Audrey slouched over her makeshift desk, surrounded by stacks of unsolved missing persons’ files, some dating back over a century. There came a perfunctory knock on her door just before a new intern entered. He hesitated, briefly locking eyes with Audrey, then shifted his gaze to find a spot for two more dusty boxes on the table. He left quickly, keeping his gaze fixed on the floor and closing the door behind him. The door’s closure stirred up a cloud of dust, leading Audrey to cough. “I suppose they were warned about me,” Audrey mused, her thoughts drifting to the countless tales circulating about her. She saw these cold cases as penance for her previous botched assignment, shouldering the weight of guilt for everything that transpired. Audrey scrutinized each decision, every action, hunting for errors and missed clues, trying to understand how her choices, or lack thereof, had led to the deaths of two individuals. She sensed that there was a deeper layer to the situation, but it seemed no one will listen to her, not even Richard, the person she believed would offer support and guidance. He, too, distanced himself from her at the office, avoiding eye contact in the hallway. As word spread about her past case, even her closest colleagues kept their distance.
Audrey loved her job. Helping people, arresting criminals, tracking down missing people. Endless hours eating terrible food pouring over mounds of records, looking for clues. All of it! She never complained about missing holidays, weekends, time off. Her job became such an integral part of her life that when the case concluded, it was all she craved. The commendations from her fellow agents and the grateful families she assisted only served as a stark reminder that she could always do more, making the act of being thanked for a job well done feel like a futile gesture. Everything is gone now. Audrey came to work, going through the motions in isolation from everyone. She never knew just how much she needed their support. She always felt she was strong and did not need anyone to support her. That she can handle anything. Now she feels lost. Blames herself for what happened, and even her boyfriend, at least in public, wanted nothing to do with her. He had no problem coming over and eating her food, drinking her beer, complain about his day, but never there to support or help Audrey.
The zeal and joy Audrey had once carried with her every morning as she headed to work was waning. It used to baffle her how some could despise their jobs and their colleagues, viewing it all as mere drudgery. Now, that perspective was becoming clearer to her. As those who once provided assistance, support, and encouragement now turned their backs and treated her with cold indifference, she grasped why so many people grew to loathe their jobs.
Richard’s visits became shorter and shorter. They were always on his schedule and it was not until now his intentions were oblivious to her . He only came over when he needed to get off. Audrey never noticed it. Was I blinded by some fantasy? She questioned herself. I am trained to pick up these patterns in people. How could I have missed it? Looking back, it all seemed so clear. Beer, food, and sex! That is all he was after from the beginning. Well FUCK him!
Her recently acquired office, once a small meeting room for six, featured two walls adorned with whiteboards for note-taking and displaying documents related to the ongoing case. The conference table which was now her desk, overflowed with stacks of old dusty boxes. Dozens of boxes lined the walls providing just enough room to squeeze between them and the table. Audrey was not one to have a problem with small spaces, but all the dust and boxes made this room feel cluttered and unorganized, cramped and confined. No window to see the outside world to give her a clue if it was day or night, sunny or raining. For all she knew, there could be a zombie apocalypse happening and she was sure not one of the other agents would even tell her about it. Just leave her in her office to fend for her self.
Audrey let out a long sigh as she looked around the room and reflected. She questioned more and more why was she here and not out in the street. She felt she is the best agent, at least one of the best in her department. This department was comprised with the best from all over the country and they are assigned the largest cases to work on, so being the best of the best may be a stretch, but no case has been solved without some level in insight from her. She knows it was a team effort, and that was where she wanted to be. On a team. Leading a team. Leading this department.
Since her reassignment, the department had closed two high profile cases without any input from here. No one even mentioned anything about the cases to her. This lead her to question herself about just how good of an agent she really was. Did she really help? Did they really need her? Or was it all just them taking input from everyone that had a suggestion and ignoring them as soon as they turned their back.
Audrey grabbed a file, leaned back in her chair opening the file and reading the inside cover. Each file contained hand written notes with the name of the agent and date they looked into the case and if they found anything new related to the case. As she read the notes, she noticed that each year the case was looked into. She skipped to the back and read the call logs. Each year a call came in to the department about the case. The agents responsible for missing persons noted no new leads had been found and no additional investigations were conducted. Audrey checked her phone, noting it had been a year to the day of the last set of notes from the agent. Audrey decided to read through the case. Well, I have to start somewhere.
Sheriff James Hardin Reynolds of Coldpine called to check on the status related to his missing wife, Mary Elizabeth Reynolds. As normal, Mr. Reynolds complained about our lack of investigation and wants to know if we were going to do any that at all. Audrey read the notes from the previous logs and they were all the same. Except one note she found dated several years ago from an agent that visited Coldpine included a statement underlined in read it is very possible James killed his wife and then buried her in the desert around the town. With so much open space, no traffic, a body could vanish. The agent’s note also included there was no evidence of foul play, no evidence she just left, or even was taken. There was nothing. She could have been beamed aboard an alien space craft.
Audrey smiled at the last line in the agent’s notes and read it a couple more times. Beamed aboard a space ship. She wondered what division of the FBI that would fall to. Or since it is outside the US, would this be more for the CIA, or some other secret division of the government that does not exist? It was the first time since the shooting that she remembered smiling, a genuine smile, and not a forced, fake one. She looked at the white board on the wall across from her desk. The board had been cleaned, however, she could see ghostly images of previous cases. Two names stuck out to Audrey. They are from her last case that ended with the kidnapper and hostage killed. Images of the hostage flooded her memories. Pictures of him a few days before he disappeared. An image the hostages providing proof of life. The images of the hostage laying lifeless on the floor.
Audrey, and her partner at the time, pulled up in front of an abounded house. It was only about fifteen years old and in the matter of a couple months, sitting empty, had been taken over as a drug den. A place for kids to hang out and have sex parties, and now was the site where the hostage was being held. They saw the curtain slide back into place like someone was peaking out the window watching them, then stepped back. Audrey knew they were in the correct spot and she knew someone was inside. But she was not sure if it was the kidnapper, some kids, or just some homeless person. She was confidant it was the correct house and that she needed to get in there even with her partner telling her to wait for back-up. Audrey got out of the car and looked the house over from the street. Looking for any signs, any clues. The curtain moved again as someone was looking out the window, watching her watch the house.
Three police cars screech to a halt in front of the house to back up Audrey and her partner. As they exit their car, there is a gun shot from inside the house. Everyone took cover behind their cars. Another gun shot. The front door burst open. They fired another shot. The bullet hit Audrey’s car shattering the window. A man running and yelling fires another shot, hitting one police car. The police opened fire, hitting him multiple times in the chest, killing him before his body fell to the ground.
Audrey was the first one to enter the house after the shooting stopped. The smell of gunpowder hung in the air with a mix of piss, old beer, smoke, mold. Small openings in the curtains allowed streams of light through the windows in the otherwise dark interior. The floors were littered with trash, broken bottles, cans, food wrappers, and spoiled food that appeared to have been chewed on by rodents. Trails of rodent feces covered the moldy rugs. Bugs ran across the walls and ceiling, avoiding the rays of sunlight. Any of the foul odors were enough to send anyone out of the house doubled over retching up their last meal. Audrey, consumed with finding the child, was oblivious to the odors , there was nothing more important to her. Part of her mind was pleading, yelling at her to hurry! Move faster! She did not know how many people were in the house. For all she knows, this could be of drug addicts or gang just waiting for an ambush.
As soon as she got to the second room, she saw a large red stain on the wall with a hole in the middle. The color and smell of blood. . It was still running down the wall. On the opposite side of the bed, right by the wall, they found the hostage they had sought.