Little Girl Lost.
020.
They were coming up on the third week. Tomorrow marked twenty one days since Calayah had disappeared without a trace and with each minute that the clock ticked; Rodney felt more and more hopeless. He never left the house anymore. Everywhere he went, he saw her face on fliers and posters. It was if the world around him mocked him, screaming at him that he failed her, his family, himself. Time mocked him, each time the second hand moved he could hear it screaming.
"Your. Fault. Your. Fault."
It was enough to drive someone insane.
That morning ran over and over in his memory, a never ending loop that he couldn't stop. He should have given her a ride, he should have insisted. He shouldn't have let her leave the house by herself, he should have known better. He blamed himself, he hated himself and the empty bottles that had begun to gather like dust bore silent testimony to all that pent up loathing.
His parents had stopped with the lectures, the chastising, the harsh remarks about how he had quit his job. Of course, staying holed up in your dark bedroom with the door barred by a chair served as a good way to keep people away. He was beginning to hope that they would just forget they had a son. They seemed to forget that they had ever had a daughter.
Rodney swallowed hard.
"Had a daughter."
The familiar fire of alcohol burning the back of his throat felt so much better than the way those words felt bouncing around the insides of his pounding skull. The bottom of those bottles had become ever so comfortable, like the glass was meant to fit perfectly in his weary hands.
The house was dark and quiet. The hallways he was so accustomed to seemed sinister and cramped as he wandered through them, plodding his way to the den where his father's bar stood- replete and full of whatever poison he desired. It wasn't as if Daniel was ever around to notice if a bottle or ten was missing.
Rodney halfheartedly smiled to himself with nostalgia, reminiscing over all the parties he and his friends had thrown in high school with the help of that cherry and granite bar. Absent, workaholic parents had its perks at times, as few and far between that they were.
His eyes wandered across the dimly lit room, to the stack of boxes that had been pushed into a far corner. Calayah's coach had gathered the various cards, photos, candles and the occasional stuffed animals that were left behind at the vigil and brought them to the house. She had muttered something about his parents not being able to attend but they both knew better. He was sure she just didn't have the heart to do anything with all of it. His parents had elected the dark corner of the den as their personal storage space for reminders of their missing daughter, and stayed far away from the room since. Rodney was surprised that they hadn't barricaded or locked the doors, it seemed like something they would have done.
Twisting the cap off his latest friend, he found his feet carrying him over to the corner and he slowly sat down in the dark brown armchair that stood closest to the mountain of boxes. A green and yellow stuffed bear poked out the side from one of the cardboard containers and his heart twinged in painful agony. Green and yellow were the colors Calayah loved, she always said they reminded her of summer and the months they spent at the lake house during the summer as kids.
"Fuck." Rodney sighed, his chest beginning to quake.
"Rodney?"
He spun around, wiping the first signs of tears away from his eyes with the back of his hand.
Sharna stood there, a burgundy robe wrapped tightly around her thin frame. He caught a whiff of fresh cigarette smoke as she stepped closer into the room. She quit smoking years ago and judging by the stray, faint smell of perfume- she was trying to keep him thinking that she hadn't started again.
"What do you want, Mom." He turned away, not expecting a real answer.
"I saw the light was on in here, just checking to see if you were okay.." Her sentence trailed off as she glanced at the tower of assorted boxes.
Rodney tried to ignore the crack in her voice and instead wondered if her eyes always looked so glassy.
"Like you care." He scoffed, pointedly taking a long swig from the brown bottle he clasped in his hands.
"RJ, of course I care." She stepped forward, using his childhood nickname. As if that would work.
"Don't you dare lie to me, you have lied enough and I won't have any more of it."
"Why would you say that I don't care? I'm your mother..of course I care."
He knew better than to believe her. As much he longed for her to hold him close in her arms, to tell him it would be okay and that all of this wasn't his fault, that he wasn't to blame for Calayah disappearing.. he knew better.
"Sure." He pushed passed her roughly, still clutching the bottle in hand.
"Rodney, please. Just talk to me." She called after him but he stalked back up the stairs and she was left alone in the dark den with her burgundy robe and pack of stale cigarettes in her pocket.
Sharna's eyes shifted over the boxes and she sighed. Not tonight, tonight was not the night to go down that road. Instead, she flipped the light switch on the paneled wall and the spacious room was plunged back into darkness.
"I'm so sorry, baby." She whispered to herself, fingers glancing over the family photos that hung on the wall next to the staircase; tear-filled eyes wavering over her daughter's smile, "I'm so sorry."
Rodney stood above her behind the balcony railing, looking down at the scene with contempt and disgust. Leave it to his parents to feign concern and care for their child after she's gone. Maybe if they did a better job when she was still here, this never would have happened. He wanted to scream at her, to throw the bottle down and hear the cacophonous crash of glass as he yelled at her and placed the rightful blame for what had happened on her shoulders. But he didn't.
"Evil bitch." He thought to himself, letting his anger and hatred stew.
His bedroom door was slammed shut and he slumped to the floor, tipping the bottle back until his emotions were washed away with alcohol and he couldn't feel anything anymore. Sharna returned to the master bedroom and yet again, the Davis household was returned to silence and darkness, no more screaming or heart-wrenching conversations. There was only silence.
And the small paper envelope that lay in a bottom corner of one of the cardboard boxes with, "To the Davis family," inscribed on the front in plain, block lettering remained undisturbed and undiscovered, the family none the wiser of what had been left behind for them at the candlelight vigil and what it meant for Calayah.
"Your. Fault. Your. Fault."
It was enough to drive someone insane.
That morning ran over and over in his memory, a never ending loop that he couldn't stop. He should have given her a ride, he should have insisted. He shouldn't have let her leave the house by herself, he should have known better. He blamed himself, he hated himself and the empty bottles that had begun to gather like dust bore silent testimony to all that pent up loathing.
His parents had stopped with the lectures, the chastising, the harsh remarks about how he had quit his job. Of course, staying holed up in your dark bedroom with the door barred by a chair served as a good way to keep people away. He was beginning to hope that they would just forget they had a son. They seemed to forget that they had ever had a daughter.
Rodney swallowed hard.
"Had a daughter."
The familiar fire of alcohol burning the back of his throat felt so much better than the way those words felt bouncing around the insides of his pounding skull. The bottom of those bottles had become ever so comfortable, like the glass was meant to fit perfectly in his weary hands.
The house was dark and quiet. The hallways he was so accustomed to seemed sinister and cramped as he wandered through them, plodding his way to the den where his father's bar stood- replete and full of whatever poison he desired. It wasn't as if Daniel was ever around to notice if a bottle or ten was missing.
Rodney halfheartedly smiled to himself with nostalgia, reminiscing over all the parties he and his friends had thrown in high school with the help of that cherry and granite bar. Absent, workaholic parents had its perks at times, as few and far between that they were.
His eyes wandered across the dimly lit room, to the stack of boxes that had been pushed into a far corner. Calayah's coach had gathered the various cards, photos, candles and the occasional stuffed animals that were left behind at the vigil and brought them to the house. She had muttered something about his parents not being able to attend but they both knew better. He was sure she just didn't have the heart to do anything with all of it. His parents had elected the dark corner of the den as their personal storage space for reminders of their missing daughter, and stayed far away from the room since. Rodney was surprised that they hadn't barricaded or locked the doors, it seemed like something they would have done.
Twisting the cap off his latest friend, he found his feet carrying him over to the corner and he slowly sat down in the dark brown armchair that stood closest to the mountain of boxes. A green and yellow stuffed bear poked out the side from one of the cardboard containers and his heart twinged in painful agony. Green and yellow were the colors Calayah loved, she always said they reminded her of summer and the months they spent at the lake house during the summer as kids.
"Fuck." Rodney sighed, his chest beginning to quake.
"Rodney?"
He spun around, wiping the first signs of tears away from his eyes with the back of his hand.
Sharna stood there, a burgundy robe wrapped tightly around her thin frame. He caught a whiff of fresh cigarette smoke as she stepped closer into the room. She quit smoking years ago and judging by the stray, faint smell of perfume- she was trying to keep him thinking that she hadn't started again.
"What do you want, Mom." He turned away, not expecting a real answer.
"I saw the light was on in here, just checking to see if you were okay.." Her sentence trailed off as she glanced at the tower of assorted boxes.
Rodney tried to ignore the crack in her voice and instead wondered if her eyes always looked so glassy.
"Like you care." He scoffed, pointedly taking a long swig from the brown bottle he clasped in his hands.
"RJ, of course I care." She stepped forward, using his childhood nickname. As if that would work.
"Don't you dare lie to me, you have lied enough and I won't have any more of it."
"Why would you say that I don't care? I'm your mother..of course I care."
He knew better than to believe her. As much he longed for her to hold him close in her arms, to tell him it would be okay and that all of this wasn't his fault, that he wasn't to blame for Calayah disappearing.. he knew better.
"Sure." He pushed passed her roughly, still clutching the bottle in hand.
"Rodney, please. Just talk to me." She called after him but he stalked back up the stairs and she was left alone in the dark den with her burgundy robe and pack of stale cigarettes in her pocket.
Sharna's eyes shifted over the boxes and she sighed. Not tonight, tonight was not the night to go down that road. Instead, she flipped the light switch on the paneled wall and the spacious room was plunged back into darkness.
"I'm so sorry, baby." She whispered to herself, fingers glancing over the family photos that hung on the wall next to the staircase; tear-filled eyes wavering over her daughter's smile, "I'm so sorry."
Rodney stood above her behind the balcony railing, looking down at the scene with contempt and disgust. Leave it to his parents to feign concern and care for their child after she's gone. Maybe if they did a better job when she was still here, this never would have happened. He wanted to scream at her, to throw the bottle down and hear the cacophonous crash of glass as he yelled at her and placed the rightful blame for what had happened on her shoulders. But he didn't.
"Evil bitch." He thought to himself, letting his anger and hatred stew.
His bedroom door was slammed shut and he slumped to the floor, tipping the bottle back until his emotions were washed away with alcohol and he couldn't feel anything anymore. Sharna returned to the master bedroom and yet again, the Davis household was returned to silence and darkness, no more screaming or heart-wrenching conversations. There was only silence.
And the small paper envelope that lay in a bottom corner of one of the cardboard boxes with, "To the Davis family," inscribed on the front in plain, block lettering remained undisturbed and undiscovered, the family none the wiser of what had been left behind for them at the candlelight vigil and what it meant for Calayah.