Little Girl Lost.
004.
The early, autumn morning was relatively dull and quiet. Time seemed to crawl ; moving slower and slower with every minute that ticked by.
Groaning, Rodney stretched his arms above his head, trying to work out the kinks and knots in his muscles. Late nights and early mornings weren't allowing him much sleep but he knew better than to bring his arduous and demanding schedule up to his boss. Working retail was bad enough without having Paul Richter barking at you over the slightest discrepancy.
A few people trickled into the small, office supply store occasionally. Some stared at the stiff-backed, swivel chairs, others at the displays of ballpoint pens; as if buying a pen that will run out of ink in a few weeks is an important decision that requires deep thought. Who exactly has the urge to go shopping for printer paper at 9:30 in the morning?
"How long until lunch time?" He thought to himself, even though he had just checked the clock a few moments ago.
The buzzing, fluorescent lights overhead were giving him a headache. He had gotten so sick of those blaring, white bulbs and their incessant hum. Rubbing at his temples, he tried to rid the tension and throbbing from his skull.
"Rodney, would you come back here for a moment?" His boss called to him from the back of the store.
The few customers that had ambled into the store were continuing to dawdle in various aisles. With no excuse to ignore his employer's request, he trudged to the back office fully expecting another tirade criticizing his, as he put it, ''lack of a tangible work ethic."
"Sir?"
"Ah, I'll need you to stay late again tonight. I have some personal matters to attend to and I need someone to close up for me." He stated matter-of-factly, not bothering to look up from the pile of paperwork sitting in front of him.
"I thought you said I had the night off, I made plans with my sis-"
Mr. Richter cut him off sharply, "There has been a change of plans, I need you to stay late."
"With all due respect, I can't do that...Sir."
The movie..Calayah. The two of them barely spent any time together anymore. Growing up, they had always been close but between her gymnastics, high school and Rodney's job; there was little room left for actually hanging out or even just talking to each other. He had even asked Mr. Richter for the night off a week in advance, to make sure this wouldn't happen and here the old geezer was blowing him off because he was more important.
"Oh, you can't?" He paused and looked at Rodney from behind thin, wire framed eyeglasses, "Then I suppose you won't be able to come into work tomorrow either. You'll be out of a job."
Trying to stay calm and keep his temper in check, he replied through clenched teeth, "I understand. I'll be here to close up tonight."
Fist clenched and grit jaw, Rodney was furious but he knew there was nothing he could do about it. Either lose his job for some much-needed family time or spend another late night at the dingy, office store and let Calayah down. Again. Once again standing at the register, under those emetic, buzzing lights; frustration surged through him like electricity and he slammed his fist against the blue-gray counter top.
"Oh!" Startled, one of the customers jolted, nearly knocking over a shelf of greeting cards in the process. She stared at him with wide eyes, clutching a ream of printer paper in her hands.
"Sorry. There was...a fly." He pretended to brush off the counter, and offered a shaky smile to the frazzled woman. She nodded, not entirely convinced, and went back to her intense browsing of notebooks.
Suddenly, his pants pocket began to vibrate, "I thought I set you to silent," he mumbled to himself as he pulled his cell-phone out of his pocket.
He stared at the number for a moment, confused. Why would they be calling him, especially now?
"Hello?" He answered, glancing back to the office door. It was shut, Mr. Richter wasn't aware of the call.
"Hello, Rodney? This is Beth McKinnon, I'm your sister's coach here at the school."
"Uh..yeah, I recognized your number..is everything okay? Is something wrong with Calayah?"
"I was hoping you could answer that.." She responded, and it wasn't until then he sensed the worry in her voice.
Heart pounding against the walls of his chest, Rodney ran every red light between the store and home. His head was spinning and he felt sick to his stomach. Calayah never made it to practice, she hadn't checked in to homeroom. Sweaty hands clenched the steering wheel, tires screeched as he pulled into the driveway of their home.
"Calayah!" He shouted, jumping out of his Jeep. He didn't bother to close the door or remove the keys from the ignition.
"Please be home, please be home." His mind screamed. She had to be here, she must have come home. She didn't look that well this morning, maybe she was sick.
A thorough inspection of the house failed him, she wasn't here. Her gym bag and shoes weren't at the front door where she always left them. The door to her room was still closed, just as she had left it earlier this morning.
Frantic, he ran his hands through his hair. The world around him was spinning, his headache was only getting worse.
"Keep it together, Rod." He mumbled, sprinting back to his car.
He drove back down the street, slower this time, trying to keep an eye out for anything. A sweater, a sneaker, her gym bag. His stomach lurched at the thought and his nausea only worsened when he re-called national headlines, amber alerts of people who had gone missing.
"Keep it together, Rod." He repeated, trying desperately to reassure himself.
Thankfully, the streets were clear as it was still early. He had the advantage of driving far below the speed limit, able to spend more time staring at the sidewalks that ran along the street. The atmosphere was beautiful; crisp, golden leaves were scattered everywhere and a few still precariously hung from thin, tree branches above. If only the picturesque morning wasn't tainted.
He slammed on his brakes, something had caught his eye; just barely out of sight under the blanket of leaves in a nearby ditch.
Rodney jumped out of the vehicle and dashed over to the concrete sidewalk, dirt dusting the sides of his black shoes. He brushed aside the carpet of autumn color that was scattered across the sidewalk, grabbed hold of the object in the ditch and pulled it out from beneath its covering.
His heart sank into his toes, everything around him became very cold and still.
He was holding Calayah's gym bag, the bottom of the strap splattered in blood.
Groaning, Rodney stretched his arms above his head, trying to work out the kinks and knots in his muscles. Late nights and early mornings weren't allowing him much sleep but he knew better than to bring his arduous and demanding schedule up to his boss. Working retail was bad enough without having Paul Richter barking at you over the slightest discrepancy.
A few people trickled into the small, office supply store occasionally. Some stared at the stiff-backed, swivel chairs, others at the displays of ballpoint pens; as if buying a pen that will run out of ink in a few weeks is an important decision that requires deep thought. Who exactly has the urge to go shopping for printer paper at 9:30 in the morning?
"How long until lunch time?" He thought to himself, even though he had just checked the clock a few moments ago.
The buzzing, fluorescent lights overhead were giving him a headache. He had gotten so sick of those blaring, white bulbs and their incessant hum. Rubbing at his temples, he tried to rid the tension and throbbing from his skull.
"Rodney, would you come back here for a moment?" His boss called to him from the back of the store.
The few customers that had ambled into the store were continuing to dawdle in various aisles. With no excuse to ignore his employer's request, he trudged to the back office fully expecting another tirade criticizing his, as he put it, ''lack of a tangible work ethic."
"Sir?"
"Ah, I'll need you to stay late again tonight. I have some personal matters to attend to and I need someone to close up for me." He stated matter-of-factly, not bothering to look up from the pile of paperwork sitting in front of him.
"I thought you said I had the night off, I made plans with my sis-"
Mr. Richter cut him off sharply, "There has been a change of plans, I need you to stay late."
"With all due respect, I can't do that...Sir."
The movie..Calayah. The two of them barely spent any time together anymore. Growing up, they had always been close but between her gymnastics, high school and Rodney's job; there was little room left for actually hanging out or even just talking to each other. He had even asked Mr. Richter for the night off a week in advance, to make sure this wouldn't happen and here the old geezer was blowing him off because he was more important.
"Oh, you can't?" He paused and looked at Rodney from behind thin, wire framed eyeglasses, "Then I suppose you won't be able to come into work tomorrow either. You'll be out of a job."
Trying to stay calm and keep his temper in check, he replied through clenched teeth, "I understand. I'll be here to close up tonight."
Fist clenched and grit jaw, Rodney was furious but he knew there was nothing he could do about it. Either lose his job for some much-needed family time or spend another late night at the dingy, office store and let Calayah down. Again. Once again standing at the register, under those emetic, buzzing lights; frustration surged through him like electricity and he slammed his fist against the blue-gray counter top.
"Oh!" Startled, one of the customers jolted, nearly knocking over a shelf of greeting cards in the process. She stared at him with wide eyes, clutching a ream of printer paper in her hands.
"Sorry. There was...a fly." He pretended to brush off the counter, and offered a shaky smile to the frazzled woman. She nodded, not entirely convinced, and went back to her intense browsing of notebooks.
Suddenly, his pants pocket began to vibrate, "I thought I set you to silent," he mumbled to himself as he pulled his cell-phone out of his pocket.
He stared at the number for a moment, confused. Why would they be calling him, especially now?
"Hello?" He answered, glancing back to the office door. It was shut, Mr. Richter wasn't aware of the call.
"Hello, Rodney? This is Beth McKinnon, I'm your sister's coach here at the school."
"Uh..yeah, I recognized your number..is everything okay? Is something wrong with Calayah?"
"I was hoping you could answer that.." She responded, and it wasn't until then he sensed the worry in her voice.
Heart pounding against the walls of his chest, Rodney ran every red light between the store and home. His head was spinning and he felt sick to his stomach. Calayah never made it to practice, she hadn't checked in to homeroom. Sweaty hands clenched the steering wheel, tires screeched as he pulled into the driveway of their home.
"Calayah!" He shouted, jumping out of his Jeep. He didn't bother to close the door or remove the keys from the ignition.
"Please be home, please be home." His mind screamed. She had to be here, she must have come home. She didn't look that well this morning, maybe she was sick.
A thorough inspection of the house failed him, she wasn't here. Her gym bag and shoes weren't at the front door where she always left them. The door to her room was still closed, just as she had left it earlier this morning.
Frantic, he ran his hands through his hair. The world around him was spinning, his headache was only getting worse.
"Keep it together, Rod." He mumbled, sprinting back to his car.
He drove back down the street, slower this time, trying to keep an eye out for anything. A sweater, a sneaker, her gym bag. His stomach lurched at the thought and his nausea only worsened when he re-called national headlines, amber alerts of people who had gone missing.
"Keep it together, Rod." He repeated, trying desperately to reassure himself.
Thankfully, the streets were clear as it was still early. He had the advantage of driving far below the speed limit, able to spend more time staring at the sidewalks that ran along the street. The atmosphere was beautiful; crisp, golden leaves were scattered everywhere and a few still precariously hung from thin, tree branches above. If only the picturesque morning wasn't tainted.
He slammed on his brakes, something had caught his eye; just barely out of sight under the blanket of leaves in a nearby ditch.
Rodney jumped out of the vehicle and dashed over to the concrete sidewalk, dirt dusting the sides of his black shoes. He brushed aside the carpet of autumn color that was scattered across the sidewalk, grabbed hold of the object in the ditch and pulled it out from beneath its covering.
His heart sank into his toes, everything around him became very cold and still.
He was holding Calayah's gym bag, the bottom of the strap splattered in blood.