Worlds Apart

Chapter 12

T HE • M I S S I N G • P I E CE

Sep. 09 2020 10:26 CET

The Dalbyen Police Station

No natural light seeped into the modernist-style reception area. The rings of golden light fixtures illuminated the receptionist and the teenage girl he was talking to, reflecting off the metallic highlights of the desk and the girl's rings. The silver and blue of the rings were washed out in the lighting, just as their owner seemed lost and on the verge of being swallowed by her surroundings. The receptionist was nodding slowly, in a bemused manner, as if he didn't quite understand what she was saying but was trying to be polite anyway.

The girl didn't look older than eighteen, although she was rather small. Her scrawny stature was hidden by her black trench coat, but her wrists and legs that stuck out of it at odd angles gave her away. The coat was lined with silver along the seams and had a bow in the front. She wore laced boots, the heel splattered contrastingly in mud. Her dark hair was tied back into a long, intricate braid, which seemed to Daisha to be much too neat for her tired and travel-worn features. She looked South Asian, but was probably mixed as her pale grey eyes hinted. All in all, she gave the impression of a child trying to be older than they were, a little girl parading around in her mother's dress.

She scuffed the heel of her boot along the floor. The expensive fabric of her coat glistened as it shifted—with moisture. Little droplets of water decorated her braid as well. It must have started raining.

"Miss, I'm sorry to say but no one by that name came here—"

"No! No, they must have. I know they did, I'm sure of it. Last week. But they were here before that too..." she muttered, as if she didn't understand what she meant either.

The receptionist sighed. "Can you give us a last name? That would make the search easier."

She hesitated, shifting her weight to the other leg. Finally, into the heavy anticipatory silence, she said, "Jaywalker. Neil Jaywalker." Her voice was laced with uncertainty, rising at the end as if asking a question. "They might have used that instead of his real name."

Daisha raised an eyebrow. Her interest had certainly been piqued, but observing from a distance would suffice for now. She needed to know more.

The receptionist clicked away at his keyboard. The girl got impatient as the silence stretched. She pulled a face—her adult-like facade clearly faded quickly under pressure—and demanded, "How many people came here recently anyway? It should be easy to find."

The girl hadn't noticed Daisha watching her thanks to a conveniently placed beam forming a nook near the doorway. She had found it odd when Vidar told her the police kept records of anyone and everyone entering the town with a disconcerting level of detail. He had offered to inform them on her and Owen's behalf so she hadn't gotten the opportunity to witness this security herself.

"You said you were related? Where are you guys from?" Daisha didn't know if he was trying to distract her into relaxing or actually needed to know for his search or both. Probably both.

The girl's impatience dissipated in an instance, eyebrows unfurling and childish pout receding to give way to widening eyes. Panic. Was she just caught unawares? She fumbled with her words for a few moments before she finally managed a meek: "It's very far away. Most... most people don't know about it. Like at all," she added with a chuckle. She could just be bad with social situations, so why was the voice in Daisha's head telling her there was more?

To his credit, the receptionist only stifled a snort. "Honestly, I get it. No one knows about this town either, even in Oslo when we're just an hour away. But, I need to know, miss," he said with a reassuring smile. "It helps with the filtering."