Almost Sixteen Years Later

E liza was back in the storage room. The garage door was still closed most of the way. The boxes still surrounded her on the floor. The device sat next to the metal container she'd found it in, and the note was back in its place. It was as if she'd never been transported to a part of the past she hadn't even witnessed back then. She flopped more than sat on the floor and just stared at the wall for a while, not saying anything but trying to figure out what had just happened. When she caught sight of the device again with her peripheral vision, she thought about pressing the button purposefully this time, but she chose not to. She wasn't sure she'd be able to live through that event a third time. And that was what it felt like to her: like she was physically there all over again, but as her adult self and not the teenager she'd been. Living through it once had already been hard enough, but revisiting that horrible night had been even worse somehow.

The man with shaggy ash-blonde hair and a full beard with a mustache, whom she'd just seen by the cabin, had been the same man she remembered from the funeral, only he'd been clean-shaven that time, with the short, cropped blonde hair and black-rimmed glasses. Eliza knew that for sure for two reasons. She'd seen his eyes. They were a pale, watery blue and a little too big for his face. She'd also seen a scar just above his right eye. It had still been a little pink as if he'd gotten it only weeks or months ago, so it hadn't yet healed. It had been small but noticeable enough from the other side of the living room.

"It can't be…" she said to herself.

This wasn't as if she'd just remembered more details about the man who killed her father. She couldn't have seen those details from where she'd been standing as a kid. She remembered watching her father fall down, get stabbed, her mother running out, and Eliza having to pull her back into the house, but she didn't hear a conversation between the two men. She couldn't have just made that up in her own mind.

All those years ago, the police had concluded that her father had been murdered by a vagrant or just someone who had wandered through the mountain and might have had a mental disorder, and Eliza had had no reason to doubt them back then. But the man who had killed her father in this vision had been perfectly coherent and had also known her father. He'd been at his funeral …

Eliza jumped up then, unable to take it anymore, and yanked the door open. She ran outside, around the corner unit three doors down from her own, and vomited onto the gray concrete. The man who had killed her father had shown up at his funeral and had eaten their food. He'd talked to friends and family and probably expressed his condolences to them when he'd been the one to cause all of this pain. At that thought, Eliza grew angry. She wiped at her mouth and tried to stand but wobbled a bit.

"Hey, hey. I've got you," Lydia said and put her hands on Eliza's hips to steady her. "El, are you okay? What's going on?"

"I…" She couldn't reply. "I feel sick."

"I can see that," Lydia said. "Let's get you in the car. I'll lock up and take you home, okay? The pizza will keep."

"Pizza?"

"Yeah, I got us lunch. Remember?"

"But…" She turned to Lydia. "It's only been a few minutes."

" What's only been a few minutes?"

"You just left. I've only been through two boxes."

"Eliza, I've been gone for over an hour," Lydia replied, looking confused.

"What?"

"I've been gone for over an hour," Lydia repeated, clearly worried now. "What's going on? You look like you've seen a ghost, El." She cupped both of Eliza's cheeks. "God, do you need a doctor?"

"No," she said, wondering to herself whether or not her eyes looked just as unfocused as her mother's always did these days. "I'm okay. I just need to get some sleep, I think."

"Okay. Let me lock up in there."

"No!" Eliza pulled away then and hurried toward the storage unit.

"What? Eliza, where are you going?"

"Just stay out here. I'll be right out. Then, we can go."

Without any explanation, Eliza went inside and pulled the garage door closed behind her, leaving Lydia outside. She found the device on the ground, carefully picked it up, making sure not to press the button again, and put it on top of the note inside the metal box. She clasped it shut, but the padlock was broken, so she'd need to get a new one at the hardware store. Then, she'd have to take this thing and toss it in the nearest body of deep water with about fifty pounds attached to it to make it sink and stay buried forever. She held the metal box in one hand and pulled the door up with the other, finding her best friend standing right there with her arms crossed over her chest.

"What in the hell is going on?" Lydia asked.

"Nothing. We can go."

Eliza pulled down on the door and found the lock that had been resting on the ground. Quickly, she locked the unit, leaving the boxes inside, and hurried over to the passenger door, which she opened. She sat down in her seat and put the box in her lap. Lydia climbed in next to her and looked over at her.

"El, what's going on? For real?'

"Can we just go?"

"Where?"

"My house."

"Yeah, fine," Lydia replied before she started the car, and soon after, they entered traffic.

"Actually…" Eliza began after thinking about it. "Can you take me to the police station? The one nearest to here."

"Police? El, what happened? Did someone hurt you? God, did someone–"

"No," she said at Lydia's worried expression.

"You were alone. I left you there, and that place looked like where storage units go to die. The door was open when I got there. Did someone–"

"No," she repeated before she took Lydia's hand off the steering wheel and entwined their fingers in her own lap. "I was alone, okay? No one hurt me. I just… I remembered something."

"Remembered what?" Lydia stopped at the red light and turned her face to her.

"I know who killed my father," Eliza revealed.

Lydia's mouth opened, but no words came out.

"Uh… I was going through the items. Something inside one of the boxes triggered the memory, and I could see the man clearly then. It was like it finally just clicked in my brain, so I want to describe him to the police before I lose it."

"Lose it? You said you know who it is."

"I don't know his name, exactly. I just remember what he looks like now, and I know he was at the wake."

"The wake?"

"Yeah."

"The man who killed your father went to his wake?"

The light turned green, so Lydia returned her eyes to the road .

"Yes. I know someone who talked to him. My mom's friend from college spoke to him. She might know his name. I want to tell the police so that they can try to find him."

"Damn, Eliza. That's a lot."

"You don't know the half of it."

Eliza pulled out her phone to look up the closest police station, and fifteen minutes later, they arrived. When she told the officer at the desk her story, he told her that she needed to contact the city that owned the now-cold case. That was a small mountain town and not close enough for her to get to, so she asked Lydia to drive her home instead. With this important information wrestling her brain for prominence over everything else, though, she looked up the number of that police department and put her phone to her ear.

"Hi. My name is Eliza Payne. My father was murdered sixteen years ago outside of a cabin in your town. The officer who was in charge then was Officer Cleric. Is he still there?"

"Hi, Eliza. This is Detective Cleric."

"Oh. Hi," she said, feeling unprepared to actually be talking to the man.

Lydia moved behind Eliza's chair and began massaging her shoulders, probably trying to help soothe her however she could. Just having her there was enough to help, in Eliza's opinion, but she appreciated Lydia comforting her with these touches even more. It helped her feel connected to something and someone when she so often didn't feel connected to anything. Outside of her parents, the only person whom Eliza had ever felt anything for at all since it had happened was the woman standing behind her.

"Can I help you with something?" Detective Cleric asked.

"Yes. I remembered something," she answered.

"Something?"

"You never found him, the man who killed my father, because I couldn't give you a description."

"That wasn't the only reason, Miss Payne. It's true that a description would've helped, but it's all wilderness up there, so people come and go as they please. You don't even have to have permits to hike in that area. Even if you would've been able to describe him, we might not have ever found him."

"I was going through some of my father's things today, and something triggered a memory. I know what he looked like now, and I've seen him since. "

"You've seen the man who killed your father since his murder?"

"Yes, at his funeral and wake."

"You–" Detective Cleric stopped himself. "You know him?"

"Not exactly. I just saw him there. I don't know his name, and I haven't seen him since, that I know of, but he was talking to someone I do know. She's a friend of my mom's from college. I know it's a long shot because it was sixteen years ago, and I don't know if she'll even remember his name, but maybe he gave it to her or said something that will help you identify him."

"Okay. Okay. Give me her name, and I'll give her a call to find out."

"You will?"

"Of course, I will. I want to solve this. I've had no leads in the past ten or so years. This is at least something for us to go on. And I want to get you in front of a sketch artist so they can get us what he looks like. We can also use that to jog her memory, if we need to. Do you happen to have the guest book from the funeral?"

"The–" Eliza's eyes went wide, and she looked up and behind her at Lydia. "The guest book."

"You need it?" Lydia asked.

"Please," she said.

"I'll be right back."

At her mother's house, they'd found the book that the guests had signed with their condolences on the top of one of the open boxes. For reasons Eliza hadn't understood at the time, she had asked to take the book home and not put it in the storage unit, so it currently rested in Lydia's back seat.

"I have it," she said into the phone. "The book."

"Good. For years, we thought we were dealing with a vagrant and didn't have any reason to talk to people at the funeral. Can you get it to me?"

"I can scan it in and send the file to you today so that you'll get it faster."

"That would be great. I can arrange a virtual meeting with a sketch artist for you, too. It'll just take a day or two. We don't have one on staff, so we call someone whenever we need them. How far away are you?"

"We moved after it happened, and we didn't live close to the cabin, either, so I'm about a seven or eight-hour drive away. Not a long flight, though."

"Don't get on a plane just yet. Let me do some legwork here, and I'll get back to you if I need you to fly out, okay? "

"Yeah, okay," she replied. "Do you think you'll be able to catch him?"

"I don't know. It depends on how strong your identification is and if anyone remembers him at the funeral, including that friend of your mother's. Speaking of your mom – does she remember anything about this man from the funeral?"

"She… hasn't said," Eliza answered. "I can still ask her, though."

"Please do," Detective Cleric requested. "Tell her what you've told me and see if she remembers anything about this guy from the funeral or the wake."

"She spent the whole thing in her bedroom. She was still in shock. I'm not sure she'll be of much help."

"Oh, okay. Well, still talk to her for me."

"I will."

"And send me those pages from the book. What was the name of the friend at the funeral?"

Eliza gave him the name, and they talked for another minute before he hung up and said he'd call her with news when he had some.

A few moments later, Lydia walked back into the house, holding the guest book out to Eliza.

"Do you think he'd write his name in this? Like, his real name?" she asked as she sat in the chair next to Eliza.

"I don't know. Maybe. If not, it's people the cops can talk to who might recognize him after I give them a sketch."

"You're going there?"

"No. He said I can do it from here, and he'd tell me if I need to fly or drive there."

"I'll go with you," Lydia offered. "If you need to go, I'll go with you. Just tell me when."

Eliza looked up from the book to her best friend and smiled at her. She'd been in love with this woman for her entire adult life, and she'd been terrified of losing her for just as long. It was irrational, she knew. If she were going to lose her, she could lose her as a friend just as easily as if they were together, but the worry had been there all the same. She'd also lost her chance at love with Lydia, and she kept reminding herself that time and time again. It had been her fault that they'd broken up; her fault that she hadn't told Lydia about why she'd pushed her away back then. It was also her fault that she hadn't told Lydia how she felt about her since the last time they'd said they loved each other on Lydia's final visit to Eliza's dorm right after Eliza had started therapy.