Loves Me Not

TWENTY SEVEN

AFTER
DETECTIVE BRETT PORTER

It's Thursday morning, which means it's been exactly one week since Ben woke up and realized his fiancé was missing. Another 24 hours after this and it will be one week since I got the call.

Her face is everywhere. I can't look up without seeing her picture being broadcasted on the television. I can't listen to the radio without hearing about the investigation. It's on the front page of every paper. It's all that anyone's talking about.

They held a candlelight vigil for her the other night. Everyone gathered in the park with candles and pictures and posters. People were crying. I'm not even sure if they knew her or not. Ben was there. Her family was there. They made a speech. Everyone was talking afterwards, trying to figure out where she might have gone, what could have happened to her. There are search parties that go out daily and scope the city looking for her. We have lieutenants in other towns and cities calling us asking for information since they're all joining in on helping. Everyone is determined to find this woman. That's my job. But apparently, I'm failing.

I know I shouldn't be hard on myself. I can't rush this. Even though the first few days are the most critical, there are still women who have been found days, months, and even years later. Just because it's been a week doesn't mean that I'm giving up hope.

But with that being said, I also need to be a realist and keep my options open. At this point, I'm not just searching for a missing person. I'm searching for a body.

I haven't managed the time to read through her journal as of late. Been too busy combing through her life, chasing false leads, and trying to talk to anyone and everyone that knew her. So far, nothing solid. A lead isn't truly a lead unless it gets you what you want. Everything else is just collateral futility.

I order Chinese and sit at my desk to eat. That's one thing I always forget to do while I'm working on a case. Sometimes I'll go all day without eating, and then by eight o'clock my stomach is eating itself from the inside.

I start with the lemon chicken and open her laptop to begin reading where I left off. I finished off the month of February and have now entered March of this year. My eyes scan the screen, trying to pick out bits and pieces of important information since I know I can't read it all. I physically don't have the time. And half the shit in here is useless. For instance:

March 3, 2019

My period came late this month. And it always throws me off. I try not to keep track of it because I need to learn not to control every single aspect of my life. When I keep track of it too much, it gets obsessive. And then if I'm late by one or two days, I overreact and start to panic. I need to stop doing that. So I've deleted the app. I'm trying to let it be a surprise. And besides, it comes at a different time every month anyways. This generation is too technology- centric. They never had apps that tracked your period for all of history and I'm pretty sure women have lived quite decently.

My eyes scan ahead and see the word die. I scroll down and consider if this entry isn't as pointless as I initially thought.

Sometimes it throws off my mood though. I'm usually a very happy, bubbly person. But then all of a sudden, I will wake up one morning and feel like the world is ending. I don't want to get out of bed. I hate my appearance. And not just hate – I mean truly loathe. To the point where I can't even look at myself in the mirror. I want to die because in my mind, that would be easier than living this existence. I know that sounds ridiculous, but I can't control the thoughts that go through my brain.

Ben suggested that I see a therapist, but I truly have no intention of sitting in an office for one hour every week, spilling my heart out to some professional who probably goes home at the end of the day and doesn't give another thought about me or my problems. In the grand scheme of things, I am irrelevant. My issues are so minuscule and unimportant. There are worse things happening in the world.

Nope, I was wrong. Nothing useful. And this isn't the only entry like this. There are so many. How am I ever supposed to find something solid that could potentially help me with this case?

It takes me an hour until I finally find it – something concrete. It's dated from the twentieth of March and it's very short. But after reading this, my perception has changed. This could potentially alter the course of this investigation.

March 20, 2019

Sometimes I wish I was invisible. Sometimes I wish I could disappear. Not necessarily to vanish, but rather, to see if anyone would notice. To see if anyone would care.

Probably not.