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Wilson waited in his truck outside of the North Carolina A & T Student Union waiting to talk to Melody, his sister’s roommate. She was a gorgeous Sofia Vergara look-alike, who became Natasha’s roommate her freshman year and now was like family. He hoped she would be able to shed some light on Natasha’s whereabouts. The four-story brick building was well-known for its two hundred and ninety-five-seat theater, ballroom, and several restaurants. Wilson took note of the students hurrying back and forth between the union and several dormitories. The campus had changed completely from when he was a student living in Cooper Hall. The sound of the world’s renowned marching band rehearsing used to make his windows vibrate much like his head was beginning to vibrate now.
Who would take Natasha?
Why would someone take her?
The witness said a large Hispanic man dumped her into the trunk?
The pads of Wilson’s hands began to burn from the tightening of his grip on the steering wheel.
He wondered if she was seeing someone. Although she didn’t mention anyone, he knew she dated on occasion. He tried compiling a checklist of people to question; family, friends and then outsiders.
Nobody in their family would dare take Natasha that leaves friends and outsiders...
A golf ball-sized lump lodged itself in his throat. He fought the urge to choke on it. His limbs felt disjointed and uncertain. The heaviness in his heart began to weigh him down much like a cement block tied to a newborn thrown into a raging river.
Frantic, Wilson remembered the last conversation he’d had with her. They fussed like all brothers and sister do. They were going to the mountains and she had wanted him to stop somewhere and ask for directions.
He refused.
At one point, she was laughing. She pulled on her seat belt, pretending she was going to get out the car.
He wanted to punch something. Fear began to needle its way up his spine. Hands trembling, Wilson picked up his cell phone and dialed her number again for what must have been the hundredth time. He paused, waiting to hear her voice on the recording. The words, “I love you and hang on...” rushed out of his mouth before he could stop and think.
Wilson looked down at his watch, noting the time. He climbed out of his truck and made his way to the basement of the student union. The thumping of the bass from the latest rap hit pumped through the school’s satellite radio system. The excited noises of the students contrasted the darkness of his mind.
The place still smelled of fried chicken wings, gym socks, and old tennis shoes just as it did during his time there. Looking around, Wilson located the small chipped sign and opened the heavy door. He took the dark, winding steps to the basement. He inhaled a sharp breath and hurried down three flights of stairs.
At the bottom, Wilson swung open another door and stepped into the basement.
Almost immediately he saw her.
She ran over to greet him.
“Hey, Melody.” He felt her arms encompass him and squeezing. Wilson stepped out of her embrace as if she’d held him a moment too long.
Wilson’s eyes traveled the room as the fine hairs on his arms stood up. He felt someone’s eyes were boring a hole in this body. He locked eyes with the janitor who stood watching them from one of the game rooms. Wilson took note that one hand gripped the trash can and the other was in his pocket. Cursive lettering on the dirty brown tattered jacket spelled out Baxter R.
He grabbed Melody by the hand and led her over to the table.
“Wilson...” She began, “What’s going on? I... I don’t understand?” Her breath caught in her throat, her eyes filled with tears.
He searched the room, looking for napkins or tissues. “Stop crying, Mel. Natasha is out there somewhere. I’m going to find her.”
“Wilson, I’m praying for her safe return.” Melody’s voice cracked. “I’ve told the police everything I could think of.”
Praying? Praying for what? the words nearly slipped off his tongue. Dismissing what she said for a moment, Wilson stared off into space. “Good. Now tell me.”
Melody hiccupped and blew her nose on a napkin she’d pulled from her purse, then repeated what she’d told the police.
“The last time you saw her, did you notice anything different about Natasha? Did she seem fearful, or afraid of anyone?”
“No. You know as well as I do, Natasha would’ve told you about anybody making her uncomfortable or scared.”
“Is there a new guy in her life?”
Melody’s shoulders slumped. “Well...”
“What is it?”
“I think,” she stammered. “I believe that it may have been....”
Wilson leaned closer to her.
“Wait... you know how Natasha is at times—she can be secretive. I think she and Malcolm are talking again.”
Wilson leaned back in the small wooden chair. “Are you sure? I thought their little spring fling was over?”
She tilted her head to the side. “Wilson, I don’t know. Oh, wait... there was a guy, but I’ve never met him.”
“How do you know about this guy?”
“A few weeks ago, she began taking an online Spanish class and blasting a Latino radio in the dorm. She mentioned something about wanting to understand what someone was saying.”
His heart rate accelerated. “Did the police take her laptop?”
“I’m not sure. It may be still on the desk.” Melody looked down at the folded-up napkin in her hand.
“Mel,” he repeated himself while shaking her forearm “Mel, I need her laptop.”
Melody pushed away from the wobbly wooden table so fast that she almost fell over. She pointed towards their dorm. “It’s in our room.”
Wilson picked up his keys. “Let’s go.”
Minutes later, they entered the Aggie Terrace Apartments.
Inside, Wilson paced while they waited for the elevator. Once upstairs, they went into the apartment.
Wilson headed straight to his sister’s room. “Has anyone been in here?”
He glanced down at his watch. Natasha had been missing for a minimum of four to five hours.
“Not that I know of,” was her response.
Wilson walked over to the desk and unplugged Natasha’s laptop. He stuffed it into a black laptop bag and folded it under his arm.
“What do I tell the police about the missing laptop?”
“Nothing.” He looked up at her and said, “Thanks, Mel.” He gave the room one last
glance over and left. He walked out the front door and was gone.
Moments after Wilson left the apartment her hands were still shaking.
Melody glanced down at her purse and took the phone her uncle provided and dialed his number.
“Uncle J. Wilson was here. He took Natasha’s laptop.”
“Good. Did you put the pictures on it like I asked?”
“Yes, but.” Melody frowned.
“But what?” He sternly interrupted.
“Is she okay?” She whined.
“Don’t worry about her; everything is going to be fine.”
“But wait. Maybe we made a mistake.”
Juarez’s thick accent took over, “Do you think your aunt Catalina’s death was a mistake?”
Melody gripped the counter and leaned on it for support. Tears formed in her eyes and a lump twisted in her throat. For several seconds she just held the line.
She stiffened her spine “No Uncle J. They have to pay for what they did to her.”
Melody wiped away her tears, “I still don’t see how kidnapping Natasha will make them all pay?” The words spilled out of her mouth. “What if mom finds out about this?”
“Take a deep breath Melody.” He lowered his voice. “Didn’t I promise to take care of everything?”
“Yes,” her voice trembled.
“Your aunt Catalina was a beautiful impressionable young girl at your age when she died. She had her whole life ahead of her and they took it away.” His voice bellowed in her ear.
Panic washed over her as she tightened the phone against her ear.
“They used that video and those pictures to destroy her life.” Her heart pounded harder in her chest as he spoke. “Our family did not send her to college to be seduced by that pedophile of a professor.” Juarez barked out the words. For help, she turned to them. They pretended to be her friends, all those months.” She squeezed her eyes tightly trying to block out images playing in her head. She had pretended to be Natasha’s friend for two years. “They betrayed her for a higher grade. They played that video of her in the student union over and over until everyone on campus saw it. Catalina was devastated: abused by a low life professor and then betrayed by her friends. It’s as if they tied the rope around her neck themselves. All of them will pay. She felt the pencil snap in her hand.
“You’re right Uncle J. They have to pay.” Melody ended the conversation with her uncle and buried the cell phone in her closet under a pile of clothes.
***
By late afternoon, Wilson’s chest felt tighter than a music box. The week-long heat waves outdoors did nothing against the cold chill settling deep in his bones. He sat at Natasha’s computer, clicking through the social media profiles of her friends. No doubt the person who snatched her lay somewhere between the half-dressed young ladies and the guys with their tongue hanging out and two fingers in the air. His mouth went slack with surprise; there were five thousand friends. He knew that she’d never met most of these people.
Wilson shook his head.
Sucking in a quick breath, he whispered; “Dad, help me find her.” One of his habits included talking with his late father whenever he experienced stress or felt anxious about something.
He rolled up his sleeves, then placed his fingers back to the keyboard. The department may have limited his access to the case, but they couldn’t stop him from searching on his own time.
Wiping the sweat from his brow, Wilson clicked back to Natasha’s page, examining each person's comments. Some of her friends were posting questions like Have you see her? And be on the lookout. Someone went so far as to create a hashtag with her name. One of the girls from her cheerleading squad started a thread asking people to post the last time they saw Natasha.
An eerie silence permeated the room.
Fixated, Wilson’s gazed stared at one of the last posts written by her:
“Bout to smash with my bro.”
It was followed by seven of those emotion things and an image of the meatloaf and mashed potatoes they were eating. His heart twisted a little more in his chest.
Where is she?
Unable to resist the urge, Wilson logged out of his social media account and tried logging into his sister’s. The blinking blue and white box told him the username and/or password didn’t match.
He waited a moment, then tried again. Afraid he would lock the account, Wilson logged back in under his name.
Why does this generation tell everything on social media? They made it so easy for a crazy person to track and monitor their whereabouts. He clicked on another profile.
A news alert filled the page: Local college girl goes missing.
The news flashed quicker than Wilson could scroll down. He grimaced at the image of his sister smiling on screen. He guessed that his mother and sister picked that photo. He was a man of action. He preferred going somewhere and kicking in a front door to locate his sister than sitting still and doing nothing.
Moments later, he noticed a more recent picture of Natasha. His gaze steered to a man’s hand gripping a beer bottle. He zoomed in closer, trying to identify the background in the picture. He clicked on it and several more shots of her appeared. It looked to be some type of game room. In the additional shots, he saw an old Mrs. Pac-Man and Donkey Kong machine. There was a large bar with several tall stools.
Wilson forced himself off social media and into his kitchen where he made a cup of coffee. He opened several drawers seeking a spoon to stir in the condiments in his coffee. He wanted to add a flavor of the alcoholic variety to his coffee. While standing at the kitchen counter, reality smacked him in the face.
His sister was gone.
He went to his study.
Wilson picked up a stack of mail from the corner of his desk. He glanced at the picture of his daughter, Camryn.
A fresh infusion of pain injected his heart.
He set the cup down a little too hard on the desk, causing the hot liquid to spill. Wilson sat down and returned to another one of Natasha’s social media pages, clicking on it. He was still unable to break her password.
Wilson considered resetting them, but for that, he needed phone or access to her email account. The last time he’d asked for her email address, she replied, “Which one?”
Unable to guess her passcodes, he decided to go see an old friend of his fathers for information.
Several hours later, Wilson sat in his car watching and waiting. It was late, and it had been hours since another car passed by. With nowhere to stretch, his pressed his long legs against the floorboard of the car. At one point in his career, he’d spent a lot of time sitting in unmarked cars. Depending on the area under surveillance people passing the car would either smile and wave or stare suspiciously. People viewed police with reverence or fear and right now he didn’t care which.
He was tired, hungry and without a lead to finding his sister.
Sadly, he was running out of places to search. Over one hundred thousand people lived in the city of High Point and he couldn’t find one person who had seen his sister. He glanced at the house and then down at his watch. This house was the last one to check on his list of places to look for Natasha. Chances where they didn’t have a clue who had Natasha, but he was getting desperate. And he’d never forgive himself if he didn’t look.
He waited a few more moments before opening the heavy door of his car and climbing out. Wilson wanted a drink so badly he could still taste the remnants of his last one a few days ago, right before his life changed, again.
But he promised himself, no more drinking.
Wilson walked down the alley to Commerce street. The street was lined with dilapidated apartments and burned out dope houses. He turned and began walking down the dimly lit street taking his time. He found it peculiar there wasn’t a soul out on the street but him. Inwardly he knew it just appeared to be empty. He was sure several block boys had him in their sights.
Willie “Mack Daddy” Green had been running women and liquor houses in High Point for more than thirty years. His dad would come by and chop it up with Mack Daddy from time to time. Mack Daddy kept his father in the loop concerning the neighborhood and in return his father would make sure Willie’s girls received a low bond from the magistrate after they were arrested.
Wilson kept his eyes on the front porch of the old Victorian style home. It was so old Wilson was surprised it was still standing. He wasn’t surprised when a frail, cigar smoking man eased out the door and onto the porch.
By the time Wilson stood on the sidewalk in front of the home he heard the booming voice call out to him.
“I’ve been waiting for you for hours.”
Feeling dejected, Wilson waited before answering allowing the dead silence to linger.
Wilson placed his hands in his pockets, “Have you heard anything?” He glanced up at the three cars coming down the street. They all pulled near the curb and parked. He heard several voices behind him.
This time he asked louder, “Have you heard anything?”
Wilson sensed the people getting out of the car drawing closer. He placed his hand on his weapon.
“That’s not necessary son.” He watched as Mack Daddy’s hand vibrated as it went up.
Wilson turned around to find men and women surrounding him three deep.
“I’ve had my team out searching ever since I got the word.” Mack Daddy’s voice shook with age. He blew out a whiff of cigar smoke. He looked at the group behind Wilson “Did ya’ll find anything?”
Several voices spoke at once “No. None of our contacts have heard anything.”
Mack Daddy spoke again “None of the usual suspects did this. They know better.” He spat on the pavement. “How many Hispanic men you know snatching black girls off the street?” Mack Daddy took a long drag from his cigar and turned to go back into the house. “Got to be more to it than that.”