“Mr. Rainwater,” Ritzman said. “I’m sure you know of the tragic news by now?”
“Yes, sir.” Cole realized at this point he sounded like a broken record, but he imagined that’s how troops in the military responded to their superiors all the time.
“I know you know me as a member of the Dent County High School teaching staff, but that is only my secondary profession.” Ritzman reached inside the front of his coat and pulled out an identification badge. “Mr. Rainwater, I am an agent of the FBI, as are these other four gentlemen. I was assigned to work undercover here after the abduction of Raymond Jones. There were some weak clues that led us here, and I was hoping to find new leads that might help resolve this case. Charlotte Meadows’ disappearance was something that happened unexpectedly.”
“Attention! Attention students,” Mr. Mason, the principal, yelled. “Attention!” The noise slowly subsided. He continued, “You all know that Charlotte Meadows has gone missing. We’re going to assemble in the gym. There will be police there who will take information that any of you might have to help them find her. Remember, there is no piece of information too small. Once inside, please find an officer and tell them anything that you know. The teaching staff will be there to help support in our time of sadness. The state has also provided grief counselors, who will be available to help those who are troubled deal with the situation. So, please, everyone head inside, orderly mind you, and assemble in the gym.”
Two teachers opened the double doors leading inside the school. The kids slowly made their way up the steps and headed inside.
Cole looked at Ritzman, his expression asking what to do next.
Ritzman turned to Brennon. “You can go inside with the others.”
Brennon shrugged. “Can I come with you and wait for Cole?”
Thinking a moment, Ritzman said, “We aren’t going to keep Cole for long. Run along to assembly and wait for him there.”
Locking gazes with Cole, he gave him a knowing nod, darted his eyes toward the parking lot, nodded again, and stepped away.
“This way, Cole,” an agent said, opening a single door that led to admissions, which was joined by the medical room and the principal’s office.
Ritzman motioned Cole into the principal’s office and told him to take a seat in front of the desk. He then left the four other agents at the door and sat in the principal’s chair.
Both of Ritzman’s eyes focused forward.
Cole gazed back, anticipating Ritzman’s left eye to wander sideways like waiting for a leaky faucet to release a dangling drop. His book sack lay next to him, and he neatly crossed his hands in his lap.
“Mr. Rainwater,” Ritzman said, addressing him teacher-to-student as usual. Then, the man hesitated and sighed. He rested his elbows on the desk, and said, “Cole, I’m sure the situation has you very upset. Brennon’s taking it very hard. He’s blaming himself, but that’s simply not the case here.
“I know that your relationship with Charlotte has been short-lived. The only time you two really spent together was two nights ago at your house. Brennon and Lori Meadows confirmed that to us. We don’t believe that Charlotte has run away. We do believe she’s been abducted, though there isn’t any physical evidence or eyewitnesses that might suggest that. There’s some chatter that this area is being targeted by human traffickers. We’re afraid that’s what happened with Raymond Jones and Charlotte Meadows.
“The only thing we want from you is any clue that we might be wrong. Did Charlotte mention anything about being unhappy the other night? Any problems with her mother? We know about Brennon but can’t connect why she would run away over him. Is there anything, anything odd that she might have said that night?”
Listening intently, Cole felt the spotlight on him shining brightly. Did Charlotte drop any kind of hint the other night that she might run away? Did the answer lie somewhere in his memory that would lead the FBI directly to her?
Charlotte said in his dream that it was up to him to find her. Did she leave him a clue that night? Did she make a veiled comment that he should have extrapolated into a cry for help? Charlotte’s life might depend on his memory. His memory! He knew how unreliable memories were. Charlotte might never be found because of him!
“Cole,” Ritzman said. “Anything, Cole? Can you think of something she said that seemed a bit out of the ordinary? Something that wasn’t like anything else you two had spoken of that night?”
One thing did come to mind. He didn’t know if it would be useful, but it couldn’t hurt to share what he knew. Mr. Ritzman and the FBI would know if what he had to offer contained anything to help the case. “Charlotte did say something I found strange.”
“Really,” Ritzman said, and leaned forward in his chair. “What did she say?”
“She asked me a kinda what if question. You know. Like, what if out of all the planets in the whole universe, that Earth was the only planet that had life? She seemed to be fascinated by all the living creatures on Earth, on the land and in the sea. She asked me something like, If the only planet in the universe that had life was Earth, wouldn’t that be enough? Wouldn’t it be enough if we are all that there is in the universe?”
Ritzman leaned back into the chair and turned his gaze to the agents standing by the doorway. He patted the desktop with his right hand, and said, “Well, that doesn’t sound like someone distraught who hated life. In fact, it sounded like she saw the future as a challenging adventure to explore.”
“That’s the Charlotte I knew, for sure,” Cole said.
“Cole, thank you for your time. I know that if you think of anything else you’ll immediately let us know.”
“Yes, sir. I will.”
“Good. You can leave now.”
Cole stood and picked up his book sack.
“Please do me a favor.”
“What’s that?”
“When you leave and go to the gym, find one of the grief counselors. Just talk to someone about your feelings for a few minutes. I know you’re troubled inside. These people are professionals. Just a few minutes. You’ll do that, won’t you? For me?” For the first time, Mr. Ritzman sounded like a concerned father and not an arrogant, educated drill sergeant.
“Yes, sir. I will.” Cole waited for Ritzman’s gaze to excuse him. He turned and walked to the door, and the other agents parted at the doorway.
He left admissions and took the door into the main hallway leading toward the gym. Turning right, he would soon come to the door that led toward the parking lot.
Cole hated lying to Mr. Ritzman; especially since the man had acted like he really cared about his well-being. But, that’s just the way it had to be. He would lie, cheat, even steal if it meant getting Charlotte back.
And then another thought struck him. If she had been abducted and he found her, would he even kill to free her?
His mind said yes. But if he found himself face-to-face with a grown man, or even worse, grown men, what would he do? What could he do?
He hit the door leading outside and heard an engine crank. Brennon slowly pulled out of a parking space and was coming his way.
He didn’t know how, but he knew if he found Charlotte they would find someway to save her. They would save her or die trying. Today was the day he would prove himself a man.
Chapter 18
The Mustang pulled up to the curb, and Cole heard the doors unlock. He pulled the handle and opened the door, taking a seat with his book sack in his lap.
“You can stick your sack in the back seat,” Brennon said.
Carefully maneuvering the pack between the headrests, he did so without hitting Brennon in the face.
“How’d it go?”
“It wasn’t bad,” Cole said, taking the seatbelt from the clip and bringing it across his chest. The buckle’s tongue brightly clicked when it secured into the receiver. “They knew that Charlotte and I weren’t that close. They just wanted to know if she may have said something the night she came over that might giv
e them some clues.”
“Did you tell them anything?”
“No, not really. They don’t believe she’s a runaway. They said that human traffickers might be involved.”
“Human traffickers? You mean someone’s trying to sell Charlotte?” Brennon slapped the steering wheel with his right hand.
“I guess so. I thought human-trafficking only involved people from other countries,” Cole said, feeling extremely ignorant about the subject. This was another eye-opening experience in his ascent into manhood. He needed to be aware of the real horrors in life; not so much the paranormal stuff he had been into that couldn’t definitively be proven.
“I can’t believe stuff like that can happen today. What’s the world coming too?” Brennon coughed and opened a wide yawn. No matter how pissed he was, sleep deprivation had its hooks in him.
“You gonna be okay to drive?”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Maybe we can stop later on, and I’ll get an energy drink or something. Just sit tight and let me do the driving. I absolutely hate it when people tell me how to drive.”
“No problem,” Cole said. He kept one eye on the road and one eye on Brennon. If he saw the boy nod off or an oncoming traffic problem, he wasn’t going just to sit there silent and do nothing.
*
When they arrived at the entrance of Amy’s subdivision, Brennon sat up in his seat and appeared to be more awake. Apparently, he believed too there had to be some clue left that would lead to finding Charlotte.
Cole felt like he was looking at himself at that point. He could almost see that Brennon’s desire was giving him hope, but wasn’t it more likely false hope than genuine hope? People didn’t want to believe the worst can happen. They lie to themselves all the time, desiring the best of conclusions. He and Brennon were now coming to a point where they could no longer choose the reality they wanted to believe in; where they would find a clue that would lead them to Charlotte. Instead, they were going to have to be forced to accept the outcome of their findings.
The Mustang reached the end of the entrance street, turning left onto the rear street, Sagehill Road, that connected all the streets of the subdivision. Thick woods lined the right side of the Sagehill. Foliage along the ditch had turned brown from herbicide sprayed by county maintenance workers. In their zeal, the crew got a little sloppy and had sprayed the fronts of trees. Then, just up ahead, Cole saw remnants of an old intersection.
Brennon slowed and turned, and right there before them was the old bus stop; the last place Charlotte was supposed to be.
Cole’s heart beat faster. This was it. Another definitive moment in time with an unknown outcome. It was just like being in the spotlight. But instead of freezing up, he realized his actions would determine the future. The suspense was palpable. A short time from now he would know the results, but he didn’t know now. He had to get through now, and it was imperative that they find a clue.
“Are you just going to sit there and stare out the window?” Brennon asked.
Cole shook out of it and turned his gaze back to Brennon. He didn’t even realize the Mustang’s engine was off. “Uh, no. I was waiting for you.”
Brennon pulled the door handle and pushed the door open. “Let’s go.”
The wind whistled past his ears as he climbed out of the low riding vehicle. Cole took a few steps forward and stopped. Brennon came to his side.
“There’s no yellow police tape. So, this isn’t considered a crime scene,” Cole said.
Brennon just stood silent for several moments, and then said, “Not much to look at, is it?”
“No, no it’s not.” Cole had a hard time imagining a ballpark in place of all the trees that now grew in the area. The bus stop itself looked strangely out of place. He wondered why it hadn’t been torn down after all of these years. Not that it was in that bad of shape, mind you. The awning above the concrete bench was made of galvanized corrugated metal and had withstood the test of time quite well. The bench was dull and dirty, but nothing a quick cleaning from a pressure washer couldn’t take care of.
The area around the bus stop had been sprayed with herbicide, keeping encroaching foliage at bay. Tree limbs had gotten in the line of fire too, turning them brown, and dropping dead leaves torn away by the wind.
“I don’t think we’re gong to find anything here,” Brennon said. Whatever eagerness he seemed to have had dissipated.
Cole looked over, his eyebrows hanging low. “Dude, we just got here. We’ve got to be patient, thorough. You’ve seen enough police shows on TV. We have to look until we find a piece of evidence that might tell us where she is.”
“That’s TV stuff,” Brennon said. He threw his hands up in the air. “What, we’re going to find a map telling us where she is?”
“No, but we might find her cell phone.”
“Don’t you think the police would have found that last night?”
“I don’t know. We can’t be sure how hard they looked for anything around here. Plus, it was dark.” Cole hesitated when a thought struck him. “Wait a minute!” He unclipped his phone from his belt and punched in Charlotte’s number. Her phone rang through the speaker. He pulled his phone away from his ear. “I called her phone. Listen…do you hear it ringing anywhere?”
The two stood like statues, turning their ears this way and that like a scanning device.
All Cole heard was the rustle of leaves in the trees. “Well, it was worth a try.”
“I guess we need to search about. Look at all these leaves. What a mess,” Brennon said.
“Okay, watch where you step. Let’s see if we can find anything.”
The leaves certainly were a nuisance. They used their feet to sweep a clear path and look for clues. The two boys coordinated their search and split up.
“There isn’t any ink on the bench,” Cole said.
“What?”
“You know, when they dust for prints. The police use some kind of dry ink, don’t they?”
“I don’t know what they use. But you’re right, it doesn’t look like they looked all that hard around here. The leaves don’t even look disturbed,” Brennon said.
“Yeah, well, that’s hard to say, with the wind and all. It’s stirring things up pretty good around here,” Cole said but ironically hoping Brennon was right. Maybe the police didn’t spend much time in the area looking for clues. He found himself wishing that was true on the one hand, but if the police were that inefficient, how could they ever hope to find Charlotte? Again, Cole found dilemmas and the human psyche were at constant war, where one rationale to solve one predicament only led to creating another.
Brennon covered his area quicker than Cole. It was obvious the boy was frustrated. He even went back and examined the bench again, which sat there with nothing to hide and nothing to show.
“It’s a waste of time, Cole. There’s nothing here.”
Cole looked up from a pile of leaves he was rifling through. “No, there’s something here.”
Incredulously, Brennon said, “What are you talking about? We’ve been through it all and haven’t found anything. Get real.”
Not willing to give up, Cole said, “Let’s switch sides. You look where I’ve looked, and I’ll go over your side.”
“What for?”
“Because, one of us might have missed something the other might find. It happens all the time. My dad can always find stuff I’ve lost, even though I’ve looked in the same place where he found it.”
“Yeah, yeah! My mom can do that, too. Good idea. Let’s get to work,” Brennon said, eager to go on the hunt again.
*
“It’s no use, Cole. There’s nothing here.” Brennon didn’t wait for a response. He turned and slowly walked toward his car.
They had been there for nearly an hour. The answer was obvious, but something inside of Cole refused him to accept it. This was a feeling unlike he had ever felt before. Almost like he saw the next scene in a movie in his mind before it happened.
Cole looked up to the sky and then turned his gaze to Brennon. “There is a clue here.”
“Dude, give it up. Let’s get back to school. There’s a good chance with all the stuff going on they won’t even know that we’ve skipped.”
“There’s something here.”
“Okay, I get it. You’re upset. I’m upset too. But we have to face reality, man.” Brennon brought his hands up to his chest and pointed at Cole. “There is nothing here.”
No, there was a clue. Cole couldn’t see it, but he could feel it. There was no way he was even going to try and explain it to Brennon.
He turned his gaze from Brennon and followed the intersection the short distance to Sagehill Road. There is a clue.
Without saying a word, Cole turned on his heels and walked to the main road.
“Hey, where the heck are you going? Cole!”
As he rounded onto Sagehill, he searched the ditch and in front of the trees.
The Mustang’s engine roared to life. If Brennon insisted on leaving, it would be by himself.
As Cole scanned the different shades of brown grass, leaves, and foliage, something not like the other caught his gaze.
The Mustang pulled up beside him. Rolling the window down, Brennon said, “Cole, let’s go.”
Not looking up, he raised his right hand toward his teammate.
“I mean it, dude. Let’s go. I will—”
Something dark blue and triangular shaped, not much more than an inch long, jutted between some large dead leaves. Cole carefully reached down and pinched it between his thumb and pointer finger. A thin cloth pulled away from the leaves, exposed now to the light of day.
“You found a rag. Big deal. Get in the car and let’s go,” Brennon said, and then raced the engine two times.
Cole grabbed the other corner and held the cloth in front of him.
It wasn’t a rag.
It was a handkerchief.
A handkerchief just like the one Mr. Buddy had wrapped around the purported bigfoot tooth the man had shown him in the hall the other day.
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