Free Nowhere Fast (A Mercy Watts Short) by A.W. Hartoin Page B

there looking at me, I lost the quick, businesslike words I’d been planning to say. In the time between Aunt Miriam’s visit and my arrival at the Horton household, I’d forgotten what this was all about. Their eyes reminded me. A little girl was missing; their little girl, and they felt every minute of her absence.
    “Miss Watts?” Carl asked.
    “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say.”
    “No one does,” said Carol through tight, chapped lips. She looked like she was trying to choose between crying and screaming at me.
    I looked at Carl and said, “Can I see a picture of your daughter?”
    “Granddaughter.”
    “What?”
    “Charlotte is my granddaughter. We call her Charley. This is my daughter-in-law Carol, Charley’s mother. My wife and I live a couple of blocks over. She would be here, but she’s under the weather.” He patted Carol on the shoulder, stood and took a framed photo off the wall. He handed it to me and sat down. It was a head-and-shoulder shot of a young girl. She had strawberry blond hair and wore no makeup. Her face was at that in-between stage before it’s decided which way to go. Will it be beautiful or ordinary? I could tell Charlotte Horton liked getting her picture taken, but was nervous about the result. She was also sporting a pair of pigtails. Having once been thirteen, I was sure that they didn’t wear pigtails. Hell, most of them were more sophisticated than me.
    “What year is this?”
    Carol looked blank, but Carl said, “She was eleven there. But she still looks like that.”
    “Can I see something more recent?”
    Carl looked at Carol. She got up and went over to a side table. She got a loose photo out of a drawer and handed it to me. This one was familiar. I’d seen it in the local newscasts. Charlotte was two years older and a world away from pigtails. Her face was now angular and her eyes had lost their sweet, hopeful expression. That was a thirteen I recognized. I didn’t blame Carl and Carol for preferring the other picture. I sure did.
    “Do you mind if I take this and make a copy?”
    “Keep it. We have a bunch,” Carol said.
    “I’ve heard the basics on the news, but can you tell me what happened? She left a note?”
    Carol sat silent. She crossed her arms and looked at the ceiling. She’d told the story too many times. Carl cleared his throat and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together.
    Charley had run away six weeks ago on October 6 th . She’d said she was going to spend the night at her friend Rachel’s house. It turned out that Rachel’s parents were out of town and thought Rachel was staying at Charley’s. The next morning Rachel’s parents came home to find a note and their emergency cash gone. The police had the note, but it was the usual teen angst stuff. You don’t understand me. You don’t really love me. You won’t let me have any fun.
    In three days, Rachel was back, dirty and hungry. Two hundred dollars didn’t go very far. They’d gone to a friend of a friend of a friend named Terry Obermark. He was a twenty-eight-year-old convicted drug dealer. Rachel claimed they didn’t know that, but on the other hand, she tested positive for marijuana, ecstasy, and quaaludes. Terry lived in a dump with no food and rats the size of toaster ovens. When the money ran out, Rachel decided that home wasn’t such a raw deal and came back. She claimed that Charley said, “Screw that!” and stayed. The police searched Terry’s apartment and found blood, but it turned out not to be Charley’s. Terry said she left on her own and a witness confirmed. A neighbor saw Charley leave the apartment building at ten o’clock in the morning, an hour after Rachel left. She was alone. Terry was questioned and held for drug possession with intent to sell and contributing to the delinquency of a minor. He made bail in three hours and would probably plead out on reduced charges. There was no evidence that he did anything