“I’m sorry,” the nurse says in a too-loud voice. I see that glass face again, like the woman in the lobby. “Mr. Bergmann’s family explicitly requested that he have no visitors.”
NINE
VANISHED IN THE PRAIRIE: the disappearance of Michelle Fortier
Narrated by Stevie O’Malley
Marie and Gaetan Fortier were respected members of the community.
It’s a cliché in and of itself, but if you ask anyone in Marly, this is exactly the phrase you’ll hear. What it meant, at least in 1979, is that they owned land, a lot of land, and a lucrative dairy farm. Gaetan Fortier hired people in town, and neighboring towns as well, to work on the farm. He built a house that seems quaint, almost modest, by today’s standards, but that was considered ostentatious, a contemporary two-story residence with beautiful views of the river and forest. More importantly, to cement that respected status, he donated generously to the local church, the local school, and the local community center. The yearly graduation ball at the high school was sponsored proudly by the Fortier family.
In a sort of unspoken tradition, Quebecers are suspicious toward the wealthy and successful. The Fortiers may have been able to buy respect, or a semblance of it, but they were never truly liked. Their choice to live on the outskirts of town, their shiny new car, Marie’s Sunday clothes—all these things made the Fortiers outsiders, and their displays of generosity only spurred the grumbling and rumormongering among their neighbors. So, while the Fortier couple were always front and center at every festivity and event, they could call few in Marly their friends.
This was no doubt difficult for Marie, who came from Quebec City to marry Gaetan in her late twenties. The few surviving photos from the Fortier estate show a radiant, smiling woman always dressed in the height of fashion, her dark hair in the requisite bouffant style. She was a social butterfly who longed, if not for acceptance, then at least for companionship. What she got were frozen smiles to her face and whispers behind her back.
With the arrival of Michelle, when Marie was well over thirty, things seemed to improve. Marie, who had always longed for a family, now had access to an entire facet of life from which she had previously been barred. She threw herself headfirst into organizing events for the local school and donated money for a new gymnasium. Michelle was a little ray of sunshine who attracted other children like a magnet and charmed their parents to boot. Finally, the big, solitary house by the river was bursting with life.
Or at least that was the case for the first few years. When Michelle was seven or eight, the Fortiers pulled back from public activity. The donations diminished, so did their participation in public life. The most obvious cause were the problems that started to plague Gaetan and his farms. Indeed, around that time, the Fortiers’ star began to fade.
What happened to the land and fortune? In the years since Michelle vanished, things seemed to go even farther downhill for the Fortiers, with vertiginous speed. Poor financial decisions, neglect, bad weather, a disease that struck the livestock at the worst possible moment—all these things together formed a perfect storm. As you’re listening to this, most of the lands that once belonged to the Fortiers have been sold off. There’s no more dairy farm, and the various crops have mostly been replaced by the more lucrative soy and corn. Only the house remains in the possession of Gaetan’s widow, Marie. There were no relatives and no potential heirs that I could track down. Once Marie passes, what happens to that house, frozen in time with its red-brown brick façade and avant-garde lines, is anyone’s guess.
Gaetan passed away in 2006 after a long illness. Whatever secrets he knew, he took to his grave. There’s very little I was able to gather about the night Michelle went missing and the days that followed, and what I was able to find is more rumor than documented fact.
Why was there no search until people in town noticed Michelle was missing and started to talk? I already mentioned that the police officer who was first on the scene had assumed Michelle had snuck out of the house, despite this theory making little sense. For a police officer to assume that is one thing, but the fact remains that Michelle’s parents sat on this for two full days. If they attempted a search of their own, there’s no mention of it anywhere. On Sunday, Gaetan and Marie were in church as usual, with Marie dressed in festive clothes as she always was. An acquaintance or two noted that she looked pale and unhealthy. Gaetan seemed distracted. A rumor started that Michelle ran off from home, and the next day, on Monday, Gaetan addressed the town hall meeting asking for help.
By then, if Michelle had run away—and I don’t think that she did—she would have been far from home indeed. And if she hadn’t run away, whatever evidence of what really happened was gone.
Gaetan Fortier didn’t get much help in his search. Only a handful of volunteers joined him that same day to comb the woods near the Fortier house. Naturally, nothing was discovered.
Still, only after another week and several more equally fruitless searches did the family contact the provincial police. By then, the odds of finding Michelle decreased dramatically, and the odds of finding her alive had become nil.
TEN
1979
Unlike on weekdays, the park is crawling with people. There’s a game underway on the soccer field—Laura hears the shrieks of the children and the dull thudding of the ball long before the park comes into view. The bleachers are full of cheering parents, and all the picnic tables are busy, taken up by young families and their wicker baskets of sandwiches and soda. The overabundance of it all exacerbates Laura’s headache.
She circles the bleachers and the soccer field, passes behind the playground, and walks to the other end of the park where, by some garages, the older teenagers usually hold court.
Today, it seems everyone is there. Even a few of the older girls who sneer at her in school hallways. She searches the crowd for the one specific person she’s here to see.
“O’Malley,” one of them calls out. Laura’s gaze alights on the boy who spoke: a ratty rock T-shirt hangs off his scrawny frame, and a few tentative hairs dot his upper lip. He has a cigarette tucked behind his ear, and he’s playing with a lighter.
“Dude,” Laura calls out. “Have you seen Tony?”
“What do you need Tony for?”
“I need to talk to him. It’s none of your business.”
“None of my business?” He grins. “For someone who wants my help, you sure are kinda rude.”
“I don’t want your help,” she snarls. But his friends chuckle in that oily way. Laura’s gaze darts across their faces, but they all leer at her with that same gleeful, mean look. Yes, even those she made out with behind the school.
“I just want to talk to Tony,” Laura says obstinately. “And I think you know what about. About that dead dog. One of you did it, I’m sure, and you’re going around telling people it was me.”
The small crowd explodes with laughter.
“I didn’t do it,” Laura snaps uselessly.
“Listen, O’Malley. I don’t know what you want here. We’re not here to babysit the likes of you. I’m gonna give you a quarter. Go buy yourself some candy at the store. In other words, get lost.”
“Screw you,” Laura says. “I’m going to the AC/DC concert, and you’re not.”
Everyone laughs again. “Sure you are,” someone says.
Laura turns around and starts walking away. She feels their mocking stares on the back of her head. Pointless anger crests within her, solidifying into tears that well in her eyes in spite of herself. She’s glad she’s got her back to them, otherwise her cred would be finished.
Once she’s far enough, and once the tears have dried, Laura gathers her courage and turns around.
“My boyfriend’s gonna kick your asses!” she yells out. Another burst of laughter is her answer. She ignores it and saunters away.
Later, she’ll realize it wasn’t prudent, but by then it’ll be too late.
ELEVEN
2017
Two hours later, it’s getting dark, the sad little car’s gas tank is all but emptied, and I arrive back at Laura’s at last, literally itching for a shower.
