Howling Hearts

Chapter2

“When was the last time you saw him?” The sheriff asked. He had a notepad and a pen in his hands.

Mr. Bukowski, a man in his late fifties, paced worriedly around the sitting room,with his hands tucked in his pockets.

“Last night. He was home last night, and I saw him walk into his room. That was the last time I saw him. I really don't know.” He said, and pushed himself to the couch, burning his face in his palms.

“Does he have a close friend? Maybe he decided to do a sleepover at a friend's? You know kids right? You know how they can be…”

“No, Scott isn't like that. He would have told me if he had such plans.”

“Then we don't have a clue now, Mr. Bukowski. But we'll make our findings and contact you once we've found something.” The sheriff said and closed his notepad, tucking it in his pocket.

“Alright.”

An aged man aided by a walking stick walked in from a room. He seemed frail and close to the point of meeting his ancestors.

“Oh son, you don't have to worry. I believe he'll be back. He must have gone to see a friend, you know.” Grandpa said, taking a seat.

“Dad, you're meant to be resting now.” Mr. Bukowski said, with a sympathetic gaze.

“I'm sure you don't want me to die of resting. I've been resting all day.”

“Mr. Bukowski, I think I'll take my leave now. Beware, he can't be considered missing until twenty four hours has passed.”

“Yeah, that's what I always tell him, he's always too thoughtful about things like that.” Grandpa said, with a chuckle.

“Noted.” Mr. Bukowski said, and stood to his feet and offered his hand. With a smile, the sheriff shook him. “I'll see you off…” He said again.

“Thank you.” He said and they both left.

“Too concerned…” Grandpa muttered.

Grandpa’s traits were one in a billion. Always jovial and dispensed advises that was both hilarious and meaningful at the same time.

The most amusing part of him being a man in his seventies is his thick voice, and how he would grunt at intervals when speaking.

“I’m so scared for him.” Mr. Bukowski said and he pushed open the door and walked in.

“Keep being scared then.” Grandpa blurted out, with little care for his words.

“Has Sarah given you your medication?” He asked and led himself to sit, cracking his knuckles. “How am I supposed to be happy when my son is nowhere to be found?”

“Not when he's safe.”

“How do you know that? My son is out there, God knows if he's safe. And you want me to be relaxed? That's impossible.”

A scream was heard from the porch.

“Sarah…” Mr. Bukowski rushed out.

Grandpa tried getting up with the aid of his walking stick. He rushed out and slammed the door behind.

.

.

.

Scott laid unconscious on the bare ground with bruises battered on his face and his neck.

“Help me Sarah, let's take him in.” Mr. Bukowski said, pulling up his sleeves. “Take him…” he said,with a concerned look.

“Oh, may God be with him.” Grandpa silently prayed.

He was quickly rushed to his bedroom and laid on the bed.

“Get the doctor!” Mr Bukowski muttered desperately to Sarah.

“Alright.” She said, with sweat glued to her fearful eyes. She went away as ordered.

“Oh God, never have I seen him in this condition. See how badly injured he is …” Grandpa cried, caressing Scott's face.

“No need to worry. The doctor should be on her way now.”Mr. Bukowski assured and Grandpa nodded.

. . . . .

The doctor suddenly rushed in with her coat on and her box.

“What happened to him?” She asked.

“We don't know,” Grandpa replied. “We just met him like that.”

The doctor brought out her stethoscope and placed it on Scott's chest, in examination. She brought other things she needed and did her thing.

The room was filled with silence. Especially Grandpa, he had begun sweating profusely and his eyes twitched, while Mr. Bukowski’s palms emitted sweat.

Sarah quietly observed everything from the entrance.

Few minutes later,the doctor had soon finished his treatment. Before she could fold her stethoscope into her box, Grandpa rushed curiously to her.

“How is he?” He asked.

There was a pause. The doctor furrowed her brows and shifted her gaze to Mr. Bukowski.

“What is it, doctor?” Mr. Bukowski questioned.

“Do you mind sharing where he got the bruises from?”

“Is there a problem?” Grandpa invaded.

“He's fine, but the bruises is something I've not seen since my eight years as a doctor, that's why I asked.”

“We really don't know,either.” Mr. Bukowski said.”But we'll question him as soon as he's well.”

The doctor stared at him…, Grandpa noticed emptiness in her eyes and fear enveloped his body.

“Please do.” The doctor said, forcing a smile on her face and left.

“What's wrong with her?” Grandpa asked, looking absurdly at the doctor’s back as she shut the door. “I hope he'll be fine.” He said.

“Look who's so concerned.” Mr. Bukowski chuckled.

“Really? Does this look like a laughing matter?”

“Not exactly. You told me not to worry about him a while ago and here you are now, worried.”

“Ah,stop it. I was only being positive about things. We both couldn't be down. I needed to have a positive spirit so that it could give you hope. I can't just bear seeing my favorite in this condition.” Grandpa sighed.

“Neither do I, but we have to be strong. Strong for him. You know he wouldn't like to see us this way. “ Mr. Bukowski braced him up, but by then tears had begun streaming from his eyes.

“Oh, no, don't tell me you're crying.”

“Fine I won't tell you.” Grandpa said and they both chuckled.

“He'll be fine.” Mr. Bukowski said and wrapped his arm around Grandpa's shoulders. “Believe.”

For a while, there was silence.

“Look, his eyes are open!” Grandpa screamed gleefully.