Jamais Vu

Chapter 21

"Daughter?" It doesn't compute. My eyes flick back to the picture. "No. This is Nessa."

"Take the picture out of the frame if you don't believe me," says the strange sallow man, handing me back the little photo. "Only, please be careful with it. I don't have many of Sarah."

I pull open the back of the frame and tug the paper free. Now I can bring it almost to my nose, I can see it's not Nessa, but the likeness is uncanny. Long, mahogany hair, wide hazel eyes, jaw, nose, cheeks – all freakishly similar. The only visible difference this isn't my wife is the chin is different, a slight indentation where Nessa's is smooth.

The yearbook photo has a crease in the bottom, and I unfold it to read the words Sarah Bryant. "Sarah," I say, making the connection. "Sarah is your daughter."

"She was."

"This is the first woman to go missing, all those years ago. You killed her." It make so much sense now. This demented old professor murdered his own child, then- "You took Nessa because she reminded you of Sarah."

My fists curl tightly, ready to extract a confession by force, but he simply raises a weary hand. "Don't. We are not savages, you and I. Yes, Ms. Marty was almost a twin of my Sarah, but I didn't hurt either woman. I do, however, have a very convincing theory as to who is to blame for both missing women. Would you care to hear it?"

His words are so calm, as if he's inviting me to go sailing on the weekend instead of revealing the identity of the person responsible for so much heartache. "Why should I believe a word you have to say?"

He shrugs. "I can only tell what I know. Assaulting me physically will end in police charges for you, as there is zero proof linking me to either crime. You have small children, do you not? Small children who have already lost their mother. I don't believe it would be the wisest course of action to land yourself in lock-up, when if you simply hear me out, everything will become infinitely clearer."

I hate that he makes sense. Sweet, strong bile seeps up my throat, and I swallow it down as I say, "Fine. Tell me what you know."

With a grunt, he moves to the door. "I don't wish to speak here. Follow me."

And this is how I came to be sitting opposite a potential suspect in my wife's disappearance, calmly sipping on a cappuccino. I don't understand why my guard is so low, but the voice of intuition in my head, the one that sounds a lot like Nessa, is speaking loudly, telling me to hear him out.

The professor tugs the brim of his hat low, shielding his eyes from the dim light of the cloudy afternoon. "I hope you can appreciate, I don't speak of these matters often, Mr...?"

"Mr. Marty," I say. We're sitting at outside a bakery a few blocks from the university campus. Nessa used to come here for carb-heavy treats occasionally, and the flaky pastry of my almond croissant is strangely comforting.

His face is unreadable as he says, "You took your wife's name?"

"I did. My family disowned me, and I didn't want their last name to taint my future. Nessa's mother is amazing, and I want our family to carry on her parents' name."

"How evolved of you. Family can be complex, far more so than any other system on the planet."

"Tell me about your family." I don't want to push too hard and cause him to shut down, but I need answers. "Tell me about Sarah."

"Sarah." He sounds different when he says her name, as if the word itself is a holy wafer on his tongue. "She was my only child, but our relationship was... complicated."