However, all readers - sooner or later - find for themselves a literary genre that is fundamentally different from all others. Missing by Adam Nicholls (top e book reader .TXT) đź“–
- Author: Adam Nicholls
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Why can’t these people see I’m helping them? Isn’t it obvious I only target the douchebags, the privileged, and the kids with spoilt upbringings? I’m improving the next generation, too. They bring it on themselves.
Still, he would have plenty of time to show them, to make them understand.
The killer headed back to his vehicle, started the engine, and began his search.
Evie—as small as her brother was big—reclined in the passenger seat. If Mason knew her as well as he thought he did, she was fighting a strong urge to put her feet up on the dashboard. She was learning, at last, and that was good.
“Where are we going?” she asked, sensing something was wrong.
“I have to swing by Missy’s house. Somebody needs to tell her parents.”
“Sure, but it doesn’t have to be you.”
Mason said nothing.
“So… you think it’s him? Is he back?”
“I don’t know,” he said, eyes fixed on the road. “Could be.”
“You don’t suspect a copycat?” Evie persisted.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I just don’t.” Mason huffed loud enough to make the hint, but it failed to land.
“Come on, you must have some—”
“Listen,” he snapped, “I don’t know any more than you at this point. I have enough on my mind without worrying about leaking details to the press.”
“The press? Is that all I am to you? Jeez, thanks a lot.”
They sat in silence for the rest of the journey, the car speeding through the deluge. When they arrived, Mason took a deep breath, climbed out of the Mustang, and prepared himself.
“Sorry,” Evie mumbled, but Mason shut the door. If she wanted to apologize, he’d rather she did it when he didn’t have his back turned.
Shaking off his uneasy mood, Mason climbed the few steps to the house, an upmarket place and surprisingly nice for an unemployed single mother. He rapped on the door, unsure exactly how to phrase what he had to say.
The door swung open, and a tired-looking black woman stood there staring at him. She must have sensed something was wrong, as she didn’t say a word. Shaking, she retreated into her house and Mason let himself in, shutting the door on the miserable weather. He didn’t want to take another step, worried he’d drench her hallway rug, so he stopped her there.
“I’m sorry, Joanna.” It was all he could find to say.
Joanna glared at him with cold eyes. It wasn’t long before her lip quivered and she fell to her knees, exhausted of all hope.
Mason had never been good at this kind of thing. Regardless, he stepped forward and knelt by her side. “I am really sorry. I did everything I could.”
“No…” Joanna sobbed. “You did not. If you’d tried—really tried—you’d have returned my baby girl.” Her words became sniveling noises as she buried her face in her hands.
“The police will be here shortly to give you the official statement. Would you like me to wait with you until then?” On some level, he was hoping she would say no. He had his own problems to deal with.
“Get him.”
“Excuse me?”
Joanna lifted her face, mascara streaming down her cheeks. “Whoever took my little girl. I want you to get him, then kill him.”
Mason had dealt with reactions like this before, though it never got any easier. “I can’t do that. The police have far more power. I suspect they’re doing everything they—”
“Then go!” she screamed. “Go, if that’s all you’re good for. Just take your ass outta here!”
Standing to leave, he placed a hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off with another sob. Mason took the hint and went for the door.
“You didn’t even try,” Joanna whimpered just before the door swung closed.
Stepping out into the rain, Mason trudged back to his car, not caring whether he got even more drenched. You don’t know the half of it, he thought.
Mason pulled up outside his sister’s apartment and shut off the engine.
“Why don’t you team up with the police on this one?” Evie asked.
“The case is done. I told you, I failed.”
“You know this wasn’t your fault, right? What that guy did—”
“I know.” Mason cut her off. He hated to think she was giving him sympathetic attention. “It’s just that I’m having problems with Sandra. She kicked me out earlier.”
Evie sat forward and turned to him. “Oh. I’m… Do you need somewhere to stay?”
“No. No.” Mason waved his hand. “I’ll head someplace else.”
“You sound unsure.”
Mason stared out the window at the rain. San Francisco had never looked as gloomy as it did right now. Gray clouds lurked above as the invisible sun was set of the bay. A constant drizzle patted the puddles, and the swishing of the windshield wipers was hypnotic.
“I really think you should consider it.” Evie sat back, determined not to leave.
“Consider what?”
“Joining the SFPD. It’s better pay, right? Some structure to help you through this difficult time? Plus, there are resources. I mean, if you’re working the case anyway…”
“I’m not working the case. I told you that.” Mason was riled up now. He hated being badgered into doing something he didn’t want to do. At any other time in his life he may have considered going after the killer. But as long as Sandra was causing him grief, he knew he couldn’t give the case his fullest attention.
“But you should.”
Mason climbed out of the car, then walked around and opened the passenger-side door. “Good night, Evie,” he said in his firmest voice, soaking in the downpour.
Evie stared at him, disbelieving, then got out and leaned in close. “Keep me in the loop,” she whispered in his ear on her tiptoes, and then she was gone, leaving Mason to regret his overreaction.
With the weight of the world on his shoulders, he drove back to the office he barely used these days—the study at home made just as good an office. Inside it was cold and musty, and dust motes swirled around beneath the single dim bulb.
“What a dump,” he said to himself, looking around the room. It felt like it belonged to a different man now. He approached his liquor cabinet, took the bottle of Jack Daniels, and slumped into the clients’ armchair.
Six glasses and two hours later, Mason drifted into an uncomfortable sleep, in which he saw nothing but the tears of Missy Daniels’s mother and the message made from the arrangement of rocks.
None for the dame.
Mason woke up in the afternoon to a severe case of cottonmouth and a series of missed calls from Bill. I know exactly what he’s after.
Noting the time, he sprang up and washed in the bathroom sink, then headed out of the office. For a minute he’d considered taking his car, but despite the heavy rain, he knew it was a bad idea. The alcohol was still rattling his brain.
When he arrived at the school, he waited by the buses. He probably looked suspicious, but he really didn’t care. There was one thing Mason wanted, and he was going to get it.
“Dad?” Amy stepped away from the bus line, her eyes widening. She was a beautiful girl, blonde-haired and blue-eyed. Short and thin—especially for a thirteen-year-old—but not worryingly. She’d inherited none of her father’s rugged features—luckily, Mason knew—nor her mom’s dark-haired Mediterranean complexion.
“Hey, honey. I thought I’d walk you home. Maybe get some pizza?” He
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