The Prison Project [-Editing-]

09: Meanwhile...

Don't really have to anything to say for this chapter so...

Yeah...

Here it is.

09: Meanwhile…

            “Honey, did you grab my bag?” Mrs. Macnab calls to her husband.

“Yeah, I’ve got it. You go ahead and set your other things down, I can get these,” he responds.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’ve got it.”

“Okay then. Thank you.”

“Mhm.”

Mrs. Macnab pats Boone on the head as she passes him, throwing the car keys into the dish by the front door. She finishes up a text to her boss about the events of her business trip they had just taken, and then pockets her phone. She stops and takes in the living room as she reaches it: there are pillows and blankets all over the room, the couch looks messy, the carpet is wrinkled profusely in several places, and a lamp lies shattered all over the ground.

            Mrs. Macnab rolls her eyes, somewhat annoyed at the mess. “Trey?” she calls. “Linley? Did you guys throw a party or something? This place is a mess!”

            No response.

            Raising her eyebrow in slight confusion, she continues on into the kitchen. She moves toward a cabinet and pulls out a glass, planning to have a quick drink of water, but stops when she sees a yellow piece of paper sitting all by its lonesome on the counter. She turns back and picks up the paper and begins to read. With each word she runs her eyes over, her eyes get wider. Her hand flies up to her mouth and she shrieks.

            “Desiree?” Mr. Macnab calls. “Des, is everything okay?”

            “Collin!” she calls back desperately. “Collin, get in here now!”

            Mr. Macnab drops the suitcases in his hands and runs to the kitchen, where he finds his wife, terror in her eyes and shaking in fear.

            “Desiree?”

            She doesn’t say anything in reply. Instead, she holds out the note, her hands trembly. Baffled, Mr. Macnab steps forward and takes it. A look of desperation and shock crosses over his face as he reads it.

            “No,” he says quietly. “He didn’t…oh my gosh…both of them?”

            Mrs. Macnab nods, and then lets out a loud sob. Mr. Macnab drops the note and wraps his arms around his wife, who weeps noisily into his shoulder. A couple of tears slip from his eyes as well as the full realization hits him: his son and practically adopted daughter are missing.

            “We’re going to call the police,” he says, rubbing his wife’s back as she continues to shed her many tears. “We’re going to call the police right this instant. And we’re going to find them.”