It had been two days and David continued to take me home at 8:30 every night. Oh free and how alive I felt on the back of his motorcycle, but I was begining to find it was no longer the motorcycle that captivated me,… it was David and his ability to talk aimlessly about nothing. Something that Cadence and I seemed to struggle with.

I could sit on the back of David's bike outside of my house or before we left Toni's and just chat with him without ever feeling like I was drowning looking for what next to say or playing 20 questions. Conversation just dripped from me to him and from him to me as easy as water from faucet to sink. We did not have deep, heavy or intense conversations; they were just normal and trivial.

I was beginning to find that the more Cadence and I spent every waking moment together during work, after work and on the phone,… the less and less we had to say to each other. Being together on a 24/7 basis left no mystery in our relationship. He knew everything about my day and I knew everything about his. I had hoped with the week apart that this would change,… but I still had four more days until I would be able to find out. But until then,… there would be another mystery to keep me occupied.

My grandmother had found a wallet in the street about two days after my discussion with David. I had told her I would take it with me to work sense in my arrogant teenage girl mind I thought anybody who was anyone went to Toni's. Luckily,…or rather unluckily to be proven later on they overruled that idea and they decided to take the wallet to the police station, I went with them.

It was a bright, almost hot, sunny day very contrasted from the rain I had faced with David, so I sported my white shorts trimed with red and matching camisole, standard wash jacket thrown on top, a very 80s fashion statement. I sat in the Mercedes-Benz fanning myself with my hand, hot leather sticking irritatingly to my thighs. With a frustrated sigh I yanked my hair back into the red scrunchy I had been using as a bracelet. It was taking too long. I had imagined that grandma and mom had found someone to talked to, it felt like an eternity sitting in a steamy car with no means to crank the air; I ran my hand through my hair one final time and exited the car from hell.

Tucking my hands into my pockets I entered the station. Cool air washed over my sticky, wet skin and I sighed in contentment. I slumped my shoulders and sat in one of the ugly bluish-grey arm chairs that you could find in any doctors office or hospital. I exhaled and closed my eyes resting my head against the wall, taking in the refreshing artificial breeze from the air-conditioner.

"Pardon me miss." A soft female voice stated calling me from my relaxation, I sat up straight and looked towards the front desk at the receptionist. "May I help you?"

"Oh no thanks." I smiled. "Just waiting for someone."

The receptionist nodded and went back about her business. I then got up from the set and walked over to the cluttered pin-board across the room. The way the missing posters had pinned one on top of another in arrays of colors made it look like there could be missing posters dated all the way to 1932. I read and began to shutter at each missing person.

Missing,

Ned Dancen

Age: 32

Height: 6'2

Weight: 133

Last seen: August 12th 1986

Missing,

Stewie Black

Age: 24

Height: 5'7

Weight: 153

Last seen: June 3rd 1984

Missing,

Jenny and Celeb Wazowski

Age: 15 and 12

Height: 5'1 and 4'6

Weight: 108 and 103

Last seen: September 18th 1987

I cringed, I did not dare read the descriptions, I couldn't bear to see what husbands, wives, mothers, fathers and children were missing these people. One missing poster in particular caught my eye. The corner of the sea-foam green paper was sticking out from under what seemed to be a billion other posters, it was the only poster as for as the eye could see of that color and it was my favorite color, so naturally I took interest.

"Do you mind if I unpin this?" I asked the receptionist with a sideways glance.

"Sure thing! We've been meaning to sort through them anyway, just leave them on the table when you're done."

"Ok thanks!" I smiled. I unpinned the posters only taking the sea-foam green one and leaving the others on the table as instructed.

I had read the poster before even looking at the picture.

Missing,

Davy Keats

Age: 18

Height: 6'2

Weight: 120

Last seen: October 28th 1980.

I at last looked at the photo and my eyes bugged out in horror. He was a Yuppie,… a Young Urban Professional. White dress-shirt (which was more than likely a Gucci knock-off) adorned broad shoulders trimmed with a bowtie and although the picture was only from the waste up the tops of slacks and a fine leather belt was seen, hair slicked back to perfection, cleanly shaven and baby-faced. It was a senior class photo, I could tell by the quality and the pose. But it was the distinct curve of the upper lip and strong jawline and gleaming eyes not yet dark butt mesmerizing all the same. It was impossible,…

"Mia?"

I gasped quickly tucking the poster in my pocket and spun on my heel.

"You ok honey?" mom asked. I smoothed my hair.

"Yeah mom, fine." I said. "Just got hot in the car that's all."

Mom smiled. "Well we can go now. Sorry it took so long I guess grandma and I just got caught up talking to officer Bill. C'mon lets get you out of this heat."

It made no sense! For the longest time I just stared at the poster, lying on my stomach on the bed. He looked nothing like David and yet the facial features were identical. David was darkness, daring and sexy, and this boy was ideal and angelic. The description had mentioned that the only family member missing him was a beloved grandfather and David's grandfather was murdered. Davy went missing in 1980 and was 18 years of age where as David was 18 here and now in 87. And Davy was missing,… and David was not.

I had tried every scenario in my head; maybe it was a family relation? Or some prissy, high-falutin looking doppelganger, but I realized the world didn't work that way,… it couldn't work that way.

There were too many differences to be possible and too many similarities to be coincidental.

I couldn't let this go! I needed to know,…I needed to know what connection if any that this missing boy,…this missing man had to the mysterious, seductive and very real man who drove me home every night and held my heart and body in some kind of sickeningly wonderful, horrifying captivity.

The Santa Carla library was old butt terribly significant to the town. It had been built in 1817 and had not been refurbished or touched since the grand opening on June 16th in 1820, meaning that the original books had remained along with the new books that got released with every passing year. Meaning, that the Santa Carla library literally had every book imaginable,… including old year books from the Santa Carla High School.

So far I had searched the 1974-1979 yearbooks from page to page, cover to cover to no avail. Now I stared down at yet another Stingray holding a football in a red and white uniform. Each stingray seemed to grow more detailed and vivid than the last with each yearbook cover I came across. The cover read in big black letters.

"Santa Carla Stingrays class of 1980"

"Please be in here." I chanted in a whisper as I caressed the hard cover of the yearbook, just praying that this Davy Keats hadn't gone to Yokel High (which was a town over) or been homeschooled or something untraceable like that.

With an intake of breath I cracked opened the book to a random page- and there he was- Davy Peter Keats-page 182.

"Yes!" I breathed in triumph, it was the same exactly photo.

Quickly I looked at the top photo of the rows pictures, remembering how in my yearbook we were always listed next to our Homeroom teacher and sure enough there she was,…Mrs. Sally Johnson, quickly I jotted the name down on a scrap of paper.

"Yes, thank you Mr. Johnson. Mhmm sorry to disturb you, bye." I hung up the phone with a loud clink and softly rested my head against the cool surface of the bar and groaned. You see, after going to the library, I went to Toni's to help Flora set up for the lunch shift, or at least that's what I had intended to do until this mess with Davy Keats showed up. Now here I was being of no help at all, going down the list of all the Sally Johnsons in the Santa Carla phonebook, hoping for some kind of foolish spark of success, when for all I knew the woman could have been dead, or didn't even live in the vicinity of Santa Carla anymore, again I was looking for a needle in a haystack.

"This was a freaking stupid idea." I told myself in a frustrated grunt. For the longest time I just stared at the entrance of the formal dining room with my head against the bar listening to the music, waiting for something,… anything to happen.

You packed your things in a carpetbag

Left and never looking back

Rings on your fingers, paint on your toes

Music wherever you go

You don't fit in a small town world

But I feel you're the girl for me

Rings on your fingers, paint on your toes

You're leaving town where nobody knows

"What are you doing Mia Pia?" Flora asked, tone laced with the usual sweetness, but I was not in the mood.

"Oh nothing." I sighed pulling my head up. "I was just looking for a teacher who worked at the high school here."

"Why?" she asked crinkling her pale nose and looking over my shoulder at the yellow pages, her brown eyes lit up. "Oh my God, Mrs. Johnson?"

You can win if you want

If you want it, you will win

On your way you will see that life is more than fantasy

Take my hand, follow me

Oh, you've got a brand new friend for your life

"You know her?" I asked sitting up straighter. Flora ran a hand through her bleached curls and pulled the phonebook closer.

"Oh yeah, she was my econ and English teacher Junior and Senior year, I loved her, she even wrote her number in my yearbook,… she goes by The Widow Johnson now,… if I see her number I'll remember it." Flora rambled running a black nail down the page. "Ah here it is 555 622-0907!"

I could have squealed for joy, I threw my arms around my best friend. "Oh Flora you're amazing, thank you!"

"Don't mention it!" she laughed.

With a shaky hand I dialed the number, standing from the stool in fear that I would fall off in shock and delight if it was indeed the right person. A woman answered.

"Hello Mrs. Sally Johnson?" I asked. "No-no-no-no I'm not selling anything." I assured quickly before she could hang up, literally throwing my arm out as if to physically stop her. "Are you by chance the Sally Johnson that use to teach economics and English at Santa Carla High?"

She answered yes, I half danced for joy at this.

"Do you recall ever having a student by the name of Davy Peter Keats in 1980?"

Another yes.

"Well, do you remember anything about him?"

Yet another yes! I pulled the phone away from my mouth and squealed to myself, jumping up and down like a small child on Christmas morning.

"Ok-ok-ok-ok!" I breathed running a hand through my hair to calm myself. "Um is there any chance I could meet you somewhere, sometime?"

Quickly I grabbed a napkin and pen writing down her every word.

You can win if you want

If you want it you will win

Oh, come on, take a chance for a brand new wild romance

Take my hand for the night

And your feelings will be right, hold me tight

Tomorrow afternoon.

12:30.

130 Dilbert Street.

The Widow Johnson…

i had some debates with this chapter, tell me what you think? should i keep it and roll with it or trash it go a differant rout? ideas are always welcomed :)