Page 102 of Right in Front of You

My fist moved in for another punch without a thought. “Fuck you, asshole.”

The last thing to do would have been to wrap my fingers around his neck and squeeze them until he let go of his last breath. Again, this would have been an easy out for him. Thankfully, he passed out from my last jab.

“Sick bastard,” I muttered, and went back to the car to get my cell phone.

“Yes, Chief Simmons. This is Carter Clark. I found Ron Fowler on the side of the road, passed out. As far as I know, he’s wanted on assault charges. He’s pretty beat up as well.”

I gave the dispatch the exact location and pressed the end button, appeased. My knuckles were sore, but still I managed to crack a sound of satisfaction out of them before heading back to my car.

“What the fuck is that smell?” I checked the bottom of both shoes, which were clean, and looked down at my jeans, where a brown stain was smeared near the cuff. I reached down and touched it with my finger, then brought it up to my nose.

“Stupid shit!” Literally. When I’d straddled Fowler I must have rolled over one of Betsy’s cow pies.

Story of my life.

I couldn’t have Molly see me in these. She’d never let me live it down. And so I took my jeans off, got back in the car, and wearing my boxer-briefs, I went back to my parents’ to wash and then dry them. Which meant that I would be late for supper. I picked up a bouquet of roses on my way home that evening, but when I opened the door, Molly wasn’t back from work yet. I double checked the time, then called her cell. She didn’t pick up. I texted her to let me know what time she’d be back. She didn’t reply. Emergencies happened sometimes and she’d been late before, but not often. And not by three hours. And she always called.

I looked out the window into the dark night before I took a quick shower and changed into a fresh pair of jeans. I checked my phone one last time.

Fuck this!

I wasn’t one known for my patience, but I trusted my gut with everything. Despite how often I had tried to die, it had saved my life more than once. When that second hour passed, I grabbed my hair into my fists, yelled out in frustration, grabbed my car keys, and headed for the door. Except that gut had stopped me now, and a gruesome feeling of disgust passed over me as I looked up onto the crooked wildflower painting across from the couch. I stepped toward the wall to straighten the frame when the center of a poppy flower glistened and caught my eye. I poked it with my finger, and it pushed through the fabric. Something rolled on the floor, and I crouched to pick up a button-sized camera.

“You fucker!”

When had he been here? My attention flew to the fire escape and I closed the window shut.

Fucking asshole!

My gut burned with a warning as I began to realize it was possible that Molly hasn’t returned from work because… Had I underestimated him?

I grabbed my jacket and headed out the door while dialing the hospital. My mind was raging.

“Hi, this is Carter Clark. I wanted to know whether Molly Fowler has left work yet.”

“One moment, Mr. Clark.” I heard her type on the computer. “Yes, Molly left at her regular time.”

“You sure there weren’t any emergencies today?”

“No, in fact it’s been a pretty quiet day.”

“Thank you.” I hang up the phone and turned into the corner grocery store Molly often went to after work. I paced each isle diligently, going up and down through all the sections, twice. When I realized that she wasn’t there, I called her mother’s house. While I knew it was a long shot because over the last couple of months Molly has barely mentioned her, I had to try. No one picked up.

Shit!

My brother’s number was next.

“What’s up bro? Did you get home all right?”

“I did. Thanks. Max, I need a favor.”

“Anything you want.”

“Can you stop by Molly’s old house and knock on the door to see if she’s there? I called, but no one’s picking up. She didn’t come home from work, and it’s been four hours.”

“So maybe her mother went out. Maybe they went out together.”

I looked down at my watch. It was already past nine o’clock. Clara Fowler was either sleeping or not there.

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