Chapter Club: The Shadowrunner Chapter 5
It’s Friday again! I hope you’ve had a great week and that you enjoy this latest chapter from The Shadowrunner!
The conference room of Abeja’s police station filled with the clicking sounds of shutters opening and closing as journalists snapped pictures of Luke standing behind the podium emblazoned with the same seal on his sleeve. The only local reporter, Rachel Atkinson, was sitting near the front of the room and scribbling on a tablet computer. Her red hair and maroon cardigan naturally drew Luke’s eye to the right side of the room, as if his gaze was an ill-packed boat listing to the side.
He had read Muna’s report of the incident this morning. Now he was answering questions for the benefit of the visitors. Normally, they wouldn’t both with a story from such a small town, but these journalists recognized a shiny bobble of a story when they saw it. Murders happened all the time. Children in comas disappearing from hospital rooms? That was a story.
In truth, Luke felt as though he were standing in the middle of a room full of crows, all cawing at him whenever he finished answering a question. Their shrill cries of “Officer Alden,” pulled his attention every which way, and their questioning reminded him of how some of the local prosecutors drummed confessions out of defendants on the stand.
When the clock finally hit the designated time, Luke leaned into the microphone and said, “That will be all. Thank you.” Several reporters tried to call his attention again, but he ignored them in his single-minded determination to leave the room.
Two steps before he reached the door, Rachel stepped toward him. “Is there anything you want to tell the people of this town?”
“You didn’t ask before.”
She was half a foot shorter than he was and several years younger. Probably two years out of college by his guess. Before today, she had probably wanted to be somewhere more exciting, somewhere she could cut her teeth as a reporter. Her wish had come to the small town where she had grown up.
“Their readers get to treat this like something out of a movie, Officer Alden. We don’t.”
Luke glanced at the other journalists. Some of them were walking out towards the exit, while the few nearest them were pressing closer to hear his response.
“We’re doing everything we can,” Luke replied. “The people of Abeja are safe.”
She scribbled his words down as he walked into the hall and to his office. When he was inside, he shut the blinds and sat at his desk, rubbing his brow with his thumb and forefinger.
He had told Rachel what the people of Abeja needed to hear. He wanted to make it true, but he wasn’t sure where to start. First a murder and then this? There was a part of him that wanted to think that the two were connected, but it was insane. The only commonality between the two cases was that he couldn’t explain them.
He’d have to talk to Owen’s mother. He paged Sally, asking for her to arrange an appointment to talk to her. As an after thought, he added a request for Owen’s father as well. Best to make it clear that he wanted to talk to both of them, as much to give condolences as to try and figure out possible suspects.
When he finished, he looked back down at the mess of papers from the Montes case. They seemed to be taunting him, telling him that he had to choose whether he would investigate them or find out what had happened to Owen.
He pushed them aside. He wanted to have something to tell Mrs. Macallan, however small it might be. He pulled the incident report that had been filed when she called the station up on his computer, reviewing the details of the case. Owen was nine, one of the oldest boys in Lucy’s class. He had been playing in the park—
The park. Serenity Park.
Luke glanced back at the map from Silvia’s apartment. The same park was circled there.
His heart raced. His intuition about a connection seemed to be correct, but if Silvia had just moved here…
He picked up his office phone, quickly searching online for the number to the motel on Delta Row before punching it in to the machine. He took the chance while the phone was ringing to steady his voice. He didn’t want to shout at the receptionist.
“Delta Motel, this is Irene.”
“Hello, this is Officer Alden from the Abeja police department. We met yesterday when I and another officer searched room 14?” He struggled not to rush through the explanation. He had to know.
“Yes? How can I help you?”
He looked at the date on the police report: September 7th, 5:48 PM. “Can you tell me the date that Silvia Montes’ checked in to your motel?”
“Of course, officer.” The phone went silent for a moment and Luke held his breath. “September 9th.”
Two days after Owen had collapsed. Was it a coincidence? Or had she known that something had happened and come to Abeja?
A light on the phone started blinking. Sally was paging him.”
“Can I help you with anything else officer?” Irene asked.
“No, thank you,” he replied, “have a nice day.”
“You too,” she said, hanging up.
“Officer Alden?” Sally’s voice crackled.
“Yes?”
“Both Mr. and Mrs. Macallan are at home today. I told them you would stop by.”
Luke stood, scooping up the map and tucking it into his shirt pocket. “Thank you, Sally. I’ll head over right now.”
It was still early when he pulled up to the Macallans’ house, just after 10 o’clock. The streets were deserted though; kids had gone to school and their parents were at work now. He was sure that the Macallans would have wanted that to be the case for them too.
Their house sat on the back edge of Serenity Park. Its uniqueness was only visible if you squinted, and even then it was just a unique combination of elements dispersed throughout the houses in the subdivision. It looked like his own house and he stifled the uncomfortable sense that, in a different world, someone else might have been making this visit to his home.
He parked the car on the opposite end of the street and walked the couple dozen yards to the front door. Before he knocked on the door he flashed a smile into the air, trying to warm himself up to present himself as the friendly neighborhood policeman.
He looked around before knocking on the door, firmly, but not too strongly. When the door opened, he found Mrs. Macallan on the other side. They had met before, several times when Owen and Lucy had been playing at the park at the same time. Back then she had looked the part of a suburban housewife with a comfortable t-shirt, linen pants, and a bandanna keeping her hair back. Now her hair fell all over her shoulders, frayed at the edges. Her eyes were gaunt, but she still managed a smile.
“Officer Alden.”
“Mrs. Macallan. May I come in?”
She nodded and stepped to the side as Luke walked in, closing the door behind him once it was clear. Luke stepped into the front room as Mrs. Macallan continued down the hall, presumably to get her husband. Luke sat across from the couch on one of the rocking chairs sitting on either side of a low table filled with styrofoam gourds, plastic leaves, and a handful of small picture frames. The one pointing towards Luke was a family photo of the three of them, Owen sitting on his dad’s lap as his mom stood behind them both.
The Macallans returned a moment later and Luke stood to shake Mr. Macallan’s hand. He was wearing a pair of well-worn jeans and a red sweatshirt. Stubble covered his face and neck. No reason to shave if you weren’t going to work.
“Officer Alden,” Mr. Macallan said.
“Thank you for having me,” he replied.
The couple sat on the couch and Luke returned to the chair.
“I’m very sorry for your loss,” Luke said.
Mrs. Macallan’s eyes were already glassy, but she didn’t let any tears fall. Not yet at least. Mr. Macallan was holding his wife’s hand in his left and clutching the arm of the sofa with the other. “Do you know what happened to our son?” he asked.
“We’re working on it,” Luke said, hoping that his tone was both firm enough to inspire confidence and soft enough to show empathy. He pulled a tape recorder from his pocket.
“Do you mind if I record this?”
“Not at all,” Mrs. Macallan replied.
He set the recorder and then leaned back to face the couple. “I wanted to talk to you a little bit about what happened before Owen’s coma.”
“What has that got to do with anything?” Mr. Macallan demanded.
The map was still sitting in his shirt pocket, much too heavy for a simple piece of paper. But he didn’t pull it out. Not yet.
“I’m not sure. We’re just looking for more pieces of the story,” Luke said.
Before Mr. Macallan could reply, Mrs. Macallan spoke. “Owen was playing outside after school. It was getting dark and dinner was almost ready, so I called him in. From the kitchen window.” She gestured. “He didn’t come in at first, but… I thought…” Her voice hitched in her throat.
“Owen’s a good boy, but he gets distracted sometimes.” Mr. Macallan said.
“Boys do,” Luke replied. “Did you call him in a second time?”
“After I got dinner on the table, pot roast. It was pot roast.” She shook her head. “That part doesn’t matter.”
“It’s okay,” Luke said.
“It’s just, you tend to remember little details when things go wrong.” She grabbed a tissue from the shelf beside her and blew her nose. Luke waited, watching as she clenched the tissue in the palm of her hand.
“Vincent had just gotten home from work, so I sent him to go get Owen.”
Luke turned to face Mr. Macallan. “You found him?”
He nodded.
“When did you decide to call the ambulance?”
“I found him lying in the grass. I started shouting at Holly to call 911 after that.” Luke nodded, indicating for him to continue. “I didn’t think he was breathing at first; he wasn’t moving. But when I turned him over, it looked like he was asleep.”
“But you still called the ambulance?”
Mr. Macallan’s chin quivered and tears started running from his eyes. “He didn’t wake up.”
Luke knew what had happened after that. The doctors in Phoenix had looked at everything: pulse, blood oxygen, cat scan, MRI, and more. They couldn’t find what was wrong with him. So they had given the family the option of staying in Phoenix or sending him back to Abeja’s clinic for monitoring. He was sure the whole thing had been outrageously expensive, but maybe it would have been worth it if they could have at least said something.
Mrs. Macallan was crying now too. She passed the tissue box to her husband, and Luke glanced beside the couch and found a small wastebasket. He held it out for the Macallans and they dropped the soiled tissues into it.
“Thanks,” Mr. Macallan said.
“Was there anyone else at the park when you found him?” Luke asked. When Mr. Macallan shook his head, Luke continued, “had he been playing with anyone earlier?”
Mrs. Macallan shook her head. “No. He told me he was going to play with his imaginary friend.”
Luke paused, wondering what he should ask next. Did he dare ask them to describe the imaginary friend? The map had a direct connection between the park and whatever it was they had found along the river. It was possible that Owen had seen it.
“Was he an imaginative kid?”
“He is an imaginative kid,” Mr. Macallan said. Luke kept his face still. He didn’t want to think Owen was dead, but he wasn’t sure what the alternative could be. “He makes up games to play at school and then tells us about them when he gets home.”
“Little stories,” Mrs. Macallan added.
Luke nodded. If he wasn’t more direct, that wasn’t going to help.
“Did he have multiple imaginary friends?”
“Jesus, what are you talking about?” Mr. Macallan said. “You’re a cop, not a shrink!”
Mrs. Macallan stood, rushing out of the room before either of them could say anything. They still rose out of their chairs. Mr. Macallan turned back towards him as he followed after his wife. “You should go.”
Luke sighed as Mr. Macallan turned the corner. If the two of them didn’t have any information for him, if this connection ended up being a coincidence, he’d be right back at square one. And then he’d have to decide whether it was more worthwhile to catch a killer or try to find a missing kid. Every second spend pursuing one was one he couldn’t spend on the other.
He had just pulled the front door open when Mrs. Macallan returned carrying a handful of papers. Mr. Macallan was following a few steps behind, confusion and irritation written over his face.
She handed the papers, sheets torn from a notebook and covered with crayon, to Luke. The one on top was a picture of the small room at the top of the play structure. At the center of the paper was an embellished stick figure that Luke guessed was Owen. On his left was another stick figure, but this one was surrounded by a green outline. The next one was a picture of four kinds playing four square. And on the one after, another stick figure in a green outline.
“He drew pictures of them sometimes,” Mrs. Macallan said, her voice little more than a whisper.
Luke flipped through the rest of the drawings and found several of them with the green outline. He sorted the ones with the outlines into one pile and flipped through them again. The first one had a red and white striped shirt. The second one, a girl judging by her dress, wore a pink shirt. And the third one wore a yellow shirt. There were more pictures, but every time a stick figure appeared in a green outline, it was one of the three.
“He has a lot of friends at school,” Mrs. Macallan said. “He played with his imaginary friends at home.”
Luke looked up at her. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying.
“I’m sorry about your son, Mrs. Macallan.”
“Don’t let another child go missing,” she said.
The words cut into him. Whether or not Owen’s disappearance was connected to Silvia’s murder, there was a risk that whatever had happened in that hospital room would happen again.
Unless he could stop it.
Luke nodded at Mrs. Macallan, glancing at Mr. Macallan behind her. “You have been very helpful. If we find anything about your son, I will make sure to let you know personally.”
She looked shocked, as if it were an impossibility that he would actually have any information about her son. Luke imagined that she had probably already given up on having any closure in the matter.
After a long moment, she managed a quiet, “thank you.”
“Of course, Ma’am.” He walked past her and said, “I’ll see myself out.”
When he was back out on the sidewalk he glanced down at his car, thinking about going back to Silvia’s room. Maybe there was something he and Bradley had missed the first time. Something that would show whether she really did know anything about Owen. But Owen had said his imaginary friends lived on the playground.
Luke turned and walked to Serenity Park.