Writing Alone and Other Group Activities

Karma-1

Karma

Team: SUblime SUperscribes

For Officer Rocky O’Sullivan, mornings did not include sleep-laden eyes opening to birdsong and dappled sunlight. They didn’t include unicorns or freakin’ rainbows, either. Those luxuries were denied him by five hard years on the night beat, and only recently was he reassigned to the early shift, where he still had to get up at the butt-crack of dawn.

This morning was no exception.

His early sweep took him past the city’s largest park. Only a few joggers, homeless people, and early birds populated the sidewalk. The streets were still empty of vehicles, the air only occasionally rent by the rip of a motor. Rising with the sun might suck, but at least the majority of idiots weren’t out yet. He noticed the silver sedan—the one with the ridiculous license plate—still in the same spot, where it’d been parked for days.

The red tape machine moves slowly.

Rocky scowled. He should’ve been on day-shift years ago. Should’ve had his stripes and a cushy desk job. But if they couldn’t even get their s**t together enough to tow away abandoned cars, well, it explained why he was still stuck on the beat.

He pulled out his citation pad and began to write, chuckling when he copied down the license plate: LUCKY. He placed the ticket under the windshield wiper along with the other dozen already there.

The sun came out. The city noise grew to a constant roar. Morning was in full swing.

Rocky sighed, feeling his gut strain against the confines of his uniform, and tucked his pad into his back pocket.

***

The sun had a nasty habit of shining in Nance’s eyes whenever she slept on the park bench.

“Good morning to you too, you bastard.” She stretched the cold from her fingers while shielding her eyes from the light. It was a cool morning, but pleasant, and no one had come to push her off to some shelter, where only the worst types sought refuge.

Actually, she had a pretty sweet set-up. The bench was nestled among a stand of woods, which provided some shelter when the weather got nasty. The hotdog vendor, Carl, was a bit soft and would give her a frankfurter in the morning and sometimes late in the afternoon, if he had a surplus. He also gave her his newspaper after he’d finished reading. It made her feel a little more human to receive it from a person, rather than snatching it from the trash.

Carl probably thought she used it for insulation or toilet paper—which she did, when desperate—but she read it first, to keep her mind sharp. People saw her frizzled red hair, took in her tattered, dirty clothes, and smelled her particular funk, and assumed she was stupid. They would never have recognized her as Nancy Veloster, disgraced CEO of the second-largest accounting firm in the state.

Nance sniffed the air. The smell of hotdogs wafted on the morning breeze. Carl had started early today, presumably in preparation for the cold snap which would drive people indoors later in the afternoon. She rolled up her sleeping bag and checked that her possessions were safe.

Nance made her way along the park path to the stand, eyes down. People often lost things when jogging around the park, and she had received quite a few free meals in return for lost items. There had been one b***h who had accused her of stealing a bracelet, but Nance had shown her—she threw the thing into a prickle bush. The memory made her chuckle, and she glanced at the shrub as she passed. Something glittered, down near its roots.

She walked over to it and pushed aside a fern to reveal a set of keys hanging from a low branch. Sunlight reflected from the gold four-leaf clover keychain. She carefully extracted the set of keys and turned the clover over in her palm. Carolyn was etched on the backside. With a name, it should be easy enough to find the owner. But something was bothering her. The prickle bush was off the path, too far for a lost item to drop.

The keys hadn’t fallen—they’d been thrown.

Nance mulled over the possibilities as she made her way to Carl’s stand, where he was flipping his dogs. There were no customers when she arrived, so she walked right up. She and Carl had an understanding: she’d hang back when there were people around to avoid him losing out on business. It was cruel, but mutually beneficial. Nance wasn’t too keen on people anyway.

“Morning, Nance, you sleep ok?” Carl asked, handing over a hotdog with bits of bacon sprinkled on top.

Toppings? Must be in a good mood.

“Felt like I had a plank jammed up my ass for half the night, but otherwise alright.”

He laughed. “Now there’s an image. Anyone ever tell you you’ve got a way with words?”

“Once,” Nance replied, her grin slipping a little. “Thanks for the bacon.”

“Supposed to be freezing tonight. Thought you could do with a little extra protein. I want to make sure you’ll still be around to greet me in the morning.”

“Think I’m afraid of a little frost, Carl?” Nance picked off a piece of bacon and popped it in her mouth. “I appreciate you thinking of me.”

“No worries. What have you got there?” he asked, spying the keys.

“Found them in a prickle bush on my way over here. Got this weird feeling that someone tossed them back there, on purpose.”

Carl frowned, pausing his wiener rotation.

“You should turn them in. Don’t want to get caught with them if something shady’s going on.”

Nance looked back up the path to the street, where the occasional cop could be found writing parking tickets or questioning teenagers about illicit substances.

“You’re probably right,” she replied, taking a bite of the hotdog. “See you tomorrow.”

***

“9-1-1. What is your emergency?”

Jim opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. He cleared his throat and tried again.

“Hell—hello? Yes, my wife Carolyn has, um, been missing for a couple days. I’m really...I don’t know what to do. Can you help me?”

“Yes, of course, sir, please remain calm and speak clearly. Your wife is currently missing?”

“Yes, Carolyn. S-Shaw. She’s...gone.”

“When was the last time you saw her?”

“Already said. It’s been a couple days. No sign of her.”

“Yes, sir, I understand. I meant the time, hour, and circumstances when you saw her last.”

“At home before we both left for work. Around...7:30 in the morning, I guess? I kissed her goodbye, got in my car and drove away. I assume she did the same a little while later.” As Jim said the words, he felt the lie settle heavily on his shoulders. There had been no goodbye kiss, not for years.

“What day was this, sir?”

“Jesus, a couple.... Two days. Um, Friday. I haven’t seen her since Friday. She works long hours sometimes, and a day here or there isn’t a big deal but it’s been.... This is an emergency and you’re dicking around with days of the week! Just send someone to find her already.”

“Can you please describe what she was wearing when you last saw her?”

“I don’t...nightgown and robe, I guess. She wasn’t dressed yet. I know she got ready eventually, though, because she took her car. Never leaves the house without being put together. She drives a silver four-door Toyota.”

“Was your wife distraught when you last saw her? Do you have any reason to believe she would harm herself?”

“Jesus, no. She’s...no. Just find her.”

“Yes, sir. I am sending officers to your location. They will take your statement. Please stay on the line so that I can take your name.”

“Jim. I’m Jim. And hurry. I can’t stand this.”

***

Wisps of morning mist clung to the overgrown shrubs that lined the path. Chris pulled his jacket zipper all the way up to his neck to fend off the chill. His retriever, Lovecraft, tugged at the leash, straining to sniff every last weed and rock, then lifted a leg to leave his scent.

The path hugged the edge of the city park. Chris preferred to walk his golden retriever along the west end where the trees were thicker and the terrain dipped, shielding them from the bustle of the city. Scrawny rabbits occasionally sprung from the ravine near the little bridge. The stream bed had been dry ever since Chris could remember, but the riot of wildflowers was almost as alluring as the trickling brook might have been. Lovecraft barked, sending a brace of sparrows into the gray morning air.

Chris scanned the area, but saw no one else. He unhooked Lovecraft’s leash.

“All right, boy, off you go. Be good.”

With any luck, he wouldn’t meet any other walkers until after the dog was done with his business.

Lovecraft bounded off, nose buried in the wild mustard growing in the ravine. Chris smiled, enjoying his dog’s enthusiasm. These morning walks were often the best part of his day, especially on Mondays. He yawned, then leaned into a stretch while keeping an eye on the dog.

Standing straight, he swung his arms above his head to get his blood pumping and breathed in the clean morning air. He could almost imagine he was home, on the old family farm, rather than his adopted city. His heart ached at the thought. Hopes of leaving this lonely place dogged him, especially since his divorce had been finalized.

A sharp bark snapped his attention back to the stream bed. Lovecraft growled at something that lay beyond a cluster of rocks. Chris squinted to see what was making the dog so agitated. A scrap of blue cloth, barely visible.

Chris considered his new Nikes, then frowned at the dew-soaked weeds on the edge of the path.

“This better be good,” he muttered as he tramped after the dog. The shoes soaked up moisture like a sponge, but Chris didn’t have the energy to be annoyed. He found the soft earth underfoot pleasant. Lovecraft darted back to Chris’s side, whining and pawing at the ground.

Chris sniffed.

“I hope you’re not taking me to see another dead squirrel.”

The dog jittered, leading Chris back to the rocks. Tree debris and leaves obscured the area, but the bright blue fabric was hard to miss. As was the object it covered: an arm.

Chris froze, his heart pounding as he stared at the human body nestled amongst the leaves. The dog nudged him, then turned back to the body, snuffling the leaves near its feet.

“Lovecraft! Stop that! Come back here!”

Chris stumbled, pulling his dog away. Breathless and shaking, he scrambled back up to the paved walking path.

***

Jim didn’t remember he’d put the coffee on until he heard it sizzling. It drizzled a steady stream onto the hotplate. He’d forgotten to put the pot underneath.

He swore loudly—oddly freeing when there was no one around to soften his curses for, no disapproving glares at the color of his language—and settled for putting a cup down to catch the drips when he couldn’t find the pot.

He should’ve called the cops sooner, he knew it. But he thought Carolyn was out on one of her mysterious “client evenings.” They’d grown so distant she rarely bothered to craft a good lie anymore, or detail her comings and goings. They’d floated the idea of divorce a time or two, but Carolyn was worried about how it would look at work. “Corporate likes its lady execs married,” she always said. “We’re less threatening that way. More stable.”

And Jim had his own secrets, his own nights out that required well-crafted lies. Lately they’d been in stalemate, until...this. The disappearance.

He’d wished for her to disappear countless times. When he had to be her plus-one at stuffy work parties. When he’d spent a fantastic night out, only to be met at home with anger and judgment. When he finally felt real love, and wondered how he could’ve ever mistaken Carolyn for the one.

But the reality of her disappearance—all the goddamn questions—was unbearable.

He gulped a mouthful of scalding coffee and immediately retched into the sink, stomach churning.

He’d give anything if she’d just walk through the door.

He sat back down at the kitchen table, nibbling at a fingernail, to await the police.