Valera by Kris Starr

Back to Books

Valera couldn’t even touch the photograph. Not yet. It still didn’t seem real. Instead, her analytical brain kicked in, even after years of being away from work. She studied the picture itself. It had obviously been taken with one of those old-fashioned digital cameras and printed onto paper—something that had come back into vogue as old-fashioned things were wont to do. The paper itself was creased in several places, and the top left hand corner was torn completely off. The white border that existed around the image itself was grimy, as though it had been handled by any number of dirty little fingers. Other than that, Valera could determine nothing useful from the photo itself.

Taking a deep breath, she allowed herself to finally focus in on the image proper. Two tired- and worn-looking women faced the camera, their backs against a plain, dark gray wall. The photo showed them from the chest up. Both were brunette, their long hair stringy and lank, as though neither had bathed in some time. Both faces were pale and sallow and thin, and dark circles ringed each woman’s eyes. The one on the left wore a thin, pink camisole-type top, the one on the right, a worn green tank-style. Both women looked as though they’d been mistreated, but it was the eyes that made gooseflesh rise on Valera’s arms. The eyes of both women were vacant, dark, as though any life that had once been inside them had been viciously and ceremoniously stamped out.

It had been ten years, but Valera would swear on her life that the one on the left was Kaye. It was the shape of the nose, a slight droop at the outer corners of her eyes. Valera traced the maybe-Kaye’s face with her fingertip. “Oh, Kaye…” The words were more of a breath than actual speech.

Valera took a deep breath and glanced up at Garion. “Where did you get this?”

“It was delivered anonymously to the office in a plain white envelope. My name had been written on the outside in block letters, black ink. The envelope’s being analyzed as we speak.”

“Why you?” Valera raised one eyebrow.

Garion’s mouth set in a determined line. “Because I’ve been writing a series of articles about the history of Tactile Addict Converters.” He hesitated. “And because the woman on the right is my sister.”

Valera’s eyebrow arched higher. “Your sister?”

Garion nodded curtly. “Yes. She disappeared around the same time as your sister—ten years ago. We didn’t hear anything from anyone. The police couldn’t help. We searched for three years and then my family assumed she was dead. So much time had passed, and any hope we’d once had of finding her alive had dwindled down to nothingness.”

Valera nodded, acutely intimate with that feeling. Not meeting his gaze, she cleared her throat and forced the words past the lump that had appeared there.

“I searched, too. For five years. Nothing. Not a sign, not a trace.”

Garion looked discomfited, as though he were as pained by their discussion as she was. “What about that witness report--?”

Valera interrupted him. “The questionable report from a person who was never identified, and who was never heard from again?” She paused, the inferno fuelling her words vanishing as suddenly as it had flared. “I don’t believe it. At least, I don’t think I do. I don’t know, Garion. It’s been too long now.” She glanced back at the photograph, the sudden need for Kaye to be alive the sharpest spike of pain she’d ever felt. “But maybe…”