The Vanishing

by Gabrielle Lord

 

  ‘Code 7-0, repeat Code 7-0! Robbery in progress!’ Detective Jazmine Mandell yelled back to base through her lapel mike as she dashed across the street. Her notebook and pen were already in one hand, the other releasing the catch on her holster in case she needed to draw her gun. ‘Robbery in progress!’

  A black car screeched away from the kerb in front of a shop, broken glass crunching under its tyres. ‘Rego check requested,’ Jazmine called into the lapel mike, quickly reading out the licence plate on the getaway car.

  As much as she wanted to jump in a squad car and speed after the burglars, catching criminals was always a team effort. As a patrol car’s sirens blared in the distance, Jazmine turned and ran to assist the slumped figure of the shop owner, who lay crumpled and bleeding among the smashed glass of his front display window.

  ‘Request backup and ambulance!’ she ordered into her mike.

  Expensive-looking watches and necklaces were scattered all over the footpath. The thieves had dropped the goods in their rush to escape.

  Jazmine turned to her partner. ‘Sergeant, make sure there’s no-one else inside. Remember to tread carefully. We don’t want to lose any physical evidence!’ She lowered her voice, nodding towards the sniffling shop owner. ‘I think this witness needs some space.’

  Slowly, she squatted beside the injured man and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. ‘It’ll be OK,’ she said. ‘Just take your time. When you’re ready I’ll get a statement from you.’

  A police car pulled up. Detective Jazmine Mandell stood and saluted the chief inspector as she stepped out of the car. ‘I’ve got the licence plate,’ Jazmine reported. ‘Whoever this gang of burglars is, we’re going to catch them soon.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it, Mandell,’ said the chief inspector. ‘Not with you on the case.’

 

  ‘Thank you, Chief,’ Jazmine murmured to herself as she walked along a tree-lined street on her way to school. She tucked a stray lock of thick blonde hair behind her ear.

  ‘Earth to Jazmine, hello?’

  ‘Huh?’ Jazmine snapped out of her daydream and turned to find her friend Mackenzie glaring at her through narrowed dark eyes.

  ‘Aside from that mumbling, you haven’t said a word since we started walking to Anika’s!’ Mackenzie fumed, flinging her loose, long black hair over her shoulder in a huff. ‘Jazz, it’s bad enough with Anika going on about that old journal she found, and now you won’t even talk to me because you’re busy solving crimes in your head. Plus you nearly walked into that tree!’

  ‘Sorry, Mack,’ said Jazz. ‘I promise to talk to you the whole way to Anika’s, and then I’ll even talk to both of you the rest of the way to school.’ Taller than nearly all the other girls in her class, Jazz could almost rest her chin on her friend’s head as she gave Mack’s shoulders a friendly squeeze.

  ‘Welcome back,’ said Mack drily. ‘So, have you been studying for today’s maths test?’

  ‘All you want to talk about is study! You know, I read in Victims and How to Identify Them that people who are obsessed with work or study are far more likely to be the victims of crime.’ Jazz sounded frustrated but her sideways grin told Mack she was joking.

  ‘Be serious, Jazz. Don’t you care about your marks?’ Mack asked.

  ‘All I care about is beating Phoenix Lyons, and since he got suspended I don’t have to worry about that!’

  ‘True, and at least now I’m top of computer class.’ Mack grinned. Then she hunched her shoulders and said quietly, ‘If we’re talking obsession, it’s Anika and her blog of that journal we should be worried about.’

  ‘I know,’ grimaced Jazz.

  ‘I thought it would be right up your alley,’ Mack teased, nudging Jazz with her elbow. ‘Doesn’t Anika say it holds the secrets to some great unsolved crime? Come on, Detective Mandell, what do you think happened to the woman in the journal?’

  ‘How should I know?’ snapped Jazz, moving her arm away from Mack, irritated. ‘I’m not reading Anika’s blog. I’m her best friend! I shouldn’t have to find out with everyone else. Why can’t she just tell us about it?’

  Mack sighed. ‘You two aren’t going to fight about it all the way to school, are you? I need to concentrate on memorising formulas for our maths test.’

  ‘Do you reckon you could take the grade fixation down a notch or two, Mack?’ teased Jazz, happy to be changing the topic. Jazz made waving hand motions around Mackenzie’s head and chanted, ‘You are worthy, regardless of your test scores.’

  ‘Try telling my parents that,’ scowled Mack. Where Jazz dreamed of becoming a famous detective, Mack dreamed of doing the best she could on all her exams to make her parents proud. Dr Zhang, her dad, was under lots of pressure to make the museum he managed profitable, and her mum was busy with Mack’s younger brother. Mack didn’t want to cause them any more trouble.

  Jazz suddenly grabbed Mack’s arm and hurried her along. ‘Hey!’ cried Mack. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Shh,’ whispered Jazz urgently. ‘That’s where Phoenix lives. I don’t want him to see us walking past!’

  Once safely out of sight of the house, Jazz asked, ‘Do you know what he did to get suspended?’

  ‘It was a Denial of Service attack on the school’s servers. Apparently they won’t let him come back ’til he writes a letter of apology.’

  Jazz detected a hint of admiration in Mack’s voice. ‘Well, I hope he’s not spending the whole time studying so he can get ahead.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ said Mack. ‘He’s probably mucking around in his mum’s forensics lab looking at computer parts under a microscope or something.’

  Turning into Anika’s street, Jazz and Mack walked past the overgrown gardens of the gloomy mansion ‘Deepwater’ that stood next to the Belmonts’ house. Jazz blinked as she glanced at the upper windows. ‘Hey, did you see something up there? A tiny glint of light?’

  Mack just looked at Jazz. ‘Really? Now you’re making up ghost stories about that place too?’

  Jazz often told Mack about how she and Anika had played in the grounds of the once-grand house when they were kids. The building had been fenced off long ago, and now security patrolled it regularly. Earlier in the year, Anika had written and published a ghost story on her blog, set in the decaying mansion, which had attracted a lot of online followers.

  ‘Actually, if I remember it right, you’re plagiarising,’ Mack said. ‘Didn’t Anika’s story say, “From an upper window in Deepwater—the derelict mansion which, despite its decay, still loomed over the street—someone was watching; the glint of light on binoculars the only clue that someone lurked inside the uninhabitable mansion”?’ Mack quoted in a deep, spooky voice.

  ‘Fine, I must have been seeing things,’ Jazz pouted.

  Arriving at Anika’s, they ran through the half-opened gate of the elegant house and along the path, then up the three steps to the shady front porch. Jazz pulled out her key to the Belmonts’ house. Anika’s parents left early for their jobs in the city, but were strict about keeping the house secure. They had allowed Anika to give Jazz a spare key so she could let herself in while Anika kept getting ready.

  Jazz unlocked the heavy front door and she and Mack went inside. They clattered up the stairs to Anika’s bedroom.

  Anika was sitting on the rug, her runner’s legs stretched out in front of her as she tapped away at her laptop. The journal lay open on the floorboards. ‘I’ve just got a few more lines to type,’ she said.

  ‘Hurry up,’ said Mack. ‘I don’t want to be late!’

  ‘Would you just chill out?’ said Anika. ‘I’m on to something huge here. Tonight I’ll reveal the final journal entry and then the world
can try to solve the mystery!’

  ‘I could have solved it if you’d just let me read it,’ sulked Jazz.

  ‘But, hello, you can. I’m blogging it! One entry at a time. You know what you’re like. If I gave you the advantage of reading it first, you’d be at school in some daydream and end up just blabbing it out loud. It wouldn’t be fair to all the other readers waiting so patiently to unlock the clues themselves!’

  ‘Yeah, right. It’s no big deal anyway when your whole audience is just people from school,’ Jazz said.

  ‘That’s not true. There are other people who read it,’ said Anika, sounding hurt. ‘They leave comments. You can tell they’re not schoolkids. And they’re really hooked. I know you’re dying to read it, Jazz.’

  Jazz didn’t want to admit how right Anika was. It was too late to back down now. ‘If you won’t let me read the whole thing, I don’t want to read it at all!’

  ‘Suit yourself, Jazz.’ Anika snapped her laptop shut and put it back on her desk, along with the journal. She scooped her glossy brown hair up into a high ponytail and grabbed her schoolbag. Just before she stormed out the door, she turned and said, ‘But it’s your loss!’

 

  Jazz paused as she came in her front door after school. In preparation for becoming a detective, she liked to test her observation skills every day, and knew better than to barge in and disturb any potential evidence or clues, even in her own house.

  She crossed her arms and drummed her fingers, her habit when she was thinking. First she checked the shoes and jackets by the front door. As expected, her mum’s work shoes were missing from the rack but her grocery bag stash was also missing. ‘I deduce she’s gone to work, followed by grocery shopping,’ muttered Jazz. ‘Yay, no leftovers tonight!’

  Heading into the kitchen, Jazz immediately noticed the smell of toast and several dirty dishes in the sink. ‘Tim must have an assignment due,’ she said to herself. ‘But which subject is it for?’ she wondered.

  Jazz’s keen observations had shown there was a pattern to her older brother’s study snacking. She pulled out her tablet and opened up CrimeSeen, an app that let you track all the evidence in an investigation. She’d been hoping to use it for proper detective work, but for now she clicked through to the chart headed Snacks VS Subjects.

  Jazz examined the knives in the sink and detected traces of both jam and peanut butter. ‘Double-spread toast,’ she murmured, ‘is consistent with study for . . . biochemistry.’

  Happy with her deductions, she pulled her latest true-crime book out of her bag: Crimes that Stopped the Nation. She settled on to the couch and started to read.

  The efficient gathering of evidence has been vital to solving many of the nation’s most shocking crimes. When investigating a crime scene, the effective investigator always remembers two things: it is important to be careful and to take the time to find all the required evidence. Investigators must also keep their eye on the clock, however. The first 48HOURS after a crime has been committed are vital to collecting the freshest and most useful evidence.

  ‘Interesting,’ Jazz mused, as she grabbed a highlighter and coloured over ‘The first 48HOURS’, then underlined it several times.

  She turned to her phone and checked her Facebook feed. Jazz smiled when she saw Mack’s picture of her grinning little brother, covered ear to ear in broccoli. She ‘liked’ it, and then saw Anika had already left a comment: ‘Too cute!!!’ Jazz’s stomach twisted uncomfortably. Normally the three of them would be chatting online right now. Jazz and Anika been best friends since kindergarten, sharing all their secrets and holidaying together. They’d met Mack at the start of high school, and the trio had become inseparable since, constantly talking on the phone or messaging. But since their fight this morning, Anika had ignored her, and Jazz couldn’t bring herself to apologise. Especially as ever since Anika had started blogging this journal she seemed to have time for nothing else, not even her best friends.

  Jazz found herself clicking on to Anika’s profile. She scrolled to the very first post about the journal.

  Jazz felt angry all over again. If Anika wanted to solve the mystery, she should have given the journal to her—she was the crime expert—not put it up there for everyone to read. Scrolling through her feed again, a new post came up from Anika.

  Jazz threw her phone down, trying to ignore how much she wanted to click on the link and read the whole story. ‘Stupid blog,’ she muttered. She was relieved to be distracted by the sound of her mother coming in the front door.

  ‘Jazz, are you home?’ called Mrs Mandell. ‘Can you help with these groceries?’

  Jazz jumped up and ran to the car to lift out the rest of the bags. She knew how important it was that she and Tim did as much around the house as they could. It had just been the three of them for a long time, and for the last four years that Jazz had been in high school her mum had gone back to full-time work as an office manager.

  ‘How was school today?’ her mum asked as they started unpacking.

  ‘Pretty good,’ said Jazz. ‘The maths test was hard but I reckon I did OK. Mack was pretty stressed about it.’

  ‘And Anika?’ Mrs Mandell asked. When Jazz didn’t reply she continued, ‘You haven’t said much about her lately. Everything OK?’

  Jazz hadn’t told her mum that she and Anika were fighting, but she should have known she’d pick up that something wasn’t right.

  ‘She won’t let me help with a project that I’d be really good at,’ complained Jazz.

  ‘Well,’ said her mum thoughtfully, ‘give her a chance and maybe she’ll ask for help when she needs it.’

  ‘It’ll be too late by then!’ Jazz huffed.

  Jazz put the last of the groceries away then got out some vegetables for dinner. While she cut up the vegies she could forget about being mad at Anika. Or at least take it out on the chopping board for a little while. Slice. Slice. SLICE!

  All through dinner Anika was impatient to get back up to her room to see what comments people had left on her latest blog post. Finally, the table was cleared and she was free. She raced back upstairs to her laptop.

  Anika smiled when she saw plenty of likes already popping up on her Facebook feed. She was so keen to see what her friends thought now that the whole story was online, and she wanted to check if Jazz’s name was among them, but a new notification caught her eye—a comment! She frowned though as she read it, her happy mood collapsing:

  Anika wondered fleetingly if the anonymous hostile comment could be from Jazz, but then shook her head, dismissing the thought. They might be fighting, but Jazz would never be that mean.

  Her last thoughts as she settled in to sleep later that night were to hope that soon she could convince Jazz to read the whole blog. Then they could go back to being friends, and maybe even track down the truth about the mystery woman’s identity together.

  <47:46>

  Anika jolted awake. It was still dark. She lay listening, puzzled. She could hear a soft whirring sound. It sounded a bit like her mum’s electric toothbrush, but why would she be brushing her teeth in the middle of the night?

  ‘Mum?’ Anika groggily called out. ‘What time is it?’

  No-one answered. She blinked at the alarm clock . . . 12.14 am.

  The noise stopped. Maybe I imagined it, she thought. A dream had probably woken her up.

  But then the whirring started again. This was no dream. Anika strained her ears to work out where the noise was coming from. It sounded like it was coming from . . . inside the wall. Could it be? Was it a rat? But rats didn’t use electric toothbrushes, at any time of night.

  The noise stopped again. Anika held her breath, still listening hard. Just as she started to exhale and think about sleep she heard a thud.

  This time she sat bolt upright, her heart beating faster.

  Anika stared into the darkness. There was a crack and a creak, and suddenly an eerie line of light became visible on the wall. The wall was moving!
Anika sat rigid with shock, her throat paralysed, as a whole panel of wall moved away and a silhouetted figure emerged.

  Then she heard something else. A swishing sound snaked through the still air of her room, whispering her name.

  ‘Anikaaaa.’

  What was happening? Her parents’ bedroom was at the other end of the hallway. But if she screamed loud enough, maybe they’d hear her. The second she thought this, the whisperer hissed.

  ‘Don’t scream or you’ll be sorry!’

  The figure loomed closer.

  ‘If you scream,’ it continued, ‘I promise you’ll make everything so much worse.’ It wasn’t the words, but the horror that held Anika’s tongue. Walking across the room was an unbelievable figure, humanoid but not human. It lumbered on gargantuan legs, a grotesquely large head atop its hulking form. Its voice was like something from another planet.

  ‘Don’t make a sound and everything will be all right, Anika. Listen carefully. I want the journal and the box. Get up, and give them to me!’

  This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening, she told herself.

  Her fear kicked in fully and she took in a deep breath to scream, but the figure loomed even closer.

  ‘Let’s do this the easy way. The journal and the box,’ it hissed. ‘Give them to me and I’ll go away.’

  The menacing voice chilled Anika. The figure stepped back as, trembling, she slowly got out of bed. The creature watched as she went to her desk and picked up the thick journal, the red-and-white cover appearing grey in the ghostly light.

  ‘The box,’ it hissed. ‘Where’s the wooden jewellery box?’

  Anika could only whimper, ‘I only read about it; I don’t know where it is. Just take the journal!’

  ‘I need the box, the journal is only half the story,’ hissed the monster. Anika watched in petrified silence as the monster shone its torch around her room, searching in drawers, the bookcase, her cupboard. It turned back to the bed and shone the bright light into Anika’s face.