Danny fidgeted nervously inside the private interview room at the police station. To his left sat Ron, to his right - a husband of one of Guyver's followers. Two other nervous family members sat at the table across from them. One was a mother awaiting word on her daughter, another a teenage boy hoping for word on his brother. As one, they all looked up hopefully as the door opened, and two detectives entered.
The two men took chairs at opposite ends of the table. One had a legal pad and a pen. The other shuffled his stack of papers nervously.
"Well?" The teenage boy piped up. "Where's my brother? Is he even alive?" The kid's voice shook and his hands trembled.
The younger of the two detectives looked up from his papers. "Evan Greenway, the truck mechanic, right?"
"Yeah."
"We have men on-site at the encampment as we speak. They're searching for all of your loved ones. We don't have specific names on who've they encountered at present."
The room fell silent.
"When will you know?" Ron's calm voice sounded loud in the small room.
The older detective smiled and poised his pen over his notepad, "Tell you what, let me get the names and descriptions of the people you're seeking, and we'll see if we can't speed this process up a bit, okay?" He turned to the boy. "Son, how old is your brother?"
"He's 28."
The detective nodded, writing. "Description?"
"Tall, crew cut. He has a scar over his left eye, and he has a slight limp too."
"Good. And he was recruited to work on company vehicles, most likely?"
The kid nodded. "I guess so. Ev … he's real good with engines and transmissions and stuff."
"So how does he usually dress? T-shirts? Jeans?"
"Khaki cargo pants mostly and t-shirts. Maybe a muscle shirt when it's hot like this."
"Approximate height and weight?"
The kid thought for a minute. "About 6' 3", maybe 170. He's super skinny."
The detective smiled. "Gotcha." He picked up his radio. "Conner, you there? Over?"
"I'm here."
"We need some names, You got an Evan Greenway yet? Tall, thin, crew-cut? Late twenties, probably wearing cargos and a tee shirt. He's the mechanic?"
"Uh, hold on. We're trying to get everyone into the tent. Gimme a minute. He called out, "Evan Greenway? We're looking for Evan Greenway?"
From a distance, they heard a muffled "Yeah." Then a conversation. "You're Evan Greenway?"
"Yeah, that's me."
"We got him, Cap. He's here and his eyes are clear."
The detective grinned. "Well, someone here wants to talk to him." He handed the radio to the boy and showed him how to use it.
The boy stared at the officer in shock, his hand shaking too much to operate the buttons. Danny reached over and pushed the button, holding the radio to the boy's mouth. "Go ahead." He smiled.
The boy gazed at Danny gratefully, and his voice shook as he spoke, "Hey Evan, that you?"
Danny let off the button, and Evan's voice came through loud and clear, but confused-sounding. "Yeah, is that you, Roddy?"
"Yeah, man, it's me. You okay?"
"Yeah, uh … yeah. I'm … good. Kinda … not sure what's goin' on is all. Everything okay there?"
Roddy grinned, "Hell yeah. It is now. Hey, listen. There's other families here that wanna talk okay? So you'll come back with the cops, right? You're coming home, yeah?"
"Yeah, Roddy. Yeah. I'm … I'll be there."
Roddy nodded, and Danny grinned, handing the radio back to the officer. He took it, smiling, and turned to the woman who sat next to the boy. And you're looking for your daughter, correct?"
She nodded, hands nervously twisting the strap of her purse, "Lana Marie Michaels."
The detective dropped his head, writing. "Age?"
"Twenty."
"Occupation?"
"Lana, she's studying to be a nurse."
The detective nodded. "Description?"
"She's about 5'7", 180 pounds. Long, red hair. She likes to wear jeans and long tunic shirts, or scrubs.
The captain keyed the radio again, "Conner, we need Lana Marie Michaels. Twenty years old. Long red hair. Probably wearing jeans or medical scrubs."
"Got it." Connor copied, repeating to the crowd on his end. "Lana Michaels? Is there a Lana Marie Michaels?"
Off in the distance, they could hear a girl's voice. "I'm Lana Michaels."
The woman gasped then, raising a hand to her mouth. Her eyes filled with tears as the detective handed her the radio and she began speaking with the daughter she hadn't seen in almost a year.
Danny and Ron exchanged hopeful glances as the man next to them began describing his missing 41-year old wife who cut hair for a living. But when the name went out over the radio, no one stepped forward. They could hear Conner calling her name over and over, then they heard someone from far away offer information. It was a woman's voice, hesitant and sad.
"I … I think Eileen might have been the lady who disappeared from camp about a month ago." The radio cut off then, Connor leaving his finger off the transmit button, and they couldn't hear anything else. Suddenly, he came back on, hesitant.
"We, uh, we're not certain on Eileen Flack, Cap. She's not here. We'll have to get back to you on that one."
The detective nodded, swallowing hard, and glanced at the woman's distraught husband. He nodded at the glass mirror that fronted the room, and the door opened. A female detective entered and motioned for the man to follow her. She smiled kindly at him and patted his shoulder as they left the room. "Let's get you a cup of coffee while we wait, Mr. Flack, okay? We'll have more information soon."
That left Ron and Danny still awaiting word. Danny's face was pale as he offered up the needed information.
"We're missing my fiance, Jaime Loggins." Danny began. "She's a large-animal vet out of Benton, Illinois. She has long, blonde hair. She's thin and likes to wear jeans and button-down shirts, usually plaid. She ties them in the middle when it's hot out like this and she's usually in boots because of the animal pens. Sometimes she wears one of those floppy sun hats. It's tan."
Danny was rambling, and he knew it. But he couldn't help himself.
"Jaime is 26." Ron added, and Danny nodded gratefully.
"Conner, we need Jaime Loggins. Twenty-six-year-old female. Slim, blonde. Maybe in a plaid shirt, jeans, boots. She's the animal doc."
They heard the detective at the other end make the call-out. Jaime Loggins? We're looking for a Jaime Loggins?"
Silence.
He called again.
And then a third time.
"Hold on, Cap. We have an infirmary here. Some of the folks are down with the heat. Brad's checking for Jaime and Eileen."
Danny chewed his thumbnail nervously, ignoring the sympathetic looks from Roddy and the girl's mother.
The radio squawked, and someone, not Connor, said. "Eileen? Are you Eileen Flack?"
They heard a faint, weak, "Yes."
"Okay, Cap." Connor again. "We got Eileen. She's being treated for heat, but the docs say she'll be okay."
The detective grinned, waving at the mirror. When the door opened, he relayed the information.
"Tell Mr. Flack his wife is okay, just being treated for the heat." He keyed the radio again. "What about Jaime Loggins? Come on, Conner. One more and we're good to go." He winked at Danny.
They heard the detective make his call again, "Jaime Loggins? Is there a Jaime Loggins in here?"
Then from far away, "Over here."
Footsteps. Then Connor's voice. "Are you Jaime Loggins?"
"No, she's … she's over there, I think."
Silence.
"Miss? Are you Jaime Loggins?"
"Miss?"
Nothing.
"Does anyone know for sure if this is Jaime Loggins?"
"Yeah, that's her."
A pause, then Connor's voice, "Can we get a doctor over here, please?"
Shuffling noises.
"Hey Cap, I got a victim here matching the description, and people say she's Jaime Loggins. But … she's … she's in a bad way."
