CHAPTER 6: Vanished Without a Trace
1251 Words
“What the hell?” Cora said, shaking as she froze at the door. Something was off. Emory’s house was supposed to be here, just as she remembered, untouched and the same. But instead of Emory, a thin elderly woman was clinging to the door. Cora’s heart raced. Something just didn’t add up. Where was Emory?
“I don’t know who you’re looking for,” the old woman said, gripping the door for support. “But there’s no Mrs. Emory or baby Benjamin here.”
Cora’s chest tightened. “How long have you lived here?”
“My son bought this place two months ago.” The woman’s voice was sharp, like she was already tired of the conversation. “I’ve been here ever since.”
Two months. That was exactly when the excuses had started. Every time she’d asked to speak with Benjamin, there was always a reason. He was asleep. He had extra lessons. He was playing. And when she pushed, Emory would send a video or after a lot of pressure she would finally agree to a video call. It had been enough to stop Cora from asking too many questions. Until now.
Her number had been unreachable for weeks. Not just ignored but disconnected. Gone, as if she had never existed.
Cora’s heartbeat pounded in her ears. “Please, let me in. I need to see for myself,” she begged, her voice unsteady.
The woman’s face hardened. “I suggest you leave. Now. Or I’ll call the cops.”
Cora didn’t move. She couldn't. Because if Emory was truly gone, then so was Benjamin. And that was something she refused to accept.
“Please, I'm begging you! Just give me something, anything to help me find them,” she pleaded, her voice shaking with desperation.
The woman let out a tired sigh. “I have nothing for you,” she said, then paused. “But I can show you the house documents. Wait here.”
The door shut in Cora’s face. She stood there, heart pounding, hands sweaty, as the seconds dragged by. When the woman finally returned, she held out a stack of papers. Cora’s eyes moved quickly over them, searching in a panic, until the truth sank in like a hard punch—Emory was gone. This house was no longer hers.
A lump formed in her throat as she turned away, her feet dragging aimlessly down the street. Hot tears filled her eyes, but she forced herself to keep moving. She had to report this. The police would help. They had to.
Then, her phone buzzed.
A message.
“I know what happened to your son. Meet me at the County Bar.”
Cora froze. Her breath caught in her throat. Someone knew.
And just like that, the police station was no longer her next stop.
She didn’t think twice, she knew exactly where to go.
(AT THE BAR)
Pushing through the bar’s doors, she stepped inside, heart pounding like a drum in her chest. The dim lights, the strong smell of alcohol, the low murmur of people talking, it all blended together. Sliding onto a stool by the counter, she kept turning her head, looking around, searching every face.
“Drink?” the bartender asked.
She barely shook her head. The only thing she wanted was answers.
Then, a rough voice came from beside her.
“I’m the one who texted you.”
A middle-aged man, eyes sharp but tired from too much drinking, pulled out a stool and sat next to her. Her breath caught as she realized who he was.
“Oh my God… Mr. Murphy?” Her voice was full of shock. “You lived next door to Emory. Where did you get my number? What do you know about my son?”
He leaned in, a sly grin on his face. “I know plenty,” he said, rubbing his fingers together. “But nothing comes for free. How much is it worth to you?”
She shoved the cash into his hand without a second thought. Desperation makes people do crazy things. But this wasn’t surprising, he had always been a shameless man.
“Talk,” she demanded, leaning in, her voice sharp with impatience.
He stuffed the money into his pocket, cleared his throat, and began. “First off, I saw you arguing with that cranky old woman, and I figured you’d need help. I’ve had your number for a while now, so I thought, why not?” He coughed, dragging out the moment before continuing. “Listen, before Emory moved, I stopped seeing your boy around. For some time. I think she gave him away.”
Her stomach dropped. “What? Who did she give him to? Do you know where she went?”
He shook his head. “No clue. But the last time I saw Benjamin, Arnold was taking him somewhere. Don’t know where.”
Her hands flew to her head, fingers pressing against her temples as frustration burned through her. No proof. No solid answers. Just the drunken ramblings of a man who cared more about money than the truth.
She wiped her wet eyes, her voice trembling with anger. “And I’m supposed to believe you? A drunk who’d say anything for cash? I shouldn’t have wasted my time.”
She pushed back her chair, ready to leave, but his voice stopped her cold.
“I have proof,” he said, rubbing his jaw. “Pictures. I started taking them when I noticed something was off.”
Her heart skipped. She hesitated, then slowly sat back down. “Where is it?”
A slow grin spread across his face. His hand slid onto her thigh, fingers pressing where they weren’t welcome. He licked his lips. “At my place. We could go together… play the evidence wherever you like.”
Her stomach twisted with disgust. This filthy excuse of a man.
Before he could blink, her handbag swung through the air and smacked him hard across the face.
“You need more alcohol, not me, you fool!” she spat, her voice shaking with rage.
He grabbed his face with both hands, one eye already swelling, groaning in pain. But she didn’t stick around to watch. She had wasted enough time on a snake.
Without another word, she walked away.
She rushed into the restroom, holding onto the sink as she splashed cold water on her face. Her skin burned, her hands shook, but she couldn’t fall apart, not now. The thought of her son kept her standing, even as Murphy’s words echoed in her head.
Could he have been telling the truth? She wanted to believe Emory would never do something so cruel, but if that was the case… Why had she disappeared with him?
Exhaling sharply, she straightened up, wiped her face, and pushed the thoughts aside. There was no time for doubt.
Stepping out of the restroom, she made her way through the bar and out into the street, only to freeze.
Murphy lay stretched out on the ground, eyes lifeless, blood pooling beneath him. A single bullet hole marked the center of his forehead.
Her breath caught in her throat.
The street was quiet. Too quiet.
Has someone followed her? Was this about her son? Or had Murphy just played one too many dirty games?
Her heart pounded in her ears. Whatever the answer was, one thing was clear—she was next if she didn’t move.
- Writer
