Chasing Footprints

The Developments

A group of guys were walking down the side of River Road towards something that was past me. They all looked incredibly intimidating. They practically screamed “bad news,” and they were all dressed in dark colors that somehow matched the color of the sky perfectly. Some laughed; some were all business with serious faces that looked like they’d never displayed a smile. Regardless, this was certainly a group that I’d never consider crossing.
   
From my spot hidden among the tall grasses, I could see that they were passing me, about thirty feet away. They walked towards a structure that I’d never really noticed before. I’d seen it, sure. It was a miniscule little house that looked like it was older than sin. It reminded me of the houses that the pioneers must’ve built, made entirely of wood and pieced together with some obviously strong adhesive. It couldn’t have been bigger than 10x10 feet, and I wondered how it would be able to house that group of eight or so intimidating guys.
   
As soon as the door to that fragile little cabin shut, I ran home as quickly as I could, grateful that there didn’t seem to be any windows facing me on the cabin.
    This was a lead that the police hadn’t considered.

    I sat in my bedroom shortly after I’d gotten home, reeling from what had just happened. To any rational person it didn’t seem like a big deal, but to me, these people held answers. I knew Henry came to Whistle Creek all the time, probably every day. There was no way that those people who hung out in the house near River Road didn’t know him, hadn’t seen him. They could tell me whether he’d been around Whistle Creek the night he disappeared.
  
I decided that I would have to do some surveillance of this place by myself. I dressed in dark colors the way that the group had been dressed.
I packed a notebook, an old disposable camera, and a few other things, and I snuck out of the house around midnight to head down to Whistle Creek.

As I walked, the dirt and gravel crunched beneath my feet. I held my breath, letting the fear and nerves and sadness all amplify before I exhaled and released them. It was incredibly dark, and I almost worried for my safety, but I knew that having a flashlight would put me at risk of being spotted. I would only be here for a few minutes anyway, just to figure out what they did in that house.

I reached my spot, a little flattened patch of dry grass about 30 feet from the back of the house. I was hidden by the night and some rocks, grass, nature-y things. Fortunately, the sound carried incredibly well, and though I couldn’t hear conversation, I could definitely hear any shouting and get the jist of things.

As soon as I settled in, I zeroed in on the sounds. I heard some laughter, some cheering. For a second I almost thought that they were just a normal group of guys... who liked to dress all in dark clothes and hang out in a tiny old abandoned cabin. I chuckled to myself.

Someone inside shushed everyone, causing a widespread silence. I was grateful for this, as I was now able to hear everything a lot better.
“He just texted me. He’s coming now.”
Everyone inside the cabin shared a widespread groan.
“Shut up!” a voice shouted. “Do you know who he is? Do you have any idea what he’ll do to you?”
“And after what he did to Kallinger, you all should know better by now.”
My stomach dropped. After what he did to Kallinger…
There was no way in hell that that could be good.

That night, after I headed home, I couldn’t sleep. I was absolutely certain that Henry was gone for good. Our countless memories together played in the back of my mind, offering some kind of comfort. Henry's really gone. He's gone. He isn't coming back. In the darkness of my bedroom, I held my own personal funeral for him, tears streaming down my face as I clutched an old stuffed animal he'd given me when we were twelve. I had to say goodbye to his memory. I had to say goodbye to someone who was responsible for most of my identity.
And, as ashamed as I am to admit it, in the back of my mind I wondered whether I should stop trying to find him.

The next day, police received an anonymous tip from Casper, Wyoming, saying that they’d seen Henry at a convenience store. At 1:30 pm, that tip was proven to be a false alarm, just a Henry lookalike who worked at the store. This only deepened my doubt that he was still out there somewhere.

And so on day 15, I had examined everything I knew, everything I’d done. Henry wasn’t at any of his usual places, ever. The last anyone had heard of him was seven days ago, when he pawned his mother’s ring band. At this point, I knew I needed to do some soul-searching.

Why did Henry leave? In the days before his disappearance, things seemed normal enough. He might’ve been a little stressed, sure, but I’d attributed that to school having just started. I will say that he’d seemed very tense, very easily upset. Though outbursts like those happened often, especially on those nights when Mr. Kallinger came home from the tavern. It’s the age-old story.

“He couldn’t control himself. He didn’t know what he was doing,” Henry explained hurriedly. We were huddled somewhere in the back of the school, outside of the library’s outdoor exit doors.
“Henry, he needs to be responsible for his actions. This ends here. You’ve got to tell somebody. You and I both know this isn’t the first time there’s a cut like that on your face.”

He looked down for a moment, gathering his thoughts, his face becoming red with anger. “You don’t know what it’s like. Don’t be so selfish as to tell me to ruin my own family by ratting out my old man! I wish you could live for a day in my shoes... You’ve got no idea what you’re talking about. If you want to make yourself useful,  just get out of here.”

Of course, the next day I came back to him. We acted like nothing had happened and carried on.