I rummage through my duty bag looking for my wallet when my cell phone rings. It's the station number.
"Hello." I say.
"Vic, hey it's me, uhm do you think you can uh come to the station and help us out? Walt thinks that John's disappearance is suspicious."
"Suspicious as in dickhead is really missing or what?"
"More like he thinks he may have been taken against his will."
"What?"
"Ah, yeah, about coming in."
"I'm on my way, Ferg."
"Ok, thanks."
Before he hangs up I ask because I'm masochistic that way, "Where is Walt?"
"He's at the hotel."
"Great." I say and hang-up.
I sit for a moment deciding. Should I go buy my aspirin or just head straight to the station. It's one of those insignificant decisions that becomes all-encompassing, like being sleepy and hungry at the same time. Do I eat then sleep or do I sleep then eat. It should be a no-brainer but it never is and both turn out the same, wasted time and doubt in your decision.
I back out of the parking space eyeing the maroon Buick and actually say goodbye to the Keystone State plates and dream of a cheesesteak on my way back to town.
"What we got Ferg?" I ask as I walk into the station spotting Ferg at his laptop engrossed in the electronic images displayed.
I'm jolted by the image of Walt standing behind my desk. He looks up, his eyes intense and focused, his long fingers resting on their tips on top of the wood.
"Hey." I say peeling off my jacket.
He steps aside, his arms poise by his side, his body tense.
"Can we talk for a minute?"
He's super quiet in that reflective state that I've grown accustomed.
"Sure."
I stroll into the office ahead of him and he closes the door gently like he's afraid if he lets loose he will break the door off of its hinges.
He stands facing me, the rays of sunshine pouring through the slats in the blinds, "Ruby told me you went to see Doc Pederson." His hand comes up and stops, as if he needs permission; I step forward closing the distance.
His fingers trace my face, "The headaches are back?" He's concerned.
"Sometimes." His fingers are warm and soft.
"Why didn't you tell me?" His voice pitches higher into that delicate space.
"I don't want you to worry."
"But, I do."
He presses his lips on my forehead and I fall into his chest.
"I wish I could take the pain away."
My body relaxes into his.
"Did he order any tests?"
"Sheridan. MRI."
"When?"
"Next Tuesday at 8:45."
He leans back and looks at me, moving his fingers down my neck, "I'm coming with you."
"Thank you."
"I don't know what to do anymore."
His words, his frustration float through the air surrounding us, and I stay in his arms.
"I know"
I lean back, "So, tell me about this shit bird is he missing or what?" The art of deflection, I was taught by the master.
"Ahm, well I have Ferg doing some background research on him."
"We looking for motive?"
"Yeah."
This is what we do; we traverse back into our world, where the fate of others rest dismissing our own in the process.
"Two million dollars isn't enough?"
His face crinkles and I answer his question before he asks, "His share of the four million they got coming from the estate."
We break apart, standing, squaring off in front of each other.
"What?" He earnestly asks me.
"You were there?" He asks me his face losing its fine detail of emotion.
"In the hallway."
"You don't trust me?" The anger appearing.
"It's not that."
"What the hell is it, Vic?" The grit grounds out with his words.
"You can't just dismiss me."
"I wasn't dismissing you."
"What the fuck do you call it?"
"Being the Sheriff. It's my call, Vic."
"I know it's your call. I mean I get that but why would you?"
"I wanted Ferg to take the lead, Vic. If it's something that takes us into the weekend I wanted him to handle it. I'm trying my best to keep my promises to you."
"Why wouldn't you just say that?"
"Vic, I just can't be what you want me to be."
It is the first time I've ever heard him sound defeated.
"I'm not trying to change you."
He just stares toward the window, with the light slicing him in pieces, much like our marriage.
"I'm going to work this case. You do what you want to do." He exclaims and he turns toward the door.
"What is that supposed to mean, Walt?"
"It means whatever you want it to mean." He's dismissive as he walks out of the office.
I hear him barking at Ferg, "What have you found so far?"
"Well, ah Walt, John graduated from Durant High School in 1980, a year ahead of Linda, and Ruby remembers that he went off to Europe and only came back occasionally to visit his parents. I know I haven't seen him since working for my dad. He was here when his parents restored the big house on their property and my dad had the roofing contract. That was maybe ten years ago."
I walk over and sit at my desk trying to keep it all in because I don't know how to fix this or where it all came from.
"You find anything arrest records?" Walt asks.
"I haven't gotten that far. I just really got started when you came back to the station."
"Ok, you check for prior arrests. Maybe he hooked up with the wrong crowd while looking for fun and adventure."
Ruby adds, "John was a bit of a rebel-rouser, you should remember that Walter. He was always getting into trouble."
"Like what, Ruby." I ask spinning my pencil in my hand, trying desperately to appear normal.
"If I remember right, Lucian, brought him in for smoking marijuana under the football bleachers during homecoming. That was a big deal back then."
"When I checked the room his cell phone, wallet, luggage, everything was still in the room. Linda picked him up from the airport so he doesn't have a car."
"Where does he live?" I ask.
"Wilkes-Barre." He says.
"As in Pennsylvania?"
He nods.
"Fuck."
