Chapter 10
Avidya
Thunder rumbled in the distance as lightning streaked across the dark sky. I hadn’t expected to just be able to walk out of the building, least of all on my own. I could go anywhere, if only my face wasn’t plastered all over the place and on every street corner. It was extremely tempting to do just that. Just disappear and not be found by anyone. In theory, it sounded easy, but after knowing what I did know, I knew it wouldn’t be anywhere near that easy to just run off and chase my dreams.
Being a missing person could draw anyone’s attention to me if somebody actually took a moment to look at me. There was a number of people out and about, all in a hurry it seemed. I wasn’t in a hurry; there was no reason to be. I was still undecided about this, but I knew without a doubt it was something that needed to be done sooner or later.
There was no plan in place, really. At least not for me. I had my part in it all. Everything, in the end, depended on me. I would get through this, I had to. At least to figure out who I was.
I ended up at the gas station a few streets over. Not the one that Zachariah wanted me to go to, but I was in no way going to make this easy for him. It was basically his fault I was in this situation. It was easier to blame him than anyone else right now. There was still so much I had thought I knew that was no longer the same.
The thin checkered shirt was wrapped tightly around my upper body that Jonas gave me before I left the safety of the black high priced car he drove. Even with the humid air, I still shook with a cold chill. A chill that would likely not be going away anytime soon.
I was nervous, although there was no reason to be. Zachariah had everything under control; that I didn’t doubt. Other than getting to a place that was populated, I knew what I had to tell a police officer. Other than that, I had no idea what would happen next. It would have been easier to run and never be found, but Zachariah would have found me sooner or later if I did.
His unspoken threats made that clear. He just had this . . . air about him. He would stop at nothing to make sure I was okay, safe even. But why? Why was I so important?
Stepping into the air-conditioned building, the bell above the door dinged. The balding man that sat at the counter hardly spared me a glance as I slowly walked up to the counter, my head down and hair shielding me from view.
“Can I help you, Miss?” he asked, seeming as confused as I had been the past few days.
“Yeah,” I said, my voice quiet as I glanced up at him. His declining hairline was extremely noticeable, as was his round belly. “I . . . can you call the police?”
“Good gosh!” he gasped. “You’re Avidya Ray.”
I was tempted to roll my eyes at that. Of course, I was. My picture was posted just inside the doors and everywhere else. I’m pretty noticeable when I want to be. Even with my face showing the world how tired I was of life, I couldn’t hide very well anywhere.
It didn’t take long for the man to call dispatch and police to arrive. I was waiting in the office like area with a bottle of water clasped tightly between my hands. The man was nice enough to let me have a candy bar, which went untouched. My stomach was already doing somersaults, and I didn’t fancy losing my snack, nor anything else, anytime soon.
Looking at the stack of newspapers that were piled on the desk messily, I saw I had made national news. My father really did go all out, even though I was technically an adult and could make my own choices.
Surely, for any normal eighteen-year-old, I’d have been looked over on any simple day. Maybe a few flyers would have been put up. But no, Avidya Ray was someone of importance, for whatever reason that may be.
After a flurry of activity, I was ushered to the back of a police car, then taken to the police station and before I knew it, I was ushered into a room, and left alone. I couldn’t tell anyone how I got to this room, as I spaced out. It was just easier.
Sitting in a metal chair in front of a wide table in the middle of the room, I looked around. I was glad I wasn’t held captive in a small room for any longer than I had been, or this would have made me panic.
Along the wall that I faced was a two-way mirror. I was unable to tell if someone was watching me, but I gathered someone was. The police tried to question me at the gas station, but I wasn’t able to talk. Not that I couldn’t, it was just that I was to talk to one person only. The person that had been in charge of my case, according to Jonas. The man would be able to close this, and I could be on my way faster without so much media attention.
Not that I had any idea on what would become of me either way.
The walls were painted a soft cream color, almost like they wanted to make people feel at home here. Come on, being in a police building was not home, my home was where . . . . not wherever I would end up in the next few hours.
The house I grew up in was no longer my home. It didn’t even sound likehomeanymore.
I sighed out, letting my head drop in my hands, willing tears to not come. I couldn’t think like that. The home I grew up in was the only home I knew, and surely it would be the same when I arrive back there. Right?
After a few long minutes, an officer entered, shutting the door softly behind him. The half empty bottle of water sat on the table, my knee bouncing below. I lifted my head up to meet his gaze.
“Good evening, Miss Ray,” he spoke calmly, pulling out the chair and sitting down across from me. He placed a brown folder and pad of paper in front of me in the same motion.
He wasn’t like the other cops that I knew from the church or the community. Yes, his skin was still darker than mine, but he had a more laid back air about him. His clothes, although still professional, were more of an everyday style. Maybe he was called in on a day off?
His eyes were a light brown color, filled with years of knowledge. He was older, maybe his late forties or so as his dark hair was streaked with gray. He pulled off the look perfectly. He did look like he could use a week of sleep.
“I am Detective Nathan Stone,” he began, his voice only a tad octave lower than I had expected. “You went missing March thirtieth, exactly two weeks ago, in the middle of the night. Your friend, Becca Wrights, was found dead early the next morning at the scene. Does this sound correct so far?
Just jump right in,I thought.
