The Taken

FIVE

"James? Listen, I need you to meet me at John Garrison's home around noon. I think we may be missing a clue there." Gage ended his voice message, still thinking about the phone call he received last night. It couldn't of been who he had talked to. It's literally impossible. His wife had been missing for several years, even legally assumed dead....

     "You okay, hon?" Gage admired his wife's beauty in the moonlight. She had this calming glow about her, but a definite sign of trouble was in her expression.
     "Yes, Gage. For the tenth time, I am perfectly fine. Can you please concentrate on the road?" Marcella never once looked straight at him. It was as if looking at her husband was a bad thing.
     "The shrink says it's good for us to talk about our problems. Trust me, I can definitely tell that something is weighing on your mind. You don't want to talk about it?"
     Marcella let out a lengthy, tired sigh. "Gage. I don't know how to say this..." She paused. "Let's just talk about it when we get home. Okay?"
     Gage didn't want to wait. He wanted to know what was on his wife's mind. However, being respectful of his wife's wish to wait, he calmly agreed with a subtle nod of his head.

The night was at it's darkest when the two finally pulled into their home's drive. The car died at the twist of the key and the couple sat in silence, staring blankly ahead at their home. It was as if they were afraid to start the conversation.
     "Well... We're home." Gage slowly turned his head to look at his wife. "Talk to me?"
     "I want a divorce, Gage."
Gage calmly looked away from Marcella, as though what she had just said didn't surprise him. The couple had their differences, and the arguments had been going on for months, progressively getting worse. It's no wonder that she wanted to leave. Hell, even he wasn't happy.
"Gage? Did you hear me?" Marcella nervously questioned. She could feel a lump growing in her throat. Did she really, finally say it? Is this what she really wants?
"I love you, Marcy." Gage got out of the car and began walking down the street.
"Where are you going?" Marcella called, as she was closing her door. "It's nearly eleven at night!"
"I'm going for a walk. Don't wait up on me. I'll be back later to get my things." Gage pulled the collar of his jacket up closer to his neck and lit a cigarette. Little did he know, this night would be the last time that he would ever see Marcella again.

     "Another round on me, bud?" James asked Gage, already signaling the bartender for another round out of the tap.
"I just don't know what to do, brother. Sure, we've had our differences, but I never would've thought that Marcy would ever wanna leave me." Gage downed the last of his pint of ale.
"I can't say I know what you're going through, but maybe it's for the best? Perhaps it'll work out after getting some space?"
"Screw that shit." Gage shoved his empty mug away from him across the bar, as if the mug had just disrespected him. "You don't fix things by giving up or running away. You have to face problems head on."
The bartender slid Gage another pint down the bar toward him. "There you go, pal!"
Gage tried to catch the mug, but his drunken coordination was as good as a fisherman without a pole. The mug slid right off the bar and into the floor, shattering into several pieces and covering the floor with the bar's most expensive ale on tap.
"Alright, I think you've had enough beer. Let's get you home." James stood up from his stool to help Gage onto his feet.
"What home? My wife is leaving me, man." Gage wiped a tear from his left eye as James put his partner's right arm over his shoulders.
"Come on, brother. Everything's alright."

"This just in!" The tv at Baileyville's local barbershop asserted.
      "Hey, Chester! Turn that up, will ya?" One of the men asked while looking out the corner of his eye, afraid to turn his head while the clippers were eating away at his hair.
      "The wife of one of Baileyville's most renowned detectives, Gage Turner, has gone missing. Foul play is suspected due to signs of mass struggle and blood spatter on the walls of the home."
      Chester killed his hair clippers to concentrate on what the reporter was declaring.
      "At this time, no signs point to Detective Turner in being physically involved. If anyone has any information to the whereabouts of Marcella Turner, please immediately call local authorities."
      The tv's volume died back down, like a loud truck speeding off into the distance. All of the men in the barbershop stayed quiet; each staring down at the floor. They had wives. Children. It could've easily been anyone...