A local woman missing- Mary Kubica

MEREDITH
11 YEARS BEFORE
May
In the middle of the night, Delilah cries out for me. It’s a strangled
cry, and then she’s sobbing, gulping through her tears. I spring out of
bed. I rush to her room, where I find Delilah sitting upright in bed,
eyes like saucers. I go to her. At first touch, I know what’s wrong.
Delilah has spiked a fever. She’s sweating through her sheets,
despite the fact that she shivers violently. “Oh, sweetie,” I say,
stroking her damp hair. Her skin is clammy; her pajamas stick to her.
Delilah’s eyes are fixed on the corner of the room. I look, but
there’s nothing there but a lamp. The lamp is a kids’ floor lamp, tall,
with three acrylic shades that look like balloons.
Delilah’s hand rises up from beneath her soggy sheets to point at
it.
“What, baby?” I ask, dropping down on the edge of the bed. “What
do you see?”
“Someone’s there,” she says, voice hoarse. I look again, feeling
my heartbeats quicken, though of course no one is there. It’s
Delilah’s fever speaking. What she sees is the floor lamp, and she’s
mistaken one of the balloon-shaped lampshades for a head, the tall,
narrow tube for a body.
“No one’s there,” I assure her. “It’s just your lamp. Want me to turn
it on and show you?” I ask as I press up from the bed and make my
way toward the lamp. I don’t wait for her to answer, because Delilah
is looking at me strangely. I reach a hand out for the switch. Delilah
coughs. It’s a barky, croup-like cough. Delilah has had croup before.
I turn on the lamp. Yellow light floods the purple room. I look
around, glance under the bed, inside the closet, make a big show of
saying, “See? No one’s here. It’s just you and me.”
Delilah sounds so sure when she says, “They left, Mommy.”
I know that can’t be.