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Wilson couldn’t believe his ears. “What do you mean my sister is missing?” He sat straight up in the recliner. “When?” He listened to the voice on the other end of the phone while struggling to remember the last time he spoke with her. His head throbbed like a rock band at Woodstock.
“You found her car where?” The brown bottle of liquor he downed the night before crashed to the floor.
“Are you sure?” he rose to his feet, grabbing hold to the chair to steady himself. A sense of unease invaded his mind. “I’m on my way.”
Wilson pulled on the work boots he’d discarded when he entered the house his head throbbing with each movement.
He staggered into the bathroom and gripped the white porcelain sink, the urge to vomit swirled around his stomach.
After a moment, the wave passed.
Ashamed, Wilson performed his morning rituals unable to face his reflection in the mirror. He hurried into his bedroom to finish getting dressed.
Images of his sister, Natasha flashed through his mind.
He strapped his gun around his waist and slid the tactical armor over his chest. Wilson opened his front door and glanced up at the thick dark clouds circling ahead. He jogged to his black Dodge Ram truck and jumped in.
Wilson sped toward the flashing emergency lights. A small crowd gathered at the scene.
He parked his truck near the three police cars forming a barricade at the scene. Wilson stepped out, surveying the crime scene. Two women from the crime lab
were nearby dusting a car for prints.
“Morning Wilson, one of the women spoke while she continued dusting the car.”
He lifted his chin in greeting.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, but Wilson’s eyes stayed on the vehicle in front of him. He let out a shaky breath, pressed his lips together and walked closer.
Wilson knew her red Honda Accord. He recognized the large dent on the driver’s side door from when Deacon Mashburn from the church backed into it in the church parking lot.
The driver’s door was ajar.
Fear curled around his spine like a snake. His eyes blinked.
It was Natasha’s car.
Bending over, Wilson peered inside.
Her iPad, her cell phone, and purse were in the passenger seat. A glint of silver on the ground caught his eye.
It was Natasha’s cross.
Losing himself now, he almost reached down to touch it. Instead, he called out to the woman who spoke to him moments before and showed it to her.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
A golf ball-sized knot formed in his throat. He pointed to the floorboard. “That’s my sister’s necklace.”
“I’ll get it.” She moved in beside him. She picked the necklace off the pavement and sealed it in a small plastic bag.
A slow rumble of thunder vibrated through the air while lightning crackled against the darkened gray skies. The heavens opened, and drenching rain began to fall.
His voice cracked as he spoke. “This is my sister, Natasha’s car.”
“What?” She spun around, looking at him. “You need to leave the scene.”
At first, he couldn’t respond. Wilson faced her with a stubborn lift of his chin. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Several officers walked over.
He turned to them, asking, “Who was first on the scene?”
No one answered.
He repeated the question.
An officer he recognized as Kent stepped forward. “I was.”
“What you got?”
Officer Kent leaned forward, his words rushing past his lips “There’s a witness. She gave us an excellent description of a brown Buick with a crack in the windshield and a large dent on the front driver’s side.”
Wilson remembered seeing the vehicle just the night before. He shook his head trying to keep his composure.
Officer Kent continued, “The witness said she thought there were two men in the car. He glanced down at his notepad. She said she was walking into the store when she heard screams that sent chill bumps up and down her spine. She turned and saw two men and a woman wrestling around. She yelled at the men to leave the girl alone. The witness said a large Hispanic man pick up the victim and threw her in the trunk. She tried to grab her phone to record the altercation, but it slipped out of her shaking hands. The woman then ran into the grocery store and alerted the manager, who then called the police. Once we confirmed her story, we issued an alert.” He read the notes from the now water stained yellow notepad.
Wilson continued firing questions until Captain Michael Summers, his late father’s best friend stopped him.
“Wilson, you know the protocol. Sit in your truck or go home.”
He clenched his fist. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Captain Summers took a deep breath to calm down. “Son, go call your mother.”
As Wilson stormed off to his truck, realization dawned on him. This would have a horrible impact on both his mother and his older sister Gina.
Wilson found his cell phone and quickly clicked on his mother’s cell number.
The five seconds it took for her voice to come on the line felt like an eternity.
“Hey, baby, what’s going on?” Her tone was welcoming.
“Ma...” He paused, not sure how to say the words. His mother had lost his father in the line of duty. Wilson’s pressed his lips together while rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s Natasha.”
“What are you saying?” Her voice rose an octave.
“Natasha’s missing. Somebody took her, Ma.” He shook his head as if it would make the last hour go away. He gave her directions to where they were before adding “I have to go.” He ended the call.
Missing.
Who would kidnap Natasha?
Why?
His mind drifted to Gina. She was his next call.
Large drops of rain splattered against the truck as thunder roared from a few miles away. His head fell back on the headrest. In deep thought, Wilson chewed on his bottom lip. Rainstorms always brought back memories of his father. The night he was killed, it rained. Lieutenant Joseph Calloway was a cop’s cop.
As far as Wilson once believed—his father was invincible.
That belief was shattered when he was gunned down during a domestic violence dispute. Wilson remembered the night the Chief and Assistant Chief of Police came to tell his mother the news.
That night, he’d knelt on the side of his bed, praying for God to stop time like he did in the Bible for Hezekiah. He prayed until his knees throbbed, and his voice was hoarse.
But God never answered his cries. God abandoned him.
Wilson fought back tears. “Man!”
He beat his fist on the steering wheel of the truck, fighting the urge to jump out and return to the crime scene. Wilson clenched his lower jaw.
“The heck with this,” he uttered, throwing open the door of his truck.
Wilson ran down to the police car containing the witness. He eyed her sitting in the back of the police car.
He banged on the window. “Ma’am, what did you see?”
Frightened, she jumped landing in the middle of the seat. The woman’s hands shook. But he didn’t care. He needed information about Natasha.
He mean-mugged her from behind the glass, then he hit the window harder.
He heard the sound of boot splashing through water and the voice of Captain Summers, “Wilson if I tell you again to leave the scene. I will suspend you right now.”
He punched holes in the air with his finger.
Wilson threw his hands up in the air and let loose a slew of cuss words and stomped back to his truck.
Drenched, he searched his phone for Natasha’s roommate phone number at North Carolina A & T University. Warm memories flooded his thoughts; Natasha was so happy to be accepted to the famous HBCU so close to home. The campus was thirty minutes from their parents’ home. At first, their mother, Verna did not want her to live in the dorm, but Natasha pitched such fit, she relented and allowed her to move in. Wilson held his breath while dialing her roommate Melody Harper’s number. There was no answer; instead, he got her voicemail. He disconnected the call and placed his cell phone in his pocket.
~~~
Ruminating over the hundreds of questions running through his mind, the hairs on the back of Wilson’s neck and both of his arms stood at attention when the piercing, blood-curdling screams assaulted the air. He knew the sound so well. His stomach curdled, like old milk and his heart plummeted from his chest to his toes.
“Wilson, where is my baby?” His mother questioned. “Natasha. Natasha.”
He looked upward as the police held her back. He took slow, heavy steps her way. Fat, heavy raindrops burst across his face.
“Wilson... Wilson,” she called out to him.
His knees trembled like a terrified small child. He caught the tremble in her voice when she asked “What’s happening? Where is she?”
His mother looked like a wild woman—her normal prim and proper composure had been buried by her fear and grief.
The sound of her crying haunted him, reminding him of the death of his father. Wilson felt a burning rage inside of him, twisting his guts and making him nauseous.
Between spurts of crying, his mother asked, “Has an alert been issued? Who was the last person to see her? Are you sure the car didn’t break down here and she caught a ride with someone?”
“Ma,” he reached over, enveloping her in his arms.
Movement to his right caught Wilson’s attention. He spied Officer Kent huddled with several officers from the police department. Dread flung itself around him like an old coat.
Minutes later, Officer Kent headed his way.
Wilson steeled himself for what he already knew way down deep in his bones.
“We’ve contacted Natasha’s professors to confirm her disappearance. No one has seen her since approximately seven am.” The officer dropped his head.
Wilson whispered in her ear. “We will find her. Momma. I promise.”
Through trembling lips, she spoke, “I know you will.”
The urge to find his sister seized and pierced his heart. He released his mother “I’ll be back,” and turned and sprinted back to this truck and pulled away.
Wilson swooped around the line of police cars in the shopping center parking lot and through a red light headed towards the traffic.
Several car horns blared as he roared past.
A car ahead flashed its brake lights.
Wilson glanced at the double yellow line and decided to pass the other driver anyway.
The rain made the streets slick. The aromas of oil and asphalt wafted in the air. He slammed on brakes to keep from sliding into oncoming traffic, pausing to look both ways in the intersection. The light had barely turned green before he pressed his accelerator.
He hooked a crooked left on Penny Road and drove to the Willow Woods housing complex.
Wilson hoped the Buick was still there. He whipped his truck into the parking space by Mrs. Adam’s apartment.
It wasn’t there.
Time stood still.
Wilson leaped out of the truck. He released a deep breath and shook his head.
He took several deep calming breaths before scrambling back into his truck. Wilson grinded his teeth as he pounded on the steering wheel.
The Buick was gone.
Wilson slammed the vehicle into gear and began his search for Natasha.