The Cycle

CHAPTER 13: SHOCK

CHAPTER 13

SHOCK

The past few days sped by in a blur. I wasn't really aware of my surroundings until someone spoke directly to me. A few times Lorraine had to shake my shoulder to recapture my attention; I wasn't even aware that she was speaking to me. I told her I just had a lot on my mind, which was partly true, but the fact was I wasn't interested in her sympathy for me. In fact, I wasn't even on board with throwing myself a pity party. There wasn't time to waste wondering what could have happened to Nayland or what could have become of him. Playtime was over. I was determined to find out the truth about what happened to him and I wasn't going to stop until I got some answers.

Dylan is coming over today so we can do some research, or "investigative inquiries" as I like to call it. We figure it's better to go to my house where it's less crowded and there aren't supper enthusiastic adults approving of our time spent together. Or maybe that's just me.

There's a knock on the door and I run to answer it.

"Hey, Dylan," I say as I gesture him inside.

"Hey," he replies as I shut the door behind him.

He lingers in the foyer and the atmosphere is thick with discomfort. This is the first time that Dylan's been to my home without parental supervision, a realization that makes me slightly self-conscious. I lead him into the kitchen where I've set up my mother's laptop and a stack of newspapers from the past two weeks.

"You're not fooling around," Dylan notes as he takes a seat.

I shrug.

"We'll start here," I say as I separate half of the newspaper pile and place it before Dylan. "I've collected newspapers from, approximately, the time of Nayland's disappearance to yesterday. We're going to have to search through the newspapers and see if we can find any information that will give us a lead."

"What kind of information?"

"Well," I say, "Things like announcements or articles involving other disappearances...things like that that we can investigate ourselves."

Dylan takes a seat and we begin searching through the papers. I turn the newsprint over when an article catches my attention.

"Hey, Dylan, I got something."

He leans toward me, his hand resting on the edge of my chair, and his sudden closeness makes me uneasy.

"What is it?" he asks quietly.

I swallow the lump in my throat and say, "This article says that a woman named Cheryl Palmer may have been one of the few people to have seen Nayland last."

"I thought you were the last person to have seen Nayland?"

"I thought so to," I say sadly. "Apparently, Nayland went to visit Cheryl before the accident."

Dylan thinks about the information for a moment.

"Do the police know this?"

I shrug.

"I'm sure they're aware, but there probably isn't enough evidence to make a valid claim."