Prologue
Bonnie McMillan sat alone in the theater, relishing the anonymity of the dark. Tonight, she didn’t have to be anybody’s mommy, or wife, or teacher. No sticky little hands grabbed for her popcorn. No one whispered to pass the soda. Her cell phone stayed tucked in her purse, mercifully silent.
She hunkered down in her seat, her face lit by the screen. Behind her, the old-school film reel whirred. Here, she could simply be Bonnie, the same breathless, eager teenaged girl who’d first watched Vertigo at a Hitchcock marathon in San Francisco fifteen years ago. Back then, she’d dreamed of writing scripts and directing films herself.
That girl with big city ambitions seemed light-years away from Fog Harbor, with its bone-cold ocean and dreary winters. For a long five months a year, the tourists vanished like migrant birds, taking their rental cars and fat pocketbooks with them. Many of the locals worked at Crescent Bay State Prison, like her and James. The others lived behind its walls. Permanently.
Bonnie couldn’t remember the last time she’d caught a Wednesday midnight showing at Fog City Cinema, the one-feature relic on the outskirts of town, and it had been ages since she’d been to a movie alone. Certainly not since Noah was born. It felt deliciously strange, indulgent even, to be here, and on a weeknight no less. But when James had offered to take the boys on an overnight trip whale-watching at Ecola State Park, she’d known exactly how to spend her first free evening.
Leaning forward, Bonnie tensed; on the screen, a middle-aged Jimmy Stewart chased Kim Novak up the stairs of the bell tower, where he stopped short, disoriented and perspiring. The woman screamed as her body hurtled toward the ground. Bonnie couldn’t look, so she shoveled another bite of popcorn instead, licking the salt from her lips.
A thin blade of light sliced the theater’s shadowy entrance and Bonnie heard the soft thud of approaching footsteps. The man didn’t look up as he rounded the divider, his face obscured by the hood of his coat. He lumbered up the aisle, dripping rainwater and tracking mud with his boots, and took a seat somewhere in the darkness behind her. Worry prickled at the back of her neck.
She focused her mind back on Vertigo’s spiraling soundtrack. The trills, the brass crescendo, the shuddering dissonance. Pitch-perfect for a cinematic study on obsession. Hitch did crazy better than anybody. And she knew crazy. She’d taught creative writing in the prison’s education department for eight years running.
Squinting at her watch and anticipating the final, fatal scene, she planned to bolt for the door as soon as the film was over. James would’ve laughed at her for her skittishness. The boys too. Silly Mommy. Nevertheless, as the credits rolled, Bonnie quickly gathered her things—purse, umbrella, jacket—and headed for the EXIT sign, its blood-colored letters eerie in the dark. She pushed through the swinging door and into the empty lobby, clumsily putting on her jacket as she crossed the dingy red carpet. Though she heard no one behind her, her heartbeat quickened. Beyond the lobby, she couldn’t see past the rain-streaked outer doors, but she knew the parking lot would be wet and deserted. It was well after two in the morning in a town that fell asleep by nine. Only the liquor store and the Hickory Pit stayed open past midnight.
Bonnie didn’t bother with the umbrella, though she hated the thought of her designer boots getting wet. James had spent way too much on them last Christmas, which had started everybody at the prison whispering behind her back. These boots made her feel like the vivacious San Francisco Bonnie. Not the gray Fog Harbor girl she’d turned into. So, she didn’t care where that money had come from. After ten years of marriage, she’d perfected the art of looking the other way.
The cold rain stung her skin as she ran. Her hair whipped and lashed about her face, covering her eyes, but she pressed on, her car beckoning like a lighthouse, a safe harbor in the storm.
It might’ve been the rain, or the wind, or her writer’s imagination, but the man seemed to loom in and out of her periphery. Working at the prison, she knew what men could do to women on their own for a night. That knowledge had buried itself in her brain, a dormant seed just waiting for the right moment to burst open.
When Bonnie reached the car, she felt the heat of him behind her, heard the hungry splash of his boots. She didn’t turn around, certain she would freeze like a rabbit if she saw him there.
She flung open the car door and collapsed into the seat, locking herself in. The rain beat its tiny fists against the windows, but she was safe now in a world familiar to her. James’ favorite baseball cap sat on the passenger seat—he’d be furious he’d left it behind. Two booster seats in the back, and Cheerios scattered like confetti on the floorboard.
Bonnie turned the key, cranked the heat, and listened to the sweep of the wipers on the glass, the static on the radio. By the time she could see clearly, the man had vanished. As if a seam had split open in the predawn quiet and simply swallowed him whole. If he’d ever been there at all.
*
Fog Harbor Gazette
“Search for Missing Fog Harbor Mother Intensifies”
by Heather Hoffman
Authorities in Fog Harbor, California, are intensifying their search for Bonnie McMillan, the married mother of two who went missing three days ago. According to Fog Harbor police, thirty-two-year-old Bonnie McMillan was last seen in the early morning hours of Thursday, December 12th, when security footage captured her leaving Fog City Cinema around 2:30 a.m. The following day, her Toyota Corolla was found abandoned with a flat tire on Pine Grove Road, just one mile south of the entrance to Crescent Bay State Prison (CBSP). Both McMillan’s wallet and her cell were found in the vehicle, leading authorities to suspect she may have been a victim of foul play. Local authorities have partnered with the state police in the investigation and have deployed K-9 units to search for the missing woman, but their efforts have been hampered by poor weather conditions, with one inch of rain falling in Fog Harbor on the night of McMillan’s disappearance and another winter rainstorm forecasted for this week.
Police confirmed McMillan’s husband, James, was traveling with their two young children at the time. Sources close to the family say that the couple seemed happy and enjoyed working together in the adult education department at CBSP, where James manages the GED program. Bonnie had been employed there as a creative writing teacher.
Lester Blevins, Warden of CBSP, issued the following statement regarding their missing employee: “Bonnie is a highly valued member of our staff and is well respected by her colleagues and students. We are doing everything we can to assist in the search and pray for her safe and speedy return.”
Police Chief Sheila Flack also issued a statement Sunday morning urging anyone who may have seen McMillan on the evening of December 11th or who may have information regarding her disappearance to contact the Fog Harbor Police Department. McMillan is described as five feet, four inches tall, with an average build, blonde hair, and blue eyes and was last seen wearing blue jeans and a beige raincoat. A public vigil for McMillan is planned for Sunday, December 15th at 4 p.m. at Grateful Heart Chapel in Fog Harbor.
Chapter One