The throbbing sensation in the back of Zacari's head reminded her she was alive, and she'd been slammed into a door. She pushed herself up, alone in The Operating Room, with no idea about how much time had passed, but then it did matter because –
"Javier!" She scrambled up, knocking Lela out of her lap. A woozy drift caught her off guard and she leaned again the wall. Lela raced out the door. Zacari stepped out and found Javier where Baker had left him, curled in fetal position on the bottom steps.
"Javier. Hey. Wake up." She patted his face, and when that didn't work, she reared back and slapped him.
A groan worked itself from his throat. Zacari, pleased he was alive, planted a kiss on the top of his head, then promptly blushed in the darkness. "Oh, thank God you're okay."
"Ohhh. My heaaaddddd." He cradled the back of his skull with one hand and searched for his glasses with the other. Zacari plucked them off the ground and pushed them onto his face, nearly poking one of his eyes out. "I take it he wanted to talk to you in private," he muttered.
"Apparently so," she agreed ruefully.
He got a faraway look in his eyes. "I didn't see him or anything, but I felt it. Before he threw me out of The Operating Room. It felt so...hateful."
Zacari nodded. "I know exactly what you mean."
"Did he know about you being his great granddaughter?"
"No. And he wasn't very happy about it."
"Are you okay?" There was a crack in his left eye glass was splintered like a scythe.
"I'm fine." Why did she feel she'd lost someone? From the beginning something had been off about Baker and his cold, colorless eyes. But he had her frown dimple. There were multitudes of red flags, but she had chosen to ignore them. All because Baker had given her a little attention. It was that simple. You're pathetic, she thought to herself. She sucked in her tears, because she was afraid if she started crying, she might not stop. She brushed the spot her frown dimple appeared, pressed down hard into her sunburnt skin and hoped it would peel off her face with the break of new skin. Will had been right all along.
"We need to talk to Will."
"Yeah," she said numbly.
They slumped against the steps. Like Will's interruption to Baker's romanticized death of Gloria, a rhythmic knocking ensued behind Zacari's temple. She leaned into Javier accidentally, but she stayed there in the crook of his neck. Lela jumped up on her and sprawled between both of their laps.
"I found out some stuff on Will. A few newspaper clippings online from The Cellardoor Journal. It said a Will Drachman had gone missing when he'd had to interview Dr. Baker, and – well, here." He pulled out his phone, scrolled for a beat, and handed it to Zacari. She zoomed in on a screenshot of an old newspaper.
The Cellardoor Journal
Jan. 3rd, 1940 Vol. 2, No. 1
NORMAN BAKER
INVOLVED IN MISSING PERSONS CASE OF WILL DRACHMAN
Journalist Will Drachman is missing. He was last seen the day of December 27 of 1939 by his parents. He was on his way to Baker's Cancer Curing Hospital to interview Norman Baker and he hasn't been seen since, which is unlike him. Baker's staff, composed of an inadequate three individuals for a patient-dense hospital, Theodora Rosewood, Carol Henson, and Ruth Valentine, have refused to comment on the incident. Baker's alleged cure for cancer is cause for speculation of questionable character, and as Will Drachman was a journalist for The Cellardoor Journal, it is to our belief that Baker should be investigated at the disappearance of Drachman. "We just want him home," Drachman's father says. "We just want to know what happened to him," Drachman's mother says. Will Drachman is of medium height, slight, Jewish descent, and with mid-length curly, brown hair, last seen wearing slacks, boots, a brown bomber jacket, a pink bowtie, and an Argus C3 camera.
Zacari scrolled to the next.
The Cellardoor Journal
Jan. 10th, 1940 Vol. 2, No. 2
SEARCH FOR WILL DRACHMAN CONTINUES
Journalist Will Drachman has been missing for thirteen days, and of those days the Eureka Springs Police Department spent only three hours searching. Meanwhile, Norman Baker has been arrested on claims of false advertisement, nothing more. Remaining patients have been sent to various hospitals, but authorities refuse to give out their names or allow them to make statements on the basis that most are too incoherent and ill to reason. Yet there is no investigation on the treatment of Baker's patients. The lack of legal investigation suggests Baker has made under-the-table deals with the police department, courts, and any individuals involved in the creation of Baker's Cancer Curing Hospital. This speculation is not without evidence; Baker's endeavors in broadcasting renounced modern medicine, damned Catholics, and proclaimed blatant antisemitic views. Drachman, of Jewish descent, went missing the afternoon he drove to Eureka Springs interview Baker. A founder of The Cellardoor Journal, his coworkers can attest to his character, and what an utter loss to the community it will be if action is not taken. Will Drachman is of medium height, slight, Jewish descent, and with mid-length curly, brown hair, last seen wearing slacks, boots, a brown bomber jacket, a pink bowtie, and an Argus C3 camera.
And the next.
The Cellardoor Journal
Jan. 17th, 1940 Vol. 2, No. 1
FIFTY DOLLAR REWARD
JUSTICE FOR WILL DRACHMAN
It has been nearly three weeks since Will Drachman's disappearance. Will Drachman is a fantastic journalist, a wonderful son, a good friend. In conjunction with his parents, The Cellardoor Journal is offering a reward of $50 dollars for substantial information on Will Drachman's whereabouts. Will Drachman is of medium height, slight, Jewish descent, and with mid-length curly, brown hair, last seen wearing slacks, boots, a brown bomber jacket, a pink bowtie, and an Argus C3 camera. Please phone the number at the bottom if you have any information.
Beneath it was a blurred picture of Will, a crooked, close-mouthed smile, jug ears poking through his curls. Zacari scrolled again, but there was nothing left.
"Is that it?"
"Yeah. I guess they went out of business. Or maybe they didn't want to stay in business."
Zacari swallowed hard, her emptiness acidic on the way down, and heavy like a stone in the pit of her stomach. If Baker murdered Will and no one had ever found his body, it was hidden here at the hotel somewhere. Evidence of that must be on the camera. She stood, accidentally catapulting Lela off her lap. She stooped over and cradled Lela.
"I have to talk to him."
"I'll come," Javier said, rising off the steps.
"No. I should see him alone."
"But –"
"I promise I'll text you if anything happens."
"But I have all the chemicals to develop the pictures now! Shouldn't we do that first?"
She hated his good points. "You're right. Whatever is on here must be important if they both want it so badly." She dove her hand into her backpack. Her fingers usually danced easily around the sleek, efficient lines of the camera, accustomed to the hard edges and subtly "argus' lettering, as though the thing had always been hers. She rummaged past books, scrunchies, capless pens, a tiny sweater for Lela she refused to wear, but never found the camera.
"What's wrong?" Javier said.
She dumped her backpack. The contents clattered to the ground, lip glosses rolling in every direction. The camera was gone.
"The camera. Baker took it." They turned back to the door to The Operating Room, which had mysteriously closed. Javier took the first step toward the door. He tugged on the handle, but it was expectantly locked. Zacari cursed. "Great. That's the only way I can communicate with them."
"What do you mean?"
"Every time I look through the camera, I see Baker. Or Will. But I've never seen them without it."
"But – when we were talking at the pizzeria, I didn't see anything when I looked through the viewfinder."
"So?"
"So, maybe it's not the camera, it's you."
Something about this statement startled Zacari into a smile. Javier smiled back at her. Even in the shadows his smile was bright. How are his teeth so straight? He should be in a Crest White commercial. Javier was only inches from her face. His shampoo was faint tea tree. Zacari plucked up the courage and shifted forward a little closer, grazing his hand with hers. Lela watched is mild distaste. Javier's ears went red and his gaze fell. He dropped to the floor and started grabbing Zacari's things. "Here, uh, let me help you grab your stuff."
She internally groaned and began stuffing her books and lip glosses into her backpack. Javier leaned over and kissed her on the mouth. Percy Jackson and The Sea of Monsters fell to floor with a soft thump. She pulled away to examine his crow-black eyes and kissed him again.
One hand cradling Lela and the other intertwine in Javier's, Zacari made her way up to Room 218. The hotel was lying in wait, but the stillness was welcomed. Javier kissed her again before leaving her to unlock her door. She slipped inside, incapable of keeping a straight face. She would and could talk to Will. Everything would be okay.
"Zacari Denise," scolded her father.