Page 18 of Lost to Thievery
“I’m sorry,” I told my friend. “I can’t be here anymore. But I’ll come visit you again when I’m better.”
My chest felt heavy and raw as I walked back towards the helicopter. I climbed in and shut my eyes. The forest had turned a sickly grey and I couldn’t bare looking at it anymore.
Grayson was gone. They all were. I could no longer call this magical piece of landhome.
Nothing much came from our visit to the cabin, just as I had expected. Except now the agents thought I was crazy, having witnessed my breakdown. Liam found nothing. No fingerprints, no DNA, no sign of master thieves having once occupied the space. Tom, Grayson’s contact at the airport, had also vanished overnight. He and his family had left town with no explanation or forwarding address.
Owen was in a sour mood, having everyone split up and question the townspeople the following day. We showed pictures around, but no one we encountered had ever seen any one ofthem. By noon, we had all found each other again, hiding from the relentless sun under a large oak tree. A heatwave had struck the town—Summer’s last hoorah as Autumn prepared the trees for Winter.
“This is pointless, Beck.” Liam groaned as he lowered himself onto the grass, the last of us to give up.
“I don’t care, Taylor. We will search every nook and cranny of this world if that’s what it takes,” Owen shot back, grumpily.
Emerie sighed. “I’m sure there are other leads we can work on? We’re wasting…”
“We followeverylead.” Owen glared at Emerie, ready for battle if she dared to open her mouth again.
The truth was, we had no new leads on the Apparitions, and it was weighing heavily on Owen. He’d come so close but was thrown back down to square one. And he wasn’t taking it well.
I pushed him with my shoulder. “Why don’t you and I go see if the sheriff is back yet?”
Owen glared at me too, knowing my intention. But he stood anyway, knowing I was right. He needed to take a breather.
We walked down a quiet street, staying under the cover of the large oak trees lining the sidewalk.
“How do they do it? How do they justvanishlike that?” he seethed. He came to a stop, scratching harshly at his jaw. “They fucking make me question my own sanity sometimes. You were there, right? You saw them on that balcony? You saw them in that helicopter? How the fuck do they not exist again?”
I sighed and hooked my arm around his, pulling him forward. “The lights finally went out, and the cabin was completely quiet. I waited a bit longer just to be sure everyone was asleep, then I slid the window open,” I began my story.
Owen shook his head, letting his head fall back in exasperation, but he smiled. It’s what we did for each other,telling our stories so the other doesn’t feel so insane for chasing ghosts.
“I tumbled to the ground, probably looking like a complete idiot,” I continued with my story. “I thought I was home free, but…”
Owen stopped abruptly. “That was the night he slapped you, right?That’swhy you were laughing like a maniac in the chopper. You were thinking ofthatnight.”
I snickered. “Yeah, the whole thing is pretty hilarious, looking back. In a fucked-up way. Gods, I’m depressingly ridiculous.”
“That you are.”
I punched at Owen’s arm. “Hey! Only I’m allowed to say it.”
We finally had an audience with the sheriff, who’d run around all morning searching for a man that escaped the old age home. The man had severe dementia and was a risk to himself and others.
Owen scratched at his jaw in frustration. The sheriff was of no help. He didn’t recognise any of them.
“Well then, have you had any unusual cases lately? Anything out of the ordinary?” Owen tried again.
The sheriff sighed but picked up a stack of files, flipping through it listlessly. “Not really anything that would have to do with your perps.”
A name caught my attention, making my stomach drop to my feet. “Wait.” I pushed my hand between the files to stop the sheriff from flipping further. “This one.” I ignored the look of indignation from him and pulled at the file, enough to uncover the name on it. My eyes hadn’t played tricks on me.
Donald “Digger” Mullens
I swallowed hard at the saliva flooding my mouth. The sheriff tried to pull the file from my hand, flabbergasted at my audacity, but I held tight.
Owen put a hand on my shoulder. “This name mean anything to you?”
I couldn’t find my voice.
