Silent Run

of value in the cottage since she’d poured him a cup of tea, told him to relax, and taken off down the beach. Then again, there didn’t appear to be much of value in her home. Aside from one very small TV on her kitchen table, there were no other electronic devices that he’d seen, no computers or stereos or MP3 players -- nothing, unless they were tucked away in the bedroom.
    Unable to resist the lure of his own curiosity, he walked back into the house, through the kitchen, and into the dining room where her easel was set up. He knelt down and looked through some of the paintings that were piled up against her wall. What he saw surprised him. He wasn’t much of a judge of art, but there was certainly a sinister tone to Catherine’s work. He frowned as he studied one dark painting after another. The colors were reds, blacks, browns, the images abstract, some with ghostly appearances, others that seemed purely evil.
    There was a definite mood to her work, anger, restlessness, frustration, and a sense of injustice. At least those were the emotions he felt when he looked at her paintings. How could such a pretty young woman paint such black moments?
    The painting on the easel, showing Sarah’s look-alike sitting in a beautiful meadow, was a departure from Catherine’s other work. It was almost as if Catherine wanted to protect her memories and images of Jessica by permanently putting her in a calm, restful place.
    Which brought him back to his original question: Was Catherine’s friend Jessica really Sarah?
    â€œI see you’ve made yourself at home,” Catherine said.
    Dylan turned in surprise. She’d come in so quietly he hadn’t heard her. His instincts were usually much sharper. She must have left the dogs outside.
    â€œYes, thanks for the tea,” he replied. “It had a kick to it."
    â€œYou looked like you needed a boost."
    â€œI rarely need a boost,” he said.
    She smiled at his cocky statement. “So you’re one of those men who thinks being tired is a weakness."
    â€œI’m not tired,” he countered. “I’m concerned about my brother’s child. It’s important that we find her as soon as possible."
    â€œI know. I’ve been thinking about the fact that your friend and my friend could possibly be the same person. It seems amazing to me that Jessica would have a baby, though. How old is the little girl?"
    â€œSixteen months,” Dylan replied.
    Catherine shook her head. “It’s so difficult to believe. In my head Jessica is a young girl. But she’s not. She’s twenty-eight years old now. So much time has passed since I saw her."
    â€œLet’s not let any more time pass,” he said quickly, sensing that Catherine was the type of person who could get lost in her own head. Hell, maybe that was what she and her friend Jessica had in common. “Let’s get back to business. You told me that Jessica made her cross-country trip with another girl. Tell me more about her."
    â€œThat was Teresa Meyers. She was in foster care with us, too. She was the same age as Jessica, but totally different in personality. She prided herself on being a tough chick, you know what I mean?"
    He nodded. He’d run into more than a few of those in the field of journalism. “Where is Teresa now?"
    Catherine shook her head. “I don’t know. I tried to find her after Jessica disappeared in Chicago, but I couldn’t locate her. She didn’t go back to any of her previous addresses, and quite frankly I didn’t have the money to hire anyone to look for her."
    â€œSo Teresa knew how to disappear, too? What? Did they take you aside in foster care and give you a hands-on guide for how to vanish without a trace?"
    Catherine shrugged away his sarcasm. “They didn’t care enough to do that. Kids in foster care don’t have roots. If you’re not a cute baby someone wants to adopt, you float around the system, moving from house to house, with no regard for any kind of permanence or feeling of security. That’s the way Jessica, Teresa, and I grew up. It’s what we were used to. We didn’t worry about telling people where we were, because there wasn’t anyone to tell. No one gave a damn."
    Despite her matter-of-fact tone, anger burned in her eyes, and Dylan felt like a shit for his comments. “I apologize."
    â€œYou should. At any rate, I don’t know where