In the Blink of an Eye

Chapter 1-2

Craig was doomed to disappointment. As far as he could tell, no one, including Scott, had been in Scott’s place between when Craig had, in the early hours of Saturday morning, and when he went there again, at around eight A.M. And Scott’s car was still parked behind the building.

As soon as he got home, Craig began calling the friends who had been at the party, to see if any of them had heard from Scott. None of them had. Dave suggested, if Scott didn’t show up by Sunday morning, Craig might want to go to the police to file a missing person’s report. Craig said he’d consider it, but deep down the idea of doing so scared him. It makes it seem so…so final that something bad has happened to him.

His last call was to Scott’s father. He was very certain it would gain him nothing, as the likelihood of Scott getting in touch with him was nil. Scott and his family had drifted apart when Scott had moved to New Orleans, right after graduating college. While they accepted that he was gay, they were happy to see the back of him, according to Scott. They exchanged cards on birthdays and Christmas, and the rare email, but that was the sum of it.

When Scott’s father answered the phone, Craig asked, “Has Scott called you, by any chance, or emailed you, this morning?”

“Nope. Haven’t heard a thing from him in over a month,” Scott’s father replied. “Why?”

“We, umm…” Craig didn’t want to sound paranoid, so he said, “We had a fight and he said he might as well be living at home again, for all the caring he was getting from me. That was just before he stormed out. He’s not at his place and he’s not answering his phone so I thought maybe…Okay, that was stupid of me. Sorry for bothering you.”

“Stupid to think he would come home?” Scott’s father snorted. “I’d probably have a heart attack if he did. Still, if I do hear from him, I’ll tell him you called and you’re worried.”

Craig thanked him, and hung up. When his phone rang, seconds after he had, he answered without looking to see who it was, praying it was Scott. It wasn’t. It was Janie, asking if he’d heard from Scott since they’d talked an hour ago.

“Not one damned word,” Craig replied miserably. “One minute he was there, and then, in the blink of an eye, he was gone.”

“You should go to the police,” she said.

“Yeah. Dave suggested that, too. I will, in the morning. I think someone has to be missing twenty-four hours before they’ll do anything.”

“With luck, he’ll have shown up by then, with some half-assed excuse about where he’s been and how he was able to leave the club without any of us knowing.”

“Yeah, I hope.”

“Keep the faith,” Janie said. “He’s fine. I know he is.”

“Thanks for the encouragement.”

At that point, he had to get ready for work. He managed a used bookstore, Monday through Saturday, a few blocks east of the river, and not too far from Tulane University. The block it was on was comprised of a myriad of small shops, some with businesses on the second floors.

He unlocked the shop’s front door just before ten to let Nicola, the only other employee, in. She greeted him with a smile, saying, “You look like you had a rough night.”

Craig shrugged. “Stayed up way too late, celebrating Scott’s birthday.” He wasn’t about to elaborate any more than that. Nicola had met Scott, the few times he’d come into the bookstore, but that was it.

“Go get coffee. I can handle things until you get back,” she said. Since there was a coffee shop right next door, it didn’t take him long to go and come back with his coffee, and one for her, as well. After that, the day progressed as always, with browsers, buyers, and people coming in who wanted to sell books they were tired of cluttering up their shelves. Craig took a few minutes, around noon, to call the souvenir shop where Scott worked to see if they’d heard from him. The manager said he hadn’t, and he wasn’t happy about it, as Scott was supposed to have been there when they opened at ten.

The bookstore closed at six, after which Craig did the accounts for the day while Nicola straightened up, and then he headed home.

When he got there, Craig realized he hadn’t eaten since getting up that morning. He wasn’t hungry, but he knew he should fix something, so he made a sandwich and coffee. Bringing his meal into the living room, he turned on the TV, looking for anything that might take his mind off Scott. He found an action movie he hadn’t seen and became embroiled in the plot, what there was of it, and the nonstop violence. When it ended, the news came on. He watched, half afraid there would be a story about someone finding Scott’s dead body. It hadn’t happened, much to his relief.

When the news was over, he thought about getting out of the apartment. Maybe a late-night walk, to work off his pent-up energy and anxiety. If I do, sure as hell he’ll show up while I’m gone. That would be just my luck at this point. He would, and I wouldn’t know unless he decided to call to find out where I was. He could envision that conversation.

“Where was I? Where the hell have you been?” Craig would say.

“I ran into an old friend and we decided to go bar hopping,” Scott would reply—or something equally as farfetched. “We ended up at a diner and talked for hours and then I ended up at his/her place and crashed.”

“Why didn’t you call me?” Craig would ask.

“My phone’s battery was dead. I just got home and it’s recharging as we speak.”

Craig almost wished that was what had happened, but every instinct said otherwise. He didn’t leave the club with someone. Not willingly. That’s not him.

He sprawled out on the sofa again and began channel surfing. The next thing he knew, it was morning. He groaned as he sat up. His legs ached, his mouth tasted like the bottom of a bird cage, and his bladder was about to burst.

He made his way to the bathroom, pissed, brushed his teeth, and then stripped. Turning on the water in the shower to as hot as he could stand it, he stepped in. He stood there until it was lukewarm, washed, got out, and dried off. Gathering up his dirty clothes, he tossed them in the hamper before going to the bedroom to get dressed. Only then did he check his phone, praying Scott had called. He hadn’t, and when Craig called him, he was informed Scott’s number was temporarily out of service. “Like my life, right now,” he muttered, hanging up.

He fixed a breakfast of eggs and toast, washed down with coffee. Then, checking to be certain he had his wallet and keys, he left the apartment, heading to the police station.