Chapter 28
TWENTY-EIGHT
KAYA
The tears won’t stop. Neither will the throbbing ache in the center of my chest. But I deserve to feel every second of it.
I did this.
Ray wanted to stay home, and I encouraged him to leave. Said going out would lift both his and Tucker’s spirits. And it did. For a few hours, they were the happiest I’d seen them in weeks.
Then Tucker vanished, and the world went dark.
Panic I’ve never known shadows every line, muscle, and angle of Ray’s face as he paces the sidewalk near the bowling alley entrance. A sense of dread only a parent feels when something traumatic or devastating happens to their child.
Of course, I’m unsteady. Dizzy and bewildered. Hysterical and apprehensive. But what I feel is inconsequential. Utterly insignificant compared to what Ray is going through. So I slip on my mask. Shove my emotions into the recesses of my mind and promise to keep them there until I’m alone.
Roger Emerson—the Stone Bay police chief—and Travis Emerson—Roger’s son and the officer Ray spoke with a couple weeks ago—ask Ray a barrage of questions.
“Do you have a recent photo of Tucker?”
“Can you give us a detailed description of Tucker—hair color and style, eye color, height, weight, definable marks?”
“What was Tucker wearing today?”
That question brings on a new wave of tears.
After Ray called 911, he took off his bowling shoes, slipped on his one the attendant didn’t keep, and went to the front desk to return them for his other shoe. When they set his other shoe on the counter, he froze. Gaze fixed on the sneaker, his hands shook at his sides, not in anger but bone-deep terror. Beside Ray, I held Tucker’s lone black skateboard-style sneaker.
The moment Ray stormed off for the door, I begged the attendant for Tucker’s other shoe, no matter the cost. Several cubby searches later, I walked out the door with the shoes tucked in the crook of my arm. As soon as Ray spotted them, his lip curled. In three long strides, he ripped them away from me and hugged them to his chest.
Since then, I haven’t moved from my spot on the bench. And Ray refuses to acknowledge my existence.
Can’t say I blame him.
Ray Jr., Angel, and Abigail rush toward the entrance from the parking lot, panic-stricken expressions on their faces. Angel hugs her son with unparalleled ferocity while he fists her shirt and cries into the curve of her neck. Ray Jr. barks orders at Chief Emerson, demanding the police do something other than stand here with their thumbs up their asses. Abigail lingers nearby, uncertain who to console or how to help.
Right there with you, girl.
Chief Emerson’s jaw muscles tic as Ray Jr. steps into his personal space. He clutches the radio attached to his uniform at his shoulder and presses the call button.
“Attention all units, code 10-65. Male. Caucasian. Nine years old. Four feet tall. Dark, curly hair. Hazel eyes. Last seen at Strikers Bowling Alley at 15:47 in a blue shirt, denim shorts, and bowling shoes. Name: Tucker Dean Calhoun. Possible suspect: Brianna Werner. Thirty years old. Caucasian. Female. Thin build. Approximately five foot five. Possibly armed, proceed with caution.”
Bile claws its way up my throat as officers acknowledge the call. Ray collapses on the ground, his sobs deafening and heartbreaking. Every cell in my body screams to go to him, to hold him, shush his cries, and whisper in his ear that I’m here, that we will find Tucker.
But my comfort is the last thing Ray wants. Although it hurts to envisage, I wouldn’t fault Ray if he never wants to see me again.
I may have put us in this precarious position, but I want Tucker returned safely too. If he is hurt—or worse—I will never forgive myself.
Ray bolts up from the ground and shoves a hand in his hair. “I can’t just fucking sit here,” he barks as he paces the walkway. “Being here accomplishes nothing. I should be on the road, searching the sidewalks and scanning cars.” His hands fall to his sides and curl into tight fists. “Something!”
Travis steps in front of Ray and braces his shoulders. “You’re in no state to drive.”
Ray twists out of his hold and waves a hand toward his family. “Then one of them can drive. I don’t give a fuck, Emerson.”
“I’ll drive you,” Abigail offers.
Momentary relief washes over Ray’s face. “Thank you.”
“We’ll stay here in case he shows up or someone has more information,” Angel states.
It’s her words that stir life into my body. I rise from the bench and cross to where they’re grouped together. Ray sneers at me and it twists my insides.
He’ll never forgive me, but at least I can do this one thing.
“No, Angel.” I shake my head. “You and RJ should be out there looking, too. I’ll stay here. If I see or hear anything, I’ll call immediately.”
“Yeah, you should be the one to stay,” Ray snarls. “Your damn fault we left the house in the first place.”
I take every verbal lashing without protest. He’s hurt, angry, terrified, and I am the person who nudged him to let down his guard. Today’s outing is one hundred percent on my shoulders. I accept it.
“I know, and I’m so very sorry.”
Angel shakes her head. “No one here is at fault.” She faces her son. “You have a right to live a worry-free life. So does Tucker.” She shifts her attention to me, a sympathetic smile on her face. “And you are not to blame for someone else’s heinous behavior.” Leaning closer to me, she lowers her voice and repeats, “It’s not your fault.”
Her words hold a modicum of truth, but I don’t dare voice it. Now is not the time or place. And saying as much won’t lessen my guilt. Nothing will except Tucker’s safe return and Ray’s forgiveness.
“Let’s go!” Ray shouts as he sprints for his car.
When he is out of earshot, Angel asks, “Do you have my number?”
I shake my head.
She takes out her phone and asks for my number. I rattle it off and she sends me a quick text. “I’ll keep you updated, and you do the same.”
The backs of my eyes burn, an emotional lump thick in my throat as I slowly nod. “Promise I will.”
Reaching for my hand, she takes it and gives a gentle squeeze. “Once Tucker’s back and safe, he’ll cool off.” Her eyes dart between mine, a softness in her gaze. “Just give him time.”
Before I’m able to contradict her, she turns and walks off. After a quick exchange with the officers, Angel and Ray Jr. head for their car and drive away.
All but one officer leaves, her sunglasses-covered eyes scanning every inch of the parking lot and person that passes.
I dig through my bag for my phone, unlock it, and add Angel to my contacts. Then I open the group chat with my parents and siblings and type out a brief recap of what’s happened. Considering my family has no idea Ray and I have been dating, I’m about to open the door to Pandora’s Box.
Was out with Ray Calhoun and his son, Tucker. If you haven’t heard yet, Tucker is missing. Please keep an eye out and spread the word. Please don’t ask questions about me and Ray. Not now. I’ll tell you everything soon. Let me know of any updates. I love you.
Unease swirls in my belly as I stare at the sent message. Mentally, I prepare for an onslaught of questions but know my parents will hold off.
The screen dims then brightens as a breath-stealing alarm blares from my phone. My stomach pitches then plummets as I read the notification.
AMBER Alert
Stone Bay, WA AMBER Alert: Child Abduction Emergency
White male, 9 years old, Tucker Dean Calhoun, possibly in the company of a 30-year-old woman, Brianna Werner and other unknown subject(s). Last seen at Stone Bay Strikers Bowling Alley at 3:47p.m. PST. Dark hair, hazel eyes, approximately 4’0” in height, blue shirt, denim shorts, bowling shoes. No identifiable vehicle.
Do not take action. Call local law enforcement or 911 immediately.
When I tap the notification, a recent image of Tucker fills the screen. My vision blurs as tears stain my cheeks. I bring a hand to my mouth as a sob rips from my chest.
My fault.
Beneath Tucker’s photo is another. A woman with curly dark-brown hair and identical eyes to Tucker. Brianna. Ray has talked about her, but I’ve never seen her . As healthy and vibrant as she appears in this photo, it’s outdated. An image of a woman before she lost her way.
Seeing her makes this more real. It also alleviates some of my guilt.
Leaving the house may have been my idea, but I am not to blame for Tucker’s disappearance. That onus falls on Brianna.
This nightmare… her fault. Tucker’s mental and emotional hardships… a result of her long list of poor life choices. As are Ray’s inherent trust issues and deepest afflictions.
She is the reason Tucker is missing.
Brianna. All of this is her fault.
Not mine.
And I won’t rest until Tucker is home and safe. Until she is in cuffs and prosecuted for what she has done.
Whatever it takes.