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The cops look at each other, not sure what to make of me. I’m certain they don’t believe me. In their minds, the partner is always responsible when someone goes missing. I’ve tried to tell them I’m not even her boyfriend, that we’ve only been on a couple of dates. But it doesn’t matter, they still think I’m a suspect.
They’ve been interrogating me for hours in this tiny room, and I can feel my patience wearing thin. The walls are bare and the only furniture is two chairs and a small table with a single light bulb hanging overhead. It’s stuffy and smells of sweat and desperation, traits that certainly aren’t mine but those of the countless other people who have been here before me.
“Those are all the questions we have right now. We’ll reach out to the other department to corroborate your story, and we’ll be in touch if we find her,” Officer Dickhead says.
I let out a sigh of relief when I realize they’re finally letting me go. The two officers stand and lead me out of the tiny room. My feet feel like lead as I walk down the long hallway, passing by closed doors with slivers of light peeking through the cracks.
Finally, we reach the end of the hall, and Officer Dickhead opens the door leading outside. He steps to the left, waving his hand for me to pass through. I hesitate for a moment before taking a step forward into freedom, squinting against the bright sun of the afternoon. He gives me one last warning not to leave town until further notice, and I nod in agreement. Taking a deep breath, I turn away from him and wonder how I’m supposed to get home without my bike, cell phone, or car.
The police department is only a couple miles from home, so I walk. The sun beats down on me as I trudge forward. My thoughts focus on Alana and where she could be. The person who’s been watching her has to be local. She didn’t have this problem until she moved to the city. Over the last couple of months, she ran into them somewhere.
Cars speed by me, one after another, and the sound of their engines roars in my ears. Sweat drips down my neck and face, and the cotton of my shirt clings to my skin like a second skin.
A sigh of relief escapes my lips when my house comes into view, and I climb up the porch stairs and anxiously enter the code to unlock my front door. Finally, I turn the doorknob with a triumphant click and step inside. A gust of cool air caresses my damp skin, giving me goosebumps and making me shiver.
My gaze falls onto the couch. All I want to do is collapse into it; I’m exhausted and want nothing more than to sleep. Instead, I force myself to walk upstairs to my bedroom. I strip off my clothes, throwing them in a pile on the floor, then I walk into my bathroom for a much-needed shower. The hot water cascades down on me, washing away all the heat of the day and making me feel more human again.
When I step out, steam rises around me, and I quickly towel off and change into clean clothes. Before I can do anything else, I need to drink some water and eat, so I walk to the kitchen. I grab a tall glass and fill it with ice cold water. I gulp it down in one go, then pour another before grabbing a couple of bananas from the fruit bowl.
I sit at the kitchen table for a few moments while my thoughts drift back to Alana.Is she okay? Where is she?
I need to talk with someone before I go mad. Thankfully, my work phone is upstairs, so I stand up and grab it from my office. Taking a deep breath, I dial my dad’s number and wait for him to answer.
He picks up on the second ring. “Hello? Andreas, I’ve been trying to call you. Did you lose your phone?”
As soon as I hear his voice, the tumultuous story tumbles from my mouth. I start with meeting Alana, and then fill him in on everything that’s happened.
“That’s why I called you, Dad. I just got home from the police station, and I think they think I had something to do with this. They’re probably not even looking for her. What do I do?”
The line is silent for a full minute, then my dad says, “I’m sure they’ll find her, son. You’re telling the truth, and that will come out. Especially when they talk with police and hear that you’re being honest about the other reports she’s had to make.”
“I know, but what am I supposed to do? Just sit around while she’s in danger? I feel responsible, Dad. Had I just brought her straight home last night, she’d be here. I want to go out looking for her,” I say.
“Andreas, you wouldn’t even know where to start,” he says. “The police need to do their job. You need to rest and try to calm down. It probably wouldn’t hurt to call and speak with our lawyer. He can give you advice. If the cops get tunnel vision and don’t want to investigate outside of your involvement, he’ll help. Why didn’t you tell me about Alana before now?”
“Dad, we’ve only been on one date. I let her stay here because someone broke into her apartment, and when she moved her things out, she found a camera. Someone’s been watching her for a while, and she wasn’t safe. I swear, it’s not a relationship that I was keeping from you or anything like that. It’s not even a relationship. I just feel bad because she doesn’t have family or friends up here yet. Oh no, I bet her family doesn’t even know she’s missing,” I say.
“I understand. Look, just give our lawyer a call and let him know what’s going on. Other than that, you’ll have to wait and see what happens. I’m sure the police are going to contact her family in case she shows up there. They usually do that for a missing person’s case. I hope she’s found safe. Let me know when you hear something,” he says.
“Thanks, Dad. I’ll keep you updated,” I reply, then we hang up after we tell each other goodbye.
I sigh heavily, then grab my phone and call our lawyer, Norman Bunte. We talk for a few minutes and he only stops my long story to ask a question every now and again. In the end, he agrees that it’s a good idea to keep him updated in case he needs to get involved. He also assures me that everything will be okay, and that he’ll check in with me periodically to make sure all is going well.
Our conversation didn’t really make me feel better. He said everything I’ve already heard from everyone else, that the cops are doing their best. Get some rest, and she’ll probably turn up. But there’s a chance she won’t. Not if the cops aren’t looking into the potential stalker abducting her. She’s already been gone over twelve hours, and they’re wasting time if they aren’t actively trying to find out who’d been watching her. I’ve watched enough TV to know that the first seventy-two hours of an investigation are the most crucial, and I can’t help but hyper-focus on the time as it passes.
I sigh and realize I need to get the tires on my car changed and replace my lost cell phone. The cops had assured me they’d let me know if they found it when they canvassed the lake for evidence, but I wasn’t hopeful they’d return it. A thought flutters into my head, and I try to focus on the weird feeling it brings, but it disappears as quickly as it started. I shake off the feeling and try to focus on getting things done so that I can get some rest. I plan on driving to the precinct that handled the cameras to see if I can speak to the detectives about Alana’s disappearance. Hopefully, CPD has already reached out, but in case they haven’t, I want to make sure the ball is rolling.
My dad and my lawyer probably wouldn’t love that idea, so I made sure not to mention it to them. But damn it, I couldn’t just sit around and wait for them to find her. Especially if they weren’t looking in the right places and communicating with each other. We have sixty hours to find her, and every second that passes decreases the chances of finding her alive. I refuse to let anything happen to her.
45
Chapter Forty Five
Alana
Against all odds, I fell asleep at some point. The bag keeps me in the dark, so I can’t tell what time of day it is. Judging by how dry my mouth is, I slept a full night’s worth. My hands and feet are still bound and numb, and I’m afraid if he doesn’t loosen them soon, I’ll end up losing fingers and toes. I try to wriggle them to help with circulation, but I can’t tell if it’s working or not. I wish I could get the hood that’s covering my head off. Even though I’ve been in here at least a full day, and I haven’t been able to see anything the entire time. Maybe it’s better that I can’t see, though.
I can’t remember the last time I ate, and my stomach rumbles loudly in the dark. I wonder if he’ll feed me, or if he expects me to rot away in here. Footsteps approach, then the keys in the doorknob. He’s back.
