life?
I don't know how I got to this place in my life where I don't know who I am anymore. I don't know where I went wrong along the way. I don't know how I ended up here. And most importantly, I don't know how to navigate my way out of it.
I stop reading, then scroll back up and look at the date. It's from January of this year. Which means that Catalaina was feeling this way only four short months ago. This also means that I'm getting closer to today's date in her journal. Closer to figuring out her exact emotions before her disappearance. And if she was feeling this way about her own fiancé, then God only knows what else she was feeling.
______
It's Sunday morning and I find myself back at the house again, Ben seated in the living room in front of me. He looks exhausted, like he hasn't slept at all. I don't blame him. He offers me coffee. I happily oblige.
"Anything new?" he asks with hope in his eyes as he places the mug of coffee on the table in front of me. He takes a seat.
"Nothing yet, I'm afraid."
He exhales.
"I wanted to talk to you again," I say. "Ask you a few more questions."
"Of course," he says. "Anything."
I shift on the couch. "Did anything happen to Catalaina on the Wednesday before she went missing? Or the Thursday? May ninth?"
"Not that I can think of."
"You two didn't get into a fight or anything?"
"I don't know, maybe?"
"Do you fight often?"
"Sometimes. But it's petty stuff. Nothing serious. Everyone fights once in a while."
"Was there anything else happening in her life that might have upset her?"
"I really don't know."
"She didn't tell you anything?"
"No."
"And you don't recall her seeming off that day?"
"Why are you asking me this?"
"How well do you know your fiancé?"
The question takes him off guard. "What?"
"How well do you know her?"
"I know Catalaina better than I know myself."
"Is that so?" I think about all of the things he doesn't know about. The letter she had hidden in the bookshelf. The multitude of passwords she has. The journal. Her feelings about her engagement.
"Yes," he says. "Why are you asking me this?"
"I think Catalaina may be more complex than either you or I can comprehend, Mr. Summers."
He doesn't respond.
"I want to know everything," I tell him. "The good and the bad. Tell me about your fights, your hardships. I want to know everything that Catalaina was feeling. I want to be able to examine her behaviour, analyze her thoughts. If something did happen to her, or she did take off, I need to know why."
"You're still sticking with this theory that she ran away?" he seems fed up, annoyed with me. "How many times do I have to tell you that she wouldn't do that? Something happened to her. I'm so fucking worried about where she is or who might have hurt her, and you're sitting here wondering why she might have run away."
"I understand," I tell him, and I mean it. "But I need to know everything, okay? Tell me anything that she might have done that seemed bizarre or out of the ordinary. Did she have any inflictions about the upcoming wedding or your future marriage? What about your relationship?"
"I already told you, everything was fine between us."
"But I don't believe you," I say, point-blank.
He stares at me. "Well then that's on you."
"No, Ben," I say. "If anything happens to Catalaina, then that's on you." I say the words and instantly regret them. This isn't his fault. I shouldn't have said that.
But he stares at me, wide-eyed. And then shocking us both, he begins to speak. "She would ask me questions sometimes," he begins. "As though she had doubts about me. Doubts about us. But mostly me. I remember this one morning we woke up, and she told me that she had a strange dream. I asked her what it was about. She told me she had dreamt that I was in a relationship with another woman, and I was cheating on the woman with Catalaina. She was the other woman." He pauses, remembering. "She'd get into these weird moods sometimes, ask me questions like, do you truly love me? Am I good enough? Would you ever leave me?"
"When did this begin happening?" I ask. "And how often?"
He breathes. "A couple months ago, I guess. It was like she was second guessing herself. She never believed that she was good enough, even though I told her a million times that she was everything I dreamed of and more. She exceeded my expectations by a landslide. I've never loved anyone like I love her. I wouldn't have proposed to her and have been willing to spend the rest of my life with her if I thought otherwise. But no matter what I said, she didn't believe me."
"What about the whole cheating dream," I say. "Were you in another relationship before her where you disloyal?"
"No, never."
"And you never cheated on her? Had an affair?"
"No, of course not. I don't even notice other women. Catalaina is all that I see."
"So I wonder why she would have a dream like that..." I say, almost to myself. Then I look at him. "Has Catalaina ever been unfaithful to you?"
He hesitates. "No."
"Are you sure?"
"Why would you ask me that?"
"I need you to tell me the truth – has Catalaina ever been unfaithful?"
He's quiet again, then shakes his head in anger. "Yes, she has. But I don't see how that is relevant to this conversation."
"It's relevant because she's missing. Anything and everything that she has done or that has happened to her in the past few months is vital to this investigation," I tell him. Then I ask, "Who was it?"
He looks away and doesn't make eye contact. "She said it was a one-night stand. Didn't even know his name."
"When?"
"I don't remember exactly. A few months ago."
"So before or after she started having weird dreams?"
"I don't know."
"And how did you find out?"
"She told me."
"And how did you react? I'm sure you were angry."
"This is exactly why I didn't say anything!" He snaps. "Because a woman who cheats on her fiancé and then goes missing sounds worse than just a woman who goes missing." He breaks. "I didn't do anything to Catalaina. I didn't touch her, I didn't hurt her. Something has happened to her."
"It was a simple question, Mr. Summers. How did you react upon discovering that your fiancé cheated on you?"
He breathes for a moment. "I was angry, obviously. And upset. But we talked it through. She said it only happened once. It was a mistake. A stupid mistake. And we love each other, there's no doubting that. We moved past it. Many relationships last after infidelity. We're fine."
"You sure about that?" I ask him.
"I'm positive."
He sounds sure ofhimself. But the more Ben tells me about his relationship with Catalaina, themore I can't help but wonder what else he's hiding.