Vanished (ONC 2023)

Chapter 1 - The Late Bus

My winter boots struggled to grip the icy ground as I sprinted beneath towering, leafless elms and scraggly oaks. The freezing air attacked the exposed patches of skin my scarf and toque didn't reach.

Another assault by the river yesterday, Mia.

Stop taking shortcuts through the park.

If my mother didn't call twice a day with detailed crime reports—as if I were the next target—I'd have had time to walk the safer, longer route. But I had a presentation to deliver and a bus to catch.

A slick patch of ice sent me catapulting face-first into a snowbank. The impact knocked the wind from my chest, and a hard, pointed object pierced my forehead, adding to the snow's chilly burn.

Just what I need.

I forced air into my lungs before pulling a stick away, leaving a stinging sensation. A warm and wet substance trickled down my face, nearly in my eye. As I dabbed at it with tissues from my pocket, red splotches speckled the thin paper.

"Wonderful," I muttered.

My colleagues would contemplate my mild injury instead of the information on locally run ice fishing trips I'd spent all night reviewing and months preparing. Branches crunched in the distance, sending my heart racing as my feet should. I planted my mitts in the crusty snow and pushed myself up. Another two snaps resounded, followed by silence. The frigid winter air cooled my lungs with each tentative breath.

Was this karmic payback for putting my job before my safety?

What weapon did Mom say the person used, a knife, or bear spray?

Could I take them down with elbow jabs and kicks?

More cracking echoed from nearby as a doe and her fawn bolted further from my clumsy form and into the winter twilight. I spun around, checking the brush and shadows for other potential sources, but found none.

Damn your paranoia, Mom.

I speed-walked the rest of the way to the busier street as my heart refused to still. None of the passengers I usually rode with stood at the stop. My cell, which thankfully hadn't cracked in the fall, confirmed I'd missed my first bus. I popped in my earbuds and put on a heavy metal playlist to match my mood.

Damn you, winter with your chilly air and slippery ice.

It replied with a swift glacial punch to the face. The wind lasted five of the ten minutes it took for the next bus to arrive, burning my cheeks and nose. Mother Nature never lost.

As I turned down the volume on my device, the bus driver greeted me with a smile and quip about the weather that I smiled through as I scanned my card. Shivers travelled from my toque to my toes as the bus' warmth battled with the cold clinging to my jacket. Variations of the commuters from my regular route either glanced furtively at me or stared out the windows or at their devices. I headed toward the back, where I tucked myself in a corner with my feet dangling like a child.

Seated perpendicular to me was a blond man, an exact copy of a guy I saw daily, but never had the courage to speak to. I had stories for the passengers who sat in my section, overworked students ready to change the world or meltdown, vanilla-looking office workers with a wild side, and businesswomen who took no prisoners. The blond guy boarded before and debarked after me, so I had few clues to compose his identity.

He wore the same expensive black Canada Goose jacket, but it had a long rip on the right sleeve facing me. Possibly old or used. Familiar tan leather work boots graced his feet, making him seem more blue-collar, but he also wore a fancy watch he'd check as we crossed the bridge over the river, without fail. Maybe he came from money and worked in trades, however, downtown wasn't the ideal destination for a tradesperson unless he was transferring.