Tanner
Age 9
“Hi Mrs. Brigham, can Berkleigh come out and play?” I can’t see out of my right eye because it’s swollen shut. It makes people uncomfortable when they look at me. I don’t really care.
“What happened to your eye, Tanner?” Berkleigh’s mom reaches out but I flinch back.
“Baseball.” It’s all I say because I don’t like lying.
“Oh! That’s awful. Did you try out for Little League this year?”
I did. I’ve been playing since I could physically hold a glove. My dad loves baseball and wants me to become the next Mickey Mantle. I’m really good at it when I’m on the field and pitching is my favorite position.
But I didn’t get a swollen black eye from practice. I got it because my dad threw the ball at my face when I wasn’t looking. Because I wasn’t looking.
“Yes. I’m pitching.” I look to the side and around Mrs. Brigham, wondering what’s taking Berkleigh so long. She knows I don’t like talking to people.
“Well, take good care of yourself.” She then steps out onto her porch, curious what the banging sound is in my yard. My dad is bashing in a toy car with a baseball bat, but I don’t care. I was bored with it. I prefer playing soldiers because they have guns and knives.
When I look back at Mrs. Brigham I notice she’s breathing heavier and her skin is pale, her stare darting from my black eye to my normal one.
“I’m sorry, Tanner. Berkleigh is in bed sick. Come back next week.”
My face must say it all because…next week?
Then again, I’m sure her mom is sick too. She looks like she’s going to puke.
It’s been less than five minutes and she’s gone.
Any pragmatic, logical, and self-aware person would have followed the natural trail that circles around my property, yet here we are.
Berkleigh is nowhere to be seen, which means that in the span of a three minute conversation with my commanding officer, she stepped away and went completely rogue.
In any given situation, I am in control. It’s how I’ve been trained since I joined the military, but looking back, it’s safe to say my controlling instincts most likely started well before then.
Which begs the questions…why is my heartbeat suddenly skyrocketing? And why the fuck can I hear it in my ears?
As I search through the short distance a three minute walk takes, my eyes scan the branches to see if any of them are broken or if the grass is bent in an unnatural way. The obvious clues I should be concentrating on are her footprints since she wouldn’t have even tried to dissimulate them. As a tracker molded by the military to hone my skills like a blade against a whetstone, she should be easy to find, yet my mind isn’t as sharp as it should be. What the actual fuck is up with that?
I’d bet my left nut she was thinking about that cake more than her survival in these unknown woods. Finding her should be the easiest task I’ve ever been given. Fucking Christ, what was I thinking?
I wasn’t, that’s what. My dick, though? That’s a different story. The mere idea of me stalking her while she looked for me had my cock so hard, the pain was real.
But all of that is out the window as of five—make that seven—minutes ago. My mind is hyperfocused on finding her, which means putting the phone conversation to the back of my mind. It’s rare that I refuse a job since they always involve the killing of a predator the justice system wasn’t able to condemn through the legal path. This one, however, was a civilian paying to snuff out corporate competition.
I don’t do that. Mainly because I don’t give a shit about greedy assholes addicted to their power. When I kill, it’s only satisfying if I know I’ve balanced the act out with meaningful purpose.
Meh, I guess I’m not so bad after all.
Crouching down and keeping my ears trained for any noises out of the ordinary, I press the tactical switch on my military-grade flashlight. It has a high lumen output but I bring the brightness to low so I don’t give my position away.
One corner of my mouth ticks up into a smirk when I see the distinct shape of her shoes imprinted into a patch of damp soil. I’m finally on the right track and the relief that courses throughme is the strangest thing I’ve felt since seeing her all those weeks ago curled up on my front stoop.
I’m barely thirty seconds in when I hear her voice. Every nerve ending in my body fires up because there is absolutely no reason—at least none that I like—for her to be speaking with someone.
There was a legitimate reason for me buying the land here years ago. It’s secluded without being hours away from town. The road is far enough that I don’t usually worry about trespassers but close enough for me to be in and out without a hassle. The water source was also a selling point, but a moot one in this instance.
The fact that Berkleigh is talking to someone means she’s near that road or close enough that someone saw her. And there isn’t a single bone in my body that relishes the thought of her being alone on the side of the road with a complete stranger.
