Part 3: The woman without a face

The following morning I opened my eyes twice for good measure. I was in my bedroom -- the same room where I spent countless hours watching reruns of the X-Files and reading Kurt Vonnegut. The tattered "The Truth Is Out There" poster was only a further affirmation. I was home.

Still in the same clothes as the night before, I noticed my shoes were on my feet, and I hadn't bothered to sleep under the covers.

It took immense effort just to move. Everything hurt. Each movement brought a new pain -- from my head to my tendons. Every sinew throbbed. It was as if my entire body suffered the sins of the night before. But I was home.

As time continued, the details of the previous night rushed as torrent, usurping all other thoughts. Was it true? I thought of Laura, the piano, the concert and the expansive field leading to a dense tree line -- her frame wilting before the abyss. But then the images retracted -- fading each moment. As sure as it was clear, the vision was slipping from grasp. Time was working against me. I sat up rapidly to find a piece of paper and pencil. I almost vomited from the motion, but I had to put my thoughts on the page. I needed something tangible; for it to be tangible. For the next hour I wrote every detail as it had appeared to me the night before: The Ambassador with his long coat, the name 'Laura Spencer,' Chopin and the Governor. Afterwards, I stared at my work, trying to divine meaning from it, but...nothing. It was as though my experience was untranslatable. But that name, Laura Spencer. There was something about it which kept caught my eyes, as though...I had heard it before.

I reached for my phone, but it was gone. I pulled off my bedsheets, looked on the floor and throughout my room. Nothing. Luckily my parents still had an old computer, and it only took one attempt in the search engine before I understood: Mulberry girl declared missing, State Police on the case in the Spencer disappearance, Mother of Laura Spencer pleas "Bring my daughter home," One year and still no new leads, and What happened to Laura Spencer: A five year retrospective.

Every article was penned by Dick Pearl.

His desk was mended with scotch tape and scattered with loose papers. Next to the computer rested a dollar-loaf of white bread, a plate of crumbs and a deli bag of sliced ham. As Dick Pearl swiveled his chair to meet my eyes, I noticed the residue of his lunch clinging to his handlebar mustache.

"Welcome to the Mulberry Free Press," he said with his mouth still half full.

At first I had little to say. Pearl literally looked like the physical representation of a characterized reporter from the 1940s which often plague so many pulp novels. My first instinct was to laugh, but then I noticed something more. At the edge of his desk, next to his phone, rested two items: A picture of Laura Spencer and an award for best feature article in 2011.

"That's why you're here, right? The girl?"

"I've had an interest in the case for a long time," I lied. "I am writing a piece for my English class about it. I've read all of your stories about the case, but I'm having kind of a hard time getting the timeline straight."

"What are going to school for? Journalism?"

"Law."

"Smart kid. Do you smoke?"

"No."

"Shame, vices are important. Gives a person character. Well, I'm going to smoke. Come with me and I'll tell you everything, or don't."

Pearl took me through the winding corridors of the Mulberry Free Press -- past the old artifacts of typeset and typewriters, and out through the back door next to the press room. In the alley, Pearl reached in his pocket and produced a pipe and a pouch of tobacco. As the first plume of sweet smoke drifted into the alley, Pearl turned the other direction.

"I was out here when I got the call. I had a source on the Sheriff's Department who always gave me a heads up. 'Missing girl and Laura Spencer' were the only words I remember him saying. It's funny how a story happens. Sometimes the pieces just fall together and arrange themselves in a pattern. Everything went right for me that evening. I got ahold of the right people, and even the Sheriff contacted me. Me. They were dead set on trying to find her as soon as possible. They knew I could deliver.

"It was through the mother that I found out she used to go walking in the woods. Would often disappear for hours on end, she told me. 'Laura always enjoyed the silence. She liked being alone. I never wanted to bother her.' Direct quote. The Sheriff's Department must have turned over ever stone from here to Lewisville. Nothing. And nothing continued to happen for a long time."

"They didn't find a trace of her?"

"Not exactly," Pearl exhaled, "they found a piece of her shirt on County Road 400 West and Mills End Road, next to the entrance of Gentry County National Forest. They must have searched the woods for months. Still nothing, and since then, it has become worse than nothing. Silent. Hell, the only reason I wrote that five year retrospective was to pump some more interest into the story. But if there is one thing I've learned working as a reporter for 30 years, the public quickly forgets. Stories do have a shelf life. Even the tragic ones..."

I found the intersection Pearl referred to as the sun started to set. The location was may miles outside of the city limits and no telephone lines or houses were visible. Besides the road, the place appeared removed by time.

As I stepped out of my car, I couldn't help but feel alone. A troop of birds migrated south and headed towards the tree line which rested to my right at the end of a field of grass. As I stared towards the forest, I felt as though I had been here before. Something drew me to the woods.

As I stepped in the grass, I noticed recent tracks lined a path. The tracks were fresh, and I followed the trail until I heard the vibration of a phone accompanied by a soft melody.

In dreams, I walk, with you. In dreams, I talk, to you....

I suddenly recognized my ringtone. As I turned the phone over, the incoming caller was listed as "Unknown."

In dreams, you're mine. All of the time we're together...

"Hello..."

This story will be continued in the May 7 edition of the Greene County Daily World. The song referenced in this piece is Roy Orbison's "In Dreams."