He went to Marissa’s house, with full intention of giving the girl a piece of his mind. He pounded on the door to the house. A man came to the door. “Al,” said Jack, “Where’s Marissa?”
“She’s in the hospital,” he said, his head hung down. “She had a breakdown when she heard–”
Jack shoved by Al and stormed his way inside. “Sick, huh? She was that sick? Who was the idiot girl that she called to take my daughters?”
“I don’t know, Jack. Jack, you’re angry.”
“No fucking shit I’m angry, wouldn’t you be?” He got into Al’s face. “Huh? Wouldn’t you?”
Al backed up from the bull of a man. “Jack, please, calm down.”
“I will not calm the fuck down!” He slammed a hand on the wooden banister heading upstairs.
Al, a much smaller man, turned tail and ran into his office, slamming shut the door.
“You bastard!” Jack yelled. “Where the fuck is she?”
He was pounding on the door even when the police came in. “Mr. Hartley, please step away from the door.”
No guns were drawn, but he wanted them to. He walked out quietly, and that’s when it hit him all at once. He buckled, collapsing on the stairs outside, and sat, sobbing like a baby. The cops waited patiently.
He didn’t want to go back to the house. He wanted to go to his apartment, crawl under the covers, and stay there until this bad dream went away. One of the cops sat next to him, “Is there anybody we can call for you? Do you want to go to the hospital?”
Jack shook his head, sniffling. That got him out of his momentary black hole. “No, I got it.”
The cop put his hand on Jack’s shoulder, patting it reassuringly. Jack got up, the cop with him. “Maybe you should go back to CC.”
“CC?”
“Command center.”
So that’s what they were calling his old house now. He sheepishly got into his car. The police escorted him to the house. There, he saw the truck belonging to her new husband. He didn’t want to go back into the house, so he stayed outside on the stoop. “Anybody got a cigarette?”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He paced the front lawn like a caged animal. TV crews showed up in the front and were held back by police, so he switched his pacing to the back lawn. Sometimes he went inside to use the bathroom, and noticed all the changes they made to the place. Her new husband was a carpenter, so he supposed he should expect it. Jack was never the carpenter type – measure twice, cut once, still get it wrong. The most he could do was manhandle things.
He was looking at the living room when the new husband came in. “Jack,” said the big black man.
“Jonas.”
They looked at each other uncomfortably, neither wanting to give ground to the other. Jonas rumbled, “I’m sorry – ”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe they’ll find them.”
“It’s been six hours.”
“Yeah.” Jonas looked around his living room. His living room. Jack started to the door. “We’re gonna order pizza for dinner, want some?”
“Not hungry,” Jack said, and walked out.
Eight hours. Twelve hours. Sixteen hours, and his ex-wife came outside with a pizza box. She sat on the back stoop with him in the dim chill of the November air. She handed him the box without saying a word. He opened the box; half a pepperoni pizza was in there, and it was stone cold. He didn’t care as he peeled off a piece from the sticky, greasy waxed paper.
She sighed heavily. In that sigh, was what he was thinking, They would have found them by now. Ashley and Allison, each within the top twenty names of that year. He had wanted Emma and Morgan, but she wanted to name the twins with the same first letter, and Ellen or Marie were not her favorite names.
“What now?” she asked.
Indeed, what now. He’d been mulling that over in his head for hours now. He knew there was no Amber Alert. The trail was long cold. For all he knew, they were a full state away or right in their back yard. “I don’t know,” he said. He still wanted to crawl into a hole, but at least he would do it with a stomach full of cold pizza.
The police man came out of the house, and the two of them stood up. “I’m sorry, we can’t do any more here,” he said.
“That’s okay, detective,” said his ex, though he wanted to scream at him, Like you’ve done anything already but sit around and drink coffee all day.
“We have the pictures. We’ll put them up under missing persons tonight and hopefully we’ll get some calls tomorrow.”
Hopefully.
He would live for six whole years with the word “hopefully” the last word on his lips at night, and the first one in the morning.
Until the warlock came.