Today he had not had a single word with Maria neither did he kiss his daughter good morning but here he is again, staring at Christian, exactly his daughter's age.
“Did you see anybody walking down with her?”
“No. I didn't even see her until she got very close. Like I knew there was someone there, or at least, something but I couldn't see it.”
“And what time was this again?”
“Around what time was that?”
“I don't know, it was a few minutes past my bedtime.”
Sebastian turns to Sophie, as though redirecting the question to her.
“A few minutes past nine.” he turns back to Christian without as much as an acknowledgement to Sophie.
“What were you doing awake past your bedtime.” The question feels like a threat to Christian and he turns to his mother to seek approval. Nodding softly, he continues.
“I always stay up past my bedtime. Some days, I play the video games and some days, I just stare outside my window.”
“And I am guessing Friday was one of those days you stared outside?”
Christian nods.
“And what did you see?”
“I already told you before,” Christian retorts immediately.
Sebastian knows the boy had said it and he had asked him the question over and over but he can’t help but ask again. The piece feels accurate, too accurate that he feels something is missing. He knows something is missing but without his facts, without the details straightened out in front of him, he knows he needs more or he might as well call it an inactive case.
“It’s alright, you don’t have to answer any more questions. Let’s go to your room.” Sophie helps Christian who is delighted to escape Sebastian’s presence, to his feet. She exchanges a pitiful glare with Sebastian before escaping through the stairs.
Sebastian brushes his hand against his face. It is the same wall, just like the first, there are no leads. He feels like a ball trapped in a closed space and continuously in motion but nothing there is helpful, just walls that bounce him back.
He follows them upstairs, but takes a different turn that heads to Laurel’s room. His conflict is beautifully placed on his face. He is thinking again and the urge to get drowned in the stench and smoke of cigarette is back again but this is his escape. He knows it.
He tells himself he is doing this to catch the bad guys. Someone has to chase them down. Hunt. Hunt—his brain corrects. He is hunting silhouettes and he knows it. Sometimes the criminals are not found until they want to. Two things bring a criminal to justice.
A mistake
They want to be found.
His own words and now they bite him. He believes they must have made a mistake, somehow. A rogue criminal. True. But he also knows a person capable of mistakes will never hit the Browns.
The pieces are there. They are laid out in front of him but he can barely reach them.
He reaches for the knob of the door; Doctor Silas is sitting on opposite sides with Laurel. They seem to be having a more receptive conversation than the one Sebastian just finished. He motions on Silas to excuse him for a moment.
“Give these photos to her. Ask her if she recognizes any.”
“It’s too early for that, Sebastian.”
“It’s not. With every day we spend trying to take things slow, the criminal goes further. The track gets cold.” Silas remains still, not looking at him. She doesn’t say anything. Just there with a declining look that somehow says, you need to get a rest.
“It’s just a bunch of photos,” Sebastian says.
“First is to establish trust. I am barely doing that. I don’t know the situation of her mental state now and you want to bump her with photos of criminals, one of which might be her captor. Sebastian, it’s a firm No!”
“Fine, I will do it myself.” Sebastian tries to get in.
“Sebastian, if you don’t stop, I will call the chief and let him know you are distorting an ongoing session with a responsive patient.”
Fuck!
Sebastian backs off, a feeling of rage and frustration travelling through his veins. He nods in defeat and saunters off as Silas returns back into the confinement of Laurel’s room.
Sebastian reaches downstairs again. He gives up, knowing it’s another without finding the men behind the crime.
“Why?” Sophie calls out from behind. She glides her fingers on the rails and for the first time and Sebastian pays attention to her. Laurel has stolen her amber eyes and petite body but has also stolen her father’s height. She lets her fingers off the rails.
“Why did they let her go now, Sebastian?”
“Nothing is certain now, and she did say Jeremy helped her escape.”
“Tell me, how many times have criminals forsaken their own all in the name of love?” Sophie is standing close to Sebastian and even with the closeness, she probably still doesn’t feel she is close enough. She doesn’t feel intimidated by the man in front of her. Her husband is bigger but Sebastian is younger and only has a few grey hairs.
Sebastian feels threatened by the close proximity and he takes a short step back.
“Almost never.” Sebastian’s voice is low and his dark eyes are locked by Sophie’s darting gaze.
“I don’t buy the story. I think there is more. I know she is my daughter but I don’t buy it. What do you think, detective?” She swivels away from him, her tank top carefully placed on her body. She is thinking and even so, she is intent and cautious of what she says. Sebastian on the other hand only stands fixed to his position, his T-shirt straightened as always and his eyes follow the woman in front of him.
He finally makes up his mind to leave on seeing that Sophie’s attention now belongs to her thought.
“Sebastian.” Sebastian stops to and arches his head towards her direction.
“Find out what really happened.” He nods and exits the house.
Sebastian is a man of straight vision but the Browns case is already as foggy as it gets. He knows what he was getting into long before he accepted to handle the case again. He knows he will go down as the Detective who could not crack the most important case of the year and the criminals automatically become public figures. He knows the precinct will be taken for granted and crime rates against the rich will heighten over the years and while all these are facts, he also knows nothing he knows about the case is a fact. For all he knows, he can as easily also say the lady they now see is not Laurel Brown. Figuratively and literally.He had woken up with the whole house to himself and although the awkward quietness around hits him, he is totally unbothered by the whereabouts of his wife. He is seated in the dining room, a laptop carefully placed on the round shiny table and a cup of coffee by his hand. He searches through the prec
It is the most comfortable office in the precinct. To be realistic, it is the only office. The rest are just desks filled with piles of papers and files. Sometimes, empty mugs. On a few are desktop computers looking like the first-generation computer and are just about the same on the inside.The office Sebastian now sits in is not his. It is the Chief's and as their discussion has gone on for almost forever, with the Chief replaying everything Sebastian narrates to him and then a call from outside interrupts and again, they start from the beginning.Sebastian is slowly gaining more confidence and reassuring strength, at least, he wishes he is.The window makes half the office and the air conditioner makes about a little percentage, except it is no longer functional.What remains as a tangible part of the office is the swirling ce
The wind is gravely quiet and the night is peaceful. Sebastian should be on his bed, wrapping his wife in his arms and reassuring her he loves her but he is somewhere in the middle of the streets, his car piercing through the night and curiosity blazing through every nerve in his body.His gun is carefully sitting beside him as he drives just in front of Wilson Avenue, a few blocks away from the Mansion and the exact point where Laurel resurfaced. He steps down, observing the camera positioned at the rear end of the street. Walking down the street, he observes every building.He hears the bleating of goats and whistling of the wind as they brush against dry leaves. The ground is a sticker and Sebastian is sure he stepped on animal waste. Fuck.He arrives in front of an old house and roof made of palm fronds and striding farther, the blasting of
Curiosity:The sad thing about it is the mesmerizing urge. The interminable doubt and the cast-iron certainty that only the truth brings peace. Only the truth can save the mind from cluttering into an entanglement and wrapping itself into the foils and claws of a mystery. Only the truth will unravel the mind which has become a slave to the hidden things.Another sad thing is that the mind is unable to acknowledge the red lights that shine its path. It seeks what doesn’t seek it and even then, when it knows to turn back, it is fueled by rebellion to keep up till the truth unravels. But the truth is not always what is expected.The truth. Is that even a thing or just the phrase that keeps Sebastian late out this night, driving back home to his sleeping daughter and wife. He shuts his eyes and the only words that registers are;“Are yo
They say when trouble is near the wind becomes thick and the people we walk by always wear the masks of sadness. When we run and trouble rings, our pace quickens and we have somehow connected the dots in our subconscious but is yet to receive the news, even then, we feel the trouble in our chest heaving with every beat the heart makes and the sweat pouring out our skin pores retain the fragrance of fatigue.Laurel Brown is running back home, her pace just a little faster than the normal jog. Her sky blue sleeveless shirt is pressing against her padded breast and a folded black hair is swinging behind her as each foot leaves and bounces on a different spot. She is oblivious of her surrounding, oblivious of the man in a ragged clothe and barefooted screaming at the top of his voice. Words that have no meaning, if they are to be considered words.She doesn’t notice the lady stru
The air is thick, almost like it is made from a double sheeted metal, fogging a clear thought flowing through her brain. The walls seem like they are her only refuge but they seem miles away, continually fading into the distance. She closes her eyes, counting her breath before the anxiety takes full control. One, two, three.“State your name for the record.” Sebastian’s words disrupt her practice.She doesn’t say a word or even acknowledges his words. She wraps her hand tightly against her black purse, casing the handle on her clenched fist. Her feet are tensed and she can feel the relaxation in his eyes – the relaxation that causes her to wonder what he knows—what he thinks he knows.“Fine, Laurel Brown.” Sebastian bends to scribble some words on a journal before raising his head to meet her gaze again. He falls back
Twelve Years ago:It is a Monday evening and a lovely one. The sun is setting amidst the bright, gold clouds and its influence spreads amongst them like shiny pigments of beautiful rays. The wind is calm and soft as though the previous day had not brought stormy and terrifying weather with roaring thunderbolts and chilling, brightened light quakes.Sophie and Laurel are walking down the road back home from school. The school is only a few streets away and since the car is still undergoing maintenance and repairs, Sophie had opted to pick Laurel rather than waiting for Michael to drive back from the farm.She had worn faded blue jeans and a transparent top with a jacket to give her some modesty. Sophie is always conscious of what she exposes to people and although everybody knows and loves them, one can only be careful enough not to be
The sad thing about numbness is not the trembling hands nor the total loss of control of one’s own body, almost like they are another entity habiting an oversized body. It is neither the inability to keep one’s feet steady on the floor that slowly fades away nor the incessant buzzing ring inside their ears, or the sweat streaming down their face. The problem with numbness is the rushing that comes just immediately after – the forceful rush of adrenaline invading every part of the body and the sudden hypersensitivity from zero to above hundred.