Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with NBC, Passions, or its associates. I just get bored. :)
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CHAPTER THREE
Sheridan stared expectantly for what must have been a couple of minutes, but Luis just sat there, silent.
"Well?" she finally exploded when she couldn't take it any longer.
He smiled again, that infuriating smile of his that never quite reached his eyes. "As I recall, her name was Ella. Ella...DuBois," he answered softly. "I believe her mother was named Cindy, but don't take my word for it. It was a long time ago."
"Why did she jump?" Sheridan whispered, giving Luis all of her attention -- which was something she rarely did for anyone.
Luis shrugged. "I don't know. I was thirteen at the time. I only know what I saw on the news. Who ever really knows what's going on in a suicidal person's mind? Especially one so young."
The question was rhetorical, but Sheridan answered, "Well, you're a cop, aren't you! You should know. You deal with this stuff on a daily basis, don't you?"
Luis chuckled, amused by her ignorance. "Yes, I'm a cop, and yes, I deal with suicide. But we rarely get to ask anyone what was going on inside of their heads when they committed suicide."
Sheridan let out her breath in a frustrated huff. "So she just jumped? Where was her mother?" Why can't I remember her?
"Her mother was a crackhead and alcoholic, among other things," Luis said grimly. "She wasn't around too often, and when she was, she wasn't much use to Ella, anyway. Well, you live a life like that -- what do you expect? It's a wonder she didn't jump earlier."
Sheridan sighed and relaxed against her chair. "What about her father?"
Luis shrugged. "Like I said, I was young. I don't remember everything. But I think her mother had slept around so much that they never did find out who the father was." He studied Sheridan for a moment, seemingly undecided on something, and finally said, "Listen, if you want to find out more, you can probably look at the old newspapers they keep in the library. It's on Main Street near the bridge. I'm sure your limo driver can find it," he added as an afterthought, that sounded more like a disguised attack to her than anything.
"Fine," Sheridan said stiffly, and she stood. "Well, I'd thank you, but you've both degraded me and helped me in the same day -- so I think it balances out."
That arrogant smile slid onto his face once more, and all he offered was, "My pleasure."
*****
"I need to look at some of your old newspapers."
The librarian, petite and a bit mousy-looking, gave Sheridan a startled glance. She had been bent over a book, unaware that anyone had approached the counter.
Clearing her throat, the woman said, with a bit of an edge to her voice, "Dated when?"
"September 1994. You don't happen to know anything about an Ella DuBois, do you?" Sheridan followed her to a room in the far back of the library that was dark and damp, full of dust and tons of newspapers. It smelled like it looked: old and rotting.
The librarian threw her a quick look after she turned on the light, one of those ones hanging in the middle of the ceiling that you use a string to turn on. "Name sounds familiar, but not really. The newspapers from 1994 are in this section--" she gestured towards a stack of newspapers and headed to the door "--you'll find September's newspapers in there somewhere. Enjoy."
She left quickly, and Sheridan stared at the closed door, a bit shocked. People were so damn rude in this town.
*****
It took her an hour of browsing through September's newspapers before she finally gave up, conceding the fact that the newspaper she was looking for simply did not exist. It had at one point, she knew, but it was missing. Whether someone had purposely removed that newspaper or if it was just a coincidence, Sheridan did not know.
She approached the counter again, and the mousy-looking librarian glanced up at her with an impatient look.
"It's not there," Sheridan said simply, gesturing towards the room she had just come from. "The newspaper I'm looking for. It's not there."
The librarian shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you. People rarely come in and look at those newpapers anymore, what with the Internet being so popular. I don't know why it's missing."
"The Internet," Sheridan echoed, brightening. "Do you have the Internet?" She turned a full circle before her gaze fell on a computer, which she immediately headed for. "You'll have to show me how to use it," she called over her shoulder. "I'm not very good with computers."
The librarian just stared at her. Sheridan stared back.
"Hello? Did you hear what I said?" she finally asked.
"Yes, but I'm afraid I can't help you. I have work to do." The librarian bent over the book she had been reading once more.
"What?" Sheridan said, incredulous. "You're not working. You're reading. How is that work?"
The librarian gave her a bored look. "I'm working to improve my mind. Now if you'll excuse me." She walked away then, towards a closed room that must have been for employees only. Sheridan stared after her, shocked.
"This is ridiculous," she said aloud, looking at the computer. None of it made sense to her. She'd never been very good with computers, since she rarely spent anytime indoors.
"What is?"
Sheridan jumped visibly, and, grasping her chest, turned in her chair to see who was there. "Jesus," she breathed, staring at the man. "Who are you?"
"Sorry." He flashed a very nice-looking grin. "Hank Bennett," he said, holding out his hand. "And you are?"
She took the proffered hand and smiled. He seemed nice. And he was easy on the eyes. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, being back in Harmony. "Sheridan Crane."
"A Crane, huh?" He pulled up a chair and stared at the computer screen, then at her. "So what's ridiculous?"
"People in this town," she muttered, and gestured wildly towards the door the librarian had disappeared behind. "I don't get it. Everyone is so damn rude here. First that Beth, then the officer, and now this librarian. All I wanted was help finding a newspaper, but noo...."
Hank chuckled. "Beth Wallace, by any chance?"
Sheridan shrugged. "Hell if I know. She wasn't very nice, though."
"That doesn't sound like Beth," he commented lightly. Then, "Having trouble?" -- and he gestured towards the computer that Sheridan was only staring at blankly.
"Oh! Yes," she said eagerly. "I wanted to find an article on Ella DuBois, but there wasn't any mention of her in the newspapers out back, and I don't know how to work the computer."
"Ella DuBois?" He furrowed his brow, like the name sounded familiar, but he couldn't quite place it.
"She died about eleven years ago," Sheridan responded quietly. "Jumped from the window at the mansion."
Realization dawned on Hank's face. "Right," he said. "I remember that. Yeah. I can help you," he offered, "but why are you interested, anyway?"
She shrugged. "I don't think that's any of your business."
He looked at her like he'd just been slapped, then a grin broke out on his face. "Okay. Fine. That's fine."
*****
It was as though the Ella DuBois that had once existed, had been erased. All traces of her were gone, except in anyone's memory -- but those memories were fuzzy. Hardly anyone knew anything about her. Sheridan sat on the steps in front of the library, hugging her beige jacket to herself, and staring straight ahead. Frustration was written all over her face.
Hank, who was sitting next to her, put a hand on her thigh. Sheridan looked down at his hand, then up at him.
"Listen, I don't know what to tell you," he said. "I don't know how this happened. She did exist, if that's any consolation."
"Sure, plenty," she replied bitterly, and looked away. "I'm so confused," she added with a sigh. "How can someone's life just be erased like this?"
"Well, obviously, someone doesn't want people to find out what happened to her."
"What happened to her?" Sheridan echoed, glancing at him. "We know what happened to her. She committed suicide. I just wanted to find out why," she said glumly. "Well, I will find out what happened, if it's the last thing I do."
"Yeah. Okay. But don't you find it kind of funny that there is no mention of her anywhere?" He began to rub her thigh, which didn't escape Sheridan's notice. She ignored it, however, and Hank went on. "Her existence or her suicide. I remember that day. It was all over the news, Sheridan. This is impossible. There has to be a record of her somewhere."
Sheridan stood, and Hank looked a bit disappointed. "My father will know," she said optimistically. "Hey, thanks for everything." Smiling brightly, Sheridan pulled out her cell phone and walked away, leaving Hank to stare after her like a lovesick puppy.
*****
"What do you mean, you don't know?" Sheridan fumed, pacing the living-room of the mansion. She had her father on speakerphone, and Milly stood by uncomfortably, pretending not to hear anything.
"How can you not know?" Sheridan went on. "Come on, you're the almighty Alistair Crane. You know everything, remember?"
"Don't you think this might be a sign that some things are better left to rest?"
"She was a friend of mine, and I don't even remember her. I need to know more about her, Father. I just need to." She sighed and sat down on the couch, crossing her legs, falling silent.
"This is getting out of hand, Sheridan," Alistair reprimanded. "Go home, and forget about this nonsense."
"I can't," Sheridan whispered. Then she stood and crossed the room. "I just can't," she said again before hanging up.
That night, the little girl said her name. She waited by the attic window, her big, sad eyes on Sheridan -- who still couldn't quite make out her features -- and she said her name. Her voice was haunting, more breath than anything; like a cold wind, seeping into Sheridan's soul.
"Sheridan..."
"What?" Sheridan said desperately, reaching for her, grabbing nothing but air when she had her. "What?"
And she woke abruptly; and then laid there for what seemed like hours trying to figure out the dream.
It was Ella; she knew it was -- but why did she keep dreaming about her? Why couldn't she see her face? Was Ella trying to tell her something, from beyond the grave?
Or was Sheridan simply losing her mind?
She went to the Book Caf� with that thought, and for once in her life, she looked disheveled -- human. Her hair was mussed, she wore no make-up, and she had only thrown on a red sweatsuit and matching jacket -- Juicy Couture, but still. Beth looked at her in surprise when she approached the counter.
"Listen," Sheridan said wearily, "I don't need any mouth today. I just want a coffee." She paused, and then added, "Please," and Beth's eyebrows shot up.
"What? I can be polite, when I want to be."
Beth said nothing. She made her a medium French Vanilla milk only, and gingerly placed it on the counter so as not to spill anything. Probably remembering yesterday's mishap. Sheridan sat down without thanking her, all at once forgetting to be polite.
It was six in the morning, and Sheridan was exhausted. She was tired of this whole mess. She was tired of wondering why she kept dreaming about a girl she didn't even remember. She was tired of this wild goose chase.
She was just plain tired.
She didn't even know why she'd come back here anymore. Her father was right -- this was ridiculous. She was dreaming about a dead girl, for Christ's sake; a dead girl that she didn't even remember. Most likely it was just leftover trauma from her childhood -- the trauma of suddenly losing who was supposedly a close friend. She didn't need to be back here in Harmony, researching a case that didn't even seem to exist.
What she needed was psychiatric help.
A wry smile tilted her lips just as the bell over the door rang, indicating someone had entered. She looked up and sighed. It was Luis.
Jesus.
What, was he stalking her or something?
He glanced her way, and she gave a sarcastic smile and a little wave -- both of which he ignored. But he didn't miss her slovenly appearance. She could tell by the look in his eyes; and she blushed to her core.
"Hey Beth," he greeted the waitress, taking a seat at the counter. "Could I get my coffee?"
"Sure, Luis."
Sheridan watched their exchange with a tinge of jealousy. Nobody was that nice to her. Nobody was ever that nice to her; and if they were, there was a reason. Mainly it was her money that got her friends.
She averted her eyes when he glanced her way, and took a sudden interest in her coffee.
"Did you ever find out more about Ella?" he called to her.
Sheridan looked up in surprise. "No," she answered. She was quiet for a minute, and they stared at each other. Finally she said, "I thought I said I'd prefer not to see you ever again."
As soon as she said the words, she wondered why. Luis gave her an odd little look, and then a curt nod. "Fine. Well, since it seems to bother you more than it bothers me, I'd find a new place to get your coffee in the mornings if I were you. I'm here every morning, and I have been for the last five years. I'm not about to change that for you."
Sheridan didn't answer him. She felt her cheeks grow hot, and she looked away. What the hell was the matter with her? He'd actually made an attempt to be nice to her, and she'd ruined it.
Without saying another word, she picked up her coffee and left.
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