Perfectly Composed

It's a bit frustrating, to be frank with you. Getting my hands on any concrete info about where she went has been really tricky. We don't have the resources or the authority that the police have.

I thought Sean would be able to get information from the police, given what he's been through. Nothing helpful though. Reassurance the case is open, that they're still looking into it. That's it. It's something, at least. No word on where she might be, or what the police are actually doing. That means: no leads.

I suppose that's why they do it, isn't it? Can't have people going full vigilante. They can't give you nothing at all, so they give you a Liaison Officer, and some reassurance. I wouldn't say it's empty, but it is pretty broad. Enough for some, maybe. Not for us.

I was pretty excited about our visit to Rita, thinking we'd surely get more out of her. Not a bit of it.

For all she acted like she was so matey with Nona, she hardly knew anything about her. She certainly didn't seem to know anything substantial. They hadn't even known each other that long, and Rita could tell us nothing about Nona's earlier life before they became friends. Family or old friends she might turn to in a bind. Places she'd been to, languages she knew. What did she do when she was under stress at work? Rita looked at me like I'd grown an extra head.

For one thing, she didn't even know what Nona did for work. She mentioned something about a cookie business Nona was running out of her own kitchen, but that sounded more like a hobby man anything else. It certainly didn't sound high pressure.

For another, to hear Rita tell it, Nona was always perfectly composed. It sounded like crap to me. I think she had a vicious streak a mile wide. She wasn't close enough to Rita to let her see it. But it was there. Probably repressed it, wearing a calm mask... Until she couldn't hold it together anymore, and then unleashed it on the people closest to her. Her family.

"We will have to talk to them," Sean told me one afternoon. "Jac, I mean. The daughters too, if we can."

I pulled a face. That sounded distasteful. Plus, when he said, "we", he meant me. He still had a hard time talking to anyone at all, let alone someone who was there when he was vulnerable.

This was difficult to see. He'd always been so gregarious, so extroverted. Never short on friends, always ready with a joke, an easy smile. To see what she done to him, beyond disfiguring his face, made my blood seethe. Beyond just helping Sean, this motivated me to find the sadistic psycho, make her answer for what she's done.

Sean said, that day he knocked on my door, that he wasn't looking to get back together. Even so, he's made it pretty clear he wouldn't turn down that kind of reunion.

"Nothing has changed for me, you know," he said one evening. "You haven't changed."

But you have...

I couldn't say it out loud, but I'm sure he felt the words anyway. They slotted into place between us like overlapping bricks. I'm sure he also noticed how I ducked this line of conversation and pivoted clumsily to something else.

We've combed the internet for her, obviously. Social media. We've managed to find people who bought her cookies, and we've decided that will be next on our To Do list. Sean is collating all the names and contact details of anyone Nona was in touch with

I think he's right, though. I think we are going to have to try to talk to Jac.


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