The Real Michael Swann by Bryan Reardon

Author:Bryan Reardon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2018-06-12T04:00:00+00:00

38

Stupid.”

It all started with the move, she thought. Julia squeezed the steering wheel as she drove south on the Jersey Turnpike toward exit 6, back home toward Glen Brook Acres and her children. Home. It was perfect, but maybe for someone else. Maybe she, they, needed to redefine the word. The last year had been rocky for them. When Michael got home, they should talk things through. Those moments when she thought she had lost him changed everything. It shifted priorities. Julia knew that nothing would be the same, yet she was okay with that. Almost excited as she exited onto the Pennsylvania Turnpike.

Once she was home. Once they were both home . . . Julia’s thoughts shifted. Michael should have tried to call her. But maybe he did. Why would he get on a bus to Philadelphia, though? Could he have lost his phone? The woman said he had been injured. Was it bad? How bad?

Any plans that had started to form in her head had completely vanished. Her grip on the wheel tightened again as her thoughts whirred. She grabbed her phone and, while traveling at over sixty miles per hour, found the number that Marci Simmons had given her. She dialed. When the dispatcher at the station answered, she asked for Marci.

“This is Dr. Simmons. How can I help you?”

“Uh . . . hi, this is Julia Swann. We spoke this . . . last night.”

The therapist paused, like she might not remember who Julia was.

“Mrs. Swann. How are you? Have you heard from your husband?”

“I did, well, I mean . . .”

Julia felt inordinately confused. For no discernible reason, something about the conversation itched her worries. Maybe the pauses, or something more.

“You heard from him?” Dr. Simmons asked.

“I called . . . and I think he answered.”

“You spoke to him?”

“Not . . . The call dropped. I guess cell service is bad right now.”

“Okay,” Marci said, her tone sounding dismissive to Julia.

“No, listen. I went back to the city . . . and put up flyers. Someone called me. They said Michael was in their lobby.”

Marci cut in. “Sometimes in situations like this, people do, or say, strange things. They—”

“No,” Julia said. “She had my husband’s name tag from his interview.”

“His name was on it?” she asked, quickly.

“Yes. He—”

“Do you have the address of the building?”

“No,” Julia said, somewhat frustrated. “I just . . . I wanted to know if you heard anything.” She paused waiting for a response. When it didn’t come, she continued. “And I just . . . He hasn’t called me. I . . . wondered if that was normal?”

“Are you sure it was really your husband?”

“He used his credit card,” Julia said.

“Really?”

“He bought a ticket on an express bus to Philadelphia. I’ve contacted the police.”

“So you’ve talked to the authorities already?”

“Yes,” she said, flustered. “I’m on my way back from New York, but my friend will be at the station when he gets there. I assume the bus will arrive any minute.

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