The Tear Collector

by Shawn Burgess

  My mother’s tensed face relaxes. “Well, I guess that makes sense. Brooks, please go with Detective Holt. Remember what I told you. I want you to answer all of his questions. I’ll be right here waiting for you.” My mom pats the top of my head.

  “Thanks, Susan. Okay, son, we best get moving. Just follow me.”

  My mom sits on the pew as I follow Detective Holt past the desk officer. My mother mouths I love you as I’m led away. We walk through a narrow passage between two rows of desks. Each of the desks displays a name plate, but the desks are all empty at this late hour.

  Detective Holt opens a door and we enter a dark hallway. The fluorescent lights above flicker and hum to life. They light a long, windowless hallway, its empty walls painted drab gray. There’s an underlying odor of sour mop water permeating the air. The faint buzz of an old-fashioned soda vending machine greets us as we pass. We walk through its cherry glow to the end of the hall, the clacking echo of the detective’s shiny shoes announcing our advance, before we come to an abrupt stop at one of the doors. Detective Holt fumbles with his keys before placing one of them into the large metal door and opening it.

  He clicks on the light and leads me inside the square, windowless room. One large metal desk in the center with two chairs occupies most of the room. There’s a tan folder, a notepad, and a pen ordered on one side with a glass pitcher of ice water and two empty glasses beside it on the other. A nineties-era box video camera in the top corner of the room, positioned to face the table, stands alert as a dutiful scribe, a silent witness. A little red light near the camera lens blinks every other second.

  “Go ahead and have a seat.” Detective Holt pulls a chair out for me.

  I sit. The vent above me rattles as icy air blows into the room. I shiver before crossing my arms and clutching my elbows to stay warm.

  “So, I know you know why you’re here, and I appreciate you comin’ down to the station tonight. You’re not in any trouble, so I don’t want you to feel nervous in any way.” Detective Holt fetches the pen and opens the notepad. “It’s very important that you tell me the truth. This is a very important case, and you know it’s against the law to lie to the police, right?” Detective Holt leans forward on the table.

  “Yes sir.”

  “Good stuff. So, your mom told me that you saw Margo Combs this morning, is that correct?”

  “Yes sir, I did.”

  “Where did you see her, son?”

  “She was in the woods, sir. Behind the end of Parson Street.”

  Detective Holt jots something down on his notepad before continuing. “Can you be a little more specific?”

  “Well, she surprised me. She was wearing her nightgown. I was walking in the woods. On my way to Grief Hollow.”

  Detective Holt lifts his eyes from his notepad.

  “Why were you in the woods? And why were you going to Grief Hollow? I know your mom wouldn’t approve of that.”

  “It’s a shortcut, you know, to Jennings Bridge.”

  “Not really. Sounds more like a long cut.” Detective Holt cocks his head, and his eyes narrow on me. “Why wouldn’t you just take Chambers Road to Jennings Pike?”

  He’s right. Not a shortcut. Much quicker to take the roads. But he doesn’t know about Sammy and Myron. It was a shortcut for me at the time. Crap! My story doesn’t make sense. He’s suspicious. I’m frozen.

  “Brooks, I’m going to ask you again, why were you in the woods?”

  “Umm…” My brain flusters. Sammy’ll come after me even harder if he thinks I snitched on him. And to the police! Sammy always says snitches end up with stitches.

  “Kid, come on. I’m a police officer. I can tell when you’re not telling me the truth, so I’m going to ask you again. Why were you in the woods?” His abrupt tone sends my heart into a sprint. His face splotches crimson and his jawline tenses. I have to tell the truth. I blurt it before I think better of it.

  “Sammy Needles and Myron were chasing me, sir.”

  “And why were they chasing you, son?”

  Oh no. The question I was dreading. Can I go to jail for what I did to Sammy Needles? Will he arrest me for kicking him in the privates?

  “Look kid, there’s a little girl’s life that hangs in the balance here. So you’d better start talking.” His eyes tunnel into mine as he taps the tip of his shoe on the polished white tile.

  “They were picking on me, sir. Umm… I… umm, I kicked Sammy Needles in his privates and got away on my bike. I was hiding from them in the woods.”

  I’m prepared for the worst, ready for Detective Holt to remove the shiny handcuffs from his belt and latch them around my wrists. Instead, he lets out a small chuckle underneath his breath and grins. A wave of relief washes over me, and I melt into my chair as I exhale the breath I’ve been holding. Detective Holt reaches for the water pitcher and pours a glass. He slides it across the table to me. He shakes his head.

  “I swear that Sammy Needles kid is going to end up in my jail sooner than later.”

  I take a sip of my water and release a deep breath through my nose. The icy water cools my thermal insides.

  “Do you know Myron’s last name, son?”

  “I don’t, sir.”

  “Did they follow you into the woods?”

  “I don’t think so, but I’m not sure.”

  “Have you ever seen Sammy pick on Margo before?”

  “Umm, yes sir. I’ve seen him call her a freak before and trip her.”

  Detective Holt pauses for a moment, glances up and to his left as if he’s chasing a thought, before writing something on his notepad.

  “Do you think Sammy Needles would have any reason to hurt Margo?”

  “I don’t think so, sir.” My voice wavers as I consider the question. Would he hurt her? Maybe he would.

  “So when you ran into Margo, did she say anything to you?”

  “Umm, yes. But it was very strange. She said that the Collector is coming and that Grief Hollow would be its home.”

  Detective Holt’s face crinkles. “What in the Sam Hell does that mean? Is that some kind of Pokémon thing?”

  “I’m not really sure.”

  “Did she say anything else?”

  “No sir. That was it.”

  “What happened next?”

  “Well, she pointed in the direction of Grief Hollow, so I turned to look. When I turned back around, she was gone.”

  “What do you mean, gone? Like she was running away from you?”

  “No sir, she was just gone. Disappeared.”

  Detective Holt scratches his temple and squints his eyes at me. “You know that doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, right?”

  “Yes sir. I do know that, sir. But that’s what happened.”

  “Okay, well, did you hear her footsteps? Maybe what direction she went in?”

  “No sir, I didn’t. I called out her name a few times. I was going to try to help her get back home. She didn’t answer and I couldn’t find her. Then, I got kinda creeped out and decided to leave.”

  “And you’re sure you didn’t hear which way she went? Like the rustling of leaves or something.” Detective Holt raises hopeful eyelids.

  “No sir. I really didn’t.”

  “And what time did this happen?”

  “I think it was around nine forty-five this morning.”

  Detective Holt draws in a breath and releases a long exhale through his nose as he lifts his head. He scrunches his lips and narrows his eyes on me. He closes his eyelids tight for a moment and rubs his temple.

  “So, you mentioned you were going to Jennings Bridge. Why were you going there?”

  “To meet up with my friends, Robby and Tee, sir.”

  “And were Robby or Tee with you when you ran into Margo?”

  “No sir. I was alone.”

  “Do you think there’s anyone who can verify your story?”

  “Well, I told Tee and Robby about it when I got to Jennings Bridge.”

 
; Detective Holt’s eyes brighten. He pulls out his walkie-talkie from inside his jacket, turns the dial at the top and presses the button.

  “Marcy, can you get Sandra Mitchell, Tee Mitchell’s mom, on the phone for me? I need to have Sandra ask Tee a quick question. Over.” Detective Holt studies my face for any change of expression.

  Static crackles before the line goes quiet, and a woman’s voice comes on.

  “On it, Holt. Give me a sec. Over.”

  Detective Holt looks me over again, studying me with discerning eyes.

  “Got her on the line, Holt. What did you want me to have her ask Tee? Over.”

  “Have her ask Tee if his friend Brooks told him about running into one of their classmates in the woods today, and if so, who was it? Over.”

  The ear-scratching static lasts for a few moments before Marcy’s voice returns.

  “Holt. Tee just told Sandra that Brooks did tell him and Robby that he ran into Margo Combs in the woods this morning. You want me to have her bring him into the station? Over.”

  “No, that won’t be necessary, Marcy. But go ahead and send a patrol car over to the end of Parson Street, and have them take a look there in the woods for Margo. Over.”

  “Will do, Holt. Over.”

  Detective Holt turns off his radio and puts it away inside his jacket. He’s tapping his fingers on the desk, glancing at me sideways and scrunching his lips. He moves forward, grabs the tan folder on the table and opens it. He spreads out a few drawings.

  “Do these drawings mean anything to you, son?”

  I inspect the strange drawings. In the first one, some type of clawed hand holds a boy high in the air. The drawing contains considerable detail. The creature’s defined legs and elongated claws appear in the foreground, but it really doesn’t mean anything to me. The sketch of the boy’s body ends with his neck straddling the top edge of the page, the omission of his face preventing any further clues.

  The second drawing appears mostly black and features a circular whirlpool thing by a gnarled tree, but it really makes no sense to me.

  The third drawing looks familiar, but I can’t place it. I flip it around and my mouth drops. It’s clearly a sketch of Copperhead Creek in Grief Hollow. There’s the burned-out tree fort. And my eyes bulge as they follow the detail to the snake thing that I saw form from the mist earlier. There’s a large tree branch on the ground, and to my horror, even the footprints appear in the bank of the creek that I saw form earlier that morning. My heart bounds in my chest.

  I lift my wide eyes to meet Detective Holt’s, my mouth still ajar. “Where did you get these?”

  “Margo’s house. Why? Does that picture mean something to you?”

  “Yes. Yes, it does. That’s Grief Hollow.” My voice quakes.

  Detective Holt takes the drawing and inspects it.

  “Sure is, isn’t it?”

  Detective Holt thanks me for answering his questions and leads me to my awaiting mother. I give her a tight hug.

  Detective Holt smiles. “You’ve got a great boy there, Susan. We’re all done here. Brooks was great. You guys can go on home. Thank you for calling and coming in.”

  “Of course. And thank you, Tripp.” She shakes his hand.

  “Oh, and Susan. If we don’t find Margo tonight, I might need to come by in the morning and have Brooks take us to the spot in the woods where he saw Margo. Would that be okay?”

  “Of course, Tripp. Whatever we can do to help out. Tell Kirsten we’re thinking about her.” My mother puts her arm around me and leads me outside to the car to go home.

  Chapter 10

  The Find

  THE DOORBELL RINGS at 8:34 a.m. I jump up from my perch by the TV, leaving my bowl of cereal and cartoons playing in the background. I hustle to the door, an extra bounce in my step. Tee’s supposed to meet me before heading to Robby’s house. As I open the door, my big smile dissipates.

  Detective Holt’s standing there, his police cruiser idling behind him in our driveway.

  “Good morning, Brooks. Is your mom home?”

  “Mom.” I never break eye contact with him. He flashes a forced half-smile, his eyes like sinking sunsets.

  My mom comes to the door. “Hey, Tripp. What’s going on?”

  “Well, I hate to do this, Susan, but we didn’t find Margo last night. She’s been missing for three days. We really don’t have any leads. I was hoping I could take Brooks with me real quick to show me the spot in the woods where he last saw Margo.”

  “Yeah, sure, whatever you need. Brooks, go and put on your shoes please.”

  “What’s all the racket?” My father grumbles as he emerges from the bedroom, squinty-eyed.

  “Hey, Travis.” Detective Holt gives my dad a wave. My dad wears his late-night hours at the power plant on his face.

  “Well, go on and get your shoes, Brooks. Travis, Brooks is going to take Tripp to the place in the woods where he saw that missing girl. To help with their investigation.”

  I walk to the kitchen to grab my shoes, tying them as I listen.

  “Hey, Tripp. Real shame about that missing girl. Susan told me about it when I got home last night. Let us know if we can help.” My father shakes Detective Holt’s hand.

  “I might just do that. Thanks, Travis.”

  “I’m so sorry about the baby. How’s Kirsten holding up?”

  “Travis!” My mom smacks my father on the shoulder.

  My dad flips his palms over and crinkles his lips. “What?”

  “It’s okay, Susan. Really. Kirsten…she’s doing okay. Just taking it day by day.”

  “Give her our love.” My mom gives Detective Holt a warm smile before cutting razor eyes at my dad.

  “We’d better get going, Brooks. I promise I won’t have him gone that long.” Detective Holt is already moving to the door.

  “No problem, Tripp. Buddy, do your best to help Detective Holt, and make sure you listen to what he tells you. Love you, son. Good to see you, Tripp.” My dad retreats to the bedroom.

  My mom kisses me on the top of the head, and I follow Detective Holt to his police cruiser. He opens the passenger door for me, and I get in. A metal platform juts out from the dashboard, holding a laptop computer, and several interesting buttons that I haven’t seen before in any car protrude from the dash. I buckle my seatbelt as Detective Holt gets into the car.

  “Ever been in a police car before?” Detective Holt eases out of our driveway.

  “No sir. It’s pretty cool.” I point to one of the buttons. “What’s that do?”

  “Oh, that? That’s for the sirens. Probably a little bit early for that. Don’t want to wake up the whole neighborhood just yet.” He grins at me. “Tell you what. Since we’re on official police business of sorts, you want to turn on the lights?”

  My eyes grow big and I nod.

  “Hit this switch right here.”

  I hit the switch and the lights come on. I smile out my window as the flashes of blue and red lights dance on the passing mailboxes and houses. We turn on Parson Street and coast to the end of the hill. There’s a police patrol car already parked at the end of the street, and we park behind it. Detective Holt cuts off the emergency lights, and we get out of the car.

  Two police officers, dressed in navy blue uniforms, step out of the other patrol car. I recognize the older officer as the one I saw the day before when Tee was towing me on his bike.

  “Brooks, this is Officer Morrow and Officer Clancy. They’re going to help us. All right, gentlemen, let’s get moving. Brooks, can you lead the way?”

  I retrace my steps. I find the place where I stashed my bike the day before. We continue walking and I start to recognize some of the trees. We walk several hundred more yards before I stop.

  “Here. I was standing here. I tripped on this root yesterday. Margo was right over there.” I point to a flat spot by a small pine tree.

  “Okay, good work, Brooks. Guys, go ahead and spread out and see what you can find.” The me
n fan out.

  Detective Holt walks to the spot I pointed out and kneels. He begins sifting through the damp leaves on the ground with the tip of an ink pen.

  He moves a clump of leaves revealing a small child’s footprint in the soggy earth. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  I walk closer as he brushes away more of the leaves with his hands and uncovers more small footprints. He begins sifting through more of the leaves, following the path of the footprints for a couple of feet.

  Kneeling, Detective Holt draws in his lips in contemplation, eyes scanning the surrounding forest floor. He gives a squinty-eyed shake of his head at the abrupt end to the path of footprints, before he clears an even larger area of leaves. Still, no additional footprints. Unsatisfied, he clears an area of about ten feet by ten feet, but there’s nothing. The footprints are contained in a small five-foot radius with no indication of how that person got there or left. He touches a few spots on the ground and determines that the moisture content of the soil seems similar.

  “Got something, Holt.”

  “Stay with me, Brooks.” I follow Detective Holt as we hustle in the direction of Officer Morrow’s voice.

  We weave through trees and thick brush before coming into a clearing. Officer Morrow’s standing by what looks like my backpack.

  “I found this Holt, but I didn’t want to open it.”

  “I think that’s my backpack.”

  Detective Holt cocks his head at me. “Did you leave it out here yesterday?”

  “No sir. When I ran into Sammy and Myron yesterday, Myron took it from me.”

  “Open it up, Charles.”

  Officer Morrow fiddles with the backpack trying to find the zipper.

  “Holt, it’s got some kind of black…well, I don’t know what it is. Slime or something.”

  “Put these on.” Detective Holt pulls a pair of blue nitrile gloves from his pocket and hands them to Officer Morrow.

  “Now go ahead and open it up.” Detective Holt moves in closer.

  Officer Morrow reaches into the backpack and pulls out an Uncrustables peanut butter and jelly sandwich. My lunch from yesterday.

  “Detective Holt, that’s my backpack. I had an Uncrustables in it yesterday!”