The Reappearance of Rachel Price

Ash was just leaving the hotel when Bel got to the door, almost slamming into him and his handheld camera, blinded by her own reflection.

“Whoa, hey.” He cradled the camera. “Ramsey will kill me if I break this.”

“Would spice up the documentary,” Bel said, stepping back, clearing the way for him. “A bit vanilla if no one dies.”

“You’re in a good mood.” He looked her up and down and she did the same. Backward cap and burgundy overalls with a striped top. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” she said. “I just finished school. School’s right there. I was walking past. What are you doing?” she accused him instead.

“Ramsey’s had meetings all day, so he asked me to film some reaction stuff in town. How locals feel about Rachel’s reappearance and all that. Just heading out again.”

“How do the locals feel?” Bel asked, using Rachel’s trick, starting to walk so Ash had to too.

“Shocked mostly.” He shifted the camera to keep up. “But pleased that the story has a happy ending.”

“Happy ending,” Bel muttered to herself. The police chief said it wasn’t a true happy ending until the man who took Rachel was caught. So if he didn’t really exist, they had no chance.

“Y-you don’t think it does?” Ash asked tentatively.

“Really?” she laughed. “You want to dig into my mommy issues?”

“They seem like the most pressing of your issues.” He cleared his throat. “It’s just, I noticed you maybe weren’t OK yesterday, at the mall. If everyone thinks you should be happy and you’re not, thought you might want someone to talk to about it. Like, an outsider.”

Ash was more than an outsider here, different worlds. Three older sisters and a mom he loved enough to ink on his arm.

Should she try him? He could only be repulsed by her, and that would work in her favor too, finally pushing him away before he got too close and Bel started to think she cared.

Nothing to lose either way.

And no family land mines to tiptoe around, no one who thought they knew Bel better than she knew herself.

“I think Rachel is lying,” she said bluntly, watching for a reaction on his face.

“Right.” He bit his lip, but Bel wasn’t sure what that meant. “Lying about what?”

“About her disappearance. Her reappearance too. Where she’s really been the last sixteen years.”

Ash’s eyes flickered, screwed against the breeze of a passing truck. “And why do you think that?”

Was he giving her a chance? Bel took it, speaking quickly before he took the chance back.

“She’s messed up a couple of times, got details in her story wrong. She told me that the man left the engine running when he let her go, on that road, but she told my dad that the engine was switched off first. She accidentally said she was locked up for fifteen years, not sixteen. You would remember that number, right, if it were true? And yesterday, at the mall, she knew about a bracelet I used to have. I threw it in the river, years ago, after my friend … Anyway, the only proof that that bracelet ever existed was an old photo on my Instagram. Rachel hasn’t been on the internet since she’s been back, there’s no way she could have seen my Instagram in those forty-eight hours. She shouldn’t even know what Instagram is. She must have seen that photo another time. Which means she can’t have been locked in a basement until Saturday morning. And the other thing: The man kept her all that time, then just let her go without explanation, and she can’t provide a detailed description of him? And …” She paused, testing out his eyes. “I guess, I can just feel it. That there’s something wrong, that she’s not telling the truth.”

Ash cupped his fingers around his chin, pulling his head into a nod. “OK,” he said.

“OK?” Bel asked him, uncrossing her arms. “You’re not going to tell me I’m wrong, that I’m overreacting, that things are supposed to feel strange, or I’m pushing her away because I have latent abandonment issues?”

Ash pressed his lips together, not quite a smile. “Why would I do that? You are absolutely terrifying.”

“Thank you.” Bel bowed her head. “So you … do you believe me?”

The knot clenched; she waited.

“Yeah,” he said.

So simple. Not even a full word. But God, she’d needed to hear that, a featherlight feeling in her gut, raising her onto her toes. He believed her, or at least he said he did, and that was good enough for now. Someone on her side, as unlikely and ridiculous as he was.

A family of four passed them on the sidewalk, all staring, not trying to disguise their curiosity, harmonized nosiness. That bright boy who dressed like a clown and the daughter of Rachel Price. Outsiders, but outsiders on the same side.

“If she is lying,” Ash said, when the coast was clear, “she’d have to have a motive, right? For disappearing in the first place, and then reappearing after sixteen years. If they were both orchestrated.”

“I don’t know,” Bel said, the first time she could reason it to herself, out loud, using Ash as a brick wall for her thoughts. “If you managed to disappear, so successfully that everyone thought you were dead, what could be your motive for coming back and risk being exposed?”

“I guess the reason behind most things: money,” Ash said, holding his camera in the crook of his elbow.

“But what money?” Bel gestured with her empty hands.

“I don’t know,” Ash replied, the words trailing up at the end, like they were leading somewhere, not a shutdown like Bel’s usually were. “Rachel had a meeting with Ramsey today, contracts, for her to participate in interviews and filming. She wouldn’t agree to sell her life rights until Ramsey offered up a lot of money. She negotiated some back-end stuff too, that’s smart.”

Bel stalled, thinking. “How much money?”

“I don’t know the exact figure, but a lot more than your dad’s contract. I guess that’s because she’s the subject and, with her return, Ramsey knows the documentary will definitely get picked up by a broadcaster. In fact, he’s having Zoom meetings with all the big ones today.”

A knot in Bel’s head, to match the one in her gut, writhing as it spewed out questions and scenarios.

“Seems convenient,” she said, “that a film crew just happened to be making a documentary about her when she returned from the dead. What impeccable timing for both parties. Where’s Ramsey?” She turned on Ash.

“In the conference room, still in meetings. Why?”

Bel pointed to his camera. “Can I borrow this?”

“Yeah, sure.” He handed it over, heavier than she expected, no flinch when their fingers touched.

Bel took off, back toward the hotel.

Ash padded after her, confused. “Actually, wait.” Panic rising in his voice. “Why did I just do that? Give it back. Mate, it’s expensive.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t drop it or smash it in a rage.”

She approached the main door.

“Why would you say that? That sounds exactly like the kind of thing you would do.” Ash followed her inside the hotel lobby, anxiously chewing his thumb.

“How do I record?” she asked, heading toward the conference room.

“Give it back, where are you going?” Ash hissed.

“Don’t be a buzzkill, mate. I’m guessing it’s this big red button here. Unless that’s self-destruct.”

She pressed it, and the image came up in the viewfinder on the side, recording. She made an explosion noise, pushing air around her cheeks, pretending to drop the camera to enjoy the raw look of alarm on Ash’s face.

“Too easy,” she told him; he was supposed to be able to match her.

She pushed the door open with one arm.

“Wha—” Ramsey’s face emerged from behind a MacBook on the table. “Ash, I told you I was in meetings. You’re lucky I literally just finished one.”

“All her,” Ash said, a double point in Bel’s direction.

“’Ello, Ramsey,” Bel said brightly, watching his face in the viewfinder, moving from surprise through confusion.

“Remember how I told you to take care of that camera, Ash?” he said.

“Yeah.” Ash scratched his hair under the cap, raising it up, elongating his head. “Accidentally gave it to Bel.”

“Why?”

“Because she asked.”

“You’re always sticking cameras in my face,” Bel said. “My turn. How was your day?” She smiled, stretching it beyond a grin.

Ramsey widened his eyes. “Good, actually. Had some exciting conversations with broadcasters. Everyone is desperate for the doc, now Rachel has returned. We’ve officially changed the name too: The Reappearance of Rachel Price.” He outlined the title with his fingers, drawing it in the air.

“Imaginative,” Bel said. “Nice alliteration.”

“That’s what I thought, all the execs too. Just got off a meeting with the big red N, if you know what I’m saying.”

Bel did, but she rearranged her face like she didn’t.

“Starts with N,” Ramsey said, getting to his feet. “Ends in -etflix.”

“Sorry, never heard of it,” Bel replied with a frown, disarming him before she jumped in.

Her trick worked; Ramsey shook his head and smiled at his feet. God, she was lovably infuriating, wasn’t she? A girl like that couldn’t possibly be smart too, right?

“What do you want, Bel?” He stared down the camera, sensing something.

“Just thought it was your turn to answer some questions. A reverse interview.”

“OK, I’ll bite.” Ramsey leaned against the table, crossing his legs. He’d put on a crisp blue shirt for the big red N. “What do you want to ask me?”

“It’s more of a comment than a question,” Bel replied. “Just thinking about the incredible coincidence that you were making a documentary about Rachel’s disappearance, then she miraculously comes back from the dead midway through your shoot. Great before-and-after material. And all the broadcasters want it, probably throwing money at you. Which is fantastic, because both you and Rachel profit from that. What convenient timing. Suspicious, a more cynical person might say.”

Ramsey pressed his lips together; he knew Bel was that more cynical person.

“Go on,” he said, pushing her, almost like he was enjoying it.

“Did you and Rachel work together to orchestrate her reappearance, so you could both cash in on the media storm? You were probably desperate, right, after your last documentary didn’t sell and no one will ever see it?”

Ramsey winced; that last point had stung him a little.

“No, Bel. We did not,” he said softly, a look on his face that was both scolding and impressed, in real life and the miniature version in the viewfinder. “I did not orchestrate anything. The first time I met Rachel Price was when I knocked on your door Sunday morning. I had no prior contact with her; I didn’t even know that was a possibility. Honestly, Bel, I thought she was dead, like you did. One hundred percent, no doubt in my mind, Rachel Price was dead. I’m as shocked as the rest of the world that she’s back. It’s a once-in-alifetime thing, to be here to witness it. And Rachel: she was locked in a basement until three days ago, she couldn’t have had contact with anyone to orchestrate anything.”

“Right,” Bel said. “So it’s just a coincidence.”

Ramsey shrugged. “They happen.” He studied her with interest, so different from the shallow way the locals stared. Reading, not just seeing, prying with his filmmaker eyes. “Why, do you think your mum wasn’t locked in a basement for sixteen years?”

“I’m asking the questions here, I’m the one with the camera.” It shook in her hands.

“Interesting,” Ramsey said, running his hand over his jaw. “Why do you think your gut reaction is to think your mum is lying, Bel?”

“It isn’t,” she said.

“Is it less painful for you to think she had control, that she left on purpose? Came back for a reason?”

“Stop asking questions, I’m asking questions.” Bel breathed in. “Why did you choose Rachel, then, why did you choose us to be your next subject?”

“Honestly?” Ramsey said, crossing his legs the other way, glancing at Ash. “I hadn’t really heard of the Rachel Price case before. I know it’s a big deal here, but you know, America has a lot of murders and missing people. I only started looking into it last year when I was in Maine; I tweeted something miserable about having to abandon the shoot on my last doc. Someone replied that the Rachel Price case would make an interesting documentary, if I was looking for my next idea. I Googled it out of spite, really, and the rest is history. So it’s all down to that random person in my comments. No conspiracy here, yeah? We cool? But let’s get back into why you wanted there to be one.”

“No, let’s not,” Bel said sharply, dancing with him now. “And in all of your research, have you found anything that contradicts what Rachel says happened to her?”

Ramsey studied her again, and she wished he would stop doing that. He could psychoanalyze her, but she could do it right back. Go for the jugular; make another comment about his failed documentary.

“I mean,” he said, “we’re interviewing her tomorrow and Thursday, so I don’t have her whole story yet, or the story as far as law enforcement will allow. But no, as far as I can tell. There are no contradictions, no reasons to not believe every word. Well, unless you count all those imaginary sightings across the years. Brazil. Paris.” Ramsey laughed, a breathy, dismissing sound.

“Wait.” Bel stopped him, searching her memory. “You said there was a recent sighting, one in New Hampshire. Where was that? Who was it?”

“Really?” Ramsey asked.

“Really,” she replied.

“OK.” He gave in, slapping his thighs. Bel followed him with the camera as he returned to his laptop, clicking and typing.

“It was in North Conway,” he said. “Let me just search my documents for that. Aha. Yep. North Conway. A woman called Alice Moore. She posted on Facebook, in January, that there was someone in her store who she swore was Rachel Price.”

“Where can I find her?” Bel asked. “What’s the store called?”

“She’s the owner of a small independent clothing shop,” he said, checking his notes. “Called Baa-Baa Boutique. But—”

“Cool.” Bel stepped forward to place the camera—still recording—on the table, trapping Ramsey inside it. “Text the address to Ash.”

“Eh?” Ash said, at the sound of his own name.

“Bel,” Ramsey began, “I’m not sure you sh—”

“Come on, Ash,” Bel said, slapping him on the back. “Let’s go. You’re driving.”

“I’m—what?” He looked aghast. “But I don’t have a—”

“Here,” Ramsey said, changing his tune suddenly, a new light in his eyes. He dug in his back pocket and threw a set of keys across the room. Ash caught them clumsily, gaze darting between the two of them, deer in their headlights. “Drive on the right-hand side, remember?”

“But—”

“Ash!” they both said, Bel waiting by the door, clapping her hands impatiently.

“Take the camera,” Ramsey hissed, bundling it up and pressing it into Ash’s chest, with a wink he thought Bel couldn’t see. A whispered: “Steady hand, make sure you frame the shot.”

“Oh, O-OK,” Ash stammered, catching on.

“Wait!” Ramsey darted back to the table. “Release forms. People have to sign these,” he said, shoving a few into Ash’s hands. “Have you got a pen?”

“I’ve got a fucking pen,” Bel said. “Now, let’s go before I change my mind. Fucking thank you.”