Loves Me Not

THIRTY THREE

AFTER
DETECTIVE BRETT PORTER

I couldn't fall asleep last night. Perhaps it was something that Dominic said about being kept awake at night, seeing her face. She's contagious, I guess. Because usually when my head hits the pillow, I'm out like a light. But last night, even though I got home late and was exhausted, I couldn't for the life of me fall asleep.

I kept replaying everything in my head on repeat. Remembering the moment I first got the call, going to Catalaina and Ben's house, looking through her bedroom, talking to everyone in her life. I saw her face, the same one that stares back at me from the television screens each and every day. Her green eyes, pleading with me to find her.

But the more I think of her and the more I look at her, the more I begin to loathe her. Why would she do this? Why would she disappear and have everyone worry about her? It's unnecessary. If that's even what happened. But at this point, I have no idea what to believe anymore.

I woke up this morning at six o'clock, which means I probably only got about three hours of sleep, give or take. I had my coffee – black – and headed into the station. It's officially been one week since I got the call. And in that time, I've accomplished very little.

I'm flipping through my notes, reading over everything we know about her thus far. I read over the witness statements from Victoria and Taylor and Scarlett. These are the only three "friends" in her life at the moment, and while they did manage to provide me with some beneficial character traits, I still don't have enough for the bigger picture. No debts, no drugs, no alcohol or substance abuse. No history of mental illness, no enemies or anyone who would hold a grudge. But apparently there's everything else in between. No diagnosis of mental illness, but I'm sure she's not one hundred percent right in the brain. She must have some sort of personality disorder, at least. And no enemies, but apparently many lost friends over the years and an inability to maintain proper relationships. There are two ends of the spectrum, and all of the normal suspicions in this case fall smack dab in the center.

I think about the secrets she's harbored, the things she's kept from her fiancé. I think about the phone records and how I found Dominic, the things he told me about her. I think about the very last entry in her journal. If it is I who needs to be solved, then it is he who holds the key. Who is the he she is referring to? Ben? Or Dominic? Could one of them know more than they're letting on? Or is this all just a game to her?

Did Catalaina leave her bed in the middle of the night on her own free will? Or was she taken? Did she plan to meet with somebody, and if so, did they hurt her? Or is she hiding out in a motel somewhere, eating from take-out containers and following the case on the news?

Anything could have happened to her. She could be virtually anywhere. And I also need to consider the possibility that she's six feet underground, a body disposed of.

Perhaps Ben isn't as innocent as he seems.

If it is I who needs to be solved, then it is he who holds the key.