Since her fifth birthday Abigail was scared of two things clowns, and strange men.
Paranoia was the aftermath of the brutal kidnapping of her brother many years ago. All her fears seem to fade away after she meets Albert (AKA The grabber.) Will s...
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Post dinner they sat around the table. Albert sat across from Frank, and just a few feet away in the living room was a perfect view of Abigail. She was curled up on the couch with her feet tucked beneath her. Frank hadn't a clue that as Albert nodded and made small talk he was stealing glances at Abigail.
Maryann Dean; Abby's mother sat to Frank's right. She was quite the character; her eyelids were caked in black and plum tones of eyeshadow. She had a way of dressing lavishly and sloppy all at once. A woman who he was sure was beautiful once. It had been a long long time since then, but she never let it go.
Albert glanced over at the refrigerator which was off white, but it was hard to tell with the plethora of bills, notes and magnates that covered it. Scattered around the mishmash of papers were some pictures. A school picture of George which looked like from the year he went missing, and another photo of him shaking hands with who seemed to be a Boy Scout leader. The last was a photo of George in a baseball uniform grinning from ear to ear. However what Albert found strange was that there wasn't a single photo of Abigail.
There were a couple of neighbors Albert had seen a handful of times. They were sitting at the other end of the table. He never spoke to them; he only ever observed them from afar. Even tonight the most he uttered was hello, and towards the end he would likely only ever say goodbye.
In between Frank and Albert was Terrence Blake. Terrence was sitting to the right of Albert. If Albert ever turned on his Television he'd be able to recognize him from the news, but Albert hadn't turned it on since he bought it. It was old and you had to sit inches from it to see the picture. Unlike the one that Abigail's parents had.
Blake was clutching a mug, but he wasn't drinking coffee, not with the way he was slurring his speech. Abigail told Albert earlier when Terrence walked in that he cleaned up well tonight. Well if this was his best Albert sure as hell didn't want to see his worst.
The kitchen looked out into the living room. There was about ten feet from the table to the couch. There was no wall to separate the two rooms. It was an open spacious space unlike Albert's dark gloomy house.
Abigail was on the couch with Gwendolyn tying the little girl's hair up in pigtails. If he really listened closely he could just barely make out their conversation. When Terrence spoke it drowned out Abigail's soft voice. He wanted to shake her, 'speak up god damn,' he thought.
"I just can't believe it," Terrience said, "You do everything you can to keep them safe and still it's not enough."
Frank nodded. He leaned over and patted him on his arm, "I know, trust me I know it."
"Is this America now?" Terrence asked, he looked up from the mug at Frank. Albert could see the whites of his eyes, but there wasn't much white to them.
It felt like an AA meeting for parents whose kids went missing. Albert sank a little in his chair if he could melt into his seat he would.
"I worry about Gwenie," Terrience whispered, "She's already acting out, she's talking nonsense about those dreams. It's about as much as I can take right now. Chrissy always knew what to do. I ain't cut out for this."
