♡Chapter dedicated to funnyguy73♡
"You got tears, making tracks
I got tears, that are scared of the facts." Athlete.
The last thing that Jenna Jones wanted to hear at seven o'clock on a Saturday morning was Maria Mansfield's nasally voice.
Unfortunately, as she answered the ringing phone, still half asleep, that is exactly what she heard on the other end of the receiver.
"Jenna, how are you? Is Kayla still there? Can I speak to her?"
"What?" Jenna answered groggily, trying to comprehend what the other woman was saying.
"I mean, it's not that I mind that she stayed the night, it's just that they are only eighteen, you know? With college coming up the last thing we need is a little accident." The sneer in her voice at the last word was evident, even through the phone line. She had never approved of her daughter's relationship with Jenna's son. "And what about Ryder? Did he stay there too?"
Come to think of it, Jenna didn't remember hearing anyone come home last night. Although, they could have just been really quiet.
"Hold on." Jenna dragged herself out of bed, reluctant to leave the comfort of her cotton sheets, her husband's questioning eyes peered at her over the top of the duvet. She waved him off and wandered out the bedroom, padding down the hall and opening the door to Noah's room.
Her eyes widened when she realized Noah's bed was neatly made, as though it hadn't been slept in. Ignoring Maria's insistent voice coming through the speaker, she walked through to the living room next, half expecting to see the kids sleeping on mattresses on the carpeted floor. The emptiness of the room caused her heart to flutter. "They're not here."
"What do you mean 'not there'? Of course they are! Where else would they be?"
Jenna had to resist the urge to press the end call button on the phone, "I mean," she emphasized, "that they are not here. Neither is Noah."
Somewhere beneath her annoyance with Maria Mansfield, Jenna was beginning to feel the slightest bit of unease. It wasn't like Noah to not come home; he would have at least sent a message. She pulled the phone from her ear and checked the screen. Seeing no new notifications, she bit down the slight hint of panic she was beginning to feel and tried to reason with herself as well as the other woman.
"Maybe they are at Savannah's? Or Aaron's?"
"Savannah's was the first place I called." The edge of hysteria in Maria's voice was impossible to ignore. "She didn't come home either."
"Aaron's then. They have to be at Aaron's." Jenna insisted, more for herself than the annoying woman on the other end of the call. Because if they weren't there, then where else could they be?
She didn't want to dwell on the possibilities.
"I'm phoning Helen now." And with that Maria hung up, leaving Jenna still standing in front of her son's bedroom, the panic slowly starting to overtake her common sense. She padded over to Lucian's room, edging the door open slightly, a breath of relief fell from her lips as she saw her youngest son, still tucked under the covers, sleeping peacefully.
Heading back to Noah's room, she glanced inside, touching the door as if this would give her some clue as to where he could be, before going back to her husband who was now sitting up in the bed, a frown on his face, fine wrinkles at the corners of his dark brown eyes.
"What's going on?" he asked, his voice deep and full of concern.
Before she could answer, the phone in her hand rang again. This time when she answered, she didn't care that it was Maria's nasally voice on the other end.
"Jenna, the kids aren't there either. They're gone."
Detective Jonathon Cartwright had a raging headache.
He only had himself to blame for the copious amounts of straight whiskey he had consumed last night in the privacy of the four walls of his living room.
"You look like shit." His partner, Isaiah Sanders, commented as he sat down and handed him a Styrofoam cup of the swill they passed off as coffee at the station.
"And you look like sunshine and fucking daisies." Jon grumbled back, rubbing his fingers over his temples in an effort to soothe away the pain. The shower he had this morning didn't help with the stench of alcohol that seemed to cling to him like smoke. His clothes were rumpled and in need of ironing, his cerulean eyes bloodshot, his sandy hair was standing upright in spikes, and he didn't have the energy to smooth it down.
Quite frankly, he didn't give a shit what he looked like.
Isaiah laughed, too loudly for Jon's pounding head, but reached into his desk drawer and pulled out two Pain Eeze.
"These should help." He chucked the white pills across the desk to Jon, who picked them up and swallowed them dry, smiling gratefully.
"What have we got today then?" Jon asked, hoping for once that the day would be quiet, and he could wallow in self-pity from the pain of his binge last night. He should have known as soon as he cracked open the bottle that he would be tempted to try and finish it. He didn't partake in hard liquor often, usually only a beer or three, but yesterday had been an especially hard day at work, followed by an irate phone call from his ex-wife, and he had needed something to take the edge off.
"Well-," But Isaiah's words were cut off by a loud voice that rang through the station.
"I DON'T CARE! I WANT TO SEE SOMEONE IN CHARGE NOW!"
Jon winced at the volume of the words but stood up and made his way to the front desk where a small woman, whose voice honestly seemed too big for her body, was giving the Constable at the desk a hard time.
"Ma'am, as I have said, it is protocol to wait for-."
"Are you not listening to me? My children are missing!" The lady screamed, her unruly blonde hair escaping the restraints of her ponytail, her deep blue eyes red-rimmed.
For the first time, Jon noticed that she wasn't alone, six other people hovered in the background while she took center stage. The looks on their faces a mixture of annoyance, worry and fear.
"Is everything alright here, Constable?" Jon managed in between the loud woman's rant, receiving a glare from her for his efforts.
"Sir." The poor man looked taken aback and like a deer caught in the headlights, "these parents are saying their kids never came home last night after going to a party."
"And don't you dare tell me that they have just gone on a weekend bender!" The look he received from the lady stopped Jon from doing just that.
Instead, he kissed his quiet recovery day goodbye and gestured for them all to follow him. He led them to interview room three, the largest they had, grabbing Isaiah along the way, grateful that his partner thought to grab a pen and notepad.
Even though the room was slightly bigger than the others, it was still a tight squeeze with them all in there. Without even asking, the lady from the front desk took the only seat across from the detectives, usually used by suspects or witnesses, the other parents refused Isaiah's silent offer for them to sit on the remaining two chairs.
"Now," Jon addressed all of them, but knew immediately it would be the loud woman who answered, "can you tell me what happened?"
An hour later Isaiah had four pages of notes, complete with the names of the parents, and their kids, a detailed description of the events of the previous night and photos of each of the teenagers sent to his phone.
"So," he started as soon as Jon returned from showing the agitated parents to the door of the station. "Five teenagers go for a night out together, and don't come home. No texts, no phone calls, no explanation as to where they are."
"And loudmouth out there is determined that her daughter would never do anything like that. She insists that Kayla would have let her know if any plans had changed. She's the typical golden girl."
Isaiah refrained from scolding Jon about the nickname he had given Maria Mansfield. "In direct contrast to her wild child of a brother." He paused for a moment before continuing. "Golden girls don't usually go out drinking though, do they? I mean, isn't it possible that really they are just still drunk somewhere?"
Jon grimaced. "My gut is telling me no. What are the chances that five kids all don't communicate their plans with their parents?"
"Very high actually. My daughter-," but Isaiah stopped himself just in time, knowing how hard it was for Jon to hear. "What I mean is, it is possible."
"I still think that something more is going on here." Jon brushed off the reference to Isaiah's child, wishing that he had that bottle of whiskey handy to rinse out the sour taste of regret that filled his mouth.
"Ok, where do we start?"
"At the last place that we know they were," Jon's eyes sparkled mischievously, a smile forming on his lips for the first time that day. "Tell me Isaiah, when was the last time you went to a nightclub?"