Missing

by Nenny May

  She should have rejected the offer.

  *

  At about the same time Adam Walker had been returning from his jog around Bertonley Avenue, a state issued police car had been pulling up his driveway. The soft crunch of gravel beneath the intruding vehicle sent a dose of adrenaline and confusion through him. Frown lines graced Adam Walker’s features. Two strides took him farther from his door and closer to the now parked car. He had to admit, an officer pulling up his drive way left him quite unsettled, even if the man who climbed out and strode out and towards him was a face the farthest thing from unfamiliar.

  “Hey, Y’all good down at Concord Mills or have you come to recruit an extra-hand?” Adam Walker said, an eyebrow perched up for the man that crossed his freshly mowed lawn and leaped up his porch steps. Ryan Gates didn’t seem to be in a smiling mood or in much of a talking one either. Adam shrugged shoving his keys through his lock and pushing open his front door. “Can I interest you in a beer, some Cheerwine, maybe some tea?” Adam strode straight for his fridge. Gates could make himself at home in the living room or continue to shadow Adam Walker. It wasn’t the first time the detective had dropped by unannounced. Adam didn’t think he had it in him to do away with his former partner, if anything; Gates could be a link to his old position.

  "Someone's been tipping people off that you're behind the murders of the ten-ten-year-old boys." Detective Ryan Gates said leaned against the counter by the window. Shit! It was too early for this, the sun had just risen, the blues in the sky were a rich baby hue and the birds on the power lines had chirped their vibrant tunes. Adam had cherished the morning, thrusting through the streets, his lungs burning despite the crisp breeze that kissed his arms and shins. Thinking back, he should have lavished more in the fact that he wasn’t a potential murder suspect.

  He looked back at the man in his kitchen. Ryan Gates looked…different to say the least, he seemed worn out, in a worse condition than before Adam had been coerced to leave the force. With bagged eyes and skin that yearned for a nice tan, the man looked more like a blood deprived vampire than a detective. Not that Adam was going to point that out. He wasn't sure what turn their relationship had taken since his removal.

  “I guess I’ll hold off on the beer for you then?”Adam pulled open his fridge and reached for a bottle of water. “I at least thought y’all bunch would have more…credible suspects?” Half the content of the bottle slid down his throat, partly out of thirst and partly an excuse to not concentrate on the fact that he was a primary suspect in the serial murders sending a tremor through Charlotte.

  "Your brain must have taken more of a hit than we thought from that drug bust you handled over the summer," Adam shrugged placing the bottle on the counter by the fridge. "You're one of our key suspects, Walker." Gates pressed.

  “Yeah, buddy, I think I got that.” Adam gulped. The situation was yet to sit with him. Nope, he had enough going on already with the anniversary of Sarah’s death rolling around, and Jamie Walker’s financial turmoil. There wasn’t just enough emotional room for it. “Okay…Why me though?” He managed nonchalantly. It didn’t seem like Gates was going to be much help filling-in the blanks.

  Adam heard a noise, a grumble; his stomach. He could stand there, sweaty, deliberating whether or not he would be hauled against his better judgment for questioning, or he could rustle up some breakfast. Eyes of spring greens raided his kitchen… there wasn’t exactly much to work with on the breakfast front. But there were leftovers and he would continue to live on them until his situation got better. Until he hit a home-run and got his position back as homicide detective Concord Mills.

  It wasn’t much of a secret that Adam Walker needed money and doing one or two odd jobs here and there, tending to the Young’s garden for a couple bucks and fixing up the Thomas’s busted up kitchen sink for less than minimum wage, all while diving head first into his savings wasn’t doing much in keeping him afloat. Contacting Jamie would have been an option, although with his brother’s job practically walking the plank, Adam wasn’t too sure Jamie would be able to do much to help his situation.

  Adam nudged his thoughts aside. He ambled for the cabinets. Pulling out a plate, he turned to his guest. “Want some grub?” Gates shrugged.

  “I want you to take this seriously, Walker. Your ass could be convicted of a capital offence of which the highest penalty is death.” Gates sought shelter for his hands in his pockets. He seemed exasperated. Maybe if he accepted anything Adam offered, he wouldn’t feel so worn down.

  “You know what we should do?” Adam suggested clutching the handle of the fridge. “We should take a beat and head down to that bar, the one downtown that we always went to after a long ass day, they could fix us up some nice Fried green tomatoes topped with pimento cheese and you and I can catch up just like old times.”

  “You know, Walker old-buddy, I would but… if you haven’t noticed, there are children being kidnapped, tortured and murdered. I think I have my hands full.” Gates looked impatient.

  If Gates didn’t want to get some beers and grub, Adam wouldn’t push it.

  "And why are you telling me that I’m a suspect? Aren't you worried I'll take off for Mexico?" Tugging the fridge door open, Adam reached in for the tuna sandwich he'd earlier overlooked. Dang! It was frozen, warmed in the microwave, the bread would slump. There wasn’t better option, it was old defrosted tuna or hunger and Adam knew what it was like to be hungry, the tuna sandwich would have to do.

  "You and I both know you're not behind this, kids aren't your style." Adam chuckled. He turned to the microwave and shoved the sealed sandwich inside.

  “Yeah, I’m more of a drug-lord kind of guy.” Adam made reference to the event that cost him his seven-year career. Switching on the microwave, he took a step back.

  "What I do know is that you haven't exactly been sitting around ignorant of these murders, and that's why I'm here." Of course, he wanted Intel. Adam’s teeth glimmered. He had leverage.

  "You want a lead," Ryan nodded with a click of his tongue. The detective pushed himself upright. "Well I'm sorry bud, this isn't my case, I'm not a cop anymore remember?"

  Ryan huffed. "Don't think I haven't been keeping tabs on you, Walker, and last I checked, you've made more visits to Cotswold Elementary than normal considering you don't have a kid enrolled there." A grin spread over Adam’s face, wide and open, showing his egg-white teeth. He couldn't put much past his old partner.

  "I don't even have a kid." Adam leaned against his marble counter. His grin wiped clean. "Think you can work out way for me to get back into uniform?" His gaze leered to his old friend.

  "We've talked about this, Walker, there wasn't anything I could do then and there surely isn't anything I can do now." Adam nodded. "I will keep trying for your sake. But for now, I need something I know your field operation skills can give me."

  "There isn't much, Gates, I tell ya, the media already covered fairground, and your team is aware of the basics; these children were killed execution style by a .38 special, rope burns on their wrists suggest hostages, and hand marks burned into their tender flesh suggest torture." Ryan Gates groaned pacing the small kitchen, he stopped.

  "If I wanted an overview, Walker, I would have turned on Channel 9, give me the good stuff." Gates pulled out his phone. "Give me some of them dark web gossip." Gates stared at the screen of his phone, eyes squinted, he always did need glasses. "I know you have a suspect for me, I just need a name." Adam thought for a moment. He was making a mistake. Diving head first into this case without the backing of the CMPD would be shooting himself in the leg, and he wasn't even sure this was going to get him back on the force. What he needed was a deal, to strike a deal with someone so high up in the force that his weeks of digging into a child murder case wouldn't be in vain. “Exonerate yourself, Walker.” Ryan urged.

  It was a wonder why after all this time, Adam hadn't chosen to take the high road and accept his removal. He hadn't once moved on from his identity a
s a homicide detective for the CMPD. His savings were this close to running out, he needed a deal and he needed it immediately. Adam shrugged.

  "Sorry buddy, I've got nothing." Ryan cursed.

  Chapter Two

  M adison Miller gaped upon the restless boy bounding and lurching about his home. He leaped with the zeal of a field team. From where she’d sat by the dining room, underneath the Daniel’s crystal chandelier, listening to something she’d thrown in the disk player by The Five Saints, she had to admit, she envied the ten-year-old. He was born into an easy wealth, one she’d only merely graced with her fingertips before being tugged down by a weight, an unethical work affair.

  Good lordie, she envied a ten-year-old! When exactly had she stooped this low?

  The night, young as it were, reeked of regret, one that left an uncomfortable churning in the depths of Madison’s stomach. She could taste it; the bitterness of having to admit her defeat, of having to crawl back on her knees to Julia Miller. Urrg! She could picture Julia’s coy smile, she could hear the explosive laughter overpowering the delicate clanking of ice chilling her mothers’ mid-afternoon shot of cheap Jack Daniels.

  “You don’t dance?” The young boy asked, his hands thrown in the air, as his lean legs kicked aimlessly and his small waist wiggled. He was off beat, off pace, but there was a glimmer in his eyes, a joy. She’d seen it before; over two years ago on a ten year old Tucker Miller who’d insisted on seeing the light in every darkness. Running a hand through her hair, Madison cracked a smile. She did many things but dancing wasn’t one of them... neither was admitting that once again Julia Miller had been right.

  "Why don't you try something new?" Julia had asked over the phone during her regularly scheduled afternoon call. It hardly lasted more than five minutes and when it did, Madison was often preoccupied over the stove, merely offering off the bat 'mhmm's' and 'yeah's' here and there. "I didn't want to have to say this, Honey Plum, but your journalism career died when you started following that...Clive Grey."

  “Green, Momma, Clive Greene.” Madison corrected. She’d been agitated, still sporting a wounded ego from her newly-acquired rejection e-mail. “I married him for heaven sakes, you were at the wedding, the least you could do is remember his name.”

  “It doesn’t change my point, Darling. He killed your career as a journalist.”

  "It's not like I'm trained for much else, Momma, and besides, I have a kid to watch, I can't be late because I'm discussing my career's death with my mother,"

  "You shouldn't be doing that," Julia muttered honestly. She wasn't satisfied and she made it known in her brusque tone. She wanted more from her daughter, she expected more, the resonating problem being; her pressure might compel Madison to stoop lower than she would be willing to. Madison much like Julia had self-respect; the apple didn't fall too far from the tree. And because of that, Madison wasn't willing to waste her talents on a two... or worse, one-star news station. "You shouldn't be going over there. You should be venturing out for news stations that will recognize your talents." Julia was right, she was hardly ever wrong, and even still, Madison was hard-headed, she hadn't wanted to hear it, at least not at that moment.

  "We will talk about this eventually, but not right now, I'm going to be late." It was safe to say Madison would be facing the music of hanging up on her mother during their next call.

  She heard a cough. She’d zoned out. She wouldn’t dance, but she could cheer him on. “Dance till your heart is filled, I’m all danced out.” She returned to the computer she’d opened, skimming her eyes over a vast Google search of available jobs in Charlotte.

  “What’s going on, Maddy? I might not understand a lot of things, like math... And climate change, but I know there’s something on your mind.” He joined her by the table. She coughed a laugh, a small one. Was she going to confide her middle-aged-crisis with a ten-year-old? She was tempted. What good would it do her precisely? “Don’t laugh. I’m a good listener.” There was a silence that seemed to stretch forever.

  “Thanks for trying, Ethan. Really, but you have homework. Don’t think your Momma didn’t fill me in on your habit of leaving your homework till the last possible moment.” The scowl he’d worn tugged at her. He remained rooted in place. No, he needed a firm hand. He wasn’t her kid, and even if he were, she couldn’t turn a blind eye to everything. She shouldn’t have. “Go get started, if there’s anything you need help with, I will be here.”

  His hesitance to retire to his room was obvious. He’d trudged his legs behind him like logs, his grumbling muffled by the clear brilliance of Elton John blaring through the home theatre system.

  Her gaze returned to her search. She had a drive, a goal. She needed a career, not a job. Was there sincerely nothing left of her journalism career? And was she too hard headed to see that? If she wasn’t a journalist, what was she? Could she make it far in the acting career? No, she wasn’t trained for that, she wasn’t trained for much else.

  She’d made a promise, driven by the agonizing guilt of living off the sweat and tears of another; she’d sworn that she’d only leach off the woman that had taken her off the street till she’d gotten back on her feet. She was standing, with a job, but she wasn’t walking, she’d hit a dead end, and she needed to revaluate her decisions, her choices.

  Journalism had chased her to where she had her back against the wall watching neighbourhood children for petty cash. Acting wasn’t her forte... but what was?

  There was a loud crash; it was the sound of glass shattering; a window. It was accompanied quickly by a shriek, it didn't last long. Her eyes broadened, her breathing hitched, it was catching up, the fear.

  It was clear the Daniels were well off, from what Madison could tell by the eloquent designs and paintings hanging off their walls; there was even something by Edvard Munch! Madison wasn't exactly sure who he was but if his name was scribbled in cursive at the bottom of a centrepiece, then he had to be notable. The Daniels were people of artistic detail and immense wealth, a break-in to their property was expected. Although that did nothing to aid the crippling panic that trickled into her veins.

  Hurdling out of her seat, Madison let her legs heavy as lumber, carry her towards the noise; Ethan Daniels room. The door left ajar cast a white beam into the sultry darkness of the ten-year-old-boy’s room. With her breath held, she pushed it further. The achingly slow creek of it swinging open left a sense of dread laced deep into her gut. She flipped the light switch bathing the room in a shimmering brightness. "Ethan?" She screamed. Silence resonated the room. It was a mess of flung clothes and long abandoned leftovers. Towards the window was his desk, the chair flipped on its side, his books opened on their backs. “Ethan!” She voiced again. None of his windows had been shattered. Where had the noise come from then? And where in the name of all things good was Ethan Daniels? There had to be a logical explanation for the noise. She darted towards the kitchen, there was nothing; she made her way to the bathroom, the laundry room, all the while calling out for Ethan who'd chosen this moment to remain deathly silent. This worried her. This frightened her to the point she was sure she was going to throw up. She scurried into the master bedroom. She heard it again, the same loud crash. She wasn't hearing things. No, the noises were too real. She ran back to Ethan's room.

  That's where the second noise had come from; the window by his desk. It hadn’t been shattered before. No, he’d been in the room. She’d missed him. The wind whipped at his curtains, sending them dancing. She shook her head, this couldn't be happening. "Ethan!" She climbed his pinewood desk poking her head out the shattered window. His room much like that of Lauren and Parker Daniels was located on the ground floor of the house, anyone could have walked along the edge of the building, shattered the young boy's window and taken him hostage. She looked left, and then right, there wasn't any sign of movement. It was too dark to tell. Where had the first noise come from? Why hadn't she noticed the broken window initially?

  She pulled her head back in,
heading towards the front door. Her hands trembled violently. She couldn't find her voice, and yet, she'd reached for her phone. She dialled 9-1-1. She'd reported him missing, she'd reported a break-in. She stopped with her hands on the knob of the front door. She listened for footsteps. "Ethan!" She blared once more. Silence.

  Pulling the door open, she darted out of the house, taking a left towards where his room window had been shattered. The dark musty corner reeked of dog piss. She scrunched her nose, screaming for the ten-year-old boy. Shit! She should talked to him. She should have kept him occupied in the dining room. What was she thinking? She wasn't thinking. What was she going to tell Lauren and Parker? Good lord she was going to go to jail for negligence. She had a duty of care to make sure nothing happened to Ethan while his parents were out of the picture. She’d failed. Oh lordie, so this was it, she would die in prison? She should have listened to Julia, she shouldn’t have taken up Lauren’s offer.

  Ethan!" She'd forced at the top of her lungs. She didn't want to worry whether or not she was heading the right way, she ran, down the street that was oddly unoccupied for a Friday night in Charlotte. Was this some kind of nightmare hauling her back to everything she'd felt one year ago when she'd lost Tucker? "Ethan Daniels?" She tried again, once more stuffing the thoughts at the back of her mind. She was going to go crazy if she didn't find him. That wasn't even an option; not finding him.

  She'd had a bad feeling about this; she should have listened when she'd had the chance. She hadn't.

  . . .

  Adam Walker had a suspect for the murder of the ten-ten-year-old boys. He'd had one since the murder of Gibson Knight-- the eighth recorded victim--he just couldn't let the CMPD get their grubby hands on him, at least not yet. He needed a deal, to bargain with someone high enough on the force to get him back into uniform; someone like the Mecklenburg County Sheriff. Gnawing on the idea, Walker sprung to his feet. The frigid chill of wood kissing his bare feet sent a chill running up his spine. Adam leaped for his slippers. He could probably get an in with the sheriff through Officer Gerald Hopkins. Although they hadn’t talked in a while, it wasn’t something a couple jars of moonshine couldn’t solve.