Two



There's nothing beautiful about hospitals. Not the glittering white tiles from brick to the floor, not the mixture of bright sight of blue and fish tanks or even the flowers set equally outside and in. 

Christian knows this. Michael knows this. The Browns know this. It is not their first time being here. It is not the first time they walked into a hospital waiting room with their fingers in their mouths and conflicting thoughts jumbling their minds till they totally forget about the fragrance of an expensive hospital with the little antagonizing medical stench. 

Christian stands by the transparent glass, almost like he is standing too close to the television screen watching a series his mom must have told him a thousand times not to see but this time, it isn't a TV series. It is real this time and even with the fright choked up in him, he also feels the tingling excitement curled up inside. He doesn't know how to react. 

Michael is pacing in the waiting room. His chair even with the cushioning had felt too aching for his buttock to lay. He had sat down unsure what to do with his feet. 

He paces to and fro, his hand raised to his jaw but he is barely supporting his face. His trimmed grey hair is becoming even more visible. His eyes are fixed on the floor but he barely sees them. All he sees is twelve years ago. All he sees is Laurel in that blossoming gown leaving the house.

The door swings open and the chaos outside calls the Browns from their abyss again. Flashes of light forces its way through the door as a man walks in with a brown coat covering a good amount of his physique. He adjusts himself to the change of atmospheric air inside the building and scouts the waiting room as he flashes his badge to a nurse sitting at the counter behind a screen.

"Good day, sir, how may I—" the dark-skinned nurse pauses as the badge swings open in front of her and the smile washes away from her face almost immediately. She must have said an internal oh!

"Waiting room 105," She doesn't have to ask. She knows better. He is here for the Browns. They are all over the news again. The whole county had paid homage to them twelve years ago; it is only natural for them to seek answers now. It is, after all, the richest and most respected family in the whole of Bushkill and while their loss was mourned, it is hard to tell if this is another blow to them or a loss recovered. 

He nods and disappears into the long walkway only separated from each waiting room by silver linings. From the fiftieth wait room, he can see Mr. Michael Brown pacing his legs out. Few degrees to the other hand side is young Christian Brown staring at someone, most definitely Laurel, through the glass. There's no sight of Sophie Brown. She will not miss her missing child's return party, will she? 

The man does not answer his thoughts. People grieve when someone disappears and the first stage of grief they say is the hardest but it will pass after almost forever but the man knows better. A parent never stops grieving. Damn, the first stage never ends because in the end, when you lose a child, you begin to live your life on a knife-edge. An edge so sharp and small that you stand on one foot. On one side is grief stage one and on the other is the surrender to the abyss—suicide even. There's no winning, only carefulness and losing. A tip and you're off again. An addict. A loser. Award-winning worst parent. 

The man approaches Michael but Michael barely notices. He is vigorously pacing with a finger slightly into his mouth.

"Mr. Brown!" it is more of an affirmation than a question. They've been here before. Not in this room but in this situation before. Twelve years ago he had seen the news and had led the search. Five years later, they closed the case. It took that long only because it was Mr. Brown. Normally, in the first years without any lead, they would have made it inactive and then convince the parents to close the case but even in those five years, he had known what it felt like for them. 

Michael raises his head to see the man in front of him. His own disarray becomes more obvious to him. 

"Detective Sebastian," he acknowledges as they shake hands. 

Sebastian turns his head to the sight of young Christian, still transfixed behind the glass. How long has he been standing there? 

"Congratulations on the return of your daughter." Sebastian realizes the preposterousness of the word as they escape his lips. Michael only nods.

"Has she woken up yet?" he asks again after a long awkward pause.

"She's resting. The doctor said he will let us know when they run a final test but for now, she is resting." His chest heaves and his head nods in correspondence to his last word. 

This time, Sebastian nods too. 

He turns, making it obvious he was searching for something—someone.

"And your wife?" he returns his gaze to Michael. Michael cocks his brows a little before his face dims again. 

"She can't—" he pauses and presses against his lips, "she can't see her now. She is trying to process it. We all are," he says, bowing his head from exhaustion. 

He indeed, looks exhausted and must have been awake all night.

"I know this is hard, Michael. You know, I know." The two men nod slowly, eyes fixed on each other. "Which is why I will have to do my job. We have to follow the tracks, now the memories are still fresh and without a doubt valid." The words came out strong but Michael doesn't bother why he will think, seeing his daughter walk through the front door after so long will ever be invalid.

"Yes, I know. I will answer your questions as best as I can." Michael sets himself to receive any shots he will be thrown. 

"Let's start with what happened last night."

Michael sits down, takes a deep breath and opens his eyes again.

"I had just returned from my normal weekend visits to the farm, read the book Rich Dad, Poor Dad and went to bed as usual. I don't know what transpired between my wife and son but I recall Sophie joining me in bed. Christian has a habit of staying up past bedtime but he never leaves his room once locked in. A couple of minutes or hours later, I heard his scream and the sound of our room door. He first found it difficult to speak but he did. 'Daddy, someone is outside. Daddy, someone is outside.' He said." 

Michael's voice trails a little. He is picturing the moment when he had thought, it was either someone was outside, or his son had followed his grandmother's step too soon.

"I followed him. What would it hurt to know why my son suddenly barges into my room screaming? Sophie joined us too." he bites his lips again.

"That's when I saw her. She stood for a few seconds, her eyes completely fixed on mine then she collapsed to the ground. I reached for her, screaming to my wife and son, 'call nine-one-one. Call nine-one-one.' She looked like she had escaped death. Like she had been abused in worse ways possible." he raises his head to meet Sebastian's. "Sebastian, out of the record. I wished I could wrap my hand around the person that did that. I felt the rage capable of murder." The tear rolls down from one eye and his intense gaze is now dark and out of light. He is hollow, void of anything. Empty.

"You felt what every father would feel, Michael." Sebastian turns to Christian as he lets out a hollow breath. "Still don't know who did it?"

"No. Not a single clue." Michael shakes his head. "Maybe I shouldn't or I will be locked in prison for the rest of my life."

"I won't arrest you if you kill him—or her." Sebastian ensures he doesn't specify a singular gender but it must be a man. Women will not commit such crimes. They can snatch a child but it will be dirty. There will be candy or lollipop to pull the kid closer so they don't have to chase them down the street. His guts tell him it's a man but how can he say that. He is a good detective but he doubts that too. He doubts everything. 

"Can I talk to Christian?" Sebastian asks. 

It's a hard line for Michael to subject his son to the terror of making a statement to the police but he agrees. "Sure! I doubt he will say a word. He's been staring at her all through the night."

"No sleep?"

"He hasn't even as much as blinked."

Michael licks his dry lips. 

"It will be hardest for him. He already moved on. How will he cope now?"

"He will get through it. You all will." Even as he says the words, he doesn't believe them but what else can he say? It's just a white lie to soothe them. 

The two men sit in silence, watching the boy. Their thoughts cannot be translated into words no matter how hard they try. 

Sebastian no longer thinks of just them. He thinks of himself. His wife. His child. He is quiet. There's no question in his mind. Not one Michael can answer or any other person can answer. 

He remains there, eyes fixed. Frozen. 

A man wearing a white coat approaches them. He is first out of sight but their attention is gradually drawn to him as he steps into the waiting room. 

"Mr. Brown. Detective." he acknowledges them. 

They exchange handshakes in expectancy. 

"She will be good to go in a couple of hours but before that, I think there's something I must show you." he rotates his gaze between both of them. 

"Both of you."