Chapter 50
Calling the police hasn’t gone quite as I expected.
I assumed that with a missing child, the police would leap into action immediately. There would be roadblocks, Amber Alerts, the whole works. But it hasn’t been like that at all.
An officer named Grenell showed up at our apartment, but he doesn’t seem to be taking the whole thing seriously.
Grenell is in his twenties with a shaved head, and he’s asking a lot of questions that don’t have anything to do with finding Dominic.
He’s been here for almost half an hour, and so far he’s done nothing but ask us questions.
And meanwhile, whoever took Dominic is getting farther and farther away.
They’re probably crossing state lines by now!
“So, Mrs. Barkley,” Grenell says to me, even though I did tell him that Clay and I are not married yet. “I don’t understand. You have this baby, but there’s no record of the baby in any hospital, and there’s no birth certificate.”
I tug frantically at locks of my long hair. “I gave birth at home.”
I’ve already told him this. What does this have to do with finding Dominic?
“But why didn’t you get a birth certificate?”
I squirm, hating these questions. I’ve been in a complete haze the last couple of weeks, and I have to admit, getting a birth certificate seemed less important than sleep and food and basic hygiene. “I was going to get around to it,” I say.
He looks me up and down. “You don’t look like you just had a baby.”
My jaw clenches. “So you think we have all this baby stuff in the apartment for fun, and we just made up the baby?”
“Or maybe you stole the baby,” Grenell says.
What? This makes no sense. Why would we steal a baby and then call the police about it?
But the worst part is the way Grenell keeps looking at Clay.
Actually, the worst part is Clay, who has visible track marks on his left arm.
I should have insisted on him putting on a long-sleeved shirt before they showed up, but I wasn’t thinking straight.
It shouldn’t even surprise me that he’s not taking us seriously.
“So when do you think this ‘baby’ disappeared?” the officer asks us.
I look over at Clay, who can’t quite answer this question. I really do want to strangle him, especially when he scratches his arm and Grenell’s eyes fly to the scars. “Well, I took him out for a drive, and that’s when he disappeared.”
“He disappeared while you were driving?”
“No,” Clay mumbles. “I…I pulled over at the rest stop, and I…I took a nap…”
This is the worst part. We don’t even know when Dominic got taken.
It sounds like Clay pulled over at a rest stop, and for reasons I still can’t get through my skull, he decided to shoot up.
At some point, he passed out with our infant son still strapped into his car seat, possibly screaming his little head off.
The thought of my poor baby abandoned by his father in the back of a car makes my heart ache.
Eventually, Clay made his way home again, but it’s not clear if Dominic was in the car at that point.
Apparently, he didn’t actually love either of us enough to quit.
If we get our son back, I am never letting Clay near him again. Ever. The engagement is definitely off. Everything is off. He’ll be lucky if I ever speak to him again.
“Took a nap,” Grenell says, “or got high?”
Well, it didn’t take him long to fill in the missing pieces of the puzzle. Clay is quiet, obviously reluctant to incriminate himself.
“Mr. Barkley,” the cop presses him. “Are you high right now?”
Clay doesn’t answer. He just sits there with his hands pressed between his knees.
“Stand up, kid,” Grenell orders him.
Clay glances at me, his expression filled with dread. Finally, he gets to his feet rather unsteadily. I watch in horror as the cop pats him down and manages to retrieve a balloon from his jeans pocket that is still partially filled with powder. It’s painfully obvious what it is.
“Mr. Barkley,” Grenell says, “you are under arrest.”
As he snaps the cuffs on Clay’s wrists, I burst into tears. I called this man to find my baby, and now he’s arresting my boyfriend for possession. But he hasn’t done anything to help me find Dominic.
“Please,” I sob to Grenell, “you have to help me find my baby! He’s missing!”
Grenell turns to look at me just before he starts leading Clay out of the apartment, and he shakes his head. “Lady, get yourself cleaned up.”
I can’t even imagine how I must look. My face is swollen, my hair is matted, and there are stains—mostly breast milk—all over my tank top and pajama pants.
On top of that, I am almost painfully skinny—my belly bulges slightly, but it looks more like a food baby than the remnants of a recent birth.
I’m sure I look just like what he believes Clay to be—a junkie.
But that’s not what I am. Not anymore. I am a mother, and even if this one asshole cop won’t listen to me, I am going to get Dominic back. I am going to get my son back if it’s the last thing I do.