Lost Without Elliot

LOST WITHOUT ELLIOT

“You have got to be kidding me!”

Elle looked out at the lake. She was stopped at the mouth of a boat ramp. It was supposed to be a road. There was not supposed to be a lake.

Slamming both her palms on the steering wheel, she swung her gaze to her phone.

“You are a piece of crap!”

She smacked the steering wheel again, and threw herself back in her seat.  

What if I hadn’t seen the light glint off the water? What then? What if—and it's a good thing I didn’t—I had trusted the GPS in my P.O.S. phone? EF!

In frustration, she banged her hands on the steering wheel again. And again, and again.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

“Ow!” she said rubbing her palms.

Elle’s chest heaved. She was this close to crying.

The entire flight from the city had been a disaster.

What had she been thinking? Leaving at night? But she needed to be there for Elliot. And she had to get there before noon. Being late was not an option! Poor Elliot!

Tears spilled from her eyes, leaving wet streaks down her cheeks. Her nose started to run. Elle closed her eyes and dropped her forehead on the steering wheel, and started to cry — noisily, sloppily, messily. She wailed. Sobs wracked her body. She cried like she had never cried before. She cried because she was frustrated — stupid GPS! She cried because she was tired — who leaves home in the middle of the night without a plan? She cried because she was angry — why hadn’t he called sooner? She cried because she needed a good cry.

Elle sat in her idling car, on the boat ramp, sobbing, the frustrations on her day coming out in great, gulping sobs.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

She jolted, head snapping towards the driver’s side window.

Great! The police! Can this night get any worse? 

She hastily wiped her eyes, snuffled up her snot, and ran her hands through her hair.

The officer twirled his hand in a motion to get Elle to lower her window. She complied, pushing the button. The window lowered with a whir.

He had a flashlight in his hand, which shone in her face. Her hands flew to her eyes, shielding them from the light.

“Are you all right, ma’am?”

Mute, Elle just nodded.

“Can you turn your car off please, ma’am?”

She turned off the car.

She looked at the officer and tried to smile. “I’m lost. This stupid phone tried to send me into the lake. I have no idea where I am. I’m trying to get to Cleveland.”

The officer looked around. “Cleveland, Ohio?”

Elle nodded.

“Ma’am, you are no where near Cleveland, Ohio.” He looked back at Elle. “Can I see your driver’s licence, please?”

Elle reached up, and turned on the interior light. She grabbed her backpack from the passenger seat. Opening it, she started to root through the contents—sunglasses, passport, hand sanitizer, sunblock, bug spray, extra water bottle, ear buds, extra change of clothes, gum, iPad, two protein bars. But no driver’s licence.  

She leaned over and opened the glove box—maps, more gum, fast food paper napkins, old-school Garmin GPS—Maybe I should have used this instead of my stupid phone—three pens, two pencils, a sharpie, a highlighter, a phone charging cord. But no driver’s licence.

Uh oh.

Elle sat back and opened the console between the seats, started rifling through it. But she knew her licence wasn’t in there. She knew exactly where it was. In her wallet, which was … she stopped and considered. Yup. Her wallet, with all her cash and cards, and identification was sitting on her counter in her kitchen.

DAMN IT!

She shut the console and turned around in her seat, to face the officer.

“I don’t have my licence. I’m pretty sure it’s at home. In my wallet. On the kitchen counter. With all my cash and cards and ID.”

The officer looked up over the roof of the car, shaking his head.

After a couple of seconds, he looked back at Elle.

“What’s your name?”

“Elle Cantata.”

“I don’t suppose you can verify that?”

“I have my passport. Will that help?”

“It will.”

Elle leaned over, opened the glove box, and rooted around until she found her passport. She handed it to Officer—she looked at the name attached to the front of his uniform—Charters. He opened it, and flipped through the pages until he he came to the one with her picture on it. He held it up, looked at the photo, looked at Elle, looked back at the photo. He closed the passport, but didn’t give it back to Elle. Instead he tucked it into his breast pocket.

He took a world-weary breath and let it out slowly. “Okay, Elle Cantata, I think we need to have a chat. Can I trust you to follow me to the station, or should I have your car impounded, and drive you over in the back of my squad car?

Elle sniffled. “I’ll follow you,” she said.

The police station was only about two minutes away. From what Elle had eyed on the drive over, everything was probably no more than two minutes away. It was definitely Small Town, Middle-Of-Nowhere.

The police station looked deserted. Apparently the night shift was only Officer Charters. He used a key, unlocked and opened the front door of the station. Elle followed him in. There were lights on, but they were the only two people in the building. They walked to the back of the station.  

Officer Charters stopped at a desk, and pointed at a chair. “Have a seat.”

Elle sat. Charters sat behind the desk. He pulled out his notebook, and started writing.

“So, Ms. Cantata, why were you really sitting on my boat ramp, with your car running?”

Elle was confused. “I-I told you, I was lost.”

Charters looked at her. She could tell he didn’t believe her.

“Look,” she said, grabbing her phone. She pulled up the map app, which was still open. Although it had her location as the police station, she swiped across the screen, moving the map backwards. The screen showed her route, right to the boat ramp. She handed the phone to Charters.

He used his hands to swipe around the screen for a few seconds, then he handed the phone to Elle. They sat in silence for a few seconds, Charters writing, He put down his pen, and looked at Elle.

“So,” he started. “You were lost?”

“Yes.”

“On the boat ramp?”

“Yes.”

“You weren’t going to drive into the lake?”

Horrified, Elle reared back in chair. “What? No! NO!” she said. “What are you saying?”

Charters shrugged his shoulders. He looked at Elle, holding eye contact.

“Consider it from my perspective,” she started. “It’s the middle of the night. I pull up on a car, motor running, at the top of the boat ramp. Inside, a woman is crying. Hysterically.”

“I was just frustrated, not suicidal.” Elle dropped her eyes, shaking her head slightly. “I was lost, that’s all,” she said quietly.

“So where were you coming from?”

“Home.”

Charters raised an eyebrow, “Which is … ?”

Elle shook her head slightly. “Sorry. I live in Hamilton.”

“Illinois?”

“Uh, no, Ontario, Canada.”

Charters picked up his pen, and made a notation in his note book. When he was finished, he looked at Elle again.

“You know you’re going the wrong way, right?”

Elle furrowed her brow. “What?”

“You’re in Clifton Springs, New York. Cleveland is—” he paused, opened his own phone, and quickly keyed in the information, “—a little more than four hours west of here.”

Elle was stunned. How had this happened?

Officer Charters reached over, and snagged Elle’s phone. He picked it up, and fiddled with the screen.

Looking up at her, he said, “Your GPS is set for Cleveland, New York, not Cleveland, Ohio.” He handed it back to her.

And that was the breaking point. Elle felt her face crumble, and the tears spill down her cheeks. She covered her face with her hands.

Charters let her cry.  After years of policing he knew that it was futile to intrude. Best to let the tears play themselves out.

After a while—Elle Cantata was a champion cryer—she sucked up her tears, wiped her eyes, and looked at Charters.

“I am such an idiot.”

Charters said nothing. Who was he to either dispute or confirm that Elle Cantata was an idiot?

“Where am I, agan?” she asked.

“Clifton Springs, New York. You’re near Syracuse.”

“Syracuse?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Oh God!”

Elle—not having learned her lesson—activated the GPS on her phone. She looked at Officer Charters. “You were right, it says that I’m four hours and twelve minutes away from Cleveland.”  She looked at her watch. “It's 5:13 right now. I should be able to get to there before noon, right? No problem.”

Charters looked at her, shaking his head slowly. Elle knew bad news was coming her way.

“What?”

“You don’t have a driver’s licence. I can’t let you drive away.”

Elle felt like she had been slapped.

“But I do have a licence. It just happens to be sitting on my counter in my kitchen in Hamilton.”

“I’m sorry.”

Elle could feel her heart beating rapidly in her chest. “I’m telling the truth! Can you check? Call someone. They’ll be able to tell you I have a licence. I’ll pay the fine. Whatever. I have to get to Cleveland before noon. Please! I’m begging you!”

“What’s going on in Cleveland?”

“Elliot.”

“Who’s Elliot?”

Elle took a deep breath, trying to centre herself. “Elliot is my cat.”

Charters cocked his head, “And …”

Elle looked away. How much to tell him? What if he didn’t like cats? Or what if he had an ex? What if he thought she was looney tunes? She looked back at Charters. In for a penny, in for a pound. She opened her mouth and started to talk.

“About two months ago, my ex partner got a job offer in Cleveland. It was for a one year contract, wth the possibility of turning into a full-time position. He wanted us to move there. You know, sell everything and move. I have a good job in Hamilton, my friends and family all live there, and I didn’t want to leave. I would have had to get a visa if I wanted to work, and there’s no guarantee that I would even be able to get a job. So I said no. Instead, I suggested that we have a long-distance relationship. You know, visit every other weekend, meet half-way for romantic get-togethers. Revisit the whole situation after a year. Ray said no. He said that I obviously didn’t love him, and the relationship was over. To be honest, I thought maybe it was time, anyways. We’d been together for four years. The pandemic took its toll on us—like a lot of people, and we weren't really happy. So we split up.” She looked at Charters. “But then one day when I was a work, he cleaned out everything from the house and took off to Cleveland.  And he stole Elliot.”

Charters said nothing. He didn’t want to interrupt Elle’s flow.

“Elliot is my cat,” she said, pointing to her own chest. “I’ve had him since he was a kitten. He’s eight. Ray doesn’t even like him. He’s always on about being a dog person, about how you can’t trust cats because they’re sneaky and will kill you in your sleep.” Elle shook her head. “He’s such an ass.” She sat quietly for a moment. “He can have all the furniture. I don't care. I can buy new stuff. But he kidnapped—catnapped—Elliot just to be spiteful. Because I wouldn’t give up my life so that he could live his. Like my life has no meaning.”

She looked down at her phone. “Then, this morning, at one a.m., he texted me.” She opened Messenger, and pulled up a text. She slid the phone across to Officer Charters

Ray: Come and get your stupid cat. I’ve made an appointment at the vet’s.  If you’re not here by noon, he’s going to be put down.

Elle: What? You can’t do that!

Ray: I can and I will. Be here by noon, or he’s dead. Don’t text me back.

Charters handed the phone back to Elle.

“He’s a monster,” she whispered.

Charters said nothing. He’d seen a lot in his almost thirty years of policing, but this was particularly cruel. 

He was faced wth a dilemma. Did he follow the rule of law, and not let Ella Cantata drive to Cleveland to save her cat. Or did he break the law and let her rescue Elliot? Was there another option?

“Excuse me,” he said, and walked off.

Elle sat there, trembling. Every minute spent sitting in the police station, was one minute closer to death for Elliot.

I still have my car keys. I could sneak out, and drive away. Maybe I could get away before he caught me.

While she was still contemplating her jail break, Officer Charters came back into the room. He walked to his desk and sat down.

"Okay, Ms. Cantata, here’s what we’re going to do …”

*****

Elle carried Elliot into the house. She couldn’t believe the whirlwind of the last ten hours.

When Officer Charters had left the room, he’d called his wife who also happened to be the Chief of Police. He told her the story, and together they had come up with the plan. Officer Charters would drive Elle to Cleveland to get Elliot, while the Chief would drive Elle’s car to the Canadian border. Officer Charters would then drive Elle and Elliot to meet up with the Chief where she would get into her own car and drive home to Ontario—where driving without a licence was a ticketable offence, not an international incident. That was the plan.

And it had gone beautifully. Officer Charters, still in his uniform, had accompanied Elle to Ray’s front door. 

“Well, look who's here." he'd sneered. "It's obvious who you love more. I don’t see you running down here for me.”

Then he saw Officer Charters.

“You brought the cops! Not cool, Elle! Not cool at all!”

“Where’s Elliot,” she said, ignoring his whining.

“Elliot, Elliot, Elliot! You only ever think about the stupid cat.”

“Where is he?” she asked again.

“In the basement.” He hiked his thumb towards the basement door.

She walked past him and headed down to the basement. And there he was, in his carrier, empty water bowl, and crusty food bowl stuffed inside the crate with him. The litter box, over flowing with faces and reeking of urine was shoved in the corner of the basement. She opened his cage and he leapt into her arms.

“Elliot!” She picked him up, and hugged him. He gave her a big purr, rubbed his head under her chin, then squiggled out of her grasp, ran towards the litter box, and hastily relieved himself.

When was the last time he was out of the cage? she wondered. From the looks of it, far too long.

She grabbed his water bowl, filled it from the laundry tub tap, and put it on the floor. When Elliot was finished with the litter box, he wove himself around Elle’s ankles, then bolted for the water diish. He drank, and drank, and drank.

He’s probably starving, too, she thought.

She looked around, but found no cat food.

Asshole!

She cleaned the carrier off (using one of Ray’s shirts that happened to be lying around) and dried it using one of his sweaters, a lovely, soft cashmere.

That’ll teach him to leave his clothes lying around.

Grabbing the food dishes and carrier, she headed upstairs, Elliot at her heels. When the cat saw Ray, he arched his back and hissed.

“Stupid cat!” said Ray, jumping back.

Elle marched into the kitchen, opened a cupboard, rooted around, found a tin of salmon, and opened it for Elliot. She dumped it on a plate, which Elliot pounced on, ravenous.

“Hey! That’s my salmon! It’s not for the stupid cat.”

She turned on him. “If he’s so stupid, why did you steal him?” she asked.

“Because I could. And because I knew it would hurt you."

Elle just looked at him.

Asshole!

The three of them stood in silence while Elliot ate the salmon. They still remained silent while he slipped downstairs again, presumably, to use his box.

When he’d finished, and was safely in his carrier, Elle looked at Ray. “We’re leaving now. Don’t ever contact me again.”

Officer Charters looked at Ray. “You heard the lady. No contact. Ever. Or I’ll be back.”

*****

Elle was so thankful to have Elliot home again that she couldn't wait to tell the world about their ordeal. With Elliot beside her, she grabbed her phone and started typing.

*****

Officer Charters’s personal phone was blowing up. And the phone at the station. Everyone wanted to talk to him.

The Chief called him into her office.

“Have your seen?”

He looked confused. “What?”

“Elle put the story on social media. There’s even a picture of you holding Elliot.” She smiled at him. “You’re an internet cat-saving superhero! You’ve gone viral!”

“Wow,” he said, smiling. “I was just doing my job.”