Using hairs from Macy's brush and from one in her parents' room, the lab confirmed that the familial match was reversed. Macy was the Conways' daughter. Ciara was the Shaws'. As for how that happened, it did no good to speculate. We had the information. Now I had to figure out how to act on it.
I went home to think. And to nap, though I got little sleep. I tossed and turned until I gave up and went to my laptop and started punching in terms.
It took nearly two hours of searching before I found it. Not a connection. Not a direct one, anyway. But another case, pulled from the archives of a Chicago newspaper. In the late sixties, a family claimed their young son was a changeling. The boy was "severely troubled," according to his grandmother. The child told intricate stories of "another world," a fairy realm, ergo he must be a changeling.
People had been sensible enough to dismiss the idea as amusingly primitive. The boy's grandmother was a first-generation Irish immigrant. Clearly, she'd brought some of that old-world nonsense over with her. After all, she was the one who made the claims by taking the child to the local priest. The priest had refused to help, so she'd found another, and somehow--to the parents' shock and dismay--the story leaked to the paper, where it seemed to have been included merely for entertainment. Or to show how much more progressive Americans were, dismissing old-world nonsense and superstition.
So what caught my attention in this tale? The grandmother claimed that her real grandson had been switched with a fairy child from Cainsville. Her daughter-in-law had family there, and the parents visited often. That, she said, was where it happened. And her proof? Well, she had none. Only that there was "something wrong with that town." Something she felt every time she visited. The town took far too great an interest in her grandson and his problems, and the old folks there went out of their way to convince her that the boy was fine, and that if she loved him and raised him well, he would grow into a strong and capable young man.
Of course, all of that was dismissed, with the columnist waxing poetic about the tight bonds and loving care that a small town bestows on its own. How much different was life in the bustling, impersonal city? How much better might troubled children like this one be if they were instead raised in the pastoral perfection of the countryside?
I read that article and I saw that my blossoming theory, however mad it seemed, might actually be right. I just needed to prove it.
--
When Macy called me shortly before my diner shift, I swear there was a moment, after she introduced herself, where I was unable to find my voice, certain that . . . I don't know. That the universe had prodded her to call me, knowing I had information that could change her life? It was merely coincidence, of course, given that I'd handed her my card only twenty-four hours earlier and asked her to call if she remembered anything.
"The man who took me said something else," she said. "Something weird. One of those things that you think you've heard wrong, but then you can't figure out what else it could have been."
"What's that?"
"He asked if I'd had any tests done."
"Tests?"
"That's what I thought. I figured . . ." A pause, and when her voice came back, it was lowered, as if sharing a secret. "I don't sleep around, Ms. Jones. I really don't, and I don't want you to get the wrong impression when I say this."
"Okay."
"I thought he meant STD tests. I thought--" She swallowed. "I thought he was taking me somewhere for sex, and I was okay with that, which is why I think I must have been drugged."
"It did seem like it when I met you."
"It did?" An exhale of relief. "Good. So I thought he was asking if I'd been tested recently. I said I hadn't . . . been with anyone in a while. He laughed and said that wasn't what he meant. And then he asked if we'd had other tests, me and my parents, and I was so embarrassed about the STD thing that I figured I was hearing wrong and said no. He said we should." Macy paused. "Do you know what he meant?"
Yes. And I can't tell you. Not until I've figured it all out, and even then I don't know if I will. If I can. Despite what a difference it could make to your life.
"No, I don't know," I said. "Did he say anything else about it?"
"That was it. I should have asked, but it didn't seem important."
"It probably wasn't. But if I find out what he meant, I'll let you know."
"Please."
--
At the diner, I got a text from Ricky saying he needed to talk as soon as I got a moment. I called him back between orders.
"You know how I mentioned my dad was taking off to Florida for a few days?" Ricky said.
"Miami, on business."
"He just told me he has other obligations, and I need to take his place."
"Huh."
"Yeah, huh. Any other time, I'd be thrilled at the chance to prove myself. But this is because I promised him our relationship wasn't going to interfere with my club duties . . ."