Loves Me Not

NINETEEN

AFTER
DETECTIVE BRETT PORTER

By Saturday evening, there's still no sign of Catalaina. News of her disappearance is spreading quicker than wildfire and I have no way of controlling the public's perception. Everyone is coming up with their own stories: she was abducted; she's being held for ransom; she got into an accident and is passed out in a ditch somewhere; she got drunk, wandered off, and got killed; she ran away.

In all honesty, I'm not sure which theory to believe myself. There are so many possibilities, so many avenues to explore of what could have happened to her. And as for evidence, there's not much to go on. There's the money she had stashed away in the bookshelf, and to me, that looks like an insurance policy of sorts; saving up for an emergency... in case something bad were to happen. Usually women do that when they're in abusive relationships, hide money away and then escape in the night.

The police cleared the house and eliminated it as a crime scene. No blood or other bodily fluids that stood out. There's no guns or other weapons kept in the house. And as of right now, Ben is still our prime suspect.

We do a press conference that evening. Her parents, her brother, and her fiancé all stand at the front of the room, microphones and cameras shoved close to their faces. I stand near the back, watching.

Ben steps forward and clears his throat. "My fiancé, Catalaina, went missing in the early hours of Thursday morning." He pauses, as though he doesn't know what to say, even though I'm sure they coached him on everything that needs to be said prior to this. He clears his throat again. "Catalaina is a wonderful woman. She's a teacher at St. Vincent's Elementary School. She spends her spare time doing volunteer work and making cookies for bake sales. She loves her students. She is a passionate, driven woman." He stops again to gather himself. "If you or anyone you know might have any idea of her whereabouts, please let us know. You can call the number displayed at the bottom of the screen anytime."
Ben steps back and reporters go wild, yelling things out to him, asking questions. He remains silent, as instructed.
The Kittridge's step up next, her parents and the brother. It's Mrs. Kittridge who speaks first. "Somebody took my baby. Somebody out there has her right now." She looks directly into the camera lens. "If you're watching this, then please, I beg of you, bring my daughter home. She doesn't deserve this. She deserves to be here at home with her family, surrounded by people who love her. Please," she begs. "If you have any ounce of human decency, you will bring her back."
"We love you Catalaina," her father says. "Please stay strong. Please come home to us."
He steps back and just like that, everything that needed to be said is out there. Now it's up to the public.

_____

I sit in my office with her laptop perched in front of me. I'm on my umpteenth cup of coffee this evening and I'm staring at the screen, trying to stay awake. I read her words, trying to analyze them. What does all of this mean? What was she thinking? How was she feeling when she wrote this?

I must read for hours, not seeming to get anywhere. I read about her life. She talks about her days, her nights, her aspirations in life. She talks about her struggles, her anxieties. She talks about things that matter, and she talks about things that don't matter. It's difficult for me to make sense of it all. To her, it all mattered. Everything in her life was important. It was all worth writing down. Or perhaps not even that, but more so that she needed an outlet. A place to go to escape. And for her, writing was an escape. It was like therapy for her. She could talk and vent and let out all of her feelings in one place. Did she think that anyone else would ever read it? Probably not.

While she did write a lot in here, I'm not naïve enough to think that she wrote down everything. I'm sure that there are certain things she neglected to write about, certain details she chose to omit. She has secrets, this I am sure. And I'm fooling myself into thinking that the answer to her disappearance lies on this laptop. That may not necessarily be the case, but I can sure as hell try my best.