Chapter 7
Bare feet.
Not something you see every day.
Of course, that wasn't the first thing that drew his attention to the guy.
It was more the way he ran down the lines of rush hour traffic sitting stagnantly waiting for the lights to change. The way he'd approached all the black cars. Always the black ones…
The way the rain bounced off the hoods and trunks and yet the guy wore nothing but a long sleeved shirt and a pair of jeans…and bare feet. The way he'd flinched and cringed when bemused, angry, scared drivers blasted their horns at him, as they slid by his shivering, junkie-looking frame.
Bedraggled and confused.
Now, two months later, Officer Steven Banks holds out a piece of donut towards him.
They think his name is Stan…or Sam.
Steven prefers Sam…so that's what he calls him – but no one really knows.
He won't speak, he hardly eats. He didn't appear to come down from anything, and there were no telling tracks on his arms or groin to suggest substance abuse. No tattoos, no name on the back of his pants. No credit cards. No cell.
A few tests later and psychologists rated his mental age at around 5 or 6. No sign of head injury, no surgery scars. No evidence of having been mugged or abused. A slight southern accent…but then they only had about ten words to work from…
Sam shakes his head at the donut half and rounds his shoulders even more. Instead, Fiona one of the day attenders, slides by and swipes the tid bit from Steven's hand.
"Hey!" Steven mutters as she sashays out of reach, a mischievous giggle escaping her throat.
Sam would never do that. Doesn't appear to have a greedy side. He waits his turn to get on the bus when they go out for trips, he accepts everything with a gentle grasp and refuses with nothing more than a slight shake of his head.
Steven's time is up, signaled by Sam getting up and heading towards the fence to look down the road. That's all he does. No interaction with the other residents.
He just stands and waits.
Studies the busy junction at the end of the road. As if he's waiting for someone. Or something…
A Day Center. That's where they took him in the end.
Prison would've been a rather cruel alternative considering his…learning difficulties. This guy Sam, or Stan, or…whatever, could be someone's son, nephew, cousin on brother. Or…he could be totally alone in the world, having made his break from whatever Care in the Community programme he was trapped in. Kind of hard to believe there's no one out there looking for him. Somewhere…
And all the while, he's here.
Steven follows his gaze down to the maze of traffic at the far off junction.
"Who are you waiting for, Sam?" Steven asks.
He's asked the same question every time he's visited the guy and it doesn't matter how he phrases it, he just gets the same melancholy look from Sam in return. No words. Just an overwhelming sadness etched on a pinched and worried face.
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There she was.
The bloom of her hood shining like a welcome home beacon under the nervous street light – the only one working in the entire road it seemed.
He'd run towards her but he can barely walk now. He glanced back at the tangled jumble of forestry behind him, and pocketed his gun. No need to frighten the natives now he'd made it back to civilization. He popped the trunk and raked around for a blanket. Somewhat stiff and bloodied from the last time – he grimaced at the pain it caused to open the drivers door and throw the blanket in. May as well save the upholstery – if Sam doesn't get her after him then the lucky schlep that does won't have to replace the front seat.
He eased down into the seat with a definite squelch and a wave of nausea made him rest his head back for a beat. It would pass. It always does.
A Rottweiler. That's the made up assailant already forming in his mind. Something rabid and strong enough to scrape claws through his jacket and jeans and bruise him up real good.
The ER Nurse didn't believe him.
He didn't care.
Eventually her persistent questioning made him grit a less than gentle reply through his teeth.
"Lady, just sew up my butt cheek, would you?" He said, half turning from the trolley he was lying on.
"Sir, if it was just your butt I'd be on my break right now. But, you've got yourself some serious gouges down your left side, across your butt down to the top of your knee," she shot back, as she snapped off her gloves. "You need plastics for this mess."
He didn't wait for the plastic surgeon.
She agreed to sew up the deeper ones and pushed the antibiotics into his pocket before he left.
"Where you headed?" she asked, almost as an afterthought.
"Looking for my brother." He stopped to make eye contact for a beat, pulled out his cell to show her a photo. Sam about two years ago, leaning on the Impala looking elsewhere, otherwise he would've flipped a finger to spoil the image. A good likeness, Dean always thought.
She studied it for a beat.
"You lost him?" she quipped. "Or did he leave?"
He opened his mouth to answer, but suddenly lost the will. His eyes dipped back to the image. She obviously didn't recognize him and so what was the point.
"You tried the homeless unit down at Crosbie yet?" Another afterthought. "You know, if he's the type to go to these places."
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The office was stifling.
The old AC unit chugged relentlessly in the background but should've been put out to scrap around the mid 90's.
Dean watched a bead of sweat slip down the social worker's collar bone, heading straight for her cleavage. She pressed a thumb and index finger onto the diamond stud in her right earlobe and blinked massive eyelashes at Dean's cell photo.
"Nope. Can't say I've ever seen him."
Neither had Thomas, nor Clara the center manager.
Sensing his weariness, Janey flicked her eyes over his dark suit and tie. The FBI were rarely interested in the homeless and the disappeared. In fact, in the ten years she'd had this center under her wing, she'd never known one to come calling before.
"I'm assuming there's a connection to the state. Was he born here?" she asked.
"Last seen here," Dean returned smartly. "He's a Kansas boy…according to our files."
"What did he do for you to be so interested?"
He looked up at her without lifting his face as if scanning her for trustworthiness and integrity. She maintained her gaze.
"Our database was down when I tried back at the office this morning…you wouldn't be able to run through a few aliases for me…would you?"
She pursed her lips.
"You might recognize the names," he flashed a smile. Not one of his winning ones…just enough enamel to lighten the mood and make it sound like he wasn't that bothered.
After three months of relentless searching, summoning and praying (yes, praying) Dean WAS that bothered. Three months of calling and texting every damned hunter they knew. Every hunter Bobby knew. Three months of searching and researching every theory, blog and internet site even remotely connected to strange disappearances, unnatural events associated with young women between the ages of 16 and 20. There weren't any.
"Aren't you the diligent one," she said flatly.
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"What do you mean by gone..?"
Steven glanced around the manager's office. Two suits, two supervisors, and two assistants stared back at him and his partner. None of them had a 'good news' look on their faces, and their confused glances unnerved him already.
"Look, we don't know how it happened, we've been searching all morning, but Sam was down by the wire fence like he always is – "
"It was a girl...I saw her with him.." The skinny guy interrupted.
"Just a moment, Rowland," the Manager cut him off, an embarrassed smile easing over his face. "It's not like you think, officer…"
His partner shook his head before waiting for Steven to make eye contact.
"…the gates were locked," the Manager continued. "Christ knows my boss is on her way already, we can all sit down and go over everything with a fine tooth. "
"But I saw her," Rowland stepped forward. "Sam never talks to anyone, and he was talking to a girl through the – "
"- Now Rowland, just hold on a minute."
Steven's partner was already ushering half the group through to the next office. Divide and separate. It was always the best way to go when interviewing cases like this. That left Rowland and two of the supervisors for him.
Steven bit the inside of his mouth. This wasn't the first time the center had needed to admit to a runaway over the years. Hell, there had even been the odd accusation of abuse and neglect but things had changed since the latest management sweep out. Happier staff meant happier residents. No one had objected to Steven appearing after his shift to see Sam. No one even questioned why he'd want to. And then they call the department to file a miss-per. Oh, Sam could walk. But that was about all he could do. If he had spent the last three months casing the joint for his getaway, well, even Steven hadn't noticed that.
Steven nodded towards Rowland who simply walked out into the corridor, keen to tell him what he'd seen. Not as keen as Steven was to hear it.
"'S'cuse me," a confident, but firm voice sounded, halting Steven at the doorway. Everyone turned to look back at the source.
A suit.
FBI type.
Piercing green eyes that looked like they never missed much of anything.
He flipped his ID pass out and held it up for Steven to see. Glanced at Rowland and the two supervisors.
"Agent Young from Northside," he said. "Uh…have I come at a bad time..?"
TBC