TRIGGER WARNINGS: Brief language,
5 days. It had been five days since anyone had seen or heard from Robin Arellano. A neighbor had confirmed that they had seen him arrive home as they were leaving their house, but after that, it was anyone's guess what had happened. And everyone had the same guess: Robin Arellano had been kidnapped by the infamous, unknown Grabber.
You weren't stupid. You had the same idea as everyone else. Of course, you couldn't bring yourself to ask about it. You knew that your speculations would either be denied or vaguely answered. The curious thing, though, was that nobody was in the basement. Al didn't go down, and neither did you. The only thing that you did know was that your friend, Robin, was dead. All you could do was mourn in silence.
On this chilly morning, you were doing just that. You were sat at the table, looking down at your bowl of cereal. Al had been observing you from the kitchen, knowing, yet confused. He knew that you had your thoughts about Robin's strange disappearance, but didn't understand why you were so sad about it. Truthfully, he wanted you to forget about Robin.
"Why don't you join a club?" He suggested. "Maybe you'll make some new friends, and it might distract you from... well, you know."
It wasn't a bad idea. Clubs were definitely a good way to meet new people, but you didn't want to stop thinking about Robin. Nobody else was. There was no true investigation. A couple 'MISSING' posters had been posted about, but nothing else was being done. If you stopped thinking, then you were the same as everyone else.
"Maybe," you glumly replied. "But I don't want to stop thinking. Nobody's looking for him. The least I can do is keep him in my thoughts."
Uncle Al gave another breathy sigh. "It's in the hands of the law now. Eat your breakfast."
You ate, knowing that the law had let Robin out of their grasp.
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You and Finney ate in silence at lunch. Although he wouldn't admit it, Finney was scared of the Grabber. It was as if he were the infamous Bloody Mary. Say his name enough, and he'll give you a visit. In the dark. While you were alone. And then nobody would see you ever again.
"Uncle Al said I should join a club. I think I'll check out the news club. Do you want to come with?" You said. The silence was unbearable.
"Can't. I have a dentist appointment."
And that was that. You would check out the club by yourself. Not knowing anyone in there. One of your friends was dead, the other was busy, hell. Hell, even Vance was dead. Those were the only three people you had some form of relationship with. No acquaintances, no mortal enemies, nobody. You were about as accompanied as the late Max Shaw was at his funeral.
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Al wasn't the brightest man in the world. Dropped out of high school, worked as a welder at a sawmill, and was partially illiterate. All this considered, he wasn't right very often. He was right, however, about making friends.
Olivia Ferens was a junior at your school who specialized in the true crime section of the weekly school paper. She had taken a liking to you immediately. Not only was she a true crime connoisseur, but she had an inhuman amount of empathy.
"You know, I feel really bad for Robin. You know, the boy who just went missing? You know why I don't think anyone's looking for him? Because he was a fighter. I think the police think that since he's so strong, he can defend himself. They don't need to do anything. But you know, there's nothing they can do. It was definitely The Grabber. He probably took a liking to him, studied his routine, and took him when he was completely isolated. If my theories about the grabber are right, he lives within a five-mile radius of the school. What do you think?" Her hands flew wildly about a map of Denver, sticking pins at all the prominent locations in the Mysterious Case of The Grabber. The school, Robin's house, the arcade Vance Hopper played pinball at, every known location.
She looked to you, furrowing her brow. "You look scared. Why? Do you know something? Well, I'll tell you this much: if The Grabber ever gets me, he better bury me shallow, because I'll be back. I'll come back and kick his ass. I've got a brown belt in karate. I figure if I'm going to meddle in a world of violence and crime, I better be able to fight for myself. Anyways, what do you think about The Grabber?"
You swallowed and slowly said, "I think he's a sick man. He's strong. And he's got to have a vehicle. A good sized one. Probably a van. I think he takes a lot of inspiration from David Parker. Ray"
"David Parker Ray.... who's that?" She had a fascinated look on her face.
"He was a kidnapper and serial killer who kidnapped women in his trailer and did... awful things to them before he killed them. Well, he didn't always kill them. Sometimes, he would dump them south of the boarder and continue on."
"Wow..." Olivia's eyes were wide with curiousity. "That's messed up. Hey! We should get together sometime and put together a profile. You know, let everyone know who to look out for."
"Sure," you said. You hated to say it, but Al was right. This was a good way to make friends.
"So, Olivia will be here at about six to work on that." You concluded your story while Uncle Al gave you a disappointed look.
"You won't tell her anything, I trust." Al crossed his arms. "You remember our promise?"
"Relax. I obviously can't lie about everything, but I won't imply that it's you. Besides, there's, like, a million people in Denver who have the physical strength to do what you do."
Al smiled. He felt good about himself. Proud, even. You weren't going to tell Olivia. You were too scared. Scared of him. Ah, fear. What a powerful thing. Fear is a manipulator in itself. He reveled in the power that came to him so naturally with his line of work. He was a god. He determined who lived. Who died. Which boy was worth his time. He was omnipotent. No one could stop him. Not with the fear he saw in your eyes.
"Good. How does Olivia feel about chicken?" He smiled. It was not a well-meaning smile.
"I don't know; I just met her today. We didn't get to talk about our opinions of roast fowls." You glanced out the window, seeing movement from the corner of your eyes. Olivia was making her way up the driveway with a container in her arms, about twenty minutes early. "I guess we'll find out.
"Hello!" Al gave another honeyed smile as he opened the door for her. "Come in, please! My name's Albert; wonderful to meet you. I hear you're the new F.B.I agent in town?"
Olivia returned the smile. "Well, I wouldn't say that. Maybe some day. I brought some cacio e pepe for you guys."
"Oh, well, that was very kind of you. I might serve that instead of cooking tonight. Why don't you guys get on with your... oh, what is it? Profiling? Yes, that-- and I'll heat this up about six thirty." Al took the container from her hands. "Looks incredible."
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"Well, that's a pretty set profile. What do you think-- know anyone who matches this description?" Olivia asked at about seven thirty.
"No. I mean, there's lots of middle-aged men that live around here and have different parts of this. But no one fully." Lies, lies! All lies! "What about you?"
"I mean, my moms boyfriend kind of sounds like this. But he lives by Estes Park. That's about two hours away." She let out a short laugh. "He's an ass. Don't know what my mother sees in him. Maybe it's because he looks like Bob Segar."
You laughed, too. You liked Olivia. She was really funny and knew just about everything about anything. Even though her ideas about the Grabber were a little too close for comfort.
A car horn sounded from outside.
"Oh! That's my brother. We were going to put in a cake order for my dad's birthday. Are you staying in the club?"
You nodded.
"I'll see you Monday!"
"Yeah!"
As she descended down the stairs, you heard Al exchange a (falsely) cheery goodbye before he appeared in your doorway.
"I heard your profile. It's extensive. And she knows me pretty well."
"I did my best."
"Oh, I'm not mad." He walked in and sat on the edge of your bed. "I'm impressed. She stared death right in the eyes, and even with all her knowledge of me, she didn't know I could've killed her right then and there."
"Don't say that."
"Well, you know I could, but I wouldn't."
"Still."
Al sighed. "You're still hung up on Robin?"
"He was my friend."
"He was bad news."
And he wasn't? He was a serial killer and kidnapper. I don't know about you, but I think that's worse than getting into fights once a week.
"Please, don't."
"Fine. I'm going to run to the store. I'll be back later." He clasped a hand on your shoulder "I'm proud of you."
Before you could ask what you did, he was gone. He never said that. He had never once put those words in a sentence together. It was unnerving. Uncomfortable. Scary. You wondered next what he was up to this time.
You didn't have the slightest clue what he was up to.