Little Girl Lost.
013.
Rodney's shoulders ached. His whole body ached; living every day on no sleep and too much caffeine was beginning to take a toll on both his mental and physical health. Even if he wanted to sleep, he couldn't. He had tried but he just lay awake for hours staring at the ceiling and then there was the ever-nagging thought that she might call, someone might call telling him that she had turned up..or that they had found her body.
He should have driven her to school. He should have made sure she didn't walk, he had never liked the idea but he didn't say anything. That was his mistake, he wouldn't forget it. He knew his parents wouldn't, he could see it in their eyes every time they looked at him. He wanted to scream and yell at them, they were never there so how could they blame him? When was the last time they drove her to school, picked her up from practice or even showed up to one of her competitions?
"You're just as bad as them."
He sighed, shaking his head as if to get rid of the persistent thought that hung at the back of his mind.
The tall grandfather clock that stood in the hallway chimed loudly, filling the house with its call. He had always enjoyed the sound of the antique timepiece, it sounded rich and hearty. But now, it seemed to be mocking him and every time it had sounded the hour; he just felt more anxious and was filled with more dread. He knew the statistics of missing persons, 24 hours was your window.
9:00 A.M. 26 hours.
"Rodney, please come here." He heard his mother call out from the living room.
"Probably going to tell me this is enough attention they can give their family for the year." He grumbled under his breath.
Emerging from his bedroom, Rodney slowly trudged out into the living room, "What do you want." He knew they could hear the lack of concern in his voice.
His parents were seated on the couch, looking over stacks of papers and manila envelopes, "We have to head back to the office for the day.."
He could hear their voices and see their lips were moving but the roaring in his head drowned them out. Red flashed across his vision and before he knew what he had done, he had picked up the glass vase perched on the nearby bookcase and thrown it at the wall opposite him.
His mother jumped and his father yelled. He didn't care.
"No! No, you won't do this. She's gone, she's missing and you are too invested in your clients than your own daughter? She could be dead, she could never come home and you couldn't care less. As long as you can line your pockets with your money, you greedy assholes." He spat. Gesturing wildly, he desperately hoped they would just listen to him for once.
The room fell silent aside from the soft rustling of papers in his mother's hands.
"You are out of line, Rodney."
"No, Daniel, I'm not." He shouted back in response, addressing his father by his name to accentuate his frustration, "You don't care that she's gone, do you?"
"Sitting here and moping about the house will not do anything for anyone. The police are doing their jobs, we just have to be patient." She spoke quietly, too focused on whatever paperwork was in her hands to meet his eyes.
"Patient? Calayah is missing and you think we just need to be patient?"
"Rodney, you need to calm down. Take a walk, son. We'll be home before the vigil, and hopefully by then you'll have adjusted your attitude." Daniel said sternly, crossing his arms over his chest. His suit jacket ruffled under his elbows and Rodney fought back the urge to laugh at the joke of a man; of a father, who stood in front of him.
"Like hell you will, I'm sure both of you will find an excuse."
He hoped his mother cried. He hoped his father regretted every moment that they hadn't paid attention to either Calayah or him. Somehow, he knew that most likely wouldn't be the case. They didn't seem like they really cared what had happened, or what would ultimately happen.
Returning to his secluded bedroom, he slammed the door behind him and slumped to the floor. He had completely forgotten about the vigil. Calayah's gymnastics team and coach had organized it and the news networks in town were all talking about it; along with their repetitive reports on her disappearance. It was nauseating, seeing his sister's picture flashed across television screens with the bold words, "Breaking News" scrolling under it. He'd prefer to stay at home holed up in his room than go outside and face people, but he knew he would have to be there.
Candlelight vigils, police officers, news reports, detectives, crime scene tape; none of it seemed real. Perhaps this was just some freak nightmare he had yet to wake up from, maybe he was in a coma somewhere and this was his brain's twisted way of dealing with it. If only.
Vvvvt. Vvvvt.
His phone vibrated atop the small dresser that stood next to his disheveled bed. The blue glow from the screen seemed to be mocking him as if bad news was so surely waiting for him on the other side.
"Hello." He grumbled. He wasn't exactly in the mood to talk to anyone, who would be?
"Hey man, it's Hayden. How are you holding up?"
"How do you think." He snapped back.
"Sorry, sorry. I know, that was a stupid question to ask. Look..I'm here for you alright? Just try to keep your head up, oka-"
Rodney didn't reply, he hung up before hearing the rest of what his friend had to say. He didn't need to hear people's accolades of, "stay strong" and, "it will be okay." Nobody could promise or assure him that it would. Even Hayden, being friends as long as they had, couldn't pull him out of his pessimism. He was sure he'd see him at the vigil that night, maybe he'd apologize or at least explain why he felt so hostile towards everyone.
"Fuck." He muttered under his breath, picking his weary body up off the floor beneath him and plodded back to the living room to pick up the pieces of the shattered vase.
He left his phone on the floor, not noticing the text message that lit up the screen.
"I have her."
He should have driven her to school. He should have made sure she didn't walk, he had never liked the idea but he didn't say anything. That was his mistake, he wouldn't forget it. He knew his parents wouldn't, he could see it in their eyes every time they looked at him. He wanted to scream and yell at them, they were never there so how could they blame him? When was the last time they drove her to school, picked her up from practice or even showed up to one of her competitions?
"You're just as bad as them."
He sighed, shaking his head as if to get rid of the persistent thought that hung at the back of his mind.
The tall grandfather clock that stood in the hallway chimed loudly, filling the house with its call. He had always enjoyed the sound of the antique timepiece, it sounded rich and hearty. But now, it seemed to be mocking him and every time it had sounded the hour; he just felt more anxious and was filled with more dread. He knew the statistics of missing persons, 24 hours was your window.
9:00 A.M. 26 hours.
"Rodney, please come here." He heard his mother call out from the living room.
"Probably going to tell me this is enough attention they can give their family for the year." He grumbled under his breath.
Emerging from his bedroom, Rodney slowly trudged out into the living room, "What do you want." He knew they could hear the lack of concern in his voice.
His parents were seated on the couch, looking over stacks of papers and manila envelopes, "We have to head back to the office for the day.."
He could hear their voices and see their lips were moving but the roaring in his head drowned them out. Red flashed across his vision and before he knew what he had done, he had picked up the glass vase perched on the nearby bookcase and thrown it at the wall opposite him.
His mother jumped and his father yelled. He didn't care.
"No! No, you won't do this. She's gone, she's missing and you are too invested in your clients than your own daughter? She could be dead, she could never come home and you couldn't care less. As long as you can line your pockets with your money, you greedy assholes." He spat. Gesturing wildly, he desperately hoped they would just listen to him for once.
The room fell silent aside from the soft rustling of papers in his mother's hands.
"You are out of line, Rodney."
"No, Daniel, I'm not." He shouted back in response, addressing his father by his name to accentuate his frustration, "You don't care that she's gone, do you?"
"Sitting here and moping about the house will not do anything for anyone. The police are doing their jobs, we just have to be patient." She spoke quietly, too focused on whatever paperwork was in her hands to meet his eyes.
"Patient? Calayah is missing and you think we just need to be patient?"
"Rodney, you need to calm down. Take a walk, son. We'll be home before the vigil, and hopefully by then you'll have adjusted your attitude." Daniel said sternly, crossing his arms over his chest. His suit jacket ruffled under his elbows and Rodney fought back the urge to laugh at the joke of a man; of a father, who stood in front of him.
"Like hell you will, I'm sure both of you will find an excuse."
He hoped his mother cried. He hoped his father regretted every moment that they hadn't paid attention to either Calayah or him. Somehow, he knew that most likely wouldn't be the case. They didn't seem like they really cared what had happened, or what would ultimately happen.
Returning to his secluded bedroom, he slammed the door behind him and slumped to the floor. He had completely forgotten about the vigil. Calayah's gymnastics team and coach had organized it and the news networks in town were all talking about it; along with their repetitive reports on her disappearance. It was nauseating, seeing his sister's picture flashed across television screens with the bold words, "Breaking News" scrolling under it. He'd prefer to stay at home holed up in his room than go outside and face people, but he knew he would have to be there.
Candlelight vigils, police officers, news reports, detectives, crime scene tape; none of it seemed real. Perhaps this was just some freak nightmare he had yet to wake up from, maybe he was in a coma somewhere and this was his brain's twisted way of dealing with it. If only.
Vvvvt. Vvvvt.
His phone vibrated atop the small dresser that stood next to his disheveled bed. The blue glow from the screen seemed to be mocking him as if bad news was so surely waiting for him on the other side.
"Hello." He grumbled. He wasn't exactly in the mood to talk to anyone, who would be?
"Hey man, it's Hayden. How are you holding up?"
"How do you think." He snapped back.
"Sorry, sorry. I know, that was a stupid question to ask. Look..I'm here for you alright? Just try to keep your head up, oka-"
Rodney didn't reply, he hung up before hearing the rest of what his friend had to say. He didn't need to hear people's accolades of, "stay strong" and, "it will be okay." Nobody could promise or assure him that it would. Even Hayden, being friends as long as they had, couldn't pull him out of his pessimism. He was sure he'd see him at the vigil that night, maybe he'd apologize or at least explain why he felt so hostile towards everyone.
"Fuck." He muttered under his breath, picking his weary body up off the floor beneath him and plodded back to the living room to pick up the pieces of the shattered vase.
He left his phone on the floor, not noticing the text message that lit up the screen.
"I have her."