In the Blink of an Eye

Chapter 2-1

Chapter 2

Several times Saturday evening, the dark figure had fed the man blood, as he had the previous night. When he wasn’t doing that, he was watching the man’s body writhe in pain while the change took place, holding him when he could to ease his agony. “Soon. Soon it will be over. Then you’ll be like me, a denizen of the night and my companion for the next year—or forever if you don’t walk away from me, as my other Children have.”

* * * *

Craig drove to the nearest police station, found a place to park, which wasn’t too hard since it was Sunday morning, and then went inside. Going up to the officer manning the desk in the lobby, he said, “I’d like to file a missing person’s report.”

The officer directed him to an office at the side of the room. When Craig went in, a man looked up from what he was doing, so Craig repeated his request.

After introducing himself as Officer Turner, he took out a folder, removed some papers, then asked, “Name of the missing party?”

“Scott Reed.”

“Middle name?”

“Alan.”

“Your name?” the officer asked, after writing down Scott’s name.

“Craig Hudson. Craig Edward Hudson.”

Officer Turner nodded. “DOB?

“Scotts’? June ten, nineteen ninety-two.”

“So he turned twenty-five two days ago. You’re not family, I take it.”

“No. He’s my boyfriend. Does it matter?” Craig replied.

“Not if you have the information I need on him, such as his social security number.”

“Damn. I don’t. What else do you need to know?”

“When and where was he last seen?”

“Friday night, at The Avenue Club. We were there with friends to celebrate his birthday. He went to the restroom around one-fifteen or so, and that was the last time any of us saw him.”

“No one saw him leave the club?”

“I just said…” Craig took a deep breath. “Not that I know of.”

“Did he drive there?”

“No. We went together in my car.”

Officer Turner continued questioning him about things such as what Scott had been wearing, did he have any distinguishing marks, and was he upset.

“No,” Craig replied to the last question. “He was happy and having fun. After all, it was his birthday. And before you ask, no, we hadn’t had a fight of any sort before going to the club.”

The officer nodded, making another note, then asked, “Do you have a picture of him with you?”

“Yes.” Craig took out his wallet, removing two of the photos he had of Scott, both taken within the last three months. He handed them to the detective.

“Good-looking young man,” the officer commented, setting them down beside the report. “Do you know who his dentist is?”

Craig sucked in a breath. “In case you find a body and need to identify it as his?” When the officer replied in the affirmative, Craig gave him the dentist’s name. “I only know it because Scott had a bad tooth that needed filling and was complaining his dentist needed to have emergency hours.”

“Would be nice if all of them did,” Officer Turner agreed with a brief smile.

“Is there anything else you need to know?” Craig asked.

“Not at the moment. This information will be entered into the system. I’ll be honest with you. Since he’s an adult male who, from what you’ve told me, is healthy, with no mental or emotional problems, that’s all that will happen. It’s more than possible his being missing is voluntary.” When Craig started to protest, the officer held up a hand to stop him. “I know you don’t believe it, but that’s the official outlook. So we won’t be actively looking for him.”

Craig’s hands clenched in anger, but he tried to stay calm as he replied, “I understand. Thank you for your help.” With that, he stood, shook the officer’s hand when he offered it, and left.

“What a damned waste of time,” he said under his breath as he walked back to his car. He could understand the police logic, he supposed, but for sure he didn’t have to like it.

* * * *

The rest of Sunday he spent puttering around the apartment, cleaning and doing laundry, then went grocery shopping. As Sundays were his only day off, that was his normal routine until mid-afternoon—and if Scott had spent the night, they shared the chores at Craig’s apartment, then at Scott’s. Afterward, they would spend the rest of the day together, which included eating out, then taking in a movie, or watching TV at one of their apartments, before ending the night in bed.

Not today, though. What are you doing? Where are you doing it, and with whom?

Although he didn’t want to believe that, for some reason, Scott had taken off with someone else Friday night, he knew he couldn’t discount the possibility.

“He didn’t. I know it,” Craig said, trying to convince himself. “But the other scenarios? All the ones I’ve come up with? They’re no more plausible.”

He paused fixing dinner when he heard a trailer on TV for a new movie—one involving innocent teens fighting off rabid werewolves while on a camping trip. That’s it. There was a werewolf at the club. It decided it wanted Scott and teleported him out of there. They can do that, I think. He shook his head. Get real. Those things don’t exist, any more than the ghosts and vampires the tourists half-believe in when they take the tours in the Quarter.

After eating dinner, he took a long walk, ending up down by the river. He watched a paddlewheeler, decked out with lights along the railings, move majestically through the darkening evening. He and Scott had taken one of the cruises on a lark, a year or so ago. It had been fun, he remembered—like going back in time a hundred years.

He returned home, arriving just in time to catch the news. Again he watched in fear, afraid there would be a story about the murder of a man whose body had been found somewhere close to the club. He breathed a sigh of relief when that didn’t happen, then tried for what felt like the hundredth time to call Scott, praying for an answer. All he got was the notification that the number was temporarily out of service. “If I hear that one more time, I’m going to out of service his carrier,” he muttered angrily, punching the disconnect button.

Shutting off the TV, he showered and went to bed.

* * * *

The next few days were a mix of normal—while Craig was at work—and growing worry about what had happened to Scott. It was intensified by calls from their friends, asking if Craig heard anything from or about Scott. He made it a point to call Officer Turner twice to find out if there had been any results on the missing person’s report. The officer said there hadn’t been, pointing out to Craig, as he had Sunday morning, that it was not an active case since Scott wasn’t an ‘at risk’ adult.

Friday, well after one in the afternoon, Craig finally took a break for lunch. He decided to try a new restaurant which had opened two blocks up from the bookstore. The place was cozy, and not very busy at that hour, with a varied selection of vegetarian and regular sandwiches. The jalapeno cream cheese and veggie one sounded good, so he ordered it, on spicy bread. He made quick work eating half of it, then had them wrap the rest to go.

As he walked back to work, a sign on a door between two shops caught his eye. It read K. Martel Investigations. Opening the door, he saw a flight of stairs leading up to the second story of the building.

A private investigator? I wonder…He left it at that—wondering—since he had to get back to work before Nicola thought he’d deserted her. He did check the hours on the sign—10 to 7, Mon.-Fri. Should I? What are the chances he can find Scott? Probably less than zero, since it’s been a week, but still, it might be worth asking, if he doesn’t charge too much. In this neighborhood, Craig figured he might not.

For the rest of the afternoon, he considered the idea. He would have to close the bookstore right at six, to give him time to tally the receipts while Nicola cleaned up, if he wanted to get to the investigator’s place before the man closed at seven. At least I presume it’s a man. The ‘K’ could mean they’re female. Most people think investigators are rough, tough males, so if Martel is a female, I suspect she doesn’t want to scare clients away before they get to know her. He hoped it wasn’t the case and that Martel was a man. It would make it easier to talk to him.

He found out Martel was male when, at six-forty, he opened the door off the landing at the top of the stairs and entered a small waiting room.