by Hulden Morse
But now… Hamilton just couldn’t believe it.
He was gone, that much was for sure. But where? Charles would never put the ones he cared about in such a terrible form of limbo. He was the kind of man who would provide constant updates even when he traveled to Los Angeles, allowing his family the comfort of knowing that he had survived the two-hour drive to his hotel. The current situation was different. Something had gone wrong. For some reason, Charles was unable to contact them with his immediate whereabouts.
Hamilton had sent an email to Charles’s wife the previous night. It was simple and concise, giving that sweet woman the impression that her husband was tired from meetings all day and needed to sleep. Her boss had composed those emails ahead of time so that it was obvious they were written by him, though Hamilton added in quick additions that addressed what Marlene Pearson mentioned in her own emails. She had lied to that woman. She had lied to his whole family. Sure, it was for their peace of mind, but how was she supposed to tell an ignorantly blissful wife that her husband wasn’t actually in Chicago for a series of meetings, but was instead living undercover on the street and had now gone missing?
She pulled open a desk drawer and rummaged around for a bottle of ibuprofen.
“Where the fuck are you?” she whispered to herself, reaching deep into the dark recesses of the drawer. Her hand bumped a round, plastic object that rattled like a dangerous child’s toy. Hamilton pulled it out and threw a couple pills down her throat just as Sandra Pinner, the Chief Financial Officer for Reaching Dreams, knocked on the office door.
“Come in,” Hamilton said coolly.
“Hey. I need to talk to Charles about something. But I can’t get ahold of him.”
“He’s, well, shit. Um, out of town.”
Pinner laughed awkwardly at the assistant’s odd response.
“What the hell does that mean?” she said lightheartedly.
Sandra Pinner was brilliant with finances. The daughter of two accountants, she was raised with mathematics as a second language. At the age of four, one of the first games her father taught her was Blackjack, and she quickly developed a knack for counting cards. That led to some heated phone calls from neighborhood parents when little Sandra started teaching her friends the art of gambling and how to beat the house.
At 21 years of age, Pinner earned her degree in accounting from the University of Southern California, passed the CPA exam, and then immediately went back to school to earn her masters. After school, she began working in corporate finance but found the profession unrewarding and lackluster. She wanted to feel good about what she was doing, wanted to be proud of the company for which she worked, and so Pinner began searching for job postings at nonprofits.
Pinner knew she was not the most qualified person to be the CFO of a national organization. She had only been in the workforce for five years and had never held a major management role (which she blamed mostly on the unyielding glass ceiling), though after sending in her application to Reaching Dreams for the illustrious position as CFO, the 29-year-old woman paid a visit to their headquarters in San Diego and asked for a couple minutes of Mr. Pearson’s time.
Intrigued by her boldness, Charles agreed to meet with Pinner and invited her to lunch with him. Upon asking her why he should hire someone that did not have the experience typically required for such a position, Pinner replied, “Because I will treat you, the President of Reaching Dreams, the same way I’ll treat a homeless man on the street: as my equal. I’m damn good with numbers. But this job is more than accounting. I’m also damn good with people.”
Charles then proceeded to ask about her family, her interests, what sports she enjoyed, why she chose to study at USC, where her favorite vacation spot was, and then happily paid for their meal. As they were leaving, he thanked her for being such good company during his lunch break and offered her the job as CFO of Reaching Dreams.
Not once did Charles regret his decision, and Pinner proved herself worthy every day of her employment. She felt indebted to him for the faith and trust he gave her, and Hamilton knew it. She knew how much Charles meant to every single person in that company, for whatever personal reason each individual had.
“Sit down, Sandra,” the assistant said, motioning for the concerned CFO to take one of the chairs in front of Hamilton.
“What’s up? Is he leaving us? He thinks he’s too good for us now?” Pinner attempted to lighten the darkening mood in the room, though her sarcasm proved futile. A cloud hung above the desk, descending upon the two women and enveloping them in a tangible thickness, a tension that could neither be ignored nor eradicated. It existed with or without their acceptance, with or without their understanding, and Pinner leaned away from the darkness, attempting to back herself out of what was about to come. There was no silver lining to be found. Only black.
“Charles has been undercover as a homeless man for the past three days. In Chicago.”
“Okay,” she said. “So that’s why I can’t talk to him?”
“Um, well,” Hamilton hesitated. “I’m sorry to say this, but it seems he’s gone missing.”
“What?” Pinner yelled loudly, standing up from the chair in surprise.
“We can’t find him. He disappeared sometime last night, or this morning. We don’t know.”
“Shit. I mean… shit. Are you…? God. What do we do?”
“Well, I just found this out maybe fifteen minutes ago. There’s an RD employee in Chicago who was watching out for Charles. He’s the one that figured out he was missing. I’ve just given him permission to blow Charles’s cover and notify the police of his disappearance and why he was in Chicago.”
“What can we do? From here?” Pinner asked.
“I need to contact his family and let them know what’s going on.”
“Oh god. Jesus. You’re going to tell them that . . . ” She sat in the chair once more, leaning forward over the desk, staring at her trembling hands. “We’ve got to tell the company.”
“I know.”
“They should find out from us rather than on the news or something.”
“I know, Sandra.”
“Wow. This is just… Do you have any idea how this happened? Or why?”
“No,” Hamilton said sternly. “Apparently, a group of homeless people disappeared. Or at least went somewhere else . . . location still unknown.”
“Well, so maybe they were picked up by us. Or by someone else trying to help. Or the police.”
“RD didn’t do it. We don’t make rounds at night. The police claim that they don’t have someone under his false name or real name, and they claim they picked up no homeless people in the past twelve hours.”
“So it could have been someone else!” Pinner exclaimed.
“Possible. But we really don’t know. I’m not making any assumptions at this point. We just need to start looking for him. And hopefully he’ll contact us when he gets the chance.”
“Yeah. Right. Yeah.”
“But right now, I need to call Marlene Pearson.”
“Hello?”
“Hey, Marlie. It’s Paula. Uh, how’s it going?”
“Oh! Well, I’m fine. How are you?”
Hamilton fought to gulp down the knot in her throat, but it remained lodged in place. She struggled to emit the words, any words, yet all that came out were petrified squeaks, like a mouse calling out that there is a predator nearby.
“Paula? You okay?”
“No.” Her voice cracked, but she quickly regained composure. “Sorry. No. I’m not okay. Um, we have a problem here.”
“Oh dear. Is Charles okay?”
“Well, that’s why I’m calling.”
“What? What’s going on? What’s happening?” She was starting to lose control.
“Marlie. Marlie, I need you to stay calm.”
“Calm? Just tell
me what’s going on.”
“Charles is missing.”
There was silence on Marlene’s end. Hamilton waited for her to say something, biting her tongue impatiently before speaking again.
“I’m so sorry. I hate this. But I wanted to be the one to tell you, not some cops or the news.”
“The cops are involved? He’s really missing?” Her voice was hushed, strained. Hamilton couldn’t imagine how difficult those words must be for a wife to hear. It was hard enough for her, but for a life partner to find out her loved one had vanished?
“Yes. The Chicago district has notified the police.”
“How did this happen? Did he not show up for his meetings this morning? Have you checked his hotel room?”
Shit. Oh my god. This is the worst. What have I done? Hamilton shoved down her emotions and attempted to explain the entire situation as calmly and clearly as she could.
“Charles was undercover. As a homeless person.”
“What?” Marlene screamed into the receiver.
“It was a project for the company. He was trying to see how Chicago operated. The district there. And—”
“But I was getting emails from him. Updates.”
“Those were written ahead of time. I sent them to you.”
“You… you…” Hamilton could hear Marlene struggling for the words. She understood the feeling, the immense variety of emotions overwhelming any ability to form coherent thoughts. That man had a life outside of Reaching Dreams. He had friends and children. How would their lives adjust to his absence?
“He disappeared this morning. Or sometime last night. We had someone checking on him throughout the day, and he was seen last night. I promise, Reaching Dreams will do whatever we can to get him back.”
“I… I… I have to go.”
“Marlie. Please know that I’m here for you. Not as his assistant. As your friend. Please. I feel responsible for this. I want to help any way I can.”
“Bye, Paula.”
The line disconnected. Paula Hamilton replaced the phone on its base. She then glanced up at Pinner, who was still sitting on the other side of her desk.
“That was the best you could have done,” Pinner said.
“I could have stopped him from going.”
“Don’t. Don’t do that to yourself. It’s not your fault.”
“I could have stopped him. He would have listened.”
“You and I both know Charles. He would have done it anyways. He just would have done it without your knowledge or help. That man is so stubborn. Plus, you said it yourself, we don’t know that he’s in trouble. There’s probably a harmless explanation for this.”
Hamilton left her seat at the desk and paced her large office. Pinner watched the woman walk back and forth, not wanting to interrupt whatever thoughts were racing through her mind.
After a minute of silence, Hamilton stopped and said, “The executives need to know. Along with the board of directors.”
“What about the rest of the company?”
“We’ll wait until we have more information. If there really is a harmless reason for all this, then it will be resolved soon. No sense getting the whole company in an uproar.”
“But what if the media hears of this? From the police?”
“The police won’t notify the media. The media goes to the police. There’s no reason anyone should find out unless we make it a big deal. We’ll keep it between the executives, and if the time comes, notify everyone else.”
“And then what?”
“Then? We plaster his face around the whole damn planet. Every store window, every street corner, every bus station, every mailbox will have his face on it. This entire world will know the name Charles Pearson.”
Chapter 7
The beeping of the monitor was the first thing Charles heard. His eyes were wide open, taking in the light from surgical lamps directly above him. His chest was in agony. It felt hot and throbbed painfully. The rest of his body was sore, as if he had been crammed into a tight spot for too long and was finally able to stretch for the first time.
He then realized that his limbs were still strapped to the table. The panic setting in once more, Charles looked to the side just in time to see the brown-haired man in the white lab coat walk away. He was replaced by the two men in blue, one of them holding a clipboard while the other one starting to remove the electrodes from his chest. The blond man, collecting the wires in a rehearsed fashion, seemed bored, as if he were on autopilot, while the short, Hispanic man fiddled with papers on the clipboard in preparation for what was to happen next.
“Wha-wha…” Charles tried to speak, but it was difficult to push enough air out of his lungs to get the words to form. He felt like someone had kicked him hard in the torso, but as seconds ticked by he found it easier and easier to breathe.
“What, what is this?” he asked the men in blue.
“Just relax, sir. We’ll get you out of these restraints soon,” the man with the clipboard responded. He stood there motionless, as if he were waiting for something. Charles watched him, expectantly, though the man merely twirled a pen in his hand while the clipboard hung at his side.
“I-I don’t understand. Please, just—”
“Please. Relax. We need to ask you some questions real quick. And that will be all.”
“Questions?” Charles said angrily. “You want to ask me questions?”
“Sir. We’re here to help. Please, just trust us. Everything will be okay.” The man walked up to Charles and patted him on the shoulder. “Look, let’s get these restraints off right now. So that you’re more comfortable.”
The two men in blue began to systematically remove the restraints. Charles felt his body relax as it was able to move about the table more freely. He shook his stiff arms to bring full circulation back into them and sat up, dangling his feet off the side of the table. The blond man made sure he was steady and offered him a glass of water. Charles denied it, not sure if he should trust what they would give him.
“Are you feeling okay, sir?” the man with the clipboard asked, holding the pen to the piece of paper, ready to write something down.
“What? No! I want answers! Where am I? What’s going on? Who are you?”
“Sir. Sir. Please, we need answers to these questions. It’s for your safety. We’re here to help. We’re not sure what’s going on, which is why we need you to answer these questions truthfully. Can you do that for us?”
“Uh, what?”
The man gave Charles a pleading look, a look that begged him to follow directions and answer the questions. For the first time, the CEO felt a spark of humanity in the situation. He sensed that they cared, or at least wanted to care, and that things were not as they seemed.
With part curiosity and part fear, Charles agreed to give them honest answers. He needed to know where the situation was headed, though such anticipation for the ultimate truth was brutally debilitating.
“Great. Thank you very much. First, how are you feeling? Honestly?”
“Um, my chest hurts. My legs are sore. My head hurts. I think that’s it. Oh, it hurts to breathe a bit. But that’s getting better.”
“Good. Good. Thank you. Now, what is your name?”
“Charles Pearson.”
The two men stopped and stared at each other. They exchanged confused glances and then turned back to their subject.
“What’s your name again?”
“It’s Charles Pearson.”
“Is that your real name?”
“Yes! My name’s Charles Pearson.”
The Hispanic man shrugged to his partner and wrote something on the paper before continuing to speak.
“Okay, Mr. Pearson. My name is Eddie. This is Paul. We work with the doctor who just left the room.”
“So he is a doctor
?”
“Yes, Mr. Pearson. He is very good at what he does.”
“But I’m not sick,” Charles said.
“Well, we’re here to assess that. Now, we must continue with the questioning. What do you remember before this moment?”
“Um, how far back?”
“Well, just describe the events leading up to this moment. Recent events.”
“Okay,” Charles paused in thought, trying to decipher the purpose of the question and what they wanted to hear. “I was sleeping. I then woke up here. And saw you two walk in. Then the doctor. Then I felt a sharp pain. And, um, I then saw… I don’t know.”
“What don’t you know?”
“I think I passed out. But I don’t know. It got dark, and then it was bright again and I was still here and you guys started talking.”
“Do you remember anything while it was dark?”
“No. Not at all.”
“Did you hear anything?”
“No.”
“Did you smell anything?”
“No!” Charles said, getting agitated.
“Do you recall any of your senses during that time?”
“No! It was just dark. Look, I’ve been very cooperative. Can you tell me what the hell is going on?”
Eddie set down the clipboard on a nearby cabinet and then looked at Charles. “We’re here to help you, Mr. Pearson. You’ve been determined to be sick. You’ll be working directly with the doctor who’s here to help.”
“But wait, I—”
“You must always answer any questions truthfully. The doctor may ask you questions, or I may ask you questions, or anyone else in a blue coat may ask you questions. You must always answer truthfully, or we may treat you incorrectly and that could be very dangerous. Understand?”