Untraceable

Survival Skill #34

When tracking, it’s the combination of evidence that provides the whole picture.

~

After running away from both of them, I hide in the alley for over an hour and sob until I’m drained of tears. Empty. Even though I don’t want to, I force myself to keep my meeting with Wyn. My legs feel weighted, as if they’re filled with quicksand from the ankles up. I can’t—won’t—let this setback prevent me from pushing forward. A little blood means Dad was hurt, and the wet shirt just tells me he’s not wearing one anymore.

It doesn’t prove he’s dead.

Does it?

I shake the thought from my head. Even if he is, I have to uncover the truth, the whole truth, for myself. Panic sets in. I have to find him and bring him home.

Dead or alive.

Before I enter the police station, I check my face in the window for any signs of my breakdown. Or a “breakthrough,” as Dr. Head would call it. I wipe my face on my t-shirt and push through the door.

Bernice squeals when I walk in. When she notices my face, she sticks out her bottom lip and her voice softens. “Grace, sweetie. How yah doin’? You holdin’ up okay? I’m sorry about your daddy. May he rest in peace.” She bows her head a little and puts her hands in a prayer position.

Anger stirs deep inside, threatening to expose itself. People can say the most inappropriate things sometimes without even realizing it. I ball my hand into a fist behind my back and try not to show any emotion on my face. “Thanks.”

She comes over and cradles my shoulders. “Lordy, you’re wastin’ away before my eyes.”

I force my lips to curl upward. “Must be what I’m wearing.” On the other hand, it could be that the life is draining out of me each day Dad’s not here. Little by little. Drop by drop. I’m shrinking.

Into. Nothing.

“You know darlin’, Captain’s still out of town. You may want to come back tomorrow.” She plops back down at her computer and starts pecking on the keys with her fake nails. The noise reminds me of Bear’s doggy toenails clicking on the hardwood floor. When she realizes I’m still there, she stops typing and eyes me, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Unless you came to see Wyn?”

On cue, Wyn emerges from the storage room. Streaks of dirt smudge across his face, giving him the linebacker look. He’s wearing old battered jeans with holes ripped at the knees and no shirt. Sweat glistens on his lean body. I don’t remember the missing shirt being part of our plan. Surprisingly, I’m kinda digging the improvisation. I avoid staring and feel my cheeks searing like a piece of meat on a grill. What’s wrong with me? How can grief and lust fill the same space? I try to focus on an image of Mo’s face. He’s the one I connect with the most. These feelings for Wyn are just old feelings that have been stirred up. Like when you kick up dust. It floats around for a while, but eventually it settles again. As if it was never there.

Wyn speaks in a flat tone. A little too rehearsed if you ask me. “Hey, G. How are you? Long time, no see.”

Averting my eyes from his, I can’t help but wonder if he knew about Dad’s shirt last night. And if he did, why didn’t he have the guts to tell me.

I push everything aside and focus on what I need to do. Get that file. “Hey, Wyn.”

He veers off script and shoots me a concerned look. “You okay, G?”

I shake it off, not meeting his gaze directly. “Sure, I just thought Captain would be back.”

He returns to our script with Bernice. “Whew, Bea, you sure are workin’ me hard today. What’s a guy gotta do to get some water?”