Page 33 of The Rowdy Ones
“Male,” we both answer in unison.
He’s quiet for a beat. “What does your friend look like?”
I’m unnerved by the fact he was ready to turn us around but now he’s asking about our missing friend. This can’t be good.
“About six-one or two,” Wild says gruffly. “Deep blue eyes, dark blond hair. Actually, his hair looks more brown since it’s cut shorter. It gets blonder when it grows out.”
He’s rambling. My heart aches.
“Facial hair? Piercings? Tattoos?” the police officer asks.
“Uh, short beard. No tattoos or piercings. He’s, uh, got some scarring on his forearm. Track marks.”
Track marks?
I don’t know what that means.
“I see. And what was he wearing when you last saw him?”
Again, with surprising attention to detail, Wild describes Rowdy’s clothes, even down to a hole on the back of his right sleeve.
“Was there a car accident?” Wild asks, tension bleeding from him. “I can give you the vehicle make and model he was driving too.”
“No vehicle around the scene.” The policeman then says, “Here’s my card. Go back the way you came. Call this number later. If your friend shows up, let us know.”
Wild starts to ask another question, but the words die in his mouth. I get the impression the officer walked away, conversation over.
“Something bad happened here,” I murmur. “I can feel it.”
Nerves buzz under my skin as my imagination runs wild. There wouldn’t be a ton of policemen turning people around if it weren’t for something awful.
Is it Rowdy?
Did he somehow get hurt?
“What now?” I choke out, voice quavering.
“Now we call my uncle, Will. He’s the police chief. If it’s Rowdy who’s hurt, he’ll tell us.”
Waiting is agony.
When Wild called Will earlier, he was gruff and sounded stressed out. I felt like he too gave us the runaround. All we got were vague assurances that he was going to find out.
But it’s been three hours since that call.
More time has passed and Rowdy still hasn’t shown up.
Something awful happened to him. I don’t want to think it, but I feel it trembling in my bones. He’s hurt, or worse, and there’s nothing we can do about it.
Please be alive and okay.
The wilderness is full of danger, and yet, Rowdy is the most threatened within society. Make it make sense.
This is all your fault…
If you hadn’t tried to kill yourself, we wouldn’t be here.
The guilt is eating me alive.
