Page 21 of Good and Gone

Still, everywhere I go, people are talking about this girl. An attractive blonde goes missing. Add to that she’s a loving wife and mother and, well, that sort of thing just doesn't happen around here. Add to that she’s some big-shot social media influencer with millions of followers. I’ve spent hours watching her old videos and this chick cansell,I tell you that. From bed sheets to her morning oatmeal and the fuckingseedsshe sprinkles on it, to the rugs that line her perfect floors, to the books she’s reading, she shows it all. Shepeddlesit all.

Now I know what my old lady sees in her. Her life is one big infomercial. And people arehooked. Hailey Adams is not even around, and people are still sold on the idea of her. It’s impressive.

She’s got a whole army of people rooting for her safe return. An army of people demanding that she be found. Demanding that justice be served. These people need their fix. Theyneedher back. They’ll do anything, which is where it gets good. Slowly and then all at once, these people, her legion of fans, start blaming the husband. People don’t like to be afraid, so they come up with all kinds of things—whatever it takes to justify their safety. Whatever it takes to get answers. No one appreciates a good mystery anymore.

And the cops? They want their numbers to look good, so they fall right in line and home in on the husband. But not me, and not just because I’m sitting here looking at her.That guy?He's too stupid to pull something like this off. Any man who lets his woman parade around on the internet half naked forlikes, forfollowers,is in no way intelligent enough to mastermind an undertaking like this. In fact, I go as far as to say that man deserves every bit of flack he’s now receiving. What he doesn’t deserve is her.

14

Tyler

Days turn into a week and then nearly into two. I’m running out of things to tell the kids. I’m running out of things to tell the cops. I’ve been as cooperative as I can. Overly cooperative, because clearly, I’m suspect number one.It’s always the husband.Isn’t that what they say?

It wears on me to be under constant suspicion. I’ve tried to be as patient as I can with Hailey’s parents, even allowing her mother to camp out in our home. It’s hard to refuse the help on account of the kids. I still have a job, even if I seem to make it in only half the time, and maybe not even that often. Even when I’m at work, I’m only doing menial tasks because I can’t focus or concentrate. Everyone is understanding. Everyone but me.

Needless to say, my wife’s disappearance is taking a heavy toll and just for the obvious reason: we have no answers. I don’t even know if she’s alive, and there’s really no way to explain how that feels. The uncertainty of not knowing. I can’t stomach it, but I do my best to pretend. I wake up and I go through the motions. Whatever it takes. My falling apart helps no one, least of all her.

That’s not to say there has been no movement. There have been some tips here and there, even if there are norealleads. It would help if they weren’t so focused on me.

I suppose that started around the time the FBI got involved. About the third day after Hailey’s disappearance, an old guy, bald and paunchy, showed up at my front door. Barry Coburn. I’m not a big fan.

Barry’s just one of many cops that have become fixtures around our home. There are so many people working the case, sometimes I forget who’s who. But not my mother-in-law. She stays on top of everything, resolute with her spreadsheet and files. Anyone who isn’t up to speed? Anyone who isn’t at her level? She bites their heads off. Even the Feds fear her, Barry included. I wasn’t sure anything could phase that guy. But my mother-in-law seems up to the task.

The license plate Mitzi provided turned out to be off a stolen vehicle. It’s something, though not much, but I’m hopeful it will ease the scrutiny around me.

One evening, exactly a week to the day Hailey disappeared, I arrive home from a search to find Jeannie and Barry seated at my kitchen table. Judging by the heaviness in the air and the expressions on their faces, I know that whatever is about to transpire, that whatever news they are about to deliver, it isn’t going to be good.

“Sit down,” Coburn says, and I do.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Lily?” Jeannie demands.

“Lily?” A lump forms in my throat. My eyes scan the first floor of the house and my ears perk, listening for the sound of my children.

“They’re with Bob,” she tells me.

“What about Lily?”

“About the man she saw. Outside her window.”

“Oh,” I sigh, relieved. “You mean the nightmares?”

“Lily seems to think this man was very real, Tyler.”

“Oh, yeah?” I say, leaning back, resting my head against my palms. “Did she tell you about his marker board?”

“She sure did,” she says bitterly.

“She’s five, Jeannie. Five-year-olds have bad dreams.”

“Six next week.”

“Six next week,” I repeat.

I don’t know why what she’s saying bothers me so much, except that she’s speaking rather harshly, and I don’t like discussing my children in front of the Feds. Speaking of, Barry is really sizing me up. I can see that he’s invested in my reaction.

“Such a great age,” Coburn remarks. “I wish mine were still that little.”

Barry’s been with the agency since the dinosaur ages—his words—and he tries to play good cop around me, but I can see he’s just as suspicious as everyone else. You should see the way he looks at me, all quiet and mousy-like. He’s always analyzing me, and now is no different.

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