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A police officer opened the double doors leading to the glass-encased foyer of the police station. Captain Summers and several members of the High Point Police Department walked around greeting community volunteers.
Captain Summers led the group down a long corridor and into a conference room where they could sign in. They would then be paired into teams.
Each team was given radios, posters and a map of the area in which they were searching.
“If you find anything, it is imperative you do not touch or move it. Call us on the two-way radio, and we will come running.”
Captain Summers led the teams out of the police station. It was time to start searching.
~~~
Shayla Parker’s eyes followed Wilson from across the room. His good looks distracted her and even amid this situation, she couldn’t stop thinking about how sexy he was. God help her. Would she ever stop wanting him? Shayla nibbled on her bottom lip as guilt washed over her. She was trifling, she thought. How can I think about Wilson and his sexiness while his sister is missing? What kind of person am I?
Memories of their rocky history played through her mind—their first date, the almost wedding and the birth of their daughter, Camryn. Shayla’s lower lip trembled, and her throat tightened. A giant fist formed in her chest while fat tears filled her gaze.
The thought of Cam-Cam still shook her. She took a moment to calm herself. She needed to talk to him; to let him know she was here.
Shayla waited until the crowd dispersed and he was standing alone.
~~~
Wilson felt her the very moment she entered the room and wondered if it would always be like this with them. A heavy weight settled in his heart. He wanted to reach out to her, but he couldn’t. There was always an elephant between them, blocking the way. The feeling of despair weighed him down.
He tilted his head in acknowledgment of her presence before walking out the door.
Inside his car, Wilson flashed hot, then cold. He could not decide if he should set the air conditioner on full blast or to let down the windows. His hands were damp with perspiration, and his stomach dipped as if he were riding a roller coaster.
The bright neon sign of the liquor store called to him.
Wilson let out a long, anxiety-ridden breath as he tried to reason with the demon in his head.
“When Natasha dies, it will be your fault.”
Those words chilled him to the core piercing his heart like shards of glass. It was a struggle to breathe. Wilson waited for the cold tremors to leave his body. He clenched his jaw; his hands were slick with sweat. He dropped his head for a minute and willed the moment to pass.
Slow down, take deep steady breaths he reminded his lungs. Exhaling deeply, he placed his hand on the wheel and drove to the command post for the volunteer sign up. Adrenaline mixed with gratitude pounded his veins. There were at least two hundred people milling around all wearing t-shirts with Natasha’s face on the front of them and a police tip line number on the back. He got out of his truck and joined one of the groups.
The teams were each assigned an area. Some went to the location and some further south. A group of volunteers from the college began to hang the “Missing Person” posters. Wilson beat another missing person poster into the light pole. He stood back and listened to the rumblings of a threating thunderstorm. An uneasiness settled over him. He forced himself to look at the picture of his sister. Tightly he clenched his fists while wishing he could yell out loud from his belly much like a lion’s roar on the plains. He would do it, if he knew for sure it would release the pressure he felt budding just under the surface. He was desperate for a clue, any clue. He walked a little further up the road and dropped the bag of flyers on the ground. He took a deep breath; he almost wanted to yell out Lord please, but he knew better than that. He and God stopped talking a long time ago.
Wilson wiped the sweat from his brow. He had never felt so weak before. The thoughts running rampant in his head felt dark and obsessive. He was beginning to struggle to distinguish fact from fiction, in his eyes everybody was a suspect. His training whispered be patient, let your colleagues do their job, but his head was yelling to kick in doors and get the answers. One thing he knew for sure, he had to keep looking.
~~~
For the longest time after his dad died, Wilson could still hear him in the house. Shortly after his death, he’d thought he heard him coming into the house. Wilson had rushed down the steps like a bat out of the underworld, screaming, “Dad, Dad, Dad. I knew you weren’t dead.” He was in such torment when he realized it was the wind and not his father coming through the door. His sobs woke his mother.
“Baby, get up. He’s not coming back,” she’d whispered as she picked him up.
Frozen in time, Wilson was filled with thoughts of the night his father died and the promises he’d made to him.