<< Go Back

Mercury Rising

By Tim and Gail Sattler

Order Now!

CHAPTER 1
“Ashley, I’m home!” Michael pulled the door shut behind him.
He held his breath, hoping to hear some normal, homey stuff. Noise from a blaring television and the latest sitcom. Giggles from his college-aged daughter watching dumb videos on YouTube. Even the smell of a neglected supper starting to burn.
Instead, there was nothing.
He unlaced his work boots and tossed them onto the rubber mat. On the positive side, even though he didn’t smell supper cooking, he also didn’t smell the pungent odor of pot or the cloying stench of dollar store candles trying to hide it.
Michael headed straight toward Ashley’s bedroom, hoping to find her with headphones on and her music turned up full blast, oblivious to the outside world, but at home.
The wide open door told him she wasn’t.
Inside, clothes littered the floor. Makeup, lotions, and hair products lay askew, spread all over the dresser.
He sighed. On the rare days Ashley actually talked to him, he didn’t want to make things worse by nagging about her pigsty of a room. She shouldn’t need to be reminded to clean up after herself. She was technically an adult.
Michael squeezed his eyes shut. Ashley hated when he said it out loud, but regardless of her age, Ashley would always be his little girl.
A little girl who had fallen in with the wrong crowd, growing further and further away from him. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d sat together in the living room watching television and sharing a bowl of bad microwave popcorn.
“I guess I’ll just make supper for myself,” he announced to the teddy bear lying in the middle of the unmade bed then turned and headed for the kitchen.
Once there, a red light indicating a new message flashed on the telephone.
It wouldn’t be for him. It never was.
Michael pressed the button anyway.
A female voice came on the recording. “Hey, Ash. It’s me. Trish. I think your battery’s dead so I’m calling your land line. You missed a test today and you’re going to have to make it up. Watch it, it was really hard. I don’t think I passed, and my dad’s going be, like, ballistic. Can you give me that guy’s phone number? We gotta talk. Later.” A click sounded, then empty silence.
Michael pressed his hand to the phone and lowered his head until his forehead touched the wall.
An all too-familiar mantra coursed through his mind. Belinda would have known what to do. But Belinda was gone.
In the old days he would have asked God for help, but he no longer wasted the energy. God hadn’t listened when he begged and cried like a baby as Belinda struggled with her last breath. God certainly wasn’t going to listen now just because Ashley felt like skipping college and taking drugs with her friends instead of working toward her future.
Supper could wait. He’d lost his appetite anyway.
Michael returned to Ashley’s bedroom to look for clues as to where she’d gone.
At the sight of the empty hook on the wall beside the desk, his heart skipped a beat. Ashley’s backpack was gone.
Textbooks lay haphazardly on the corner of the desk, and her closet door was open. A space between her outfits meant she’d packed some clothes.
An electronic beep sounded from inside the desk.
Michael shuffled his way through the clutter on the floor, reached for the drawer handle, and froze. Ashley’s purse lay on the desk.
Wherever she’d gone, she’d taken clothes but not her purse. Or her cell phone.
Not caring about risking her anger, he opened her purse and dug through it.
Everything looked intact, even her wallet. She hadn’t taken her credit cards or her ID. Judging from the amount in her wallet, she hadn’t even taken any money.
He raked his fingers through his hair. A dozen thoughts whirled through his head, trying to imagine where she would be that she needed extra clothes but not money or her cell phone, where she’d gone that was too risky or dangerous to be carrying anything valuable.
The phone beeped again.
Michael reached for the top drawer and yanked it open.
On top of all the junk lay a crumpled calendar with her schedule for her part time job penciled in. She’d written in a shift for today then crossed it off.
Saturday was circled, next to a star and the word “Rave” in large letters.
He dragged one hand over his face. A few days ago he’d tried to talk to Ashley about her lifestyle choices. She finally admitted she only saw these friends on party nights, when they needed money, as she was the only one with a part time job. She was starting to see those friendships were too one-sided, and she’d agreed to turn away from the party life and get back into studying. She was going to build toward a future, which meant getting serious about college and not partying every weekend.
Obviously, it had been yet another empty promise.
Another beep urged Michael to continue his search. Instead of in her purse, her cell phone lay tossed to the back of the drawer, displaying the prompt of a new text message. Knowing she hadn’t taken her phone scared him more than her not taking her ID or any money. She was practically attached to the mobile device. He spoke more to her over the cell phones than in person, and they lived in the same house. He couldn’t imagine where she’d gone that she’d been too afraid to take her phone. He swiped the screen to read the message.
It was from Binky. He had no idea who Binky was. He hoped Binky wasn’t that guy whose phone number Trish wanted.
He read Binky’s message. “U R late it will be gone if U R not hr in 5 min with $”
Michael’s stomach did a nosedive into his shoes. His little girl had skipped work to buy drugs for the Rave on the weekend.
He swiped the button to reply. “I M lost where R U”
Binky replied so fast Michael didn’t know how anyone could text like that. “2nd park bench like always. U hv 4 min”
Michael checked his watch as he ran to the door. He hoped it was the same park he used to take Ashley to when she was a child. Back then, at eight years old she’d played happily with her little friends. Now, at twenty-two, he didn’t even know her friends. All he knew was that he didn’t like them.
By car, the park was six minutes away. He would make it in four. If his speed attracted the police and they followed him, then so much the better.
***
Charlotte fumbled with her key then pushed the door open. “Jon?” she called out as she stepped into the foyer, dropping an armload of textbooks and her attaché on the table beside the door. “Sorry I’m late. I hope dinner isn’t . . .” Her voice trailed off. Unless Jon had made mac and cheese, she couldn’t smell anything cooking nor any indication that something had been cooked.
Jon hadn’t texted her to pick up a pizza.
“Jon? Are you home?”
The silence told her he wasn’t.
Charlotte checked her watch. Jon should have been home over an hour ago, in his bedroom, working on his thesis.
Instead of going to the kitchen to start dinner, she walked into Jon’s bedroom.
His laptop sat open on his desk, next to his cell phone attached to the charger. The laptop hadn’t gone into sleep mode, but it had been unattended long enough to activate the screen saver.
She stared at Jon’s treasured vintage screen saver, with vibrant tropical fish swimming and blowing bubbles in their wavy cyber-lake.
Jon could have left without his cell phone if the battery was dead, but since he’d started working on his thesis he never went anywhere without his laptop.
Jon was no longer a boy, but as his mother, she still couldn’t help but worry. Unless he’d left a note on the kitchen table.
As Charlotte turned to leave, her foot caught on the leg of the desk. Instinctively she grabbed the corner to keep her balance, shaking it enough to deactivate the screensaver.
Instead of Jon’s thesis, the laptop displayed a news article of a man found murdered in the parking lot of a local bar about an hour ago.
Sal Fesbane.
Jon’s professor.
A wave of cold ran through her from head to toe.
She’d met Sal many times. She liked him. Had liked him.
Jon’s respect for Sal had gone deep. Despite the disparity in age, the professional camaraderie between Jon and Sal had quickly morphed into friendship, fueled by their common interest in climate and environmental issues.
As an aspiring scientist and climatologist, Jon had been invited to join Sal and a few other environmentalists at an archeological dig during the summer break to research past climate trends.
Only yesterday Jon had told her, half joking, about a fanatical preservationist sending strange notes to Sal that appeared to be veiled threats.
Now Sal was dead.
Without a doubt, Jon had gone to the bar to find answers. Or maybe even to seek retribution.
There would be no note on the kitchen table.
Charlotte unplugged Jon’s cell phone, dropped it in her purse, and ran to her car.

Order Now!

<< Go Back