Missing

by Nenny May

  He wandered down the hall, his head in the clouds thinking instead about his suspect once more. Alexander Hemmings, a man if Adam could, he would scrutinize with a close intensity. Hemmings was an offender, a national nuisance who’d more than once engaged in petty theft, DUI, simple assault, disorderly conduct, and the list just went on and on. Adam didn’t have much linking Hemmings to the murders, but he had a gut feeling and he was hardly ever wrong... besides the time his gut had him de-badged. Good lord knew Walker was nearing the end of his rope with this case. Unemployed and trailing a serial-child-murder case, it was going to take its toll. Adam could only wish he knew when he would hear the final snap.

  What had once been a grand oriental style home, furnished with the finest polished oak-wood, perfumed with the tender affection of a newlywed couple, had easily become a mere resting spot whistling through the night with the music of Adam’s loneliness. Walker’s house was welcoming from the open door to the wide hallway. It’s what she’d loved so much about the decor. Upon the walls were photographs of her; Sarah Walker, so obviously loved. The floor was an old-fashioned parquet with a blend of deep homely browns and the walls were the greens of summer gardens meeting a bold white baseboard. The banister was a twirl of a branch, tamed by the carpenter's hand, it's grain flowing as water might, in waves of comforting woodland hues. Under the lamp-shine it was nature's art, something that soothed right to the soul. She’d overseen the decoration herself after their wedding. She hadn’t lived long enough to lavish in the fruits of her labour.

  Slumping lazily on the couch with a thud, Adam let his eyes flutter shut and his mind whirl. Why ten year old boys? The simple question had baffled him from the kidnap and murder of Tyler Shaw, the first recorded victim of Hemmings, a dark haired ten-year-old with the heart of a thousand suns. And why had Hemmings targeted ten boys? Was there a specific number he was trying to reach? And why had he called-in to report each gruesome death? And why hadn't the CMPD picked up on the calls? Why hadn't Gates? If he'd spent as much time trailing Adam as he implied, he wouldn't have to solicit a name from Adam, he would know as much as his former partner. Adam wasn't ready to let Gates take the shine for his big hit.

  "Trace the damn call and pin the Motherfucker!" Adam had suggested over the phone two weeks ago. He'd felt a burst of enthusiasm, a gush of excitement; he'd thought then, at that point, this would all be over, the deaths, the bodies piling up and the look of despair on shattered parents, he’d believed then that all it took was a push of a button. It was more than that. It was far from over.

  "The calls were made from payphones all over the city." Adam knew what that meant, the CMPD had nothing. No, they had bodies and a whistle blower that just seemed to love payphones. Shit! He was just as close as the CMPD to bagging this nutcase, and that is to say, they were back to base. He reached for his laptop from the coffee table, nestling it over his lap.

  Adam couldn't beat his chest and claim to know too much, but he had a gut feeling the man he'd trailed from Cotswold Elementary wasn't exactly... clean. The man, Alexander Hemmings had paid more visits to the school than the staff, and he seemed to have his visits timed, from there about 2:15 P.M., he would sit by a bench, the one closest to the parking lot underneath a tired pine oak tree, and he would leer, with his phone in his hands, sometimes, he would smoke a cigarette and then almost precisely, by about 4:00 P.M., he would leave. His visits were daily, he was often cloaked in a haggard hoodie and worn washed jeans. The old hand-me-down computer came to life with a provoking slowness.

  Adam had a ballpark figure of the number of calls Hemmings had made to the CMPD, calls Adam had eavesdropped on. According to a source on the inside, there was a call almost punctual from a frantic male, he'd call reporting the lifeless bodies that were often coiled beneath a bush or trudged up from Briar creek.

  But Adam had a backdoor slider, he had something, something Gates had unknowingly confirmed that the CMPD needed, he had a name. The CMPD was trapped between a rock and a hard place, and man if he didn't know a thing or two about that. He'd made the right decision relying on his instincts, even if they hadn't always been there for him. They were right this time, and right now, he needed to make a trip down to his old precinct in West Boulevard. He would pay Officer Hopkins a surprise visit.

  Adam glimpsed the unnecessarily large grandfather clock that had been snuggled in the corner of the room, 7:12 P.M., he could still meet up with Hopkins. His phone blared; shoving his computer aside, he dove for it. "Adam? Adam... It's Madison, Madison Miller from down the street... I know we haven't spoken in forever, but I... I wouldn’t be calling if this wasn’t an emergency.” It had been quite a while since he'd heard from Madison, but he didn't quite like the gut-churning fear that coiled at the back of her voice or the thrilling words that slipped from her lips. "It's Ethan, Ethan Daniels, he's missing." He listened into the rasp in her voice.

  "What do you mean he's missing?" He kicked off the well-worn bedroom slippers he’d thrown on and hopped towards his boots by the door.

  “I think he was kidnapped, Adam, that’s what I mean by missing.” He overlooked her sharp tone. "I was watching him, and there was a break-in...he's gone and the police don't seem to be responding... I can't do this alone... please." He gulped a breath. No, Hemmings couldn't be coming after their neighbourhood children as well, sure, Ethan fit his victim selection down to a tee, but it made no sense, each victim had been taken from within the vicinity of Cotswold Elementary, this had to be something else.

  "Did they take anything else?" She paused; there was a noise, a cry. Had she been crying?

  "What?"

  "I want to know if this is a robbery gone wrong or a... kidnapping." He reached for his keys in a bowl atop an old tattered dresser, and tugged open the top drawer, reaching for his Glock 26 9mm sub-compact 10 round pistol and a strip of bullets, the phone balanced between his shoulder and ear. Madison Miller was silent for the longest time. He listened closer, absentmindedly loading the weapon in his grip. There were noises, background noises; for one, he could hear the whooshing of cars darting to and fro. Where was she? "Madison, work with me here, did they take anything else from the house? And where are you?"

  "Hartness Avenue." God-damn-it! She wasn't supposed to leave, Ethan could still be there in the premises, and on top of that, the trespassers could come back. She wasn't supposed to leave the vicinity until the police got there.

  "I'm heading down to the Daniels' home right now, get back there; I'll give Lauren and Parker a ring on my way there." He heard it again, the same strangled cry. He didn't wait to ask further questions, but rather cut the call and shoved his phone into his pockets, and bouncing on the balls of his feet, he bolted through his front door.

  Hemmings better not touch a hair on Ethan Daniels.

  Chapter Three

  C harlotte Mecklenburg Police Department Westover Division had been notified of Ethan Daniels case. Madison, in a state of panic had called more times than she could recall. Her stomach roiled, she was going to be sick, she knew it, she would lean over and dump out the contents of her stomach. She didn't let that happen, not quite yet. She was never really good at handling situations. The Daniels had left their son in her custody, her care, it was only fair, decent that they heard of his disappearance from her. So she'd called, she'd tried with her eyes sweeping the streets of Hartness avenue to beat Adam Walker's attempt to get in touch with the couple. She should have listened to her mother. Julia Miller could be a handful at times, but she was hardly wrong, and lordie lord how Madison wished this was one of the times her mother had been wrong. she couldn't help it, the wave of regret that hung over her like a potential tsunami. She shouldn't have taken Lauren's offer; she shouldn't have let her pride shove her off base. Oh how she wished she'd gone after those two-star news stations now.

  It was happening again, the break-in, the kidnapping, all at once. But this time, it wasn't her son. It wasn't her little Tucker, It was Ethan Daniels, the boy with a
recurring smile, the boy she'd opted to be responsible for. Did it worry her more because it was someone else's son? She wasn't sure. She wasn't thinking clearly enough to make that decision. Would Lauren blame her for the break-in? Yes, because she was in charge. Because she'd taken up the offer to watch a ten-year old boy in a town where ten year-old boys were kidnapped and killed, their bodies turning up all over the city of Charlotte, with a hollow bullet hole in the middle of their wrinkle-free foreheads. Lauren would blame Madison because Lauren was a mother, one that would be fear-stricken, devastated. And then it hit Madison, she was still yet to inform the family.

  Madison's steps drew to a sudden stop, she caught her breath, her eyes squeezed shut. She had to go back. Back to their home. Back to where she suspected police cars would line, their red and blue lights circling. She imagined getting there, her neighbors would be by the front of the building, some by their doors curious eyes peeking, lips whispering. She wouldn't tell the family, not yet. She wouldn't burden their outing, lord knows she would have wanted some more moments left in the dark; she would have wanted to continue even just for a few minutes longer, to believe that her son was asleep in his bedroom, before being hauled into the unfortunate kidnapping of her son Tucker Miller. Her terror mounted with each persistent memory. She thought of his laugh, his inquisitive chatter, she was tugging on the closet door of memories she'd kept locked for too long. Tucker was gone, he’d been gone too long, and yet his memories seeped through the cracks in the locked closet door, crippling her each time. Madison squeezed her eyes tighter, till there were little white spots dancing behind her eyelids. Didn't her hesitance to contact the Daniels mean Adam would get in touch with the family before she did? Had he already gotten a hold of them?

  She couldn't move; she knew, her fear held her in place. She didn't have the time to remain paralyzed with dread, no, she could do that later, she didn't know when a later would be, or what a later really meant because with Tucker, she'd believed in a later that was nothing more than an empty promise, a lie. Her heart lurched.

  Her eyes snapped open, her head whipped to her left, her concentrated ears had picked up on scurrying footsteps, her heart continued to hiccup, it fell. It wasn't Ethan Daniels. It wasn't a masked murder making away with him, no it was a druggie scampering into an alleyway; he looked homeless. It was time to head back. She would talk to the police, she needed eyes, as many as she could gather, she needed the community, she needed Ethan.

  . . .

  Madison Miller looked at the officer who'd strayed farther and farther away from her through hooded eyes. She'd glowered at his back; broad, uniform clad. He stopped by his colleagues. She saw their lips move, she had little an idea what they were talking about. She hoped to whatever spirits out there, to whatever supreme force, that they wouldn't hesitate sending out a search team, that they wouldn't shove this case under the carpet like they'd implied. Her reliance on police efforts had long diminished since Tucker Miller's case. They'd claimed he was a runaway, that they needed twenty-four hours to trudge by before they could consider his case that of a missing person. Those twenty-four hours were always the most crucial.

  The night sky above was a shadow barely driven by the lights glaring down from the surrounding buildings and streets lamps. Madison looked to it, to the poetry of stars, she could feel it, the single tear that ran down her cheek. Was that hopelessness? No, she'd felt that before. This was something else, it twisted her gut, wobbled her knees, and filled her palms with a clammy-ness. She had hope, maybe that's why it hurt more, because she hadn't lost hope, not when Ethan was out there, waiting to hit her with that smile of his that didn't seem to falter.

  What she saw, the calmness hurt. What she heard, the mumbles of her neighbors sent a panic running through her. They’d said they couldn't treat the situation like any of the serial murders that had occurred within the span of ten weeks. This was different. Similar, but different. The victim was a ten-year-old male. To Madison, those were the specifications, she hadn't heard anything more, there had never been information leaked about hair-color, blood-type, there didn't seem to be more this killer sought than mere ten-year old boys within the city of Charlotte.

  There have been ten reports, ten missing children, ten bodies turning up at various parks and playgrounds in Charlotte, none of these deceased children were taken from their homes.

  He looked back at her, the officer with the broad uniform clad back, his eyes, as brown as they were seemed distant, unfocused, almost lost in thought. She felt as if he were slapping his words back in her face. They were treating Ethan's case as a kidnapping. There were signs of forced entry, from Ethan's bathroom window, a bathroom she didn't even know about. She should have known, he wouldn't have been taken if she had. That was the first crash. The clatter of broken glass. There were signs of a struggle. And there was an exit, his bedroom window. He'd been the target, but for how long?

  Could the officer with the unfocused eyes be onto something? Could Ethan's case be nothing but a mere kidnapping? And even if it was, she hadn't heard anything back about a search crew. She didn't want to pry as if she were the one conducting the investigation, but Madison was the picturesque illustration of curiosity. She had questions that seethed, she needed answers.

  How was this going to impact her reputation? She'd lost a kid, twice! Good lordie she hoped Ethan didn't turn out like Tucker had; he hadn't been shot but he'd been strangled three days into his hostage. He was found almost immediately. When that gets out her only source of livelihood would be a thing of the past. Mothers would run from her as if she had the plague. She'll be benched from news reports if she ever gets picked up by even a one-star news station.

  She let her legs carry her across the driveway, down to the curb; she met the officer with the unfocused brown eyes. The tag on his shirt read Todd. She dampened her lips, her heart leaped. "When is the search crew going to be here?" She posed the question to Todd. He had this un-shaking frown.

  "Ma'am I'm going to need you to relax," He placed a hand on her shoulder, it was endearing, it was the last thing she needed at the moment. Was her panic that prominent? That obvious? "We have reached out for back-up and have a search committee on its way from headquarters, the entire area will be surveyed, in the meantime, I need to know whether or not you've contacted the family?"

  She'd been avoiding this for much too long. She would tell them.

  . . .

  Madison Miller paced the lot. She couldn't help it, her bottom lip drawn between her teeth and eyes darting every-which-way, she relayed her firm tone, her explosive laughter at the thought confiding in him. The guilt ate her up from the inside out. It was torture; it wasn't going to bring him back. No, she needed to do something more than pace, more than wait, more than trust in the police officers that seemed too laid-back for her comfort. She'd called, notified Lauren Daniels and her husband Parker of the break in. She'd told them about Ethan. She hadn't gone into much detail, she didn't have it in her. They hadn't bothered with a reply, at least not to her, but they hadn't cut the call. No, she'd heard their frantic screeching; she'd listened, hurt to the curses and soft sobbing that emanated from the phone. She could bet a finger and each one of her toes, that Lauren had forgotten having Madison on the line. She wasn't bothered by it.

  She could picture it, Lauren Daniels would have the phone in her hand, stumbling out of her chair in whatever restaurant they'd ended up, Parker seemed to her like a big spender, she didn't doubt it would be anything less than Alexander Michel's. Lauren wouldn't bother with her purse, but Parker would spot it, quiet, in shock, he would sling it over his shoulder and trail his frantic wife to the car and with a voice tinged with a blazing sadness, she would look to him and tell him again, There was a break-in, Parker, Ethan was taken.

  As vivid an imagination as Madison had, which was nothing short of a mental film, she couldn't quite guess what Parker's reaction would be. As loving as he seemed towards his wife, he was reserved, at least around
Madison. He didn't just come off to her as a man with many words, would he be in shock? Would he reassure Lauren that everything would be fine and that she was probably overreacting? Would he panic? Or would he curse at Madison the whole ride back to their apartment?

  Madison squeezed her eyes shut. She shook her head, and when she opened it, she wasn't alone. Before her stood a face that was just as familiar as it was unique. She knew the man before her as much as she'd known her college professors, physically with only a glimmer into their personal lives. She'd heard about the man towering over her from gossip in Panera Bread the chic cafe in the village. The tight space filled with the bustle of eager employees and idle listening ears wasn't particularly the most suitable place to air dirty laundry, and yet, many of her neighbours seemed to find a way.

  Adam Walker looked to her like he'd escaped a James-Bond movie. He was toned in a way that gave his bright skin a more solid form, and had an expression that had goosebumps running down her arms. She could only describe it as a smouldering look. He also had these eyes, they seemed like they'd seen death, but she wasn't sure. She was relieved, not entirely. But he was a familiar face she could count on, and absurdly, he was her rabbit’s foot. He cleared his throat. "These Pussies aren't going to get to the bottom of this." His words were a whisper in the wind, as if only intended for Madison's ears. His accent wasn't hard to pick-up on; he was southern, but not completely. His accent hinted a Pacific Northwest pitch. "They've had ten weeks; these boys are still going missing." He continued. Madison listened intently. She was shaken-up, agitated that the so-called search crew that Todd had mentioned were yet to arrive. Maybe to them, this was different from the murder of the ten ten-year-old boys, but to her, it the same, she could just feel it, and it scared her to hell and back. This was valuable time that could have been directed into doing something, anything rather than just waiting. The officers on the scene weren't many, but they had neighbours, they could have started a search team, they could have covered some ground within this time. "I assume you got in touch with the Daniels?" Madison nodded. They would be here, she didn't know when, but she would face them. "I can't exactly tell whether or not something had been snatched along with the boy, but further inquiry into the family’s inventory should shed some light." He talked with a calm Madison envied. At least until he uttered; "I know something," Adam trailed off.