Excerpt. ยฉ Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
ONE
โWhat do you think happened to your mother?โ
The word sounded wrong to Bel when he said it. Mother. Unnatural. Not quite as bad as Mom. That one pushed between her lips, misshapen and mad, like a bloated slug finally breaking free, splatting there on the floor for everyone to stare at. Because everyone would, everyone always did. The word didnโt belong in her mouth, so Bel didnโt say it, not if she could help it. At least there was a coldness to mother, a sense of distance.
โItโs OK, please take your time,โ Ramsey said, the vowels clipped and exposed.
Bel looked across at him, avoiding the camera. Lines of concern crisscrossed his black skin, pulling around his eyes as they fixed on Belโs, because she was already taking her time, too much, more than she had in the pre-ยญinterviews the past few days. He reached up to scratch his temple, right where his dark coiled hair faded out above his ears. Ramsey Lee: filmmaker, director, from South Londonโยญ a whole world away, and yet here he was in Gorham, New Hampshire, sitting across from her.
Ramsey cleared his throat.
โUm . . . ,โ Bel began, choking on that slug. โI donโt know.โ
Ramsey sat back, his chair creaking, and Bel knew from the flicker of disappointment in his face that she was doing a bad job. Worse. It must have been the camera. The camera changed things, the permanence of it. One day thousands of people would watch this, separated from her only by the glass of their television screens. They would analyze every word she said, every pause she took, and have something to say about it. Theyโd study her face: her warm white skin and the flush of her cheeks, her sharp chin that sharpened more when she spoke and especially when she smiled, her short honey-ยญblond hair, her round gray-ยญblue eyes. Doesnโt she look just like Rachel did, theyโd say, those people beyond the television screen. Bel thought she looked more like her dad, actually. Thanks, though.
โSorry,โ Bel added, pressing her eyelids together, bright orange patches where the three softbox lights glared at her. She just had to get through this documentary, pretend to not be hating every second, talk about Rachel, then life could go back to normal, back to not talking about Rachel.
Ramsey shook his head, a smile breaking through.
โDonโt worry,โ he said. โItโs a difficult question.โ
It wasnโt, though, not really. And the answer wasnโt difficult either. Bel really didnโt know what had happened to her. No one did. That was the point of all this.
โI think she wasโยญโ
Someone stumbled behind the camera, tripping on a cable that ripped out of the wall. One of the lights flickered and died, swaying on its rickety leg. A hand reached out to grab it before it fell, righting it.
โOh shit. Sorry, Rams,โ the tripper said, chasing the loose wire back to the outlet. Now that the light was out, Bel could see him properly for the first time. She couldnโt say sheโd noticed him before, when Ramsey had introduced the crew, too dazzled by the lights and the camera. He must have been the youngest of the four documentary crew members, couldnโt be much older than her. And he was, just maybe, the most ridiculous person Bel had ever seen. He had shoulder-ยญlength brown hair that fell in thick curls, pushed off to one side of his pale face, full of angles and shadows. He wore flared tartan pants and a bright purple sweater with little green-ยญand-ยญyellow dinosaurs marching across his chest.
โSorry,โ he said again, the o giving him away; must be from London too. He grunted as he pushed the plug in and the light sparked back to life, hiding him from Bel. Thank God, that ugly sweater was distracting.
โI told you to gaffer all the wires down, Ash,โ Ramsey said, shifting to glance behind the box light.
โI did . . . ,โ came Ashโs voice from behind the light, somehow angular, just like his face. โUntil the tape ran out.โ
โMate, we have like fifty thousand rolls upstairs,โ Ramsey replied.
โFifty thousand and one,โ said the woman standing behind the microphone: a long pole balanced on a tripod, with a fluffy gray head hovering over Bel and Ramsey, just above the shot. Saba, that was what Ramsey had called her, introducing her as the Sound Person. She was wearing a huge pair of headphones that dwarfed her face, pushing the brown skin of her cheeks into unnatural folds.
โSorry,โ came Ashโs voice. โIโll fix it later.โ
โItโs OK,โ Ramsey said, his face softening for a second. Then, to the man behind the huge camera: โJames, why are you panning to Ash?โ
โThought we were aiming for a cinรฉma vรฉritรฉ style for the doc, that you might want this in,โ the camera operator replied.
โNo, I donโt want this in. Letโs reset the shot and go for another take. And everyone watch where youโre stepping this time.โ
Ramsey flashed an apologetic smile at Bel, sitting here on a plush couch across from them all, the cushions artfully arranged and reยญarranged behind her.
โAsh is my brother-ยญin-ยญlaw,โ he said, as though in explanation. โKnown him since he was eleven. Itโs his first job, isnโt it, Ash? Camera assistant.โ
Ash: camera assistant. Saba: sound person. James: camera operator. And Ramsey: filmmaker, producer, director. Must have been nice, to have words like that follow your name, words youโd chosen. Belโs were different: This is Annabel. The daughter of Rachel Price. That last part said in a knowing whisper. Because even though Rachel was gone, everything existed only in relation to her. Gorham wasnโt its own place anymore; it was the town where Rachel Price had lived. Number 33 Milton Street wasnโt Belโs home, it was the house Rachel Price had lived in. Belโs dad, Charlie Price, well, he was Rachel Priceโs husband, even though the Price part had come from him.
โAsh, the clapper,โ Ramsey reminded him.
โOh.โ Ash emerged from behind the light, a black-ยญand-ยญwhite clapper board clasped between his hands. Printed on it were the words: The Disappearance of Rachel Price. The name of the documentary. Below that, a handwritten: Interview with Bel. And she was surprised, really, that it didnโt just say Rachel Priceโs daughter.
Ash walked in front of the camera, the hems of his pants swishing loudly together.
โTake six,โ he said, bringing the clapper stick down to the slate with a sharp bang, hurrying out of the shot.
โLetโs start again.โ Ramsey let out a long breath. Theyโd been here for hours already, and it was starting to show on his face. โYour mum has now been missing for more than sixteen years. In all that time, there has been no sign of her. No activity on her bank accounts, no communication with family, no body found despite extensive searches. Of course there have been sightings,โ he said, leaning on the word too hard so it came out sideways. โPeople on the internet who claim to have seen Rachel in Paris. Brazil. Even one a few months ago nearby in North Conway. But of course, these are unsubstantiated claims. Your mum vanished without a trace on February thirteenth, 2008. What do you think happened to her?โ
Bel couldnโt say I donโt know again, otherwise sheโd never be allowed to leave.
โItโs as much a mystery for me as the rest of the world,โ she said, and from the flash in Ramseyโs eyes, she knew that was a better answer. OK, keep going. โI know all the theories people have about what happened. And if I had to pick the one . . .โ
Ramsey nodded, urging her on.
โI think she was trying to leave. She left. Then maybe she was killed by an opportunistic killerโยญthatโs the term the media uses. Or maybe she got lost in the White Mountains and died in the snow, and an animal got to her remains. Thatโs why we never found her.โ
Ramsey leaned forward, finger cupping his chin thoughtfully.
โSo, Bel, youโre saying you think the most likely scenario is that your mother is dead?โ
Bel half nodded, staring down at the coffee table in front of her. The full glass bottle of water that was a prop only, she wasnโt allowed to drink it. The marble chessboard laid out with all the pieces prepared for battle, her knees pointed down the center in no-ยญmanโs-ยญland. This repurposed conference room in the Royalty Inn hotel on Main Street was the stage. The water bottle, the chessboard and the cushions were the props. None of this was real to anyone else, it was all for show.
โYes. I think sheโs dead. I think she died that day or not long after.โ
Did she think that? Did it really matter? Gone was gone.
Ramsey was looking at the chessboard too now.
โYou say you think your mum was trying to leave,โ he said, bringing his eyes back. โDo you mean that she was running away?โ
Bel shrugged. โI guess.โ
โBut there is compelling evidence that opposes the ran away theory. Rachel didnโt withdraw any money from her bank account in the days and weeks leading up to her disappearance. If she was planning to run away and start a new life, she would have needed money to do that. Not only that, but she didnโt take her wallet containing her ID with her, and sheโd left her bank cards at home. Nor did she take her phone. She didnโt pack any clothes or belongings. None at all. She didnโt even take her coat with her on that freezing day, it was left in the car too, with her phone and wallet.โ
And me, Bel thought.
โWhat do you say to that?โ Ramsey asked her.
What did he want her to say?
โI donโt know.โ Bel went back to those three words, hid behind them.
Ramsey seemed to sense the barricade, backing off and straightening up.
โYouโre eighteen now, Bel. You werenโt even two years old when Rachel went missing. Twenty-ยญtwo months old, in fact. And of course, one of the most notable things about this case that sets it apart from all others, was that you were with her. You were with your mum when she disappeared.โ
โYes,โ Bel said, knowing what question was coming next. It didnโt matter how many times it was asked; the answer was the same. And it was worse for Bel, trust her.
โAnd you donโt remember anything at all that day? Being in the mall? Being in the car?โ
โI donโt remember anything,โ she said flatly. โI was too young to remember. Or to tell anyone what I saw that day.โ
โAnd hereโs the craziest thing.โ Ramsey leaned forward, words spiking in the middle as he attempted to keep his voice even. โYou were a toddler, too young to communicate properly with anyone, with the police. But if someone did take Rachel, abduct her from the car where it was found abandoned with you inside, that means you must have seen exactly who it was. You saw them. At one point in time, you must have known, however briefly, the answer to the ยญmystery.โ
โI know.โ
Crazy, wasnโt it? The craziest thing, in fact.
Bel closed her eyes, three blazing sunspots invading the dark world inside her head. Those lights were just too bright. Were they giving off heat too, or was that just her imagination? Explain why her face was so hot, then.
โAre you OK to continue?โ Ramsey asked her.
โYeah.โ She didnโt have a choice, really. Contracts had been agreed to, waivers and releases signed. And, most importantly, she had promised her dad. She could pretend to be nice, for his sake. Say yes and no and sorry in the right places.
โYou really have no memories from that day at all?โ
โNo.โ And she wouldnโt the next time he asked too. Or the one after that. She had no memory of what happened, no idea. Just what she knew later, when she was old enough to know things: that she had been left behind. Abandoned there in the backseat of the car, however it happened.
โThis case is one of the most discussed and studied on true-ยญcrime podcasts and social media, enduring in the public consciousness even sixteen years later,โ Ramsey said, eyes glittering. โThe name Rachel Price is almost synonymous with mystery. Because her disappearance was like a puzzle, and itโs human nature to want to solve a puzzle, donโt you think?โ
Was Bel supposed to answer that? Too late.
โAnd thatโs because,โ Ramsey continued, โRachel seemed to disappear twice that day. Can you tell us what happened that afternoon, at two p.m.? Where your mum and you went?โ
โAgain?โ
โYes, please. For the camera,โ Ramsey said, taking the blame off Bel and putting it on the camera instead. Cameras didnโt have feelings. Ramsey seemed nice like that. But then, of course, he wanted her to think he was nice, didnโt he?
Bel cleared her throat. โThat afternoon, I was in the car with Rachel. She drove us to the White Mountains Mall, which is in Berlin. Not far from Gorham, about ten minutes away. Security cameras recorded both of us walking into the mall. Rachel was carrying me.โ
โAnd why were you at the mall?โ
โShe often took me there on her days off, Iโve been told,โ Bel said. โRachel used to work at a coffeehouse there. Went back for the coffee, to see her old friends. That wasnโt out of the ordinary. It was called the Moose Mouse Coffeehouse.โ
Of course, Bel didnโt remember that, but sheโd seen the security camera footage since, the last images of Rachel Price alive. Sitting at the coffeehouse, baby Bel in a bright blue padded coat with marshmallow arms, wriggling in Rachelโs lap. Surrounded by empty tables. Blurry but happy, those tiny figures seemed. Not knowing that they were both about to disappear, one for good.
โBut what was out of the ordinary,โ Ramsey countered, โis that after you finished your drinks, Rachel got up to leave, still carrying you. You walked away from the Moose Mouse Coffeehouse at two-ยญforty-ยญnine, the cameras show us this, we can follow you on the footage. But then you turn a corner, a blind spot between the mall security cameras, and . . . ?โ
