Chasing Footprints

The Beginning

Every day is the same since Henry has been gone. Though I know what you're thinking-- I'm not some heartbroken teenager mourning the loss of her beau of two weeks-- there is no possible way for you to begin to understand my pain. Henry was- is- my best friend. There is no other, and there never will be. As I write this, it has been twenty-one days since Henry has been gone. It's true what they say, that each day is worse than the last. And each day, I crave more answers. Where is he? Is he alive, or is he dead?
I've become sick of searching for evidence. I just want that yes or no.
My name is Lucy Lockwood, and Henry called me Lu. I've known him since I was six years old and I am beyond proud to call him my best friend.
I don't want to make friends with you, and I don't want to bribe you. I can't afford to give you anything except my time and maybe my cooperation.
I just want an answer.
Is Henry alive or is he dead?
Sincerely,
Lucy Lockwood

~

My tally marked day fifteen without Henry. The police were still following his case very closely; they'd found his car ditched outside of Billings, Montana, some 451 miles from Whistle Creek, Nebraska- home. He must've hopped right onto I-90 and rode it northwest until he ran out of gas or money or hope. Inside of the car, they found his ID card and an empty pack of that apple pie-flavored gum, which was always his favorite. They also knew that he'd stolen two pieces of his mother's jewelry: a ruby ring and a diamond bracelet. Police were keeping an eye on pawn shops and the like, waiting for them to show up.
And then there was the note. Be back soon, he wrote. Running a quick errand. His family was at ease for no less than a few hours. By the end of the night on September 2nd, the police had been called. Since he was a minor, they were all over the case. They made impressive progress, too, finding the car within twelve hours of his reported disappearance.
They weren't sure whether he was kidnapped or whether he left willingly. On day fifteen, I wasn't sure either. But on day fifteen, I decided that since the police were making slow progress and hadn't found any new leads in days, I had to take matters into my own hands. And so on day fifteen, I went back to day one.
Henry had woken up at 6:15, his normal time. His family confirmed this. He ate a bowl of generic brand cereal, showered, got dressed, and headed to school. He sat through boring classes, completed whatever he was making in woodshop, and left school. They found this woodworking project in his trunk.
Then, he came home. There was no record of him texting or calling anyone that day besides his mom and the house phone. He did his homework; it lay completed on his desk, half-organized into a messy pile. Then he up and left around 4:15 pm.
Henry's mom came home from work at 5:30. She was the first to notice Henry's note on the kitchen table, as his only sibling was in college and his dad came home at 6:00 on most days. Of course, the note worried her-- it would worry any sane mother-- but she decided to trust her son for a few hours. After all, he said he'd be back soon.
At 9:57, he wasn't back. His mom had already called everyone in the neighborhood, his dad had checked with his friends. Finally, they called the police to report him missing and the investigation began.
I didn't find out about his disappearance until the next morning, when I texted him with no response. I walked past his house on my way to the bus stop and saw a police car sitting in the gravel driveway.
My stomach dropped. What could've happened? To be honest, Henry's disappearance wasn't the first idea that came to mind. I expected something domestic, considering all of the horror stories Henry told of those few late nights that his dad came home from the tavern, not exactly in tip-top shape. What's more, I didn't know if it was my business to stop in and ask what happened.
It didn't matter. No one answered the door. I shrugged it off, attributing the police car to a routine neighborhood check or something else.
Henry wasn't in first period that day. Okay, maybe he was sick. I tried to calm myself by conjuring up some distant memory of him sneezing a few weeks ago, making up an explanation for his absence, but somehow I knew that nothing was right. Fear began to creep in from the edges of my thoughts, and I started to shiver.
Second period. I worked in the office second period as an aid, and I heard the secretaries whispering: "They found his car in Billings. Must've taken I-90. Just now. Empty. Kallinger."
Henry Kallinger.
I escaped to the bathroom just to be able to panic in private. The fear that was eating at the edges of my thoughts now engulfed them, refusing to allow me to think anything positive. Every scenario possible ran through my mind, causing me to shake and turn pale. This panic attack wasn't helping things.
But his car was empty, save a pack of apple pie gum and his ID, nearly 500 miles away, in Montana. How could I not be panicking? To be okay didn't seem fair to Henry. He was alone in Montana without a mode of transportation, and for all that I knew, he could be dead.
A few hours passed. I caught word that two pieces of his mother's jewelry were discovered missing around 11 o'clock that morning: a ruby ring and a diamond bracelet.
Two police officers came into school during my lunch period and asked me about Henry's usual hideouts, his behavior over the past few days, that sort of thing. I gave them everything I knew, still choking back tears.
As the news of Henry's disappearance spread throughout the school, people I didn't know and people I'd known for years all gave me pitiful, sympathetic looks. I tried to be grateful, I really did. But all I could think about was the fact that I might not even see my best friend ever again. They all had theirs; the group of girls hanging around outside the choir room, the soccer team congratulating each other on a game won, the nobodies comparing video games or something. They all had their people, their niche. The unfortunate thing was that along with Henry, my niche disappeared.