Come Back: A Mother and Daughter's Journey through Hell and Back

"Mia?" I say softly as I start to put my arms around her.

She twists away and darts to the bathroom.

"Mia!" I rush after her and jam my body into the doorway to keep it open.

"Leave me alone," she hisses hoarsely.

"Mia, what's wrong, tell me what's going on!"

"I didn't want to be found! Fuck off!"

I am too dumbstruck even to cry. In this speechless moment, I get my first real look at her. She's higher than a kite, she has a strange reek, her creamy olive skin is streaked with grime, her nose and cheeks are bright red. Mia's eyes are big and clear. These eyes are slitty, dark and puffed, they're glassy and bloodshot. But, the animal look in them - what drugs can do this? I can't reconcile who I'm seeing with my daughter. It's like she spent the night in Frankenstein's lab next to a savage little beast and someone hit the switch.

I didn't think anything could ever be worse than seeing her empty bed. I was wrong - this is. And a cold fear is setting in that after this, there might be another worse, that this worse might just be the frost on the grass before winter falls.

I drive to the Venice police station with Mia to report her found. Paul's waiting in the parking lot. He looks so small and hapless against the lead gray ocean behind him.

Mia gets out of the car sullen and nasty, sidestepping the stepfather she adores. I stare at the ground to avoid seeing the look on his face when he sees her. He says Talia's father was upset that Henry only caught Mia. I feel sick for her parents, though there was nothing Henry could have done, unless he let go of Mia. He had to choose.

Officer Carol handles our case, a no-nonsense blonde who is harsh with Mia. Mia denies knowing anything about Talia's whereabouts. She looks sharply at Mia.

"You don't know how lucky you are, young lady. Very few parents look for their kids and even fewer ever find them."

She takes me aside to show me 8x10 glossies she shows runaways to scare them. Crime scene shots of girls who weren't so lucky, photos the tourist bureau doesn't show. I've seen enough of them doing research to know those images never leave you. Face-down, twisted-legged girls behind garages with their panties in their mouths, rat-eaten girls in Dumpsters, charred girls in bathtubs, in the pugilist position, as if they stood a chance. Because I still think Mia's too sensitive, that this won't happen again, I tell her not to show her.

Paul stays to help Talia's father look for her while I drive Mia home. I realize how stupid it was to drive alone with her. She could jump out at any stop. I'm careful and sweet, talking about little things, something the cat did, the hat Bubbie knitted her. I don't know what else to say, I'm so scared and bewildered.

Mia just stares out the window, then suddenly demands to use a payphone on the way home. Because I'm afraid to make her mad, I find one and obey her command to stand far away. But not so far I can't catch her if she bolts. Whoever she calls isn't there, thank God, because I don't want any Venetians showing up outside her bedroom window. For all I know she was trying to call Rain's brother, Thunder, to come spring her.

I'm so wasted and shaky, I can hardly pull the car in straight. I rake it along the carport wall. Getting Mia in the back door proves just as difficult, because whatever drugs she took in Venice must be time-release. She suddenly switches from surly and mean to grinning and unsteady. I help her stumble to her bedroom, drop her backpack, sit with her on the bed.

"I like sleeping on the floor," she rasps and slides to the carpet.

This is creepy, but I just stroke her hair and say cheerfully, "Okay, I'll make you a bed there."

"No, it's cool just like this. It's just for tonight, anyway."

"What? Mia, you're home, you live here, you're not going anywhere."

She lets out a squeak of a laugh, "Yes, I am! I belong out there, mom. They're waiting for me."

"Out where, Mia, what are you talking about, who's waiting?"

She tucks her knees up under her chin and looks up at me. I cup her little face in my hands. And then her face goes slack, her milky-pink, swimmy eyes pop open wide and she looks right through me as if she's just been possessed.

"Mia?"

She starts a trance-like croaking, "I have to go, I have to go, I have to go…"

This isn't Mia, this is science fiction, this is a Pod. I'm in Kafka's Metamorphosis, gaping at a giant roach-Mia chanting, "I have to go, have to go, have to go…"

I grab her and shake her, yelling at my child who is here and not here. I sink to the floor in front of her, crying like a broken animal, howling like only a mother can howl.

"Don't cry, mommy, don't cry," she coos back in her ragged voice, wrapping herself around me. "It's okay, Mommy, don't cry."

But, she doesn't say, "Don't cry, Mommy, I won't leave again." She comforts me with, "Don't cry, Mommy, I'll be okay out there, they'll take care of me."

Winter is burying us already.