The Story of Lansing Lotte (21 page)

The only mystery left unturned, that fateful evening in Ingrid’s living room, was my mother, Ellen Wicke. She was in a home in upstate New York, west of our place and I was scheduled to meet with her on my eighteenth birthday. It was part of the will. I hadn’t called Guinevere DeGrance because I was on my way to meet my real mother.

Ellen Wicke was obviously my mother. We shared the same dark brown hair and blue eyes. She was frail compared to me. I assumed my size came from my father. She had a picture of him on the bedside table in her room. She lived in a home for mentally ill women. My emotions were all over the place as I entered the building and saw women sadly talking to themselves, some rocking imaginary babies, some pacing the room looking at the ceiling. It could have been a scene in a horror film, if it weren’t for the cleanliness of the place and the friendliness of the staff.

I was taken into a private room to meet her. She sat demurely on the couch opposite me and when she first looked at my face, her expression was blank. She had no idea who I was. I wasn’t sure what I expected or what I hoped for. I think deep down, I thought there would be an instant connection between us, and she would just know who I was. I was hoping she would know who I was, as I no longer felt like I knew myself.

A family social worker was in the room. She introduced my mother to me as Ellen, and I was introduced to my mother as Lansing. There was still no recognition.

“You’re a very nice looking man,” Ellen said to me.

“Thank you.”

“I was married to a nice looking man,” she continued with a smile.

“I’ve heard.”

“Have you seen him?” she questioned, in all sincerity. “I can’t seem to find him.”

The family social worker was taking notes as the exchange continued.

“You look strong. Could you find him for me?”

“I…” I looked at the social worker, who only shook her head at me.

“Could you find him? I’ve lost my boy.”

My head twisted to look at my mother. 

“Your boy?” I choked.

“Yes, he was the most adorable baby. Dark hair. Blue eyes. This tall.” She made a motion with her hands to show my height at three years old.

“He’d wandered off,” she said, her voice saddening, “and we can’t find him.”

“I found him,” I blurted.

“Mr. Lotte,” the social worker warned.

“You did?” Ellen’s voice brightened, her wide eyed expression showed her excitement.

“But he’s grown up now,” I added.

“Oh…oh well, you couldn’t have found my boy, because he’s just a baby,” she sighed, shrinking down into herself on the couch.

“He’s fine, you know?” I said to reassure her.

“I like peanut butter,” she said softly.

I didn’t know what to say. I’d had enough and stood abruptly. I was heading for the door, my hand reaching the knob as Ellen spoke again.

“Lansing?” I stopped with my hand mid-air. I couldn’t turn and look at her, though. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

I did turn then to see her looking at me as if she fully recognized, for a moment, that I was her son standing before her.

That meeting flashed through my mind as I stood outside my Camaro. I’d been so messed up by the truth of my upbringing, the meeting with my mother, and the necessity of signing papers for a company; I didn’t have time to court Guinevere DeGrance. I let that chance slide away, thinking I would have time later to call and explain. But once I had graduated from PA, had the company settled in its current management team, and was thrown into the success of the band, I didn’t look back and Guinie had slipped away. Too much time passed, literally, and I was engulfed in the success of the band, the women who followed us, and the free flowing liquor to someone under twenty-one years of age.

I was startled from my thoughts of regret, when
Guinevere called me for the third time ever in two months.

“Lansing? Have you seen Layne?”

I hadn’t. I took Elaine's advice and left the party to think. My head was on overload with Elaine's announcement, Guinie's sorrow, and Layne's anger.

“I haven’t seen her since the party. Didn’t she go to Ingrid's with you?”

“I didn’t go to Ingrid's. I'm still at Elaine’s. It's been hours and we haven't found her.”

“Who's we?”

“Elaine, Elliott, Tristan, Perk, anyone that would help. Where are you?”

I couldn't tell her. I had driven to Arturo's upstate home, Camlann, and I was parked outside the barn. Arturo had a sprawling estate on top of a hill that looked down on Lake Avalon. The lawn expanded in a way that appeared as if it dropped, and you could dive directly into the water below. The barn was an outer building that once served as just that, a barn. Arturo had it converted years ago into a studio for us to practice and record in, and we had done that the past summer. The space was eerily quiet, surrounded in the darkest of black. The house stood closed and brooding behind me on that night. I had the strangest sense of being watched.

“I’ll come back,” I sighed, as I squinted off into the blackness of the woods that began next to the barn. I thought I saw a movement, but I attributed it to the wind. The night had picked up in chill, and a fog was rolling over the lake water. It was a fitting setting for a Halloween night.

I was standing next to the door of my car when I saw the movement out of the corner of my eye.  Or rather, I heard a rustling sound.

“Hello?” I questioned the night air. I waited, watching were I had seen the leaves moving on unstable twigs.

“Is someone there?”

There was no response and I noticed the shift in the brush to my left. Whatever it was, was definitely moving, but ignoring my questioning. I stood for another moment before it hit me.
What was I doing standing near a deserted home, on a dark night, alone, addressing the woods?
I opened the car door and slid inside. The roar of the engine broke the silence with a thundering sound. I looked over the passenger side to see a figure standing behind the car. I hit the brakes and in the red glow stood Arturo.

I forgot to put the car in park as I opened the driver door and the car began to roll backward. I hit the brakes again, with my right foot, as my left foot dragged on the ground outside the open door. I slammed the shift stick into park and twisted as I jumped out the door.

“Arturo,” I said loudly into nothingness. There was no one there. I turned left, then right, and then did a full circle spin. I wouldn't have even known which direction to follow. It seemed that Arturo King had vanished into thin air, like he had on that fateful night months ago.

“Arturo,” I yelled into the empty space.
I spun around again, slower the second time. There was no rustling brush, no movement in the tall grasses, no sound anywhere. The only noise I heard was the deep breath I took as I waited for a sign that I hadn't imagined Arturo's appearance. It was an appropriate night for a ghost, but I didn't want to believe that was what I saw.

I sped back to Elaine’s
, my heart racing as fast as my engine. My mind couldn’t register if what it had seen was real or not.
Was Arturo King really standing there outside his studio barn?
  I wanted to believe it. Every nerve in my body wanted to believe it, but I just wasn’t certain enough. I raced round curves like the twists in my mind. My thoughts crisscrossed between the possibility of Arturo being alive and well, the question of telling Guinevere what I saw, and the need to find Layne Ascolat.

I pulled up the gravel of the Corbin’s drive to a home lit up like a bonfire. Every window had bright yellow streaming from the glass panes and a variety of colors reflecting from the several windows that were done in a stained glass motif. It was a beacon calling the lost home. I wondered if Arturo would find his way here that evening. I wasn’t sure how to tell Guinevere what, or rather who I’d seen, when I exited my car and walked up the crunching pebbles, making a noise that broke the stillness of the silent night. 

I was met at the door with a sobbing Elaine, who fell into my chest despite my hesitant arms. I awkwardly patted her back briefly, before pushing her off me to ask what happened.

“What do you mean what happened?” she snapped on a sob. “Layne’s missing.”

Her words implied my guilt, but I felt Elaine shared the responsibility. If she hadn’t decided to share her news so boldly, after Layne had misinterpreted my conversation with Guinie, she wouldn’t be missing at the moment. I didn’t know how to respond to Elaine. While I knew I should comfort her, I needed to find Guinevere. 

We stood in that position, my hands on her upper arms and her bent head leaning on my chest, when her younger brother Elliott approached us just inside the front door.

“We’ve discovered a boat is missing from the boathouse.”

“What do you mean a boat’s missing?” I asked, trying to swallow my escalating nerves.

“The boathouse is an open cover for canoes, and a motorized row boat. We turn them upside down in the fall before they are removed to storage. A canoe is missing from the group.  It could be nothing, but the groundskeeper hadn’t noticed it missing yesterday.”

I pushed past Elaine, who was calling after me, to briskly walk through the grand foyer, the elegant living room that held the remains of a masquerade party and out the French doors, still open to the cool night and the flagstone patio. Guinevere stood with her back to the room and I slowed my pace to approach her.

“Guinevere?” If I thought I would tell her about Arturo, the look on her face told me that moment would not be the time to mention his name.  Her devastation was written all over her.

“This is all my fault,” she muttered, her pale face eerily reflected by the lights behind me.

“How is this your fault?” I pleaded, as I stepped toward her. She stood still in the night breeze, her hands clutching her stomach like I’d seen her do for the first month after Arturo’s disappearance. I reached for her, her cold skin didn’t flinch under my touch, but she didn’t respond to it either. She was so closed into herself; I don’t think she even felt me stroking her arms inside the flowing Halloween gown.

A sheriff appeared from behind Guinevere with a flashlight and the glare startled me, but Guinevere remained unmoved. 

“We haven’t found anything. With the heavy fog on the lake rolling in, we need to call off the search for the night. The search and rescue team on the water can’t see two feet in front of them.”

“Search and rescue? On the water?” I said, beginning to feel Guinevere shake under my touch. 

“Do you know for sure that she’s on the water? I mean what about the woods? She couldn’t have gone that far, right? She’s not strong enough to have run too far. Have you exhausted the woods?” My voice was rising. I continued to rub vigorously up and down Guinie’s arms, feeling her shake turn into a full on tremble and my aggressive massaging caused her to cry out a bit.  I released her and continued my glare at the local sheriff.

“At this point, it’s been determined that she went for the water. Fresh female boot tracks lead us to believe she headed for the lake, and the missing boat leads us to believe she entered the water. She must have some strength to turn over one of those heavy wooden canoes alone and shove it into the water. It will be a cold night out there, but if she’s simply drifting, she can’t get into too much trouble. Worst case scenario is she paddled to the other side of the lake.”

I didn’t appreciate the older officer’s cavalier attitude.

“There weren’t any paddles. They’d already been collected, as well as the life preservers, and stored in the shed. I didn’t hear that a paddle was missing from there,” said Elliott, who I hadn’t noticed join us on the patio.

The sheriff’s face blanched in the dim light from the house. It was evident that he had passed onto us misinformation. If Layne was on the water, she had no paddle, nor did she have any safety protection. I had already let go of Guinevere. I ran to the lake, several yards down the expansive lawn, to the open-air boathouse and grabbed the end of a canoe myself.  I was yanking and tugging, hearing the screeching sound of wood scrapping wood.