The Beginning After

by Kiersten Modglin

  “What’s wrong?” Clay asked her.

  “It’s Kyle. He’s missing,” she said without turning to face him. “I have to go to Frank’s.”

  Grabbing the keys from the coffee table, he rushed out the door, taking off in a dead run to the truck. “Let’s go.”

  Twenty

  FRANK

  Frank threw open the door to his apartment as he heard the hurried footsteps approaching. He was surprised to see the cop following behind Peighton. She was frazzled, biting her lip like she so often did when she was worried about something. He hugged her stiffly as she walked into the room, shutting the door behind them.

  “Have you heard from him?”

  “No,” he answered. “I’ve called him twice more since I talked to you last.”

  “Yeah, we tried calling on our way over here. He won’t answer my calls either. Were you fighting? Did something happen? Did he say anything to you?”

  “No,” Frank insisted. “Everything was fine. He’d been out with his friends throughout the day, come home for supper. He seemed okay. Then I woke up this morning and he just…wasn’t here.”

  “Is his stuff still here?” Clay asked.

  “Some of it is. His bag and a few clothes are missing,” Frank told them. “His cell phone too. Most of his stuff is still here though.”

  “That makes it seem like he’s planning to come back,” Clay said, looking at Peighton. “That’s a good thing. Had anyone else been in the apartment? Any of his friends?”

  “No,” Frank said. “Just Kyle.”

  “If he was planning on returning, why hasn’t he? You don’t think anything has happened to him—” She stopped, covering her mouth as tears began to form in her eyes. “Frank, I can’t bear to lose him.”

  Before Frank could respond, Clay put his hand on her arm. “We’re going to find him, Peighton.”

  Frank nodded in agreement. “I was thinking we could start going to some of his friends’ houses, maybe a few places he likes to hang out. Someone has to have seen him.”

  “Should we call the police?” Peighton asked, looking at Clay rather than him.

  “You mean you didn’t already?” Frank asked, gesturing toward the officer.

  “No,” Peighton said, a slightly embarrassed look on her face. “No, we were already together.”

  “Jesus, Peighton,” Frank said exasperatedly.

  “It wasn’t like that—” she began to defend herself.

  Clay cut in. “We don’t have time to argue right now. Frank, you should stay here and call the police. Tell them what’s happened. We’ll go out and try to find him.”

  “No way in hell. I’m going with Peighton. You can stay here,” he said gruffly.

  “I don’t know enough about Kyle to stay here. He went missing while in your care. They’ll want to talk to you.”

  “Then Peighton should stay too.”

  “No. She knows where he would be better than anyone. If he’s planning to run away, we need to get started searching for him before he can get too far. We’ll be back in a few hours,” he said, pulling Peighton out the door. “You have her number. Call us if you need us.”

  Frank watched the door shut, fear and frustration filling him. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, dialing 911. Before he pressed send, he stopped himself, erasing the number and dialing a different one instead.

  “SecureHome Security, this is Paul. How can I help you?”

  “Paul, it’s Frank,” Frank said to him.

  “Oh, hey boss. What’s up?”

  “I need a tail.” He could hear Paul typing as he spoke.

  “You got it. On who?”

  “Clay Nealson and Peighton Claiborne. They’re leaving my apartment now, probably headed downtown.” He walked over to his window, looking to the street for her SUV. Instead, he watched them exit the building and climb into a black truck. He read the plate number to Paul. “It’s a newer model Ford F-150. Black with chrome wheels.”

  “I’ll send someone there now,” Paul said confidently. “Anything we need to know?”

  “Just tell them to protect Peighton at whatever cost. I don’t trust this guy,” he said, everything in his gut screaming at him to follow her himself.

  Twenty-One

  PEIGHTON

  Clay drove like a madman through the streets, taking the turns Peighton directed him toward. At some point during their drive, he’d taken her hand, but Peighton couldn’t remember when. She held tightly to what Todd had jokingly called the “oh-shit” handle above her head in the truck, her eyes darting wildly around the town.

  She dialed his number for the fifth time in their thirty-minute drive through Pawley’s Corner, leaving him another message. “Kyle, please, please call me back. I just want to hear your voice, son. I need to know that you’re okay.” She put the phone into the cup holder to her left, biting her lip. Where in the world could he be? She touched her free hand to the cool glass of the window, watching the condensation gather around her hand. “Why wouldn’t he be answering our calls?”

  “I don’t know,” Clay answered softly.

  “He has to know we’re worried sick. He’s all I have left. I can’t lose him.”

  Clay rubbed his thumb along the bones of her hands. “I know. We’re going to find him.” Peighton looked at him, noticing how strangely tight his jaw was. He glanced at her, his eyes locking with hers for just a second before reverting to the road. “We’re going to find him,” he repeated.

  Her phone rang, causing her to jump. She pulled her hand away from Clay quickly. It was Frank. “Hello?” she asked, her voice full of hope.

  “It’s me,” he said. “The police are here. They’re going through Kyle’s stuff. They want to know when you saw him last.”

  “It was the morning he came over to the house, when you brought him home.”

  “That’s what I told them, but they wanted to hear it from you. You haven’t had any contact with him since?”

  “No. I haven’t. I’ve tried calling him a few times, but he hasn’t wanted to talk to me.”

  “Okay,” Frank said. “Where are you?”

  “We’re out by the old movie theater. Kyle and his friends like to hang out down here sometimes, I thought maybe we’d see someone, but it’s completely abandoned tonight.”

  “When are you coming back?”

  “Soon.” Peighton sighed. “I’m running out of places to check. I want to run by his friend Jessica’s house next. We’ve checked all the houses of his friends from school other than her, the theater, the grocery store, and the high school. I don’t know where else he’d be.”

  “Okay,” Frank said, “keep me posted.”

  “I will,” she promised, hanging up the phone. “The police are with Frank,” she told Clay.

  He nodded. “They’ll probably try to track his phone. If he’s made any phone calls lately, they may be able to find him pretty easily.”

  “Couldn’t you just do that?”

  “I don’t have the option of doing that with our relationship as, err, complicated as it is. It’s much simpler to let the other officers do their job.”

  She nodded, pointing up ahead. “This road here.” He turned as she instructed, looking down the winding street. “There. The brown house.”

  He slowed the truck to a stop in the small, paved driveway. “There’s a light on at the far end of the house. It looks like someone must be home.” She nodded, unable to speak.

  She opened the truck’s door, hope and dread both filling her in a familiar way. Please. Please be here, she begged silently. He followed close behind her, though he didn’t dare touch her in fear of Kyle seeing them together. She made her way onto the porch, raising her fist apprehensively. After she had knocked, she stepped back, waiting.

  After a few moments, she heard footsteps approaching the door. A pretty, heavyset woman swung open the door, her brown hair as perfectly curled as if she’d just finished it. She smiled kindly at Peighton. “Hello there
. Can I help you?”

  “We’re looking for Kyle.”

  The woman gasped, clutching her hands in front of her. “You must be his mother! Oh, hello, I’m Joslyn DeLong. It’s so nice to meet you. Your son is such a little gentleman. It’s nice to have someone with some manners around here.” She held out her hand for Peighton to shake.

  She shook her hand politely. “Could I see him, please?”

  “Oh,” Joslyn replied. “I’m sorry, he’s not here right now. He hasn’t been over in a few days.”

  “What?” Peighton asked, suddenly unable to catch her breath. “This was our last hope.”

  “Is he missing?” Joslyn asked, a genuine look of concern on her face. “Oh, dear. Hang on just a second.” She closed the door slightly before yelling into the house. “Jessica! Get down here!”

  Peighton pressed her lips together as the door opened once again. She heard more footsteps descending the small staircase just behind Joslyn. She saw the lime green tights and ripped mini skirt, the dark black gloves and tiny white top. It took everything in her power to keep a straight face as the girl she’d spent so long hating from a distance approached her.

  “Yeah?” Jessica asked, staring at her mother.

  “Jess, this is Ms. Claiborne, Kyle’s mother. She’s looking for Kyle. Have you heard from him today?”

  Jessica’s eyes grew wide, staring at Peighton. “Uh…” she trailed off, obviously trying to come up with an answer.

  “Jessica, it’s really important that we find Kyle, okay? We’re really worried about him. The police are looking for him. This is serious. So, if you know where he is…even if he’s asked you to cover for him…please just tell us.”

  Her eyes darted from Peighton to her mother and back again.

  “Jessica, do what she says. Have you talked to Kyle today?”

  “No,” she said finally.

  “Do you know where he might be?” Peighton asked again.

  “No,” Jessica said softly, staring at her feet.

  Clay stepped up, walking past Peighton. She watched Joslyn’s eyes dance across Clay’s broad, muscled shoulders poking through his white t-shirt before darting back to her daughter, her cheeks slightly flushed. “Excuse me, Jessica, hi, I’m Clay Nealson, I’m a police officer. Like Ms. Claiborne said, we’re all really worried about Kyle. Now, it could be that he’s just out with some friends being a teenager, and we all understand that. But, sweetie,” he stared at her until she looked up at him before continuing, “he could be hurt. He could be in trouble. I know he’s your friend and I know you don’t want anything bad to happen to him. He doesn’t even have to know you told us. We just need to find him, okay? We need to find him and make sure that he’s safe. Now, I’ll bet you can help us with that. What do you say?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “I really haven’t talked to him today. He was over for a few minutes yesterday, but that was it.”

  “Okay, was he with anyone else when he came over?” Clay asked.

  “No,” she answered. “He was alone.”

  “Did he seem okay? Was he worried, frustrated?”

  “He was…mad at his mom. He kept complaining about you and some idiot cop.” She covered her mouth as soon as the words exited. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” Clay went on without flinching. “Did he tell you what he was going to do? Did he say anything about running away? Disappearing for a few days? Maybe he just needed to clear his head.”

  “No. He didn’t say anything like that.”

  “Okay, now, Jessica…Kyle won’t answer any of our phone calls, but I’m betting he would answer yours.” She didn’t answer, twirling the cellphone in her hand mindlessly. “Would you mind giving him a call?”

  “I don’t want him to get in trouble.”

  “He’s not in trouble,” Peighton spoke up, her voice cracking. “He won’t be in trouble. Please, please just help us find him.”

  Jessica nodded finally, typing a passcode into her phone and handing it over to Clay. “There’s his number. I’m not calling, and if he gets mad, I’m saying you forced me to call.”

  “Thank you,” Clay and Peighton exclaimed at the same time, huddling over the phone. Clay clicked on his name, putting it on speakerphone.

  On the third ring, his voice filled the line. “What’s up, loser?”

  “Kyle?” Peighton called, tears soaking her cheeks already.

  The line was silent.

  “Kyle? Is that you?”

  “Mom?” he asked, disgust in his voice.

  “Yes, baby, it’s me. It’s Mom. Where are you?” she asked. There was no answer, though she could hear his quiet breaths through the line. “Kyle?” she asked again. Still nothing. “Kyle, please. Please just tell me that you’re safe. Tell me where you are so I can come get you.”

  “I’m safe, Mom,” he said quietly, “but don’t come get me.” And with that, the line went dead.

  Twenty-Two

  PEIGHTON

  At half past nine, Peighton and Clay were still sitting on Frank’s couch. He appeared from the kitchen, handing them each a beer.

  “I know you don’t like beer, Peight, but I don’t have much else,” he told her.

  She offered up a small smile. “Under the circumstances, I don’t think I care what I drink.”

  Clay took a drink of his, setting it down on the coffee table. “Well, at least we know he’s safe,” he said softly. It was the second time that night he had mentioned it, each time annoying Peighton a bit more.

  “We don’t know he’s safe. We don’t know where he is or who he’s with. He could be halfway across the country. He could be doing drugs. He could be overdosing in a ditch somewhere and who knows if I’ll ever see him again.”

  Frank sat down beside her and pulled her to him. She pressed her face into his chest. “He isn’t a bad kid, Peight. You know that. He’s never been a trouble maker. I’m sure he’s just letting off some steam. He’ll come back when he cools down.”

  “Could you find him?” she asked, looking up at Frank.

  “What?”

  “I mean…that’s what you do, right? Couldn’t you track him down?”

  “Well, I mean, sure, I could, but—”

  “Then do it!” she said, sitting up.

  “Peighton, it’s not that simple,” he said softly.

  “What if that just pushed him away further?” Clay asked.

  She leaned back on the couch, looking back and forth between them. “So what if it does? He can be mad at me all he wants as long as he’s home and safe.”

  “And what’s to stop him from running away again? We see this a lot at the precinct. Sometimes the best thing to do is just to let them be gone for a day or two. Now that we’ve heard from him, we know he’s alive and deliberately away—”

  “What could you possibly know about this?” she asked, her voice harsher than she meant it. “You don’t have children.”

  His face registered more hurt than she’d expected as he leaned back away from her. He pressed his lips together, his hands gripping his knees. “You know what?” he asked. “This is a family matter and I am not family. I think I’m just going to go.” He stood up from the couch, walking toward the door.

  “Clay, I’m sorry,” Peighton called after him, though she couldn’t muster up the will to say anymore. She watched him open the door and disappear out of it, not bothering to look back.

  When the door shut, she turned to Frank, waiting to see if there would be judgement in his eyes. He stared at her long and hard before he spoke.

  “You know he’s right.” When she didn’t answer, he went on. “Kyle isn’t a kid anymore. Especially now. He’s had to grow up so much since Todd died. You have to let him heal in his own way. Chasing after him right now might be the worst thing you could possibly do.”

  “I can’t just sit here and not know what’s going on with my son, Frank,” she said.

  “I know that. I know this is hard. Kyle is the
closest thing I’ve ever had to a son, but I trust him to make his own decisions…the right decisions. He’s a good kid. You raised a good kid. I think he’ll come home.”

  “But what if he doesn’t? What if he hates me?”

  “He could never hate you, Peighton. You’re his mother. You’re blood. That means something, even when you’re hurting.”

  “So, what are you saying I should do?”

  “I’m saying you should wait. Give it a day. See if he comes home or at least calls you. If not, I’ll try to track him down. But even if I find him…I don’t know that the right thing would be to go after him. If we can find him and know that he’s safe and just keep an eye on him from a distance while he figures all of this out, maybe that’s what would be best for him right now. For you too, honestly. You might need the space just as much as he does.”

  “I don’t want space from my son.”

  “I know you don’t want space, Peight. But that doesn’t mean you don’t need it.”

  She picked up her beer, taking another drink before leaning back on him. They propped their feet up on the coffee table comfortably. She felt his chest moving with each of his breaths, heaving a sigh. “Can I stay here tonight?” she asked finally.

  “If you want to,” he said, placing an arm around her shoulders.

  “I don’t want to go home tonight.”

  “That’s okay,” he said softly, pressing his cheek onto hers. “You know you don’t have to ask. I may not be around as much, but you’re still family.”

  “Thanks,” she said, scooting further down into the couch.

  “So, the cop?”

  “What about him?” she asked.

  “Are you two…a thing now?” he asked, surprising her.

  She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.” He nodded, not responding right away. “He says we’re too complicated.” Frank stifled a laugh. “Why’s that funny?” she asked, looking up at him.

  “Everything you’ve ever done has been complicated, Peighton. It’s kind of your thing.”