D.e.s.p.e.r.a.t.e. Deeds
Julian?
Yes, yes, come to think of it, I have heard a lot about him. Comes and goes whenever he wants.
Not really sure if he stays in a place too long.
He's everywhere, that's for certain.
And nowhere, too.
No, no—you probably don't understand why I'm not making any sense, but that's just how he is. I bet he's always going around, doing his own business, whatever that might be. I don't know, I'm just a witness. By he's everywhere, I mean he's literally wherever you go: At some point of the day he comes by his routine routes—it's like he doesn't have a destination, he's in it for the walk. He passes by the gateway so often that even strangers learn to recognize him. He doesn't exactly blend in with the crowd, with his hair and all—but once he's gone, he's gone.
Just like that, and everybody could only say that he went here and went there, but no matter how many places you're going, he's always a scotch a huge leap away. Though he's never around when you come looking for him. He's arousing too much suspicion, and gets too much attention.
Maybe that's why he wanders around.
Or perhaps he's looking for something.
I mean, why else would he go back to the same spots he goes to every day in nearly the same route at nearly the same time? Is it to catch up with something? Something that rarely shows up? An item from the store? Whatever it is, it has to mean a lot to him if he's that adamant.
He avoids contact, obviously, and no one really knew his name until there was a time when writing your name on the convenience store's receipt was mandatory. Guess he was forced. In any case, that became the day that the frequent passersby of the place felt an even stronger pull of gravity from him after hearing his name from the clerks.
He comes by that place a lot, actually.
What I meant is more than general. Sure, people go there all the time, but he's—he's different. Unlike the usual residents, he doesn't buy anything. It's not like he's walking around to distract himself from anything. No. His purpose was different. Nothing around ever seems to catch his eye, but I know he's there for some reason. He's surveying the area, checking if something interesting's there.
…Right, right, sorry.
As someone who just moved in, I shouldn't digress on the details, I might've gotten something wrong. I'm sorry if I do.
…Oh, yes, I just moved all the way from America. Is it the accent? Am I not being subtle?
Sorry. I hope you're not too bothered.
…Last Friday? I was actually working overtime at the café by the bay, I'm sure you've heard of it. It just opened up. I was…incompetent, to say the least. I was supposed to—
No, I was sure I left at around two in the morning.
I take the path across the bridge. Avoids complication, don't want to be mugged, except that night, I was awfully beaten, half-asleep as I dragged my feet outside, so I took a detour and went straight to the subdivision. It was a little way off from my apartment, but it's safer than the rest of my options. Then, I saw him.
I don't remember him having a companion. He was by his lonesome.
I didn't know, it isn't my fault—
Look, lady, I can see that you're tearing up about all this…She's still out there. I don't have any proof, but I have a theory.
Whoever's got her must have intentions of keeping her.
Lately I haven't seen a single shred of his cowardly face. It seems that he's nowhere to be found, and that might be a good thing. It means he's watching over his prisoner. He's got her locked up, somewhere, in this town. It can't have been anywhere else. There aren't any traces of him to make clues out of, save for the only thing that exists in emptiness. Nothing. His absence: It means something. He's usually everywhere, so we have to look for the places he isn't around in anymore to know where he's avoiding and corner him.
I don't want to get things wrong—
Oh, so it's true, then.
…I'm very sorry, Ma'am. If there's anything I can do—
Yes, absolutely. I'll keep my eyes peeled for that fraud.
I have business to attend to, sorry, Mrs. Boyce. I wish I'm be able to be of help to you more than just giving away meager information, but—
Yes, yes, right. Well. See you around.
No, thank you. I've always wanted to let the load off.
I'll always be by here—
Oh, your daughter?
…Sophie?
Have I seen her around, you mean?
You'll have my word. You'll be the first to know if I find her.
By the way, Mrs. Boyce, it's rare to find green eyes. Yours are most refreshing. They remind me of someone. Well, nice meeting you, Ma'am.
…
Vanessa Boyce dabbed at her puffy eyes, making to leave. This was certainly another useless interview of yet another useless witness. Six days and still they didn't find any more leads to the case. They were merely barking at the wrong tree, that much was sure…There weren't enough evidences to support any of the suspects on their list, the most suspicious of which was a far cry from the true perpetrator of the crime according to the testimonies.
Just how on earth were they going to get her baby back…?
The door to the room opened, and in came two police officers.
"Are you done talking to the witness, Madam?"
She mutely nodded, voice strained.
The shorter of the two took off his cap sheepishly and muttered, "So sorry about your daughter."
Vanessa said nothing. The other one turned to look behind his shoulder. "Where's Gin Wendell gone?"
"You didn't see him on the way here? Tall, blue eyes, white hair…" She faltered when the chief said something at the same time.
"White hair?"
The police exchanged shocked glances.
"Ma'am, we assure you, the witness whom you asked for wasn't old enough to even have white hair."
Vanessa stared at them, studying their faces as if waiting for a punch line.
"Of course he isn't, he probably dyed it somehow, you know how teenagers are."
"Ma'am," said the officer, "you talked to the wrong person."
FULL AUTHOR'S NOTE IN PROFILE