Concerning Chance ✔

TWENTY-FOUR

"Typically speaking, 80% of missing children are found in 24 hours. 90% are found in two days," Barrow tells me, recounting word-for-word what I already know from the missing persons' website. "Only 2% are missing longer than a week."

"So what?" I exclaim, getting to my feet. "You figured Chance was MIA for more than a week and called it quits? Or did you just watch the 24 hours pass by while you had a nice cup of tea and a biscuit?"

Mum doesn't stop me this time, so I guess she's thinking the same.

"Originally, this was just a simple missing person case—"

I cut off Jones before he can continue, "Whereas now?"

"Whereas now, we suspect foul play," Jones concludes.

Incapable of stopping myself, I bring my hands together in a halting, slow, exaggerated and ungenuine clap. "Well done, you tossers. Obviously, there was fucking foul play involved — people don't just jump off waterfalls wasted in the middle of the night for the hell of it."

Well, some probably do, I allow myself to think but don't air it aloud.

"Did you see anyone else out in the woods on that night?" Barrow asks.

I like how they're taking turns with their questions; I think irrelevantly, strongly disliking the individuals involved but strongly appreciating their equality.

"No. As far as I could tell it was just me and Chance." I fight the urge to ask them questions back and sit back down on the sofa.

"Are you certain no one pushed Chance?" Jones has his notepad out now.

"She decided to fall." Shifting uncomfortably, I clear my throat and then ask, "How come no one found her for weeks?"

Barrow and Jones share a glance. I've disrupted their flow; I've asked the question they don't want to answer.

Maybe I should be a detective.

"We searched the woods for weeks."

"That's a lie," I spit out before my brain can filter my thoughts. "I've been out in the woods almost every day since that night, walking my dog. I never once saw signs of anyone searching for Chance."

Guilt rises in me. Because for the first few weeks after Chance's disappearance, I was too shaken and too traumatised to go look for her myself. I completely forgot about her treehouse; how she could've been staying in that.

"0.04% of missing person cases result in the discovery of a body. It was highly unlikely that we would've found Chance if she was alive — which, as we now know, is the case." Jones throws more statistics at me, refusing to acknowledge why the useless cops weren't out looking for Chance.

"So you just assumed that she'd run off and wanted to be left alone." Incredulity rises within me by the second; indignation is about to boil over.

Barrow swallows — I'm making her uncomfortable now, guilty even. She should feel guilty; it's partly her fault that Chance is lying in a coma because she was out there alone for too long.

"I don't know what you want me to tell you," I snap at them both. "Chance jumped off that fucking waterfall of her own free will."

"One last question, Rory." Barrow's tone is light, tentative. "Is there any chance that she had a fall or encountered any untoward aggression before that night?"

They're talking about her pre-waterfall-jump head injury. The reason why the doctors put her in a coma.

I shake my head slowly. "I'm not sure... But Chance was never clumsy; she wouldn't've just tripped up or something. I think—"