Missing

3

Chapter Three

The Next Day

The wind whipped through my hair as I walked down the familiar road that I had grew up on- all was silent. I passed the oak where Mark and I had pretended to be Peter Pan and whatever the girl had been called; in fact the closer I got to it the more I could see the carvings we had done in the bark. The lump in my throat was silenced by reason and rationality, soaking up any nostalgia that tried to wash over me. 

The red door I had opened hundreds of times was standing in front of me before I could even process where I was, on the doorstep were a few bunches of flowers and cards from either friends of Lacey (Mark's mother) or friends of Mark. Walking up to the door slowly I thought over what I would be doing; I would be opening up past wounds to help the person who had never been there for me. Not even when we were friends.

Sitting on the doorstep, I thought  back to the day I had first met Mark; how overwhelmingly happy I was to have another kid on the block to play with. I remember being scolded by my mother for getting my trousers dirty while playing in the garden wit him but most of all I remember feeling alive. At six years old, I felt more alive with him than I had ever felt. Running my hands through my hair, I couldn't help but reminisce the good times that had taken place in the front garden that I was facing; I had lost the vibrant colour that I remembered so vividly from playing in it as a child.

"Kansas?" A voice from behind called and I faced the woman that had been like a second mother to me with teary eyes, "Oh it is you! Do come in dear." Her voice lacked the usual brightness that I could recall, the sound saddened me. Walking through the hall, depression hung in the air which put down my mood even more. Dust had found its way onto every surface somehow, despite the three and a half day span that Mark had been gone. The lights had all been switched off giving the place a gloomy feel. It made me feel on edge the whole time, and also more worried about Lacey's mental state. 

"Sit down love, I'll make you some tea," the old woman seemed to be more frail since I had last seen her all those five years ago. I couldn't tell whether she had looked so gaunt for a long time or whether it was repercussion from the news about her son. I chose to believe both theories. The constant whine from the kettle filled the awkward silence as we sat waiting for the tea to brew; I tapped my fingers on the table whereas Lacey just looked out the window as if her staring would make her son magically come back.

"How have you taken the news?" I asked and almost immediately regretted it because the sadness in her face broke my heart.

"Honestly- terribly," she shook her head and laughed to herself although it was anything but a joyous laugh, more of an awkward laugh, "You never think it will be your son. You never think that your baby's face will be plastered over every newspaper saying that he's been taken and most likely dead. You never think you'll have reporters outside your door every day asking questions you cant answer.You never think that you'll get calls at 1 am saying they've found another body and it could be the boy you've raised."

I nodded my head as she spoke, but I couldn't imagine what she was going through. The daily torment of even just going into his room.

"Where do you think he is?" I asked quietly, hoping that I wouldn't push her too over the edge. The last thing I wanted to do was upset her unnecessarily.

"He hasn't been taken- that's for sure," she scoffed and sipped at her tea leaving me shocked in my seat. She sounded so sure and confident despite the fact that she was going against what the police has said; the top theory was that he had been kidnapped on his way home.

"What makes you say that?" I asked in my dazed state.

"Come upstairs with me," this got my senses in gear. The way she was so confident threw me off edge and for a second I believed that upstairs I would find a dead Mark and she would be holding a knife when I turned around- like something out of a horror movie. But then I remembered who I was dealing with, it was Ms Smith, the kindest person in the world. The woman who baked cookies on a daily basis and believed happiness was the cure to everything.

As we walked up the stairs I looked at the pictures that were hung up on the wall; Mark holding various medals for an assortment of sports. There were some family photos from when they had gone on holiday and even a few baby photos of Mark. Up there as well, were some photos of his sister who was five years older than Mark. As if she had read my mind, Lacey stopped in front of me and smiled, "Karen knows about Mark, don't worry. She can't come home though because of her course but she is terribly worried about her brother. She always asks about you- did you know that? She always thought you and Mark were perfect for each other." 

We stood awkwardly after that, neither of us had acknowledged the fact that Mark and I weren't friends anymore. Not until then. Sighing, we continued up the stairs and the anticipation bubbled inside of my stomach. Walking into Mark's room, I saw he had taken down his Star Wars posters and replaced then with ones of football players and bands that I had never heard of; it was like he had erased every nerdy part of himself for this hipster athlete. The lady walked over to the drawer and pulled out a well-worn book that had seen better days and began to flick through the pages, finally stopping on one.

"Read it," she commanded and I took the book with hesitation. 

February 23rd 2015

This is not an entry

They are after me.

Don't try to find me.

Goodbye

"What does this mean?" I asked looking at Mark's mother in confusion.

"He kept a diary, I don't know why. Maybe to release his pent up feelings. I read it when he had left, to look for clues and I came across this. He was planning to run away from some people, I don't know who- he never mentioned being in any trouble in the diary. This was his goodbye note. You see the thing is, it was written on a Monday but he ran away on the Friday. Why did he wait so long? What happened that made him stay?" Her face was covered in worry.

"I don't know- have you shown the police this?" I asked warily, pointing at the book in my hand.

She nodded her head, " They just took a few pictures and left. They are so stubborn- they think they're so right about it being a kidnapping case. How can anyone kidnap and six foot tall boy who is practically made of muscle!"

Her voice became more high pitched as she spoke so I placed a comforting hand on her shoulder to calm her down; she sunk into the bed and placed her hands over her face.

"Solve this for me," she said, her voice pleading and desperate.

"I'll do my best," I whispered, "Can I take this back with me to examine?"

With one nod she fell back onto the bed and began to faintly snore, the events taking it's toll on her. Slowly I crept out of the room, far more confused than when I had walked in.