Page 27 of A Me and You Thing
I squat down and grab a handful of shoreline ashes, letting them sift through my fingers.
There’s nothing to see, nothing to do.
The Voice was right.
Crashed. Burned. Swept away. Over.
It does seem as though it’s an open and shut case. No bodies, no investigation.
Unless...
I hate where my thoughts are going. I never knew I had a suspicious nature, but now I’m imagining twelve American teachers being held against their will in a foreign country and their families conveniently think they’re dead because their supposed bus crash was an open and shut case.
No. As far as I’m concerned, the case is OPEN until I realize differently. Foul play screams in my ears, and it won’t shut up. I suppose foul play is my only hope. I suppose I’m grasping onto it because it’s my only lifeline. Ask me if I care.
One thing at a time.
For now, I will continue my thorough search of the mountainside. If Quinn is here, I will find her. Maybe I’m delusional... or maybe she’s out there somewhere, silently begging me to find her.
It takes me the rest of the afternoon. I’m exhausted and soaking wet from a sudden rainstorm by the time I decide to call it a day. I flag down the next passing bus on its way to Jinotega. I’m lodging in the same hostel where Quinn was meant to stay.
Once I arrive and check in, I unpack and lay down on my bed. This is really messing with my mind. I feel like I’m living Quinn’s trip for her. One thing I know for sure, she would have loved it. She would’ve come home with so many stories to tell me and so many Quinn Speeches to declare. She would’ve practically been bursting with excitement.
I toss and turn all night, haunted by the vision of the bus crash, of the tangled twists of black metal stuck in the rushing river. I wake up in a cold sweat, wondering about the extent of Quinn’s suffering. It haunts me every second. I can’t escape it.
I spend two more days on that mountainside, searching every inch. I’m dazed, I’m stunned, and I’m a crazy determined madman.
And I don’t care.
When it comes down to it, I’m not being noble, I just want my wife.My Quinn. I can’t breathe. Seriously, I can’t catch my breath. All the time. It’s killing me. I can’t believe she’s gone. It doesn’t seem possible.
I have to do this. I feel compelled to search for her, obligated and duty-bound. She would expect no less of me.
I expect no less of me.
Chapter Nine
Sawyer
MY SEARCH IS fruitless.
I find nothing on the mountainside. Absolutely nothing. No personal effects. No bodies. Nothing.
And that’s why my suspicions have grown to monumental proportions. In a case like this, it’s so easy to let your imagination go crazy.
I’m there.
I decide to continue my search in Matagalpa. I show Quinn’s picture at every restaurant, every shop, and to every person on the street who’s willing to look.
“No sé. Lo siento.”
I don’t know.I’m sorry.It’s all I hear. Over and over again. The people are friendly. Easy smiles cross their faces. There’s no sign of guile or guilt.
I know the odds of finding Quinn are low. I know the odds are against me. I don’t care. I’m going to keep searching until they throw me out of their town.
Except I feel welcomed with open arms—hardly the behavior of people trying to cover up a massive kidnapping scheme.
The land is dotted with small homes with attached farming areas to include a couple cows, a few pigs, goats, and chickens—the typical Nica household. Most homes also boast a garden with several types of vegetables growing.
