Missing

11

Chapter Eleven

The Next day

"Honey I think you should stay at home today after being so sick last night," for the first time in forever my mother was taking my well being into consideration. I nodded weakly and then placed my head down on the pillow; my throat was still dry from being sick hours before and I had a headache caused from sleep deprivation. I really just needed a rest.

Half an hour later, I heard the front door bang shut and silence sheltered the house. It wasn't the eery sort of silence that makes your hairs stand on end, it was the sort of silence that relaxed you- made you feel calm. Closing my eyes, I feel asleep immediately hoping that I would be allowed to have a rest without dreams interrupting my peace.

Three hours later, I opened my heavy lids and stretched out feeling rejuvenated and ready to start the day. Looking over to the clock, I felt my stomach grumble instinctively when I saw that it was almost past two in the afternoon. As I was leaving the door, my hip knocked against the desk and a whole heap of things fell off. Cursing I began to pick the pieces up, mentally scolding myself for being so clumsy. Then I was holding it in my hands again. The diary that wouldnt leave me.

Haunting words swarmed my brain as I trudged down the stairs, the words that my brain had manage to concoct in Mark's voice in that ominous dream. I tried to ignore the nagging voice in my head as I made a sandwich for myself but I couldn't help but replay the words over again.

"Shine a light," I muttered to myself, then I froze in my seat. Shining a light...on the paper.

"Invisible Ink!" I almost screamed and I threw my sandwich down untouched before sprinting up the stairs to pick up the thing that had caused me so much misery over the past few days.

Fumbling around in my drawer, I prayed that I still had a torch for emergencies- stowed away under countless diaries that I hadn't touched in years. Finally my fingers clasped onto the cold metal and I pressed the button which let off a faint light. Climbing under the duvet, with the diary in one hand and the torch in the other, I prayed that it would work and I wasn't just being delusional.

Opening it onto the last page, I shone the light onto it hoping to see another bit of text appear. It didn't. But my instinct told me to push on and hope that I could find a message laying beneath the surface. Pages turned and nothing came out, I was beginning to doubt myself. I was ,after all, placing my hope into a dream that I wasn't sure even happened.

Then I got to January 24th and I almost collapsed from relief;hidden away was a sentence, or actually more of an address. Grabbing my notebook I wrote down the words, not reading them at first. When I finally came to look at my scribble, I practically fell off the bed from shock.

Sycamore Wood. You know the one Kansas.

Sycamore wood had been closed to the public after it was found out that a serial murderer had used it as a killing spot, but before then Mark and I had played in it. Almost everyday in Summer would would run down to Sycamore wood and spend hours running through the vibrant green trees and running our hands through the lush grass. It was surprising to know they hadn't looked there, especially since they thought initially they were dealing with a kidnapping and murder case.

But that was not the part that made goosebumps rise on my arms, it was the sentence after. He knew I would be the one to find him, he knew that he could play his mind games. He had been planning to run away for almost a month, he had been messing with my mind on purpose. He knew I would spend countless hours trying to decode cryptic messages he wrote just to torment me.

Grabbing my phone angrily, I called the police station with the news although I felt a bit lost. I had solved the case, well practically; it was just a matter of if they could find him. Laying back on my bed, I closed my eyes. Mark Smith may of thought he was clever, but not clever enough.