The Accidental Audience

by Faith Wood

  “Fine.”

  In true Brian style, he didn’t ask if she had the time to take the dog to the vet—he assumed if he weren’t around, she would do it. And that was part of their problem—too many assumptions, not enough consideration. Ever since Colbie announced her plans to pursue a career in psychological profiling, his behavior was cool, unconcerned, and distant, caring little about her plans for the future. He hated her dabbling in the occult—that’s what he called it—and she hated his complete lack of understanding.

  “No problem—I’ll take him. I’ll call if something is terribly wrong . . .”

  “Cool. Later . . .”

  The door squeaked as it closed.

  Colbie’s love for chess started when she was five—not because she was endowed with superior intelligence, but because there was nothing else to do but play cards and chess with her brother—chess was her favorite. It passed the time and, as she and her brother left puberty behind, Colbie understood navigating the delicate balance of human interaction and conflict was nearly the same thing as a chess game, strategy always at the forefront. Strategy with friends. Strategy with family. Strategy with life. Such understanding and belief lent credibility to her as a police officer for she was consistently required to think several moves ahead of her opponent.

  She deduced some people behave like pawns on the chessboard, recognizing only one strategy, one move, and progressing one step at a time. Others resemble the knight, appearing to move like a pawn then suddenly shifting left or right in the presence of opportunity. Then there were the castles and bishops—both opportunistic by nature—give them space and they will claim it immediately. Queens and kings have more going for them—people resembling these prized chess pieces approach life with flexible thinking, thereby evolving into a space of knowing what aids them in evasion, avoidance, or influence. All critical elements in the lives of many.

  Learning how to distinguish the players in life was her reward—her gift—for hiding in the shadows and, during her youth, Colbie believed it separated her from a pool of possible friends. However, as a patrol officer, her insight offered a serious advantage. Yes, it made others nervous when she was around them—they thought she could see through them, and such clarity about their individual lives was unsettling. Conversely, victims and survivors adored her for they felt understood rather than persecuted.

  Unfortunately, her colleagues lived life in a tunnel.

  Colbie tried, but her coworkers never adopted her focus on life. Explore! Stop judging! Ask questions—don’t pass sentences! Fact was her comrades—her fellow officers—were threatened by her fast-track ascent into leadership, and they flat out resented the little red-headed girl who made headway toward the goals they craved.

  Alvin, in particular.

  Alvin MacGregor—a strapping man who despised Colbie. A woman with more seniority than he? It was impossible to imagine, and he constantly retreated into his own hate to deal with her success. From Colbie’s perspective, he was unacceptably uncoachable, and consistently worked outside of his responsibilities and directives. His shadow side was insecure, convincing himself Colbie would actively stall any advancement to which he was entitled. To him, she was the constant chip on his shoulder.

  No matter the circumstance, Alvin was argumentative with local youth, berating them so he could feel good about himself. He never attempted to build a sense of community, always believing he was superior to anyone else. Ratting out colleagues by informing senior staff they weren’t carrying their weight held little remorse, and he could have cared less about the outcomes of such situations. To him, it was their problem.

  Alvin’s viciousness was unrelenting, but he displayed it in such a way that lent credence to his stories. Colbie’s lying. Her gross incompetence. Her inability to function as a valued officer. For such venomous comments, Alvin spewed them with charm—he was charismatic and smooth, and he had an annoying way of convincing others of his feigned honesty.

  A politician smile, and a politician style.

  When his shift was over he often stayed at the precinct, citing his true passion for the job as a reason not to leave unfinished files. His odd behavior finally reached the point of bringing a sleeping bag to work, sleeping on the floor of his office. When cited for that behavior, he took patrol car keys home, or secured them in his locker to prevent anyone from leaving him in the office on the following shift.

  Alvin’s shadow world was one of manipulation, malevolence, and malice, making his shadow self tough to manage—at first, Colbie reacted by fighting it. She argued. Rebelled. Pranked him with the help of other officers. But instead of forcing him to shift his behaviors as she hoped, it only made him worse. Finally, she realized his craving for significance, and she started stroking his ego whenever she could. She ignored the unacceptable behavior, and commented on his positive performance. She handed him the responsibility for vehicle maintenance, forcing other staff to check in with him so he would feel like he had a level of influence and control. Her strategy worked for the best since no one else wanted the thankless job anyway, and it proved worthwhile. Eventually, she appealed to Alvin’s competitive nature by broadcasting she was interested in a special ops assignment she didn’t want. Then, she talked to the supervisor in charge of that group, begging him to take Alvin off her hands. It worked. Alvin transferred, and Colbie’s superior officer once again validated her intuition and insight regarding navigating Alvin’s difficult behavior.

  When Alvin caught wind of it?

  He was pissed.

  “Ryan? Hey, it’s Colbie. Is Brian there?” Colbie switched the phone to her left ear, ready to scratch down notes, if needed.

  “Brian? No—we got back this afternoon, and I dropped him off at his car. Why?”

  “This afternoon? He’s not home yet, and I’m getting a little worried. I’m sure it’s nothing—he probably had things to do before coming home. Thanks! Sorry to bother you!”

  “You’re not . . .”

  Colbie clicked off before he could say anything else. This afternoon? Where the hell is he? Her thoughts tangled as she rewound their last conversation. Granted, they didn’t part for the weekend on the best terms, but he was seldom late coming home, especially on a Sunday night. Especially when he had to be at work for the mid shift at eleven o’clock on Monday. She played his usual Sunday routine in her head, trying to figure out what could be taking him so long, and it took her little time to figure out something wasn’t right. Although she couldn’t pinpoint her fear, she felt as if she were peering into the devil’s closet.

  No—something wasn’t right, at all.

  Chapter 4

  Sunday inched into Monday without word. It wasn’t Colbie’s nature to do nothing, and her onslaught of calls to Brian’s family and friends yielded little—no one heard from Brian since Friday with the exception of the guys who went on the hike. Since she didn’t know a couple of them, she relied on Ryan’s getting the word out that she was worried—but, because they returned several hours earlier than expected, she didn’t have a handle on how long Brian was really missing. She wasn’t expecting him until after ten—but, if he got back to town at four o’clock? It provided ample time to vanish without notice . . .

  Colbie held scant hope that Ryan would actually text or call her, or his friends—she spoke to him three times throughout the night and, by the third call, he gave the distinct impression he understood why she and Brian were having problems.

  Now, she was on her own.

  Brian’s Monday shift didn’t begin until late morning, so it seemed prudent to wait to contact his boss—she didn’t want to look like an idiot girlfriend if Brian simply decided he needed time away from her. As an ex-officer, she knew the drill—he had to be missing for forty-eight hours before they could issue a BOLO and Missing Person’s Report. After all, she could be making somethi
ng out of nothing.

  Colbie’s training and experience should have helped in this situation, but she found herself gravitating to what she felt rather than what she knew. As an officer, she was trained to look at the facts, but her intuition was telling her something different. Still, she advised herself not to panic, and she refused to call Brian’s phone every five minutes—but, by noon, she caved and called Brian’s boss.

  “No—I haven’t seen him yet. He’s usually not late, but maybe he had car trouble or something.”

  “Did he indicate he was planning on being back to work today?”

  “Nope. I didn’t even know he was going anywhere.”

  “Well . . . thanks. When he does arrive, will you please ask him to call me? If it’s not an imposition, I mean . . .”

  “Sure. No problem.” Colbie carefully recited her number, requesting him to read it back. No use taking any chances of his transcribing it incorrectly, but she knew in her gut she wouldn’t hear from him again.

  As of one o’clock, Colbie knew two things—Brian returned to his car about 4:00 P.M. the day before, and he was missing. The realization of the actual number of hours since his return to town tossed her stomach as she considered the possibilities, none of them good.

  She tried to piece together snippets of past conversations with Brian, but there were challenges linked to being a cop and an intuitive—each yanked against the other as she assembled her mental puzzle pieces, hoping to stumble upon some sort of clue. Instinctively, she knew Brian was in trouble, yet there was no way to sync her feelings with her police training.

  By dinnertime, panic. Nothing from Brian. His parents were out of the country, so contacting them seemed of little use, and his sister wasn’t concerned when Colbie called. Clearly, it was up to Colbie to make the first move.

  She dialed the precinct.

  “Sarge? Colbie. I need a favor . . .”

  Sergeant Rifkin sensed urgency in her voice, knowing Colbie wasn’t one to be alarmed without provocation. She explained the situation as if she were still on the force, reciting the facts in her non-nonsense, cop-style manner.

  “I know—forty-eight hours. But, damn it, Sarge, there’s something wrong. I feel it . . .”

  “When did you last see him?”

  “Saturday morning, about nine-thirty. He left to go on a hike with a few friends—he mentioned he didn’t know a couple of them, but they were going with one of Ryan’s friends. Ryan is Brian’s closest bud—they’ve known each other for ten years.”

  “Did you speak to Ryan?”

  “Yes. He said they got back earlier than expected, and he dropped Brian off at his car around four o’clock on Sunday. He hasn’t heard from him since.” Sarge listened as Colbie relayed the contents of conversations with Brian’s friends and family.

  “Okay—what haven’t you told me?” No matter his confidence in his former officer, he knew she was functioning in a heightened state of emotion, and she may forget important information.

  “Nothing. Except that Brian and I haven’t been getting along the best since I left the force. He’s had a difficult time adjusting . . .”

  “Adjusting—what does that mean?”

  “Just that he isn’t on board with my career choice.”

  “Are you sure he isn’t seeing someone else?”

  “Brian? Good God, no! I think all of this is just a bump in the road. Besides, with my ability, I think I’d know if someone else were in the picture.”

  “Well, that makes sense. Where are some places Brian hangs out?” With that, Colbie launched into a complete narrative regarding Brian’s habits—watering holes. Restaurants. Friends. Thirty minutes later she clicked off, relieved there would be progress, and she would no longer carry the burden herself. There was a slight comfort knowing the guys on the force would place her at the top of the list.

  She was right. Word circulated quickly about Brian’s vanishing and, as anticipated, her colleagues rallied and initiated an extensive search.

  By Thursday, still nothing.

  It was time to order cell phone records, and apprise Brian’s parents and sister—if she could find them—of what was happening. Ryan was in on the search from the beginning—it didn’t take him long to jump on board after he learned his friend hadn’t been seen or heard from since he dropped him off on Sunday. He no longer viewed Colbie’s distress as that of a distraught girlfriend—not hearing from Brian for twenty-four hours was one thing. After that? Ryan didn’t know what happened, but he surely needed to find out.

  “Okay—let’s write down what we know. What we don’t know, too . . .” Ryan decided to take a couple of days off from work in order to search for Brian, and meeting with Colbie was his jumping in point.

  “I did, but I didn’t come up with anything.”

  “Then let’s go over it again. We know I dropped Brian off at his car around four o’clock on Sunday. I unloaded his backpack, and threw it in the backseat while he checked to make sure he had everything. We talked for a minute, then I took off. I didn’t see anyone, or anything that made me suspicious or uneasy.”

  “Was anyone else in the parking lot?”

  “Not that I noticed.”

  “How many cars?”

  “Maybe ten. Twelve. Not many.”

  “Describe the cars you remember . . .”

  “I didn’t pay attention . . . but, there was one parked in the far corner with no other cars around it. While the car sticks in my mind, it might mean something—or, nothing.”

  “What did it look like?”

  “Green. A Subaru, I think. Ski rack on top.”

  “Year?”

  “Not sure, but it was older. An older Outback . . .”

  “Was Brian the only one with you?”

  “Yeah—I didn’t have to drop off anyone else.”

  Colbie scratched notes on a legal pad as Ryan relayed everything he remembered about that day.

  “What about the two guys you didn’t know? What’s their story?”

  “Kirk and Vinnie? I don’t know much—they’re friends of Alex. They seemed okay to me—Kirk is kind of quiet, and he didn’t have much to say. The other guy, Vinnie, was the opposite—loud. Boisterous. A know it all. Both of them knew their stuff, though, and they were as skilled as the rest of us.”

  Colbie sat back, tapping the tip of the mechanical pencil on what was left of the legal pad. Everything Ryan said made sense, but she still sensed something was off. The hiking trip. New guys. She shuddered, an ill wind passing through her as she envisioned their trip.

  “What do you know about either of them? Anything?”

  “Not much—Kirk works in computers, I think, and Vinnie is an outdoor guide. Where, and for whom I’m not sure.”

  “You mean he’s well-versed in survival techniques?”

  “That may be going a little far, but he definitely knew his way around a campsite. He was set up before the rest of us, and he took the first watch.”

  “Bears?”

  Ryan nodded. “We didn’t see any, but one of the Wildlife guys told us to be on the lookout—there were more sightings than usual within the last couple of weeks, and they’re getting more aggressive. Cubs, probably, although it seems too early to come out of hibernation.”

  Colbie clicked the mechanical pencil for more lead.

  “Did you like him? Vinnie, I mean.”

  “He was alright, I guess . . .”

  “You guess?”

  “Yeah—I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something different about him.”

  “What do you mean, ‘different?’”

  “He was kind of aloof. Stayed to himself, and really didn’t try to engage in conversation—but, when he did talk, he was loud. Now that I thin
k about it, being obnoxious is kind of weird for a guy who is an outdoor guide. He looked and acted like a man with a lot on his mind.”

  Colbie and Ryan sat in individual silence until finally calling it a night around ten-thirty, neither knowing much more than when they started in the early afternoon. Colbie’s legal pad was filled with names, arrows, and question marks—most of her scratchings resembling hieroglyphics to the majority who might read them. Bits of shredded paper littered her kitchen floor, the aftermath of her heightened concern and worry. According to Ryan, the hiking trip was uneventful—each man was there for his own reason, one of whom was disinterested in campfire conversation.

  That was about it.

  Colbie locked the door as Ryan disappeared into the shadows of the quiet street. She watched as he hoisted himself into his truck, blowing on his hands to warm the bite of the raw evening air. She was disappointed when he couldn’t recall anybody or anything in the parking lot where Brian left his car—so far, all she had to go on was an older model Subaru Outback. Nonetheless, it was worth a morning drive to check it out.

  She maneuvered her car into the northwest corner of the parking lot for optimum surveillance. Two businesses shared the lot and, judging by the names on the front lawn sign, she figured most of its tenants and their employees worked a usual business day from eight to five. From her position, she had a view of the entire lot with the exception of five or six spaces on the far side of the building. By seven-thirty cars began pulling in, filling the lot by a few minutes to eight. Colbie watched each driver carefully, taking notes and jotting down observations—Ryan was right. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

  By eight-thirty, two spaces remained—one next to her, and one on the far side of the lot. At eight thirty-five, a forest green Outback swerved into the space beside her, nearly clipping her front left fender. Before Colbie could say anything, the driver’s door swung open and a svelte, thirty-something woman sprinted toward the building, perhaps late for work and oblivious to Colbie’s watching her from her car. Skinny jeans and heels accentuated the woman’s height, as did the midi-length leather coat. Blonde hair streaked with cherry red shone in the sun, her sense of contemporary style on display for anyone glancing her way.