Checking You Out
Emmaline Thompson handed the librarian her card and pushed the stack of books across the highly polished wood desk. The woman smiled at her, "Doing a report, Emmaline?" The young woman nodded, "Yeah. I came to the lecture and now my dad wants me to do a report on the Senate." The librarian stamped the due date on a slip and put in inside the top of the book. "Did you ask any good questions?"
Another voice answered. "Yes, yes she did." Emmaline turned and smiled. "Thanks." The adult smiled and patted her head. "So you're doing a report on the senate?" She nodded, "Yes, ma'am."
The woman was dressed in a sharp suit. "Well, then, how about I give you a ride and you can take some first hand notes."
The young girl beamed. "Oh wow, really!" The woman nodded. "As long as I can get your vote." Emmaline rolled her eyes, "I'm only sixteen." The older woman laughed, "Ah well, at least I can have my good deed for the day." Emmaline gathered the books under her arm. "Wow, thanks." She turned to leave, but the librarian stopped her. "Your card, Emma." The woman took it for her. "Emmaline's hands are full, I've got it." The librarian smiled, "You two have a good day."
Alexander Thompson scowled. Robert and Janine were at their respective places at the dinner table, and his wife was in the kitchen, but their oldest daughter, Emmaline was missing.
"Where is Emmaline?" Frances, belly bulging with another child, put the pot roast on the table. "She must still be in her room." She turned and waddled down the hallway. Emmaline's room was the last one on the right. She opened the door, but the small room was empty. Frowning, she looked in the backyard. It too was empty.
The Thompson family lived on the outskirts of Northern Las Vegas and their nearest neighbor was a quarter of a mile away. They were God Fearing and just a little bit paranoid. Alexander ruled the small home with an iron will and the Bible. He worked as an accountant. His wife did not work, she kept the house and over saw the children's schooling. Her outings consisted of the grocery store and church.
Fear rose up in France's throat, it strangled her. She went back to the dining room, her hands shaking. "Alex..." Her husband looked up, no one called him by the shortened form of his name, not since childhood. The whispery way his wife had said it though, told him that something was wrong. He stood, "Frannie?" She shook her head and he rushed over to her. He caught his wife just before she hit the floor in a dead faint.
Catherine had worked case after case all night long. Her mind, though, kept returning to the two missing girls. So when she walked into the Desert Palms ER for a possible domestic abuse, she was less then thrilled.
The doctor, a young ER resident by the name of Jason Peel, took her back to the room. "Mrs. Willows" His voice was a slow, almost syrupy quality to it that spoke of his Southern roots. "I've seen a lot of things here. This, though, takes me right back home. Baptists are usually good people...there are some though, who take things pretty far. The cliché barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen types. The Thompsons came in, the husband is controlling. The kids were scared spitless of him...I've seen this kind of abuse before. God says honor thy father and obey thy husband and it gives them a ticket to abuse the hell outta them." They stopped right outside of the examination room's doors. "I'll let you do your thing, ma'am...I've got an orderly just outside the door in case things get...crazy." He opened the door for her and she went in.
The woman, Frances Thompson, was very pregnant. Catherine guesstimated that she was in her seventh or eighth month. She was also in a dress, instead of a hospital gown. Her husband was also there. She sighed, she'd obviously beaten the social worker here, and that made her job extra difficult.
"Hello, I'm Catherine Willows." The husband glared at her. "I do not appreciate these wild speculations, Ms. Willows. My daughter is missing and my wife fainted and the Godless cretins think I beat her and that somehow takes precedence." The further along he went, the louder he got and the louder he got the redder his face became. The orderly made a discreet entrance and Catherine was instantly grateful that the six foot tall man was there.
Catherine looked at the wife, she was pale and Catherine could see the heart monitor behind her spiking crazily as the numbers on her blood pressure jumped. Memories of her own pregnancy flashed in her mind and Catherine knew she had to get the husband calmed down. "Okay, sir, one thing at a time. If you have a picture of your daughter I can put out an ABP and an AMBER alert." She could do no such thing, but if it calmed him down, she would have told him Elvis was alive and she was the Queen of England. The man snarled at her, "Of course I have a picture, she IS my daughter." He opened his wallet and showed her a family portrait. Himself, his wife, a son, and two daughters. "Emmaline is the girl on the left." Catherine made note that all the mother and daughter were wearing skirts and had long hair. More importantly, though, Emmaline had long blonde hair and her eyes were blue.
Catherine's heart beat picked up and she could feel the sensation of adrenaline pounding through her veins.
Author's Note: Early Post! I actually have energy, enough to write, but not enough to oh, I don't know, get up and put a DVD in the player. I don't know if it was the energy drink or the M&Ms, but if I get enough written tonight, I'll post up a second chapter on my usual schedule too. I also have tommorowoff (hooray) and will be, between cleaning and laundry, working on further chapters. Basically, I'm hoping to get through the first drafts of everything finished this weekend. It's one of those deals where everything is either handwritten and just waiting to be typed or plotted out in my head and needs to be typed. So...lots of typing in my immediate future.
While I'm yakking, thanks go out to: HoneyLynx86, my wonderful beta reader, cause she gets to see all the God-awful confusing first draft mistakes and never complains, even when I get snarky about things. Icklebitodd, whose reviews keep me going even when I want to shove my keyboard down the trash chute... and to everyone else who's reviewed and even to those who have not, thanks and I hope you're enjoying the story. ((Kay, that was definitly the M&Ms talking))