Indigo (11 page)

I know the feeling. And it’s more than a little peculiar that it’s happening to us at the same time. “Well, just see where it goes. She seemed to like you too.” The words feel weird in my mouth, as Shawn and I never discuss girls in this manner. I’ve never officially dated anyone, never wanted to. I’ve had a few girls that I thought I might like more than others in the past, but something always turned me off in the end. Usually because they were just using me because I was good looking or because my mom has money. They never really wanted to be with me.

“What about you?” He takes another sip from his water bottle, his stare probing. “And wait, what the
fuck
was up with you buying her that sweatshirt, man.” He laughs and shakes his head. “That was creepy and unlike you.”

I shrug. “I like her. I’m also absurdly attracted to her. And I really don’t know why I bought her that sweatshirt if I’m being honest.”

He ribs me a bit more and then sighs, turning towards the door mumbling. “Look at us, acting like a bunch of pussies over girls we barely know.”

He leaves the room, and I slump back on the bed, running over the events of the night. I think of Indigo and how she turned into the graceful lover on the dance floor, so carefree and beautiful. Then I think of carrying her home, and her sweet shy smile when I gave her the sweatshirt. “Fuck me.”

Getting out of bed, I walk to my desk and turn on my laptop. Ever since Shawn mentioned it, I haven’t been able to get looking up Indigo’s story out of my head. I feel a little guilty for googling her behind her back, but at this point, it’s the only way I’m going to get any real information on her. I learned last night it will probably be a while before I can just ask any serious questions, and I can’t wait any longer.

I pull up the search engine, type in Indigo, and I’m shocked to see that her full name pops up before I even finish, indicating she’s well-searched. For some reason, I feel uneasy when I highlight her name and press enter.

I’m not prepared for what I see. Millions of hits bring up scores of articles written about her, videos, candid photos, talk show segments, links to a documentary. I decide to start simple and click on a Wikipedia article entitled ‘The Kidnapping of Indigo Olsen.’

The picture immediately gets my attention and I stiffen in my seat. It’s Indigo. I know right away from the features on her face, but her hair is blonde, and her eyes are sunken as she looks dead on at the camera. There is so much chaos in the background. Cops crowding in around her, some in motion, some with their mouths open mid-sentence. A run-down convenience store is to the right with a group of onlookers huddled together. She has a gray blanket around her shoulders, and the scar on her face looks swollen and painful, and stands out against her pale cheek. Amidst all the action of the photo, she somehow found this one camera. It’s like everyone else is moving but her. I resist the urge to throw something across the room, and force myself to begin to read instead.

‘
Indigo Olsen was kidnapped by Richard and Joan Huff on July 14, 2011, in the New England town of Norwalk, Connecticut. Olsen was abducted from her bedroom on Monroe Avenue somewhere between the hours of 2-4am. Searches did not begin until five days later due to the fact that Olsen was 15 at the time of her abduction, and was originally considered a runaway. Despite extensive investigation, no leads were initially generated. She remained missing until December 10
th
2011, where she was recognized at a gas station in Burns Wyoming by Gail Summers.’

Feeling sick, fist clenched, I scroll down the page to keep reading.

‘Olsen was first kept locked in the basement of the Huffs East Lyme home. It is believed this is where her hair was dyed blonde in an effort to disguise her. After a few weeks, the Huff’s drove Olsen across country, staying in hotels or in the Huffs vehicle, a 2002 Infinity G20.  A few sightings were reported, but the Huffs kept on the move in an effort to thwart authorities.’

‘I’ve been to 48 states.’ Indigo’s words come back to haunt me, and I rub my hands nervously across my forehead.

‘The case garnered widespread media attention due to Janet Olsen, who spread the word about her daughter on talk shows and news broadcasts across the country.’

I scroll down, anxious to hear about the punishment the mother fuckers better have received.

‘Richard Huff was tried and convicted on June 16, 2012 for forcible rape, assault, kidnapping, and attempted murder. He is currently spending 31 years at Oregon State Prison.’

There’s an inset picture of his mug shot, and I stare into his eyes, trying to find answers in them that I know I won’t find. What made him take her? Feeling murderous, I read on.

‘Joan Huff was sentenced to five years, after testifying against her husband and is up for parole in 2013.’ ‘Olsen was recovered with an open wound on her face, but there are no details available on those circumstances at this time.’

I click off the page, and struggle to watch a few videos of her mother’s heartfelt pleas to help find her daughter. There’s an interview with Gail Summers that was taken at the gas station the night of Indigo’s recovery. What I start to notice, is there is nothing I can find from Indigo herself. There are a few websites that comment on her silence, and how the police were frustrated that she has not been more forthcoming about what happened to her during her abduction, but otherwise…nothing. Just paparazzi type photos that can’t seem to catch more than the top of her head.

I click on Google images, and amidst all the police photos, there’s one that squeezes the breath out of my lungs. Indigo’s on stage somewhere, dressed in a black leotard and tights with her hair pulled into a tight bun. She’s balanced on one leg, the other drawn up behind her in an insanely flexible position. Her face is scar free, her expression one of utter peace and contentment, of happiness.

Slamming my laptop shut, I take a few deep breaths trying to erase the sadness that’s fallen on top of me. Trying to fit the Indigo I just spent the past night with into that tragic story on the screen feels surreal. The feeling I have, imaging what she went through, makes me restless, and so fucking sorry for her that I can barely stand it. The thing is, I can’t imagine what she went through and it bothers me. Words on the screen mean nothing. What really happened to her? How did she survive? How does she go through normal everyday situations, when she went through something so god damn awful?

And when the answer to the last question hits me, it drives me crazy.

She probably doesn’t.

INDIGO

I don’t leave my room for the rest of the day. My interaction with the Dean has left me feeling exhausted, and to my irritation, a little bit scared. College was supposed to be my second chance, to fit in, just like everyone else. But the thought that I’ll never fit in, and that I’ll never be able to escape from my past is making me feel like I don’t want to move.

Fielding the fifth call from Sabrina, I stare at the ceiling, not wanting to do anything but just lay there. I hate the fact that I’m hiding away like a little girl, but it is what it is. I sketch my fingers over the scar on my face, physical proof that everyone will only ever see me as Indigo Olsen, the girl who was kidnapped at 15.

My phone signals that I have a text message, and I pick it up, sighing when I see that it’s Sabrina. The girl has no cell phone etiquette, but the thought brings my first smile in hours. Swiping my finger across the screen, I read it:
I just finished up with Jeremy. What are you doing?!

I decide to text her back:
Just in my room. I don’t think I feel like doing anything tonight.

Sabrina:
Me either. Girls night in? We can veg out and watch five or six terrible Lifetime movies in a row.

Hesitating, I tap my fingers restlessly on the screen. Maybe a little company will cheer me up, and I realize Sabrina is starting to grow on me.

Indigo:
Okay, come on over. My mom left me a bunch of snacks I haven’t touched yet, and we can order food later.

She tells me she’ll be over in ten, so I hurry over to the bathroom and remove the towel from the mirror before she can see. I pull out the snacks, clean up a bit, and just as I’m finished I hear her knock on the door.

She comes in and flops directly on my bed, her arms full of movies. “What a day.”

Anxious to be distracted from my own depressing thoughts, I lay up against my pillows near her head. “What happened?”

“Jeremy turned out to be a huge creep,” she explains, flipping over on to her side to look at me. “He has a great voice, so I was excited to practice together, but not ten minutes in and he’s making moves on me.”

“Ugh,” I groan. “That must have been awkward.”

“Totally. So I told him in no uncertain terms that if he values his balls he’ll keep his hands off me.”

I laugh, “What did he say?”

She shrugs. “He backed off. But after that I couldn’t even concentrate, so I ditched him. It looks like I’ll be working on my own this semester. Probably better that way. I’m done with men.”

“Done completely? Have you talked to Shawn?” The two of them seemed to hit it off last night, so I’m surprised when a strange look crosses her face and she returns to lying on her back.

“No, I don’t think I’m going to.”

“What, why not?” I don’t know her that well, but I do know she’s the type of girl to go after what she wants, and she wanted Shawn from the moment he sat down at our table. Their chemistry was obvious even to me.

“I know his type,” she says confidently. “Although, I was surprised when he actually texted me early this morning asking if I would change my mind about going to the football game, but I never responded.”

“What’s his type?”

“The type to make a girl fall for him, while never getting emotionally involved himself. The last thing I need is to be hung up over some guy this early in the year. I had a great time with him last night, but I don’t want to keep hanging out with him and have things getting any deeper on my end.”

I cross my legs. “That doesn’t seem fair. He seemed to really like you, maybe you should give him a chance and see how things play out.”

“Maybe,” she says, but her mind already seems kind of made up. “What about you? If buying you that $50 sweatshirt is any indication, I’d say he’s definitely into you.”

My stomach clenches thinking about Kennedy. His huge body and how good he smells, but I keep my expression blank. “He’s hot, and I did like hanging out with him, but…”

“But, what?”

I sigh, not knowing how much I should really tell her. “I don’t think I’m cut out for any sort of relationship of any type at this point in my life. I couldn’t be a…normal girlfriend.” We could never be intimate is what I want to say, but I keep that big truth to myself. “I think for right now we’d be better off as friends.”

“No girl is normal Indigo,” she tells me. “Men will never admit it, but they like a little bit of the crazy.”

I laugh and throw a small pillow at her, “My life is too crazy for even me to handle.”

She eyes me, and I instinctively know that she’s probably dying to ask me a few questions, so I hurry to change the subject. “I didn’t have such a great day either.”

“Why what happened?”

I quickly tell her about what happened with the Dean, and feel a little mollified about how offended she gets on my behalf. “The nerve of that woman! Luring you into her office like a snake, inviting the newspaper in without even getting your permission first. I would have decked her.”

Grinning, I feel myself relax as I imagine the scenario. “You can’t just knock out the Dean Sabrina, besides she’s like twice my size.”

“Everyone is twice your size,” she teases me. “Now c’mon, let’s order some fried food, and forget about gorgeous men, power hungry adults, and love sick douche bags for a few hours.”

“Okay” I smile, looking forward to it, but then a thought occurs to me and some anxiety comes back. “Just one thing, I’m not really allowed to have any sleepovers here…”

She nods, without meeting my eyes, as if she’s knows it’s not true. Which it isn’t, but there’s no way I want her around during my nightly freak out sessions.

“That’s okay. I’ll head back to my dorm after I’m sufficiently fed. Now who’s paying?”

We have a great night, but by the time she heads home and I start cleaning up the food, I realize that not five minutes had gone by without big brown eyes, and strong hands popping into my head.

KENNEDY

People press in on us from all sides, the stands packed with students and families who came out for the first game of the season. Our football program is only in its 5
th
year, so needless to say we didn’t recruit any star athletes, and we’re already losing by 14 points.

“This blows,” Shawn says from beside me, wolfing down a hot dog. “We’re going to lose every game this season, just like last year. We have absolutely no talent on offense.”

I look out toward the field through my sunglasses, noting that the other team is once again on the five yard line. “Or on defense,” I mutter.

The girl next to me keeps brushing her leg against mine, and I glance over at her. She smiles when she realizes she finally got my attention, and I see her open her mouth, seemingly about to introduce herself. I look quickly away before she can, and wonder what’s wrong with me. I would have been all over that last year. Ha. Like I don’t know.