The Stirlings and the Missing Statue

The Stirlings Get an Epilogue!

One of the windows on David's computer was open to the monthly video meeting with his team but he wasn't listening to the accounting department head drone on about a miscoded invoice and how much the one error had held up production for the last week. He couldn't care less and, for once, that particular error hadn't been his fault. He'd made many mistakes over the past year but his department head largely overlooked them. Everyone did. Because he was a Dad with a missing kid.
The other half of his screen was open to a browser with almost as many tabs as there were days that Ez had been missing: resources for Americans living abroad, temporary visa information, Facebook pages for missing persons, a private journal page tied to one of many support groups, the website he'd built with Callum's help meant to share Ez's information and help bring her home. He rotated among a selection of the pages, still looking for updates, but the news about his missing daughter was cold.
"David, you still with us?" His department head, a new woman who'd recently taken on the position, was staring through her stamp-sized video feed. The ten others on the video call were either staring at him as well or talking among themselves, their voices cutting over one another while several of them smacked through a messy lunch at their desks.
His feed was on mute but he nodded anyway to the tiny video feeds and waved idiotically. Truly, he was passing time as he thought to remember his department head's name. He un-muted his feed and cleared his throat.
"I-I'm here," he said. He gave up all hope in the moment of retrieving the woman's name from the cluttered remains of his thoughts. Unhelpfully, the name under her video feed was simply Conference Room B. "Sorry, you were asking about?"
The woman looked flustered and might have been half-way through a scolding of her employee if she hadn't been cut-off by one of his teammates.
"That's April seventeenth, Margaret," Alicia told her.
David, tuned back into the conversation again, realized what they were talking about and was thankful he was saved from coming up with yet another bogus response. "Yes, I was just about to say, Margaret, the deadline was moved up to April seventeenth but everything is looking good. We'll have everything submitted by then, even earlier for those T-Reports."
Margaret looked relieved that she didn't have to reprimand a grieving father—concerned and devastated over a temporary loss, of course—in front of his colleagues. "Thank you David. Alicia. That's great news."
The rest of the group on the call agreed and, graciously, the head of the development department shifted gears and brought up another topic that was outside of David's purview. He muted his feed again and set about clicking through his most visited tabs again.
* * *
Dr. Stirling, although not a currently practicing dentist, was catching up with her own emails while reclined on the couch in the living room across from David's office. Harriet Stirling had decided without much thought at all that it was time for a partner to take over her practice, at least temporarily, while her family was in crisis. Even her most loyal patients had found the new Dr. Boll a bit more aggressive in terms of whitening and veneers. Dr. Stirling had not had the time to vet properly her new partner and was losing longtime patients because Dr. Boll's close friendship with a local cosmetic dentist.
The most recent email started out like so many of the others from patients:
Dear Dr. Stirling,
I hope I'm not bothering you in your time of need. I pray daily for your poor daughter Ez and that she returns unharmed soon! I can't imagine the pain you and your family are in.
But then, like so many others since Dr. Boll had taken over the practice, the email devolved into its true purpose:
During my cleaning last week (I'd so hoped to see you during my visit!), Claudia (your BEST hygienist!) did the cleaning with no issues and I was waiting for Dr. Boll to drop by. I waited for so long, I thought they'd forgotten I was back there (though Claudia, sweet girl, did come to check on me and seemed annoyed that the Dr. hadn't come by yet). Come to find out, he was chatting with someone on the phone in his office (Jules mentioned that as I was leaving) and then when he DID come in, he started scolding me like a child and said that my teeth were so brown from poor brushing, I'd have to get the whitening treatment ASAP if I ever wanted them to look like normal teeth again. I tell you, Dr. Stirling, I was embarrassed. I cannot, CANNOT, go back to that man. If you aren't returning anytime soon (and I so hope you will! But I know you can't, considering dead Ez) then I'm afraid that I'll have to seek out a new dentist. I have always trusted you (even after that bridge incident—not your fault!) but I don't trust Dr. Boll AT ALL.
I hope this email finds you well and I so hope for the return of your daughter, any day now, I'm sure.
Regards,
Eliza Everhardt
The patient, a woman from at least one, possibly two generations ahead of Dr. Stirling, had several valid points, of course. But Dr. Stirling couldn't be bothered to care anything about them. Excepting the income from her practice that she needed in order to take more trips to Mexico, she often forgot about her office entirely. Even the inappropriate gossip shared by the main receptionist, Jules, with patients, delivery people, the hygienists, and other doctors wasn't enough to drag her off the couch to take action against the mistake she'd made in hiring Dr. Boll.
Another email, this one from Mr. Foley about a new lead he thought he was on came into Dr. Stirling's inbox and almost went unnoticed for a full minute. The first line of text under the subject, UPDATE, was visible and as soon as she realized what it was, Harriet Stirling slammed down her finger on the mouse scratchpad to open the full message.
Stirlings,
I have a new lead that seems pretty promising. There's talk of a stolen burro that was found around San Luis. Not close, pretty far, about fifteen miles away where it was taken. Someone thinks, and they put this up on some Snappy video thing, that they saw a girl riding it. Some kid coming home late from somewhere thinks he saw a girl but then they all think it's some ghost or La Llorona or something. It was dark, early morning, and there was a man with her. Description is similar to Ez. Dirty blonde hair. Skinny.
On my way to San Luis to check it out. Will let you know.
Foley
Dr. Stirling read the email four times before she even thought about calling over to her husband. They were talking, resolved to keeping their family together, but it had been a rough year for their nineteen year relationship. When she was certain that she'd read everything correctly and it wasn't her wine habit that was causing a hallucination, she bolted upright and nearly fell off of the couch while heading over to David's office.
He was on a video call with his team but as soon as Harriet cracked the door open and shoved her head in the doorway, he closed the video chat and spun around in his chair.
"What?" he asked excitedly. Given their distance over the last year, the only reason his wife would burst through the door would be to give updates about the search for their daughter.
"He didn't copy you, did he?" she asked him, holding the laptop open and facing him.
"No. Wait. Foley?" David turned back in his chair and clicked through a bunch of the tabs that were open in his browser.
"Never mind that. I know he didn't," Harriet said, annoyed. "Just read."
She crossed the room and stuck her laptop on the desktop, covering a stack of reports that David had left untouched despite having boasted even to her last night that they'd be submitted early.
"Holy shit!" he exclaimed at once after reading the email.
Harriet watched him closely and searched his face for an expression that matched hers. "Do we get excited? Do we start hoping again?"
David's expression faltered slightly and he frowned. He started to say something but then changed his mind. His face was a struggle between being excited and not wanting to upset his wife. "I think...I know we're always hopeful but this...this is the biggest lead we've gotten yet! You're damn right, we should be excited!"
They both crafted the response to Mr. Foley, knowing that the cranky old man, whose beard had grown gray and bushy over the year he'd been searching for Ez, wouldn't read it until he could get a good enough signal. They sent their joint message and then broke into the routine they'd observed any time they'd received any kind of word or sighting of their daughter: they visited Ez's room to tidy up the already clean and organized bed, they ensured their calendars were free of appointments for the next two weeks, and they called each of their other children for a family meeting.
* * *
"These meetings always suck," Declan announced. He'd taken his seat next to Ez's empty chair and sat slouched on the upholstery.
"Because they're not about you?" Mitchell responded with a stronger voice and a bit of dark humor. Over the last year, Mitchell had not only grown taller as he navigated his sophomore year in high school, but bolder as well. Declan hadn't had the nerve to call his younger brother any of his usual nicknames.
"Just waiting on you, Cal!" their mother called up the stairs.
Callum had been at work, or rather, stocking the break room and filing documents for free at the legal aid office where he'd gotten an internship. Rather than spend another summer cooped up at home, unable to go anywhere or do anything because of his parent's paranoia, he'd started the search for an internship early and by now had six months of experience under his belt. It was a nice afternoon and easy enough work he was in charge of when he got the call from his father demanding—not requesting—that he come home immediately. Thankfully his boss was pretty understanding of a college-bound kid with a missing sister and he could come and go whenever he needed.
Callum had come home but immediately gone upstairs to change out of the button-up, slacks, and tie that he wore to work. He carried his blazer home in a garment bag every day to keep it nice-looking, and, sister or not, he always had to hang it up in his closet.
"Coming!" Callum called down the stairs as he struggled into a pair of athletic shorts. He grabbed his phone from his desk where he'd tossed it so he could change but as soon as he touched it, a notification dinged with a soft bell. He unlocked his screen and found that there was a new message from his old lab partner.
i hear there's news about your sister.
He looked at the message again and noticed, this time, that it hadn't come from her account. It was from the same spoof account that had tricked him into going to Cerro Gordo in the first place.
Who is this? I know you're not Sarit.
do u think they found her? [detective]
Sarit doesn't talk to me much anymore. So
again. Who are you?
what? i just talked to you yesterday
Really? Because after I told her it was her
fault my brother and then my sister was
missing, she kind of blew me off forever. So
whoever you are, you're not her.
did you get me something [gold coin
lightbulb]
I didn't get you anything. I have to go.
Don't contact me again, creep.
And it was YOU. Your fault my sister is
missing.
still have that [gold]? what about my
[diamond diamond diamond]?
Callum froze, one hand closed around the doorknob, the other closed around his phone so tightly that the case creaked and the screen threatened with a light pop.
We gave everything to the cops.
not everything
The single gold coin, the one that Callum had found first, lay in the bottom of an old hiking shoe, placed underneath the pried up insole, and under a pile of old clothes that no longer fit. They'd all agreed to turn over everything to the police and tell the whole truth about what happened in Mexico. It was their only hope of finding their sister again.
I don't know what you're talking about.
get it.
"Callum! Get down here RIGHT NOW!" His mother's voice was no longer kind and her parenting no longer easy-going. The tone of her voice indicated that, now that Callum was eighteen, she'd rightfully slap him silly if she needed to, and kick him out of the house.
as long as you keep it, you'll never
[double eyes] her again
Callum threw his phone away from him and it landed on the floor next to his bed. He pulled open the door to find his mother, steaming, standing there. She simply pointed to the stairs and he sheepishly scurried past her.
* * *
"There's a possibility," their father began the meeting once everyone was seated around the table.
Each of the three boys sat up a little straighter in their seats in reaction to the happy, not sorrowful, expressions on their parents' faces.
"There's been word," their father continued.
"Someone thinks they may have seen a girl like Ez," their mother finished.
Callum was the first to react, but a look of excitement was forced through a face that had gone pale. Declan seemed interested and like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Mitchell pounded both palms onto the tabletop and cried out.
"I knew it!" Mitchell added. "I knew she'd be okay."
Mr. and Dr. Stirling both drew in a breath. The number one thing they'd been told, even when Declan was missing, was that trafficking was the number one danger to boys and girls of Declan and Ez's age. Even if the children were found, there was no telling of what they might have endured. Ez coming home would be absolutely the greatest scenario, but her being okay was unlikely.
The parents relayed what Mr. Foley had emailed and turned down the possibility of all four of them returning to Mexico to await better news.
"That's too much of a risk, and we can't afford, literally, without selling the house, to keep going down to Mexico unless the lead is solid," their father announced. He added, when he saw the disturbed looks on his children's and even his wife's faces, "I absolutely would, sell the house that is, if it meant we could physically bring Ez home. The house, the car, my soul. We will do whatever we can to get her home. But taking you all down to Mexico? Out of the question."
The next step, the parents explained, would be to wait for the call Mr. Foley was sure to make over the next twenty-four hours. They'd instructed, in their email response, that, rather than receiving news via email, they wanted to hear from the man himself. Even if the news was bad or, at least, not what they wanted to hear.
They ended their family meeting with the offer to order some takeout—Chinese was the final choice, after the three siblings summarily dismissed the idea of El Charro's.
* * *
Callum had brought the coin with him to work. He'd been unable to find the messages from the faux-Sarit's Instagram account but he remembered what the person—or thing—had said. He had to return the coin. A long-ago conversation about keeping stolen items popped into his head as he hunted on the floor of his closet for the shoe that held the coin. He'd never been a believer in any spooky things like ghosts or hauntings, or legends, but after the mysterious and creepy messages on both his laptop and now his phone, he was beginning to wonder.
He used one of the office computers to look up the address for the little police station where he and his siblings had been taken after Declan's disappearance. That's where those officers had grilled them all and likely believed that it was just a bunch of stupid Americans, trespassing in forbidden places and getting themselves lost. Callum took one of the padded envelopes from the supply shelf and addressed it to the police station. He left the return address blank, but the postage and intake stamp would tell them exactly where it came from. He didn't care if they came looking. The coin needed to go.
* * *
LOS ANGELES - The missing American teenager, a tourist who disappeared from the lavish villa where her family was staying, was found alive Tuesday afternoon in the small village of Cerro Gordo. Missing for just over a year, Esmeralda "Ez" Stirling, 17, was found walking along the highway by an agave farmer. The farmer recognized the girl not only from the missing posters placed throughout the state of Oaxaca, but from the year before, when he'd given her and her three siblings a ride to the village for a day of exploring. Early reports from the US Consulate indicate that while the girl is alive, she is suffering from months of exposure, malnourishment, and a recent head injury. Stirling's parents, David and Harriet Stirling are in Oaxaca now and, through their lawyer, released the following statement: "We are overjoyed to have our daughter back in our arms and cannot thank the people of Oaxaca enough. Without them, Ez would never have returned to us, so from the bottom of our hearts, thank you. We wish, more than anything at this time, to return home with our daughter and begin to heal with our family, whole once again."
A source from inside the hospital where Stirling was taken the night of her rescue, claimed that the girl is suffering further from memory loss, most likely caused by the blow to her head. She claims to have no recollection of the events that led to her reappearance in the village, nor, even, of the year that she has been missing. Our source does recall the girl having an obsession with noises unheard by anyone at the hospital, and asking hospital staff to "keep the coyotes away from [her]." There was allegedly no sign of other traumas to the girl and no sign of interference, besides the head injury, by person or animal.
Updates to come as this story unfolds and the Stirling family returns home.