I'll Find Her

It was the hottest day of the year. Covered in sweat, I watch the fan blades spin in the moonlight. They spin like the wheels of her bike. Where was she? Still feeling the bottle of bourbon I had for dinner, I sit up and steady myself to the ground. I’m successful after steadying myself on the bedside table, but my badge and gun clash to the floor. Screw it, I’ll pick them up later.

I make my way to the kitchen by sliding down the wall. I should turn on the light, but why? Even when we put a light on all the evidence, it didn’t matter. We needed a body, preferably alive, but after a month of searching we were still in the dark. At this point, I would sell my soul to Satan to just get a piece of little Cindy’s shirt and put that bastard away.

When I get to the living room, I hear Max’s low growl.

“It’s me, god damn it, shut up.”

He stops growling and lets out a yawn. I can’t see him, but a moment later I feel his cold nose on my hand.

“Go back to sleep, I’m just getting a beer, don’t judge me.” I hear his nails click on the enamel ahead. He must be thirsty too. Following the clicking, I find my way to the kitchen and decide it's time to turn on the light. I see her face on the fridge.

-MISSING-

-CINDY JOHNSON-

-9 years old, Brown Hair, Brown Eyes-

-Last seen 1 June-

- Wearing a pink shirt, yellow shorts, with white shoes and a purple bike helmet. -

Her brown eyes and gapped-tooth smile gleam at me. Notes and photos surround her. Suspected vehicles, her broken purple helmet, and one of her white shoes. Each with its date tagged in the top corner.

How the hell could we not pin the bastard? It all pointed to one SOB, but we didn’t have a body. Instead, he had money and an alibi. I open the fridge and grab a beer. I pop the cap on the chipped countertop. Stumbling to the sliding glass door and almost tumbling when Max flies through my legs into the night. I swear a curse under my breath. What’s the point of a guard dog if they’re going to kill you by accident?

The moon is full tonight, and I stare into its dark craters and wish I could crawl into one and die. I take a long pull on the beer and feel Max at my hand again, this time there’s something in his mouth.

I take the limp, wet mass from his jaws and see the outline of the baby doll. Her baby doll. I choke up. She was my everything. She was all I had left to love. Sure, I wasn’t the best father. Instead of being there when she needed me most, I buried myself in my work. I made distance between us when I should have been hugging her close. I lost a wife, but that's no excuse, she lost her mom. I have always been an unlucky bastard. I had the chance to be a good dad, and I blew it.

I could have taken a desk job after the accident. Instead, I stayed on the street. The chase took my mind off the pain, off the loss, off my responsibilities. I was a shit husband and an absent father, but I was, no, I am a damn good detective. Screw them closing the case, I’m finding her.

Have you ever been so drunk you have to go for a drive till you sober up? That’s how I feel driving down this dark road. Focused on keeping the double yellow lines on my left and the solid white on my right. I can feel Max staring at me from the passenger seat. I know if he could talk, he would tell me to stop, pull over, stop this madness. You’ve suffered enough. Please let’s mourn and eventually move on.

Since he doesn’t say anything, I push my foot a little harder on the gas, blowing past a state trooper going 75 in a 55. His lights come on at once. Shit, why did I leave my badge at home? I pull over and turn on the dome light. I grab my registration and a pack of gum, throwing several sticks in my mouth and mashing them between my teeth. I shift in my seat, making sure my gun isn’t printing under my shirt.

I watch the trooper walk up towards the passenger side. I lower Max’s window a quarter of the way, and my window all the way. Troopers aren’t the brightest bunch, but I’m sure he’ll figure it out. He pauses in the cruiser’s headlights and puts his hand to his gun after seeing Max move in his seat.

“It’s just my dog,” I yell out the window, holding my driver's license, registration, and department card out the window. “He only bites if you’re an asshole.” My heart is beating like a drum. Humor is my crutch. I come off as a cocky prick, but I want this to end.

“What did you say?” The trooper shouts.

“I said he doesn’t bite, but you should probably just come over to my side anyway. Run my tags if you haven’t already.”

I can see him loosen up. He must have run my tags. Only a cop or an idiot looking for trouble would talk that way to a trooper. He walks to my window. He’s a big boy. Might have played college ball back in the day, but now is soft in the middle. He takes my cards and shuffles through them, then hands them back to me. I look up at him and see he’s not wearing his body cam.

“I’m Officer Longhorn with the State Highway Patrol.” His voice is sincere, almost soft. “I’ve spent the last 3 weeks looking for your daughter. I just found out today that they’re calling off the search. I’m sorry.”

His words twist my heart and my throat like wet rags. “Uh-huh, yeah.” I choke out.

“Are you doing alright?”

“Well, I’ve been better.”

“Yeah.”

I stare ahead down the dark road. Hands both on the wheel, gripping it tight to hold back the tears. I will not cry, I will not fucking cry.

“Listen, I’m at the end of my shift. Please be safe and just get on home ok?"

I nod a silent lie.

He raps his knuckles twice on the roof of my car before walking back to his patrol car. The flashing lights turn off, and the cruiser makes a U-turn, heading back down the road in the direction I came from. I sit and watch until the taillights disappear in the distance.

Max lets out a yawn, letting me know he's tired of this. I tell him to shut up. He curls up in his seat, and we take off down the road with the cruise control set to 55.

We pull up about a half mile away from the factory a little before three in the morning. Max is still curled in the passenger seat. I reach behind the passenger seat and grab a pair of binoculars. The security lights are on, and there are two cars in the parking lot. One's an old, beat-up Sudan with Angel Security stenciled on the door. The other is a new SUV with the License plate CMNT BOS. What would the boss be doing here so late?

It doesn’t change my plan, if anything, it improves it. I’ve had some questions I’ve been wanting to ask without lawyers or cameras watching. I put the binoculars away nudge Max. His head snaps up. I open a bag with one of Cindy’s socks and hold it to his nose. He knows her smell better than anything else in this world. If there's a chance, Max will find her. I put on a jacket and a hat. I regret it instantly. This heat is killer, but we need to stay hidden in the dark.

We move through the woods connected by a short leash. As we get closer to the factory, the security lights grow brighter than the moon. We make it to the edge of the woods. Max puts his nose up in the air and sniffs. He finds something. He bolts forward towards the building, slamming me to the ground.

“Max, calm the hell down.” I hiss

He whimpers and tries to bolt to the building again. He smells her.

I wipe sweat from my eyes and scan the fence. It’s a basic chain link, nothing fancy. No cameras, no roaming guards. Why would there be? It’s a cement factory, not a prison. I move to the fence, staying low and keeping Max close. We make it without an issue. I take a pair of wire cutters from my back pocket and cut the links securing the fence to the pole with shaky hands.

With the fence freed from the pole, I grab the bottom and lift up. I make it less than a foot when the chain link bites deep into both my hands. I’m an idiot. The fence bottom springs back to the ground and I let out a muffled curse. Red blood oozing from the punctures in my palms. I thought to bring snips but not gloves, how drunk was I? Feeding my fingers through the chain links and pulling the bottom of the fence up and out. Max slides under before I slide under myself, the sharp prongs scraping me as I go.

My hands are killing me, and I stuff them in my pockets to keep blood from dripping on the ground—still no signs of any security. Max drags me to the building's door. The leather leash rubs against the raw wound in my hand. It stings, but there's no stopping him. He paws and whines at the door. I give the leash a sharp tug to get his attention.

“Sit,” I hiss. To my surprise, he does, but he squirms in anticipation. I check the handle, of course, it's locked. I look around again as I take a bobby pin and a snap clip from my pocket. I break and fashion them into a pick and torsion wrench, then start to work the lock.

I’m making zero progress when I hear a bark at the other end of the building. I looked up in time to see Max trotting towards the other dog. His head is low and alert. His hair stands on end up down his back, and a low growl escapes from his throat.

“No. Max. Stop.” I drop the pick and dive for the leash, but it slips through my fingers. I scramble to my feet and pull my knife from my pocket. The two dogs clash like monsters in the moonlight. Their snarls fill the air. I hear a guard shouting from around the corner of the building. The beam from his flashlight bounces as he runs towards the sound of the dogs.

I get to the dogs first, grabbing Max's collar, I throw him behind me. I hold out my left arm and let the guard dog sink it's teeth into my jacket. I start to stab over and over into its throat. It’s bite loosens, and its body falls to the ground, legs kicking for the final time.

There's no time to think. The security guard has turned the corner and is running towards me fast. Does he have a gun? No time to find out. I sprint to the other end of the building. He’s shouting, but all I hear is the ringing in my ears and the pounding of my heart. I turn the corner then wait. Where’s Max? He’ll be ok. Focus. breath, catch your nerves.

The guard's boots stomp closer through the gravel, and the light grows brighter. He makes it around the corner, and I tackle him. He’s bigger than me, but I get the upper hand with my ambush. Punches rain down on his face. He puts up his arms to protect himself. He’s still holding his Maglite. I grab it from his hand and begin beating him with it. I don’t want to kill him. I hope I don’t kill him.

When his arms go limp, I go limp too. Rolling off him, sitting on my ass, out of breath and shaking. Arms hurting, palms and knuckles bloody, I look down at him. My shaky hand reaches over and feels for a pulse. It's fast but strong, he won’t die, but he is going to have a hell of a headache. I check his pockets and find a key ring on his belt. I zip-tie his hands and roll him on his side. He’ll be alright, I hope.

I stagger back to the door, making kissing noises as I limp and calling Max's name in a low voice. He whimpers from near the door as his shadow slinks towards me. I touch the top of his head. It’s warm and wet with blood. He yelps and takes my hand gently but firmly in his mouth.

“Stay here, bud. I’ll find her.”

It took several attempts to find the right key. The cracked door reveals the darkness within. Max whines and lets out a single yap of a bark. I hush him, then look back inside. No change. The only light on is from the office window on the opposite side of the bay.

I draw my gun and step inside, walking along the walls until I reach the office. No shadows were moving inside. Chances are it's empty. With one hand on the handle and the other on the gun, I throw the door open. Speed and violence are my friends. I clear the first corner before I even enter and sprint down straight along the short wall while clearing the three. I almost shoot a stuffed Bear standing in the corner.

I’m the only person there. I check the dead spaces behind the desk. Also nothing. It’s a small room that smells like a pine tree air freshener. the walls are cedar panel and are covered with taxidermied animals. Deer heads line the wall. Their lifeless eyes follow me through the room. The desk has a snake wrapped around a mouse, so life like that it makes me jump back when I first see it.

I check the desk. There's nothing on top. Nothing in the top two drawers either. The bottom drawer is locked. Its nothing a flat-head screwdriver can't pry open. Inside, there’s a single cigar box. I open it, and my jaw clenches. It's full of scared faces. I flip through the pictures, slowly at first, then faster. All of them are sitting on the leather couch opposite the desk. faces twisted in fear, cheeks stand with tears. At the bottom of each picture, there's a description. There's a Timmy-Baseball and a Sarah-Ballerina and on and on. I flip through faster and faster till my heart sinks. I find Cindy-Bike Rider.

I can’t breathe, a ringing fills my ears, and my body goes numb. I want to scream but I can't. I throw the box across the room. the rage builds in me as I destroy the room. Flipping the desk, tearing down the Deer heads from the wall. I was going to find her. I was going to kill him.

I tear at the head behind the desk. It doesn’t separate from the paneled wall. Instead, the panel opens into a door. Rage becomes surprise. I hesitate before drawing my gun and heading in. The smell, good God, that smell of stale blood on steel mixed with ammonia. It punches me in the nose and then the gut. I fight the urge to vomit and descend the steps.

At the bottom of the stairs, eyes burning and full of tears, I gag again but hold it in. I move down the short hallway to an open doorway. My heart beats faster with every step. I don’t know what I’ll see in the next room, but I know this will end tonight. I cover my mouth and nose with my hand. The smell of dirt and fresh blood on my palm is more appealing than the stale air.

I move through the door. The lights blind me at first, then I see them. Timmy, frozen mid-swing in his Little League uniform. Sarah, stuck forever in a pirouette wearing a pink tutu. There are dozens more. Children, frozen in their favorite activities. I look for Cindy. Hope fills my heart as I scan the room, She's not standing anywhere.

Then my eyes lock on her face. It's her face, but not her eyes. These eyes are empty glass orbs. They lack the life and mischief that filled hers. They stare out at me from a table planted on my daughter's blank face.

Sitting in front of her, is the monster. Wearing a leather apron, gas mask, and headphones. He didn’t hear me come in. He’s too focused on stitching up her abdomen. he's hands move in long careful strokes. I can hear him humming as he works.

I have no control over my body. I walk up behind him and place the gun to the back of his head. His body falls to the ground after the first shot. I fire shot after shot into his twitching corpse until my gun clicks and falls from my hand. Dropping to my knees, with tears in my eyes, I take her little cold hand in mine. I found her, but I never should have lost her.