Best of Intentions

I pity anyone who has experienced the pain of a missing child. Serious crime is rare in my rather small town, but six years ago, when my son, Jeremy was just seven, he simply disappeared from his bedroom. There were no signs of forced entry or struggle. There was no ransom letter or note from my son. I know he wouldn't have run away. He was a happy, well-adjusted boy who loved both me and his mom.

My wife, Joan, lost it. She screamed and cried a lot, and then she got drunk until she was catatonic. One night, she took every pill she could find in the house and drank enough to knock out an elephant. She didn't wake up.

Where once we were Joan, Ed, and Jeremy, I found myself as just Ed - or rather - maladjustEd. Long afterward, I was mechanically going through the motions of living. I pretended I was okay, but deep down, there was a hole where my heart once resided. My co-workers kept trying to get me to socialize. I kept saying I wasn’t ready.

My best friend, Scott, convinced me to meet with a therapist. That helped a bit. Dr. Ann told me I should consider selling the house, but I compromised and said I would clean out Jeremy's room. If he miraculously reappeared, his space would no longer be suitable for the teenager he has become.

One Saturday, I loaded boxes of toys and books, a race car bed, and a small dresser onto my truck. I hauled them to the nearest thrift store. Volunteers were happy to help me unload the heavy items and point out where to place the boxes.

One lady, who introduced herself as Susan, said, "Please take the books directly in, since we're short on children's reading material." She smiled, ran her hand through her dark hair, and continued, "Judging from the car bed, you have a son. What was his favorite book before he outgrew it?"

I didn't mind the question. It brought back fond memories of reading to Jeremy and later taking turns reading. He was a sharp second grader. I set the box down and pulled out the most worn-out book of the lot. "This one, Imagination Engine, by Samuel Gooding. We must have read this... Oh!" A bookmark fell to the floor as I held up the book. "I didn't know that was in there. What a strange, other-worldly picture!"

Susan picked it up. It felt heavy for its size, and she could have sworn that she felt a zing of electricity run through her body. She said, "This is interesting. Would you mind if I give it to my daughter? She loves sci fi stories, and being a 12-year-old, she doesn't like much." She laughed weakly and shrugged. "Ever since her dad left, she spends most of her time reading." She fiddled with her hair again. "I suppose that's better than excessive gaming or rowdy parties."

"True enough. You're welcome to it." I decided to take a plunge. "On one condition. You let me treat you and your daughter to ice cream next Saturday."

Her eyes lit up, "Yes, and bring your wife and son."

I sighed and said, "I'll explain why that cannot happen next week. Shall we meet at Ice Dreams at 1:00?" I dug out my wallet. "Here's my card, in case anything comes up or if you have questions about any of the items I brought in."

"Sounds great." She looked at my card. "Thank you, Ed, for the donations and the invitation."

I spent the rest of the weekend painting Jeremy's room ocean blue for my boy, who had set sail to ports unknown. I planned to add some subtle ocean decorations and a comfy double bed.

The following Wednesday evening, my cell phone rang, showing an unknown caller. I answered, "Hello, this is Ed. May I ask who's calling?"

I heard sniffles and then, "Ed? This is Susan from the thrift store. I'm afraid I won't be meeting you Saturday. My daughter, Chrissy is missing." She began to sob.

I was briefly stunned. Then, I said as calmly as I could, "Susan, I'm so sorry. I really know what you're going through. My son disappeared six years ago, and a year later, my wife passed away. I was going to tell you in person. Do you have company right now?”

"No."

“I don't think you should be alone. Will you let me treat you to dinner? You can tell me about Chrissy."

More sniffles. Her voice was plaintive. "Will you bring something here? I don't want to leave, in case she..." After a brief moment of silence, she began crying again.

"Of course. I’ll help you through this. Give me your address."

*

Chrissy

I listened to Mom babble on about some guy she met at the store. I couldn't believe he offered to buy us ice cream, or that she accepted. I assumed he thought I was in kindergarten.

I like the bookmark he let Mom give me though. Staring at it, I could swear that I saw something move by the obelisk. What was that? I screamed.

For the conclusion, click here.