Free The Disappearance of Katie Wren by Amy Cross

a man,” I say firmly. “He was in Katie's bedroom! I saw him as clearly as I see you now! Well, at least I saw his silhouette.”
    Tim stares at me for a moment, before shaking his head.
    “There was a man!” I hiss, turning and hurrying across the hallway. Before I even have time to consider whether this is a good idea, I step into the bedroom, only to see that the whole place is once again a mess. The duvet has been pushed aside, and several items have been knocked off the dresser. In addition, the bird has defecated against the far wall.
    “I think you'll find this was all the crow's doing,” Tim mutters as he comes to join me. “It was a big brute. I wouldn't have minded catching him and plucking his hide, and then shoving him in the oven. They're usually not so keen on coming into houses, so God knows what got into the mind of this one. I suppose he must have been confused.”
    “I saw a man,” I whisper, staring at the wall where I saw the silhouette earlier. “A tall man. A big man. He was in this room.”
    Suddenly I feel Tim's hand on my shoulder, and I turn to him.
    “Don't take this the wrong way,” he says cautiously, “but you must be in an awful state right now. It's hardly surprising that you'd mistake a -”
    “There was a man here!” I say firmly, stepping over to the table in the far corner and looking down at Katie's make-up, which has been left scattered across the floor. Spotting something unfamiliar, I kneel down and pick up a small glass tube, which turns out to contain some type of glittery eye-shadow. “This isn't Katie's,” I whisper.
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “She didn't use this type of thing,” I continue, holding the tube up for him to see. “Emerald green eye-shadow? With glitter ? Absolutely not!”
    “Well...”
    He pauses.
    “I know my daughter,” I tell him, “and I promise you, she was not the type of girl to use flashy make-up at all. Nothing like this, anyway. A few subtle tones here and there, just to make herself look presentable if she was going somewhere special, but she most certainly didn't ever get dressed up like some kind of... tart!”
    “Green, eh?” he replies, looking increasingly awkward as he stands framed in the doorway. “Well, I don't know, I think maybe I...”
    His voice trails off.
    “And this ?” I continue, picking up some bright red lipstick. “This is not hers! None of this is hers...”
    I read the name from the side of the lipstick.
    “Devilish Red Dare?” I stammer. “No. Absolutely not. Not my Katie.”
    I stare down in silence for a moment at all the broken and spilled make-up. My mind is racing, but I know one thing for certain. None of these items belong to my daughter. Then again, I suddenly remember that she was using make-up the other night, while we talked on Skype, so maybe she did decide to experiment a little. Only a little, though. She most certainly didn't start painting herself all over.
    “I saw her wearing the green stuff once,” Tim says suddenly.
    I turn to him.
    “I'm not expert on these things,” he continues, “but... One evening last week, she dropped by to let me know that the problem with the heater had fixed itself, and I'm pretty sure she was wearing some kind of green make-up on her eyes. It wasn't shocking or anything like that, but she was wearing it.”
    “Nonsense,” I mutter, getting to my feet and heading over to the cupboard. As soon as I pull the door open, I see dresses that my Katie would never dream of wearing. Grabbing one at random, I hold it up and see that it's a skimpy black number with a low neckline and a skirt section that's barely more than a belt. I've seen silly little television personalities wearing such frightful things when they're snapped for the paper, but my Katie would never dream of being seen like this.
    “I think that might be what she was wearing, too,” Tim tells me.
    “Of course it isn't,” I whisper, shocked as I stare at the dress, before tossing it