The Orphanage by the Lake

by Daniel G. Miller

I squint at him. I’ve known Kenny since we were kids, and he dances on that fine line between protective and stalkerish. Just when I think I know which one he is, he throws me a curveball.

Like red flag. & not the good kind

“Nothing. The cop who pulled me over said something strange.”

“Really? What did he say?”

“He said something like ‘a lot of girls go missing f...

“A lot of girls go missing from that place? Hazel, that could be a lead. If other girls have gone missing in the past, we could have a serial abductor on our hands.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that. That’s why it stuck with me. And what is this we business?”

“I mean, you might have a serial abductor on your hands.”

“You know my family and I go out to Lake George, right?”

Kenny comes from a wealthy family, and every year, they go to Lake George, which he never tires of telling me. The only reason he lives in this crappy little place with me is because his parents cut him off when he told them he was going to be a cop. They were hoping he would take over the family business. Part of me thinks he likes it though. Probably his version of slumming it.

Kenny obliges and the screen updates, and it is as though I’ve entered a secret code revealing an unknown world. The first article is about Mia. But the ones that follow are different girls. One from November 2022, one from October 2021, one from March 2021. On and on: the results go back twenty years. And then they stop. I do a quick count. It must be fifty girls over the last twenty years. My heartbeat accelerates.

“That’s a lot of missing girls from one children’s home,” says Kenny.

“Yes, Special K, it is.” I roll my eyes at his stateme...

“I wonder why it stops...

“Google News only goes back to 2003. Let’s try the Google newspaper archive. This keeps articles going back to the 1880s.”

Then it hits me. Mackenzie.

“Thomas Mackenzie at Saint Agnes twenty-five years.”

Google returns similar images, one of which says Bacchus in the search results.

I look up Bacchus. The result sends a shiver up my spine. Bacchus noun \ ’bæ-kEs \ (in ancient Greece and Rome) a god of wine and giver of ecstasy, identified with Dionysus

either Mackenzie is incompetent, or he’s protecting something or someone, and nothing about that man seemed incompetent.

If you disrespect me and I punch you in the face, that’s one thing. But if you disrespect me and I have to swallow it, that’s a soul crusher.

“Yes, we’re hosting our annual black-tie gala to raise funds for Saint Agnes tomorrow. It’s quite a spectacle. Thomas is very well connected, so many of New York’s wealthiest families are there.

“I understand that. But are you aware that you have way more runaways than any other orphanage—I’m sorry, children’s home—of a similar size and type?”

I take in Sonia’s demeanor. The fork trembles in her grip, and her eyes dart left and right as though searching for something. I reach out a hand and put it on hers. It’s coarse. She has the hands of a hard life, harder than she lets on.

“I know you do, Sonia, but I think there’s something bigger going on here. And I think Thomas might be able to fill in the blanks.”

“I’ve known Thomas for twenty-five years, Hazel. He’s a good man. Besides, I told you, he refuses to meet with you. There’s no way I’m going to convince him. Once he’s made up his mind, it’s made up. But you have to trust me. His heart is pure.”

“Hazel, you must come to the gala.”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

“There’s no way I could get you into the dinner. That’s five thousand dollars a head, but I could get you a ticket to the after-party. You can’t tell anyone I gave you a ticket though, or our director of development will kill me. Thomas will be there. I think once you have time to get to know him, you’ll see that you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

But you have to promise me you’ll be careful. Thomas has powerful friends, and I don’t want you to get on the wrong side of them.”

I think this calls for champagne and a piece of pie, don’t you?”

I think I’ve found my new best friend.

“Hi, Sarah, my name is Hazel Cho, and I’m a private investigator looking into girls who have gone missing from Saint Agnes Children’s Home.”

“Oh, thank God, finally,” she says.

“Why do you say that?”

“I’m sorry. I just wasn’t impressed by the investigation after Olivia went missing.”

“Well, that’s why I’m calling. Were you close with Olivia before she disappeared?”

“Honestly, no, we weren’t that close. I was eight or nine years older than her. Before her mom died, she would bring Olivia over to our house for Christmas once every few years, and I would play with her Barbies with her. She was obsessed with my old Easy-Bake Oven. But our families eventually lost touch. I think my mom and her mom had a falling-out.”

She would write me letters—Saint Agnes discouraged computer use—and I would write her back. She always wrote in pink bubble letters. Always pink. But I’m ashamed to say I didn’t think about her that much. I was too absorbed in my own college drama.”

“I understand. Are you aware that several other girls have gone missing from Saint Agnes over the past twenty years?”

“Really? I haven’t heard anything about that in the news. The only reason I know about Olivia is because the headmaster c...

“Thomas Mack...

“Yeah, that’s right. Is he still there? He must be a h...

“And what did you t...

“I told him I hadn’t spoken to Olivia in months, and she hadn’t said anything about running away. In fact, she had written me a letter a couple weeks earlier, before she went missing, about how she was s...

“Discov...

“Yeah, she was really into singing and theater, and she said that after one of their little performances, the choir t...

“Did she ever do any theater outside those performances?”

“Hmm, it’s been a long time. It had a funny name. It started with a D.”

“Dionysus?”

“Yeah, that’s it. Dionysus. Have you been there?”