Monsters

Chapter Three

3

Emmy stepped inside the Sheriff’s department building, glad to feel the warmth inside. Fall weather seeped into her bones and, especially when the proper winter cold came, froze her to the core. This year felt like winter had come early.

The building was too big for the size of the department. Even fully manned, there appeared to be room for double the staff. Most days, the only people found inside were Daisy, the desk clerk, and one of the Sheriff’s deputies. Gabriel’s Horn wasn’t exactly a den of crime, but there seemed to be enough to keep them busy most days.

Emmy made it to the front desk and, predictably, saw Daisy was the only one there. Several unoccupied desks took up the rest of the open plan front office. Daisy typed away on her computer, an earbud stuck in her one ear with another hanging down. From Emmy’s left she heard some clattering and banging from one of the offices that lined the perimeter of the building.

“Daisy, this coffee is stale,” John yelled through his open door.

“You don't like it? How about you walk your bony ass over to the machine and change the filter out?” Daisy continued to type, never drawing her eyes away from the task at hand. Her cute, cartoon-character voice drowned out the sound of Emmy clearing her throat. She still hadn’t been spotted by Daisy.

“But you do it so much better.” John laughed.

“You know what?” Daisy started but then stopped, finally seeing Emmy standing patiently at the front desk.

“Mrs. Watson is here to see you, John. Again.” Emmy shot her an angry glance, but Daisy had already returned to the task at hand.

Scarlett is all that matters. Emmy fought the bile rising in her throat. “Am I bothering you, Daisy?”

Daisy stopped typing and looked at her, the cynical mask falling away. A flash of heat rose up Emmy’s neck. She imagined slapping the younger woman, but only saw her hand shattering in slow motion along the length of her arm and the explosive fractures cascading down her body. One hundred thousand fragile pieces, raining on the floor and melting away. Gone forever. She realized now that she was already shattered and all it would take is one small hit and she’d be gone. She shook her head, hoping that Daisy never had to understand what it felt like to have her whole reason to live plucked from her body.

She remained at the front desk, facing towards John’s office, aware that, like Daisy, he had no children and neither he nor his momentary intercession with the FBI had proved in the least bit useful. It wasn’t that Kurzeka or his boss Cooper Reid were bad at their jobs; it was just the fact neither of them were parents, a glaring fact she had found out during the first week of the investigation. And then there was the FBI who came down from Seattle like modern day Knights of the Round Table, ready to rescue the missing girl and set right the wrong. Only what actually happened was they walked around in an official manner for almost two weeks, interviewing every living soul within fifty miles and came up with exactly nothing. And she knew some of them must have had children and been able to sense her desperation, but once a major celebrity’s child disappeared, so did they, apologizing as they packed up their circus and rolled out of town in their big, black SUVs. If they did care, they did not care enough.

John appeared in his doorway, running his fingers through his black hair and straightening his shirt. He smiled as he waved her over. She tucked her hands into her jeans and offered her own practiced smile, the same one she had given every day since her daughter had disappeared.

Emmy had begged and cajoled and screamed at the police to begin with, as horror dulled to despair and resignation started seeping into her heart. Later she had brought trays of cookies – transparent and child-like bribes – to the sheriff’s office, police or someone, anyone, to help find her daughter. She hadn’t been back to work, refusing the return to normalcy like it was admitting the unthinkable. Her visits had been hourly, then daily, but now only every few days. Every Monday, she came for a progress report and the most she could manage was a flicker of a smile.