Shadows

He looked at his watch, 2:13 A.M. Morton calculated; 73 hours and 27 minutes; 1 hour, and 27 minutes past the 72 hour time clock that started when the station first received the call. He watched as the second hand made laps around infinity, the progression of time relative to the circumstances, it was moving at a rapid pace. And taking with it the likelihood of finding her.

Morton stood up, joints cracking, rusted from hours of scarce movements. He was exhausted, but the ferocity of his dedication had remained unwavering since he had taken on the case. It had now been over three days since Jen went missing, and he had hit a wall. His hands rested on his desk, holding his weight as he leaned in, eyes closed tight. Breathing in a slow, steady rhythm, he tried to tame his frustration. It surfaced, manifesting itself in the form of his knuckles pounding into the old oak desk. With a series of vocal projections matching the hammering rhythm.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

Brian, the local uniform given to him as a partner, was barely accustomed to the intensity. Nervously, he made an attempt at curbing Morton’s angry outburst.

“Mort, you’ve done more to try and find this girl than anyone at this station ever could have.”

Morton ran his fingers through his long black hair, clearing it from his face as his eyes met Brians and a calmness replaced the anger.“This shit is why I left Houston.”

Brian couldn’t find a response, and turned away from the stare they had locked into. It was difficult for him to remain optimistic now. He had already began buckling under the weight of his own lack of qualification and experience. The truth, was that Brian had never had to deal with anything like this, a sixteen year old girl, just gone. He was reliant on Morton’s experience. The guilt of his own uselessness was starting to eat at him, as he was beginning to feel the burden that an unsolved case would leave with him.

Morton broke the silence, “The commonalities, they have to be relevant.”

Brian was still adjusting to the random vocalized thoughts, and an inquisitive look landed on Morton, as Brian let out a habitual “huh?”

“In the last thirty years, this town has had a total of thirteen missing persons cases, of which nine have been at, or in the vicinity, of that barn. Commonalities hold answers, so why? Why that barn?”

Brian began rubbing his eyes with his palms, finally giving way to his own frustration, “We don’t know why. The barn is owned by the county, so that ruled out the property owner. The last owners have been fucking dead, with no relatives in the area, so that’s out of the window. There isn’t a goddamn house within a mile of the fucker, and there is zero evidence of anyone else having even been in the goddamn thing! So we don’t know who, or how, or why!”

Morton’s persistence presented itself in sternness, and in volume. “Then we missed something at the fucking barn Brian! Some—“

Brian cut him off, “We’ve been there four times Mort, there’s no answer there.” His volume challenging Morton’s persistence.

“There is nowhere else for an answer to be. There’s an answer there, and we’re missing it!” Morton’s gestures becoming a noose, as the finger he pointed at himself hung him in his guilt.

“Mort, it’s been three days now. We have nothing. We’re not going to have anything. I haven’t been through this before, but you have, you had cases you couldn’t solve, right? So when is the right time to move on?”

“When I say it is.” Emphasizing the I, he repeated “when I say it is.”

Mort grabbed his coat, and stuffed a messy pile of papers into a bag as he started towards the door.

Brian pleaded, “where are you going?”

“I told you, there has to be something in that barn that we missed.”

“It’s three thirty in the morning, even if there is something there, you won’t be able to see shit.”

Mort shrugged, “I don’t know what else to do Brian, I’m not ready to quit on her yet.”

Brian got up, finally giving way to Morton’s hope, “Alright, let’s go then.”

Brian reluctantly followed Morton out of the station. The cold, dry February air was a refreshing shock, forcing out some of the weariness that had settled into them both. Mort stopped at the car, leaning against the roof as Brian approached the door, a look of gratitude resting on his face.

“Alright asshole, but you’re buying the coffee for dragging me out here at this hour.”

Morton blew the comment off with a smirk, and slid into the car. The quietness of the hour interrupted by the sound of the engine turning over. The headlights illuminating the light fog that had settled in as they pulled away from the station.

It wasn’t a horribly long drive to where this barn was, just a few miles outside of town. The drive was mostly spent in silence, with brief exchanges about the case; things they had already discussed repetitively. Mort cruised slowly down the county road that the barn was on, the thickening fog making vision increasingly more difficult. He nearly came to a stop as the silhouette came into view, the moonlight crawling through just enough to outline the antiquated structure.

“Alright, so where were they parked when you got here?” Morton asked.

“Keep going, keep going, keep going. Here, pull over, they were parked near this sign.” Brian gestured to a yellow sign just off of the road.

“Alright, car was still running when you got here?”

“Yep, it was.”

Morton studied the surroundings. This was the first time they had been out here while the sun was down. He scanned the area, validating the little details he was so familiar with. The door could be seen with the headlights on. No trees, no bushes, no obstructions within a few hundred feet of the barn. The baroness of the land surrounding the barn; no tree line, no fields of tall crops, no other structures. The gravel drive, overgrown with grass, leading to the county road. Doors only on the face of the barn that ran parallel to the road; one man door, and one large rolling door that had been frozen in place by rust accumulated over the years.

Morton interrupted the quietness of his studious gaze as he thought out loud, “I still don’t get it. Even in this fog, if we’re sitting here, I don’t see how anyone could walk out of there without us knowing, especially with a teenage girl.”

“I don’t know, maybe they were distracted? Young girls, probably staring at their phones.”

“Maybe, but even then, it’s dead quiet out here. You think they would have heard the struggle. Hell, there’s only the one door, they should have heard that.”

Brian shook his head, “I don’t know, they had to get her out somehow.”

“Alright, well I’m going to go in, maybe there’s something we missed. I’ll try and come out without you noticing I guess, I don’t know.”

Brian nodded his head in agreement. His exhaustion was transforming into disinterest. Brian watched as Morton made his way to the barn, the flashlight beaming on the door as he ran the edges of the entryway, looking for any signs of disturbance since they had last been out here. The creaking and thudding of Morton forcing the door open echoed through the emptiness, and repeated as Morton closed the door behind him. Silence followed, the low humming and ticking of the engine a trance as Brian struggled to keep his alertness, listening for any sounds of Morton’s movement.

Morton’s eyes followed the flashlight around the interior of the barn. It wasn’t much to be admired, in a state of disrepair, beaten by age and weather. If the county could have ever managed to keep it in the budget, it would have long since been knocked down. Nothing glaringly obvious caught his attention as he made his initial scan. He tried imagining what Jen would have done once inside the barn.

She came in as a dare, so he couldn’t imagine she would have done much exploring. Likely, he thought, she would have been after a quick exit. He studied the ground near the door, where her keys and phone were found. He had been over this a few times now, and couldn’t find anything. No shoe prints in the dirt beyond the single set that matched Jen’s shoe size.

No markings on the door, no scuttled straw or displaced earth that would indicate any sort of struggle. Nothing. Morton flashed around the interior of the barn once again. An open dirt floor plan, with a wooden ladder leading up to a small loft on the side opposite the entry, empty save a few bales of hay. He had scoured this barn a few times, no indication of a squatter, or of any other persons having been here.

He began to walk the perimeter of the interior, just as he had done before. First passing the large rolling door, making an attempt to slide it with no success. He continued walking, firmly pushing on the boards that had been fastened into walls, searching for loose boards that could have served as an alternative egress, each board creaking slightly, but otherwise too secure to provide an escape.

Morton had just gotten to the corner of the barn, opposite of the door he had entered, when he heard a sound at the door, a faint thud. He turned, beaming his light at the door; once again tracing the framework.

“Brian?” He called out. He waited. No response.

Brushing it off, he continued to follow his path around the inside of the barn, continuing the search for how Jen was removed without her friends noticing. He was halfway down the far wall, when he was startled, positive that he heard a faint whisper of his name.

He called out again, “Brian?” He waited. The exhaustion talking he figured. Just as he was about to start walking again he heard it, still faint but much more clear than before. “Morton Williams.”

Infuriated, he rushed across the barn, crashing into the door, shouting “Jesus Christ Brian, this isn’t an appropriate time to be fucking around!”

Turning the handle, he pushed on the door, and it didn’t budge. “Jesus,” he muttered. “Brian, move!” He called through the door before beginning to forcefully jostle the door in a vain attempt at getting it open.

A loud bang from the other corner of the barn made him stop instantly. He turned, aiming the flashlight in the direction he was certain the noise had come from. There was nothing. He slowly scanned the entirety, looking for the glow of the eyes of some animal, or a fallen board. Seeing nothing, he set the flashlight on the ground, aimed at the door, and made another abrupt attempt at forcing it open. Still no movement, he began calling through the door, “Brian! Brian! The goddamn door is stuck!” He stopped momentarily, listening for the sound of a car door, or a response from Brian.

A noise came from the loft, with extreme volume this time, like someone slammed a board against one of the vertical beams hard enough that it split in half. He turned from the door quickly, and immediately turned back to make another attempt at the door, panick overcoming him.

As he turned, his shadow cast on the ground from the flashlight made movements out of synchronicity with his body. Morton began to tremble, as he watched his own shadow slowly erect itself, and move towards him. Complete disbelief overcame him. He opened his mouth to scream, but was caught by a firm grip on his throat. It began to whisper in a language unfamiliar to Morton. He couldn’t speak. Panic gripped his body, and his mind went blank.

His vision began to fade. His eyes were open wide, but the world around him was disappearing. The darkness was calming, his breathing began to slow, and his ability to think was slowly returning to him. His first coherent thought; “I’m dead.”

A whisper in his head, “Not dead, alive.”

And then lights. His vision was given back to him, but he couldn’t see. At least, he couldn’t see the tangible world that he was in. Things focused, and he began to recognize where he was. Mort saw his mother, sitting across from the table from his dad, eating in silence. He heard his mother speak, nervousness in her voice, “I’m pregnant.”

He watched his father look across the table, anger in his eyes, fierceness in his voice. “What do you mean, you’re pregnant?”

“We’re going to have a baby.”

And then the rage, the screaming about how they couldn’t afford a child. The accusations, the blame, and then the swing. Contact as she fell to the floor. Mort was watching the first time his father had hit his mother, something that would continue for decades to follow.

Mort couldn’t grasp what was happening, as the image faded out, and another one appeared. He remembered this moment clearly. He watched himself as a child, as his father took a belt to him for the first time. Second grade, a B on a spelling test, the embarrassment of his failure justified the actions of his father.

Again, the image faded, as the next appeared, and the process repeated. One memory would come, it would fade, and another would appear. Every one of his most horrific memories were being played back to him, one at a time. A beating, screaming, a heartbreak, another beating, failures, and on, and on, and on. Chronologically, from his childhood, into his adolescence, and forward into his adulthood. His own road to hell, he imagined, paved with his miseries.