The Disappearance Of Will Black / REWRITING /

⸢ xii ⸥

"Why do you think William's disappearance had anything to do with you?" My therapist/psychologist/snooper asked.

I cleared my throat and wanted to trap the answer in my throat. "I saw him that night."

An intrigued expression crossed Jamie's usually strict and unreadable demeanor. "What did you see, exactly?"

"He was walking with that guy," I found myself saying, "the guy who was found dead recently. With the big...big arms and even bigger tattoos."

"Ah, yes, I saw it on the news. Not so much of a tragedy until they discovered it linked to Will," Jamie said.

I bit the inside of my cheek. "Yeah, that guy. I never understood why Will would hang out with a guy like him. But I was drunk out of my mind since we were celebrating the new year. Why didn't I go after him?"

Jamie didn't respond.

I continued after studying his facial expression, "then, he kind of disappeared when someone barged into me, and they were both close to the Ferris wheel at that time. Then the fireworks started, and-and-"

"And the sound of the fireworks overthrew the gunshots that killed the man your brother walked with," he finished for me.

"Out of sight," I confirmed with a nod.

"Did you inform the police?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I don't think it's reliable information," I said weakly, looking down at my palms. Jamie shifted for the third time in his chair and said, "you know that any information can help the police, right? I won't force you to say anything, but I truly think it can add on to the investigation, Sarah."

"I think Will saw me," I suddenly blurted out, probably to change the subject.

"When?"

"Just before disappearing behind the big wheel. He has those blue, piercing eyes, and I could recognize them in any crowd. I think he turned around to...look at me. Like he knew I was there."

I nearly jumped when the door opened behind me, and the receptionist peeked in. "Your next patient is waiting, sir."

"Thanks, Cheryl," Jamie nodded at her over my shoulder, and the receptionist left, leaving the door ajar.

Jamie looked at me deeply, clicking his pen and setting it on the table. "We should meet again, Sarah."

"Yeah," I looked away. "We should."

* * *

After the screaming fest that morning with the phone call from the police, my small family sat in the waiting room in the police station.

Mom was fidgeting with her faded ugly orange dress that she went to bed in. Dad's red eyes never lost its vibrancy, and he sat rigidly on the leather chair, staring consciously at the magazines on the glass table. I, however, was staring at the symbols of the clock behind dad. Its thin arm was ticking slowing pass the numbers. I willed it to move, the posture of my family manipulating my mind into thinking I was in some repetitive lapse.

It could've been five minutes of five hours before an officer came into the room, giving us a wan smile and directing us to his office.

Four chairs were opposing his desk, so we filled up three. It was a gray, dull office, with a bunch of useless ornaments on his desk. I eyed the framed picture of his family, an image of a freckle-faced young girl with her hands wrapped around her father, the officer. What appeared to be her mother was smiling tightly beside them, looking like she didn't want to be there.