Seventeenth Dawn

2) The Detective

I somehow find myself in my own bed tucked under a heated blanket with my leg propped up in a splint. Pain reverberates through my skull and my leg pierces like I've been stabbed. Light filters lazily through the window, promising a good day. Uncle Vic walks in and perks up a half-smile when he sees me awake. "Casey, my sweet girl. How are you feeling?"

"My head hurts. And my leg--"

"You broke it in two places. Do you remember anything? It looked like you took a nasty fall."

I think only of one thing: "Is Daniel okay?"

"Casey," Uncle Vic says slowly, "Daniel never came back last night."

Uncle Victor wraps his arms comfortingly around me as I fall prey to vicious sobs, racking my entire body with cold grief. I sit numbly on the couch for several more hours until the sun's rays drip into the living room. Uncle Vic was called away for a few minutes, so I take the opportunity to call up the new taxi service in town.

I thank the driver and pass him the transportation fare.

I burst through the police office's front doors, limping so unevenly that I look like I am about to topple over, and swing my cast-clad leg up to the desk, arms moving awkwardly with the shining stainless steel crutches. I feel the bruises under my arms deepen as I hop with more enthusiasm than usual. Angry enthusiasm, but enthusiasm nonetheless. It's the same intern as before, and his face pales when he sees me. He winces, looking sheepish, and hesitates before making eye contact. When he does, his hazel eyes remain unfocused and flash around my different facial features as well as objects behind me.

He should be concerned. I'm upset. Anger seethes out of me in roiling waves, casting a dark mood over the entire room.

"You know what happened last night?" I ask him, not really waiting for an answer. "My best friend disappeared. While searching for the other missing boys. I was there with him the entire time. I promise you he wasn't drunk, and I know for a fact that it's not drugs. So whatever stupid excuse you're about to come up with you can keep to yourself. My leg is broken in two places, my head hurts like a son of a motherless goat, and my best friend is missing!"

Some of the officers grow uneasy and lean forward in their chairs, ready to jump up at any sign of violence. Officer Benson, who knows me from teaching safety at my elementary school and various conventions I volunteered at as I matured, tries to stifle his laughter. Tears form in his friendly, blue eyes, and his rosy cheeks grow redder around his wide smile. He's a man with bushy, grey eyebrows that stick up raggedly like horns, and a similarly-colored handlebar mustache. He takes great pride in his mustache, the ends of which he curls up everyday with a good lathering of product. Even to his waist, he's a jolly man, with a hefty stomach and a heftier laugh.

Officer Benson knows me quite well, so naturally he laughs at the prospect of me as threat. He may just be wrong today.

It's hard to tell if the intern is more frightened or humiliated at this point, for his eyes are wide yet his cheeks are flushed. "I..." he begins slowly, "appreciate your predicament. Mr. and Mrs. Oswald came in earlier to report their son missing. I'm assuming that's who you're talking about?"

My eyes narrow at his nonchalant choice of words. I jab a finger at him, face scrunched up in fury, and growl, "You insensitive--!" I take a breath, close my eyes, and try to turn off the burner before the pot boils over too much. "You're not worth my time. Because even though this is beyond your small range of understanding, someone I love is missing, and I'm concerned his time is scarce." I march--a very loose interpretation of the action--to the back of the office, passing dumbfounded officers and the fretful intern, and bang my clenched fist on the sheriff's closed office door.