Vanishing Act

Friday, 5.28 a.m.

The bed shifted, and Elizabeth fought past the sleep sealing her eyelids to wake up and look at her boyfriend sitting at the edge of the mattress. He was already dressed, a little fancier than usual, but sometimes he liked to go overboard; his earlier days of intricate makeup were proof of that.

“Good morning,” George said when he noticed Elizabeth’s stare. He leaned back and kissed her cheek with a smile.

“It’s dark,” Elizabeth observed, pushing herself into a seated position. “How come you’re leaving so early?”

“I'm getting breakfast with Jon before we go to work. You don’t mind, do you?” he asked, almost as an afterthought. Elizabeth ran a hand through her short blonde hair, a sign of irritation. George waited for her to shake her head before standing up. “I'll see you later.”

“Love you,” Elizabeth said. George smiled in response. She should have been used to him not saying it back.

52 hours missing

“George Ross,” Angela Latham announced, writing the name across the whiteboard next to a picture of a young man with brown hair. “Reported missing this morning by his girlfriend, Elizabeth Berg. She was the last one to see him, leaving for work on Friday morning.”

“Why wait until today to report him missing?” Mark Addison asked, looking through their current information on the missing man. There wasn’t much other than his appearance and profession, writer for the local satire newspaper.

“Apparently Mr. Ross has a habit of spending nights out without saying anything,” Angela responded. “Ms. Berg is in the conference room. Georgia, why don’t you talk to her, get a full statement. Dave, see if George ever showed up to work. John, go to their apartment, try and find anything that might suggest whether he planned something without telling his girlfriend.”

The team split up to their assigned tasks, Christian tagging along with Georgia and Mark trailing after David. John stayed behind, waiting for Angela.

“Is everything okay?” he asked. Pulling her dark hair back into a ponytail, Angela sighed.

“Yes, John, thank you,” she said. Her tone was dismissive. “Now go.”

Georgia Townsend took a seat one chair away from where Elizabeth Berg was situated, reapplying her cat-eye makeup with the help of a compact mirror. Christian Marshall stayed standing behind Georgia.

“Ms. Berg,” Georgia started.

“Elizabeth, please,” the blonde interrupted, closing her compact with a click. Christian resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Elizabeth,” Georgia amended. Elizabeth inclined her head, encouraging her to continue. “I'm Special Agent Townsend, this is Special Agent Marshall. We’d like to ask you some questions about your boyfriend, George Ross.”

“What do you want to know?” Elizabeth asked. She crossed her legs, short dress riding up her thighs, and tucked her hair behind her ears.

“Why did you wait so long to report him missing?” Christian questioned. “If I understand correctly, he didn’t come home from work Friday night.”

“George is not the most dependable person in the world. Sometimes he’ll disappear for the weekend, but he always calls. This time, he didn’t call.”

“Is there any possibility he simply forgot to call you?”

“No.” Elizabeth shook her heard insistently. “He always calls.”

Georgia shot a look to Christian, keeping him from saying anything else. Her expression softened as she returned her attention to Elizabeth.

“Elizabeth, do you know of anyone who would want to do any harm to George? Someone at work, an ex-girlfriend, maybe?” she asked. Elizabeth reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of folded paper. She smoothed it out before handing it over to Georgia.

“I found this in one of his jacket pockets. I know that handwriting; it’s Pete’s.”

“And Pete is?” Christian prompted as Georgia read the note.

“George’s ex-boyfriend,” Elizabeth said, curling her fingers under her chin. Her nails were painted blood red. “Pete Wentz. He’s always been a bitch. And there’s Keltie. Colleen. She and George dated for over a year.”

“I'm guessing it ended badly,” Georgia said. She handed the note back to Christian. In crisp handwriting, it said, “You better watch what you’re doing.”

“He doesn’t talk about it,” Elizabeth replied, frowning. She checked her phone, leg starting to bounce. “Is that all?”

“What about George’s friends?”

“Spencer Smith is his best friend. And the guy he writes the column with, Jon Walker. Neither of them saw him, I asked.”

“About the note,” Christian said before Georgia had a chance to speak. Elizabeth looked up at him. “Do you have any idea what it could be referring to?”

She shook her head and held out her hands. “All I know is that Pete Wentz is a lunatic.”

“Thank you for your time, Elizabeth,” Georgia said. She stood, and Elizabeth followed her lead. “We’ll call you if we have any more questions.”

Elizabeth nodded and walked to the door. She opened it and paused in the doorway, looking back at the agents with her frown still present.

“You’ll find him, right?” she asked. Georgia looked up at Christian.

“We’ll do our best,” he answered. Nodding again, Elizabeth walked out. Her shoes clacked against the floor.

54 hours missing

Angela stood before the round table, consulting her notes on the missing man. As everyone trailed in, she set her file down.

“Alright, what do we know?” she asked once the others were settled. Christian spoke up first.

“We have two potential suspects, Pete Wentz and Keltie Colleen. Both were in romantic relationships with Ross. Wentz apparently gave him a threatening note.”

“After this, go talk to Wentz, then find Colleen. John, what about you? Did you find anything at the apartment?” Angela asked.

“There was nothing to suggest he was planning to go away,” John reported.

“Okay, so it seems more like we’re looking at foul play. Did anyone see him at work Friday morning?”

“I talked to a Jon Walker,” David said, looking through his notes. “He said George hadn’t shown up since Tuesday, but they talked on the phone Thursday night and he didn’t say anything about going away. “

“Did he mention the note?” Angela prodded. David looked to Mark, who shook his head. Clasping her hands together, Angela looked at the timeline. She was about to give more orders.

“There was something,” Mark said. Angela raised her eyebrows at him for him to continue. “Walker said he saw Ross arguing with someone Tuesday afternoon.”

“Great, did he say who?”

“He didn’t recognize them. All he knew was it was a brunette male, early twenties, with brown hair and glasses. We told him to come in this afternoon to talk to a sketch artist.”

“Okay. Now we might have something,” Angela said. “Georgia, did you get any associates from the girlfriend?”

“There was a Spencer Smith, apparently Ross’s best friend, but we haven’t been able to get in contact with him,” Christian answered. “Georgia and I were going to go to his apartment.”

“Right, you and Georgia find Smith. John, we’ll talk to the ex-girlfriend. Mark, you and Dave find Wentz and bring him in. I want to know what he was talking about in the note.”

“Sure thing, chief,” Mark said, getting up with a salute. Angela shot him a bored look, and he smiled. “Come on, David. Let’s go where my humor is appreciated.”

“So we’re going nowhere?” Dave quipped. Georgia laughed as she and Christian followed them out.

55 hours missing

John knocked hard on the apartment door, watching Angela check her watch for the fifth time in two minutes. He debated asking her what was going on, but she was already irritated with him for no reason. The door swung open, and a blonde woman stood between it and the jamb, looking annoyed.

“Who are you and what do you want?” she asked.

“Keltie Colleen?” Angela said, pulling out her ID. At the woman’s nod, she held it up. “I'm Special Agent Angela Latham; this is Special Agent John Tyler. We’d like to ask you a few questions about George Ross.”

Keltie’s face brightened. “Is he dead?”

“No, ma’am, he’s missing,” Angela answered, surprised. Keltie let out a sigh.

“Damn. Well, what do you want to know about that bastard?”

“We understand that you two used to be involved,” John said.

“Yeah, until he cheated on me with some slut. Is that what this is about? You think I wanted revenge?” Keltie asked, incredulous. She leaned into the hall, eyes boring into John’s. “I had my revenge. I kept his dog.”

Pete Wentz did not seem at all inconvenienced by the two agents currently guiding him into an interview room. He actually appeared amused.

“You actually think I did something to George Ross?” he asked, sitting in the chair Mark held out for him. His expression was a mix of delight and disbelief.

“Elizabeth Berg gave us a note she found in George’s pocket,” David said. “It matches your handwriting.”

“A note?” Pete replied. He hummed. Mark dropped the paper, contained in an evidence bag, on the table in front of him. “Oh, that note! That isn’t a threat.”

“It sure sounds like a threat,” Mark said. “‘You better watch what you’re doing.’”

“I was looking out for him.”

“Looking out for him. Right. And why exactly would you need to look out for him?” David questioned. Pete folded his hands on the table, a smile on his lips.

“Because. George was playing a dangerous game.”

Pete heard raised voices coming from the break room, recognizing one of them as George Ross. Since he was a nosy human being, he paused beside the doorway.

“You have to stop, Ryan!” an unknown voice yelled. Pete knew everyone who worked at the paper, and this one didn’t belong to any employee.

“I’ve told you already!” Ryan shouted.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re working on it. Right.”

The door flew open, and a younger man stepped out, red in the face and close to tears. He noticed Pete watching him and glared. George followed, reaching out for the man’s arm.

“Don’t,” the man barked. He let out a breath, closing his eyes momentarily. “I'm leaving.”

“I'll walk you out,” George said, but the man shook his head. As he walked away, George sagged against the door jamb.

“Troubles?” Pete asked. Jumping, George turned to look at him.

“What did you hear?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Pete said innocently. “It just seems like maybe you’re two-timing again, sweetheart.”

“It’s none of your business,” George snapped. He stormed away, and Pete smiled.

“And when did that happen?” Mark asked.

“Tuesday afternoon,” Pete answered. “Whoever that dude was, he was pretty pissed off.”

Another agent knocked on the door as he opened it. “Jon Walker is here.”

David followed him out, leaving Mark to frown down at Pete Wentz.

56 hours missing

Christian and Georgia had been standing in front of Spencer Smith’s door for ten minutes, waiting for him to open the door. He had answered already, but he’d just gotten out of the shower and went back to put on some clothes. Just as Christian was about to suggest breaking the door down, it opened again, with a fully-dressed Spencer Smith inviting them in.

“You’re here about George, right?” he asked, sitting in an armchair. Christian and Georgia squished together on a small couch.

“That’s correct,” Georgia said. “When was the last time you saw him?”

“Thursday night. He stopped by after work,” Spencer answered.

“Was he acting strange at all?” Christian asked. Spencer thought about it for a moment.

“No. Not really,” he said, shifting his weight. Georgia leaned forward.

“Not really?”

Spencer looked at him with a pained expression. “He was happy. I hadn’t seen him happy in ages.”

Christians phone beeped. He checked it; David had sent him the sketch of the man Jon Walker described.

“Mr. Smith, have you ever seen this man?” he asked, holding out the phone. Spencer took it and looked at the screen, frowning.

“I don’t think so. Why?”

“George was seen arguing with him Thursday afternoon. It appears as though they may have been involved.”

“George wouldn’t cheat,” Spencer said automatically. He didn’t sound like he believed it.

“Should we have any reason to believe this man might harm George in any way?”

Still staring at the picture of the sketch, Spencer sighed. “No. They’re in love.”

“So you have seen this man before,” Christian said, taking his phone back. Spencer smiled slightly, shaking his head.

“Call it a hunch.”

58 hours missing

For the last hour, John and Georgia had been going through George Ross’s phone records, armed with highlighters for any numbers that were called multiple times. John looked at his current page and frowned.

“I think I found something,” he said. Georgia set down her page and rolled her chair over to him, looking over his shoulder. He pointed to a highlighted line. “Ross has called this number at least once every day for the last three months.”

“Who’s it belong to?” Georgia asked. John followed the line with his finger.

“Someone named Brendon Urie.”

Getting out of the black sedan, Mark took off his sunglasses. David rounded the car to stand beside him, looking up at the house owned by Brendon Urie. It was impressive for a twenty-five-year-old, as was the motorcycle parked against the side of the house. Mark led the way up at path to the front door and knocked. As a minute came to pass, he knocked again, harder.

The curtain covering the side window moved, and a pair of dark eyes looked out. A man opened the door just enough to stick his head out, wet hair hanging past his eyebrows. Dave and Mark exchanged a look; he was the man from the sketch.

“Brendon Urie?” Mark said.

“Yes,” the man replied, sounding confused. He blocked the doorway with his bare torso. David showed his ID.

“We’re with the Missing Persons division of the FBI.”

“Okay,” Brendon said.

“We’d like to ask you a few questions about George Ross.”

Brendon stared at David blankly for a moment, seeming lost. His eyebrows furrowed, then he made an ‘o’ with his lips. “Ryan. What about him?”

“Have you seen him recently?” Mark inquired. Turning his attention to Mark, Brendon smiled.

“Seriously?”

“I'm not sure I see what’s so funny.”

“Hold on a sec,” Brendon said, shutting the door before either man could protest. He returned quickly, swinging the door wide. Another man was with him, being held in place.

“You’re George Ross,” Mark said, frowning.

“Good job,” George replied, pushing at Brendon’s hand. “What do you want?”

“We’ve been looking for you. Your girlfriend filed a missing persons report,” David answered. Brendon immediately let go of George’s arm and stalked off further into the house.

“Well I'm not missing; I'm here. Do you need anything else or can I keep Brendon from breaking all the plates again?”

As he spoke, there was a crash from inside. Without waiting for an answer, George slammed and locked the door.

“Well,” Mark said.

“I guess we should tell the girlfriend her boyfriend has a boyfriend,” David said.