The woman wasn’t missing before—he was almost certain of it. Admittedly, he hadn’t kept up with the news as he should have, in part because he’d always hated the droning newscasters. Their brown suits and serious faces reminded him of so many terrible bosses and teachers, left him inadequate and squirming under the weight of their gazes. The aftermath of grief and despair broadcast across the entire country felt like an invasion of privacy even when he was just as riveted as everyone else, waiting to learn more about a grisly murder or explosive car crash.
But as soon as he realized what was going on, he should’ve started watching the daily news. Should’ve gathered as much data as possible. Scanning the papers in the morning wasn’tenough. He needed a blueprint of the events around him, and the evening news was the perfect starting point.
Jack pulled a notepad from his satchel and sat before the TV, pen poised above paper. Everything would be gone by tomorrow, but if he could just get in the habit of remembering the reports, found some way to track the minute, day to day changes… Maybe there was a way out after all.
And some of the big ones, he thought, as the missing blond appeared on screen again.
Hannah Dale,twenty-two years old. Five feet five inches tall, one hundred and thirty-seven pounds, blond hair, hazel eyes. On a camping trip near Hidden Cove when she disappeared, swallowed up by the woods. A trail of blood led from her campsite to the center of the forest, where all traces of her vanished.
“She got up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, and never came back,” said her husband, now in police custody, staring up at the camera with imploring eyes. “I don’t know where she went. I spent all night looking for her. Hiked back to the trailhead this morning looking for help.” He lowered his gaze. “I can’t find her. Nobody can find her.”
The camera panned to the woods, where police and volunteers combed through the trees, high visibility vests glinting in the morning light.
She’d disappeared at midnight.
Jack mulled over this information, chewing the inside of his cheek, wishing desperately that Carla would call him.
He forced his focus back to the television screen. How long had Hannah been missing? How many news reports had Jack missed?
When the newscasters moved on to a robbery in the city, Jack darted from the room.
It wasn’t too late to find a newspaper. He’d checked thismorning, but only the major headlines. Hadn’t combed through it looking for mentions of a missing woman or a search party.
But when he careened into the lobby, Boris was sitting behind the desk, staring out the front window, expression glazed over. When Jack appeared, he sat up, eyes narrowing in suspicion.
“Hello,” said Jack, as cheerfully as he could manage while being quite out of breath. “Any chance you’ve a copy of today’s paper on you?”
“Not a chance,” Boris drawled, leaning back in his chair. His eyes never left Jack’s.
A shudder ran through him. “Everything all right?”
“Sure thing, buddy.”
Jack’s eyebrows raised at the caustic tone. “Buddy?”
Boris only scowled in response. The circles under his eyes had grown more pronounced.
“You feeling alright? You look kinda… sick,” Jack finished weakly.
Boris made a sound halfway between a huff and a laugh. “Thanks. That’s what I’ve been wanting to hear all day.”
“Well, it’s true. You’re really pale.”
“Yeah, believe it or not, I looked in a mirror this morning.”
“Rough night?”
“Yeah.” Boris rolled his eyes. “I’ve been here all night. But you already fucking know that.”
“I do?” said Jack, anxiety fizzling across the back of his neck. There was something deadly in Boris’s stare.
“I told you that. Remember?”
“Yeah,” said Jack, nodding. “I think so.”
Boris scowled. “Where the fuck do I know you from?”
“I, uh, I don’t?—”
