His Golden Pilgrimage- Work in Progress

The day Cathy disappeared was the best day of my life.

You think me morbid and cruel, but don’t judge too soon. I hadn’t known she was gone until two days after the event; her parents released the horrible information that she had not been seen at home since the morning of that fateful Monday via some police visiting the school. Everyone was rife with panic. I remember the assembly- lots of crying, lots of hugs, lots of fear. And “the best day of my life” is the indulgent phrase of the fools to make themselves feel better.

But no, it was the best day of my life- and now I’m wary to use that phrase- because of a few stupid little things that made my Monday that little bit better. All unimportant now, of course, as the school, and indeed the whole town, is now shocked beyond belief. But it seems only fair to indulge in the details of Monday’s pleasantries after what we all felt following Cathy’s vanishing from the face of the Earth.

It began when a few of my initial exam results came back. They weren’t completely awful. It’s stupid, I know! Stupid how a few letters (mostly Bs) can make someone smile. Smiling while someone disappears. Smiling while someone is lost or afraid or… dead.

I know I can’t blame myself, but my happiness feels so selfish.

Catholic’s guilt, I suppose.

Then Tim. After several months of drooling after him, we had finally arranged a date. He was bespectacled and spotty here and there, but was well known to the girls as cute and smart.

“Jess.”

I ran his words through my head.

“Jess,” he said, clearly as nervous as I was. “Do you want to hang out sometime?”

How dull these words seem now, but in the moment I felt like a movie star. What did they say in the movies? I brushed some sandy hair out of my eyes, Tim copying me. I was staring through his lenses, trying to recall, what did they say? What did they- Friday! It was always Friday.

“I’m free Friday,” I said. That was it- nonchalant, sexy, cool as hell.

It was Wednesday evening now. I was dreading Friday, partly because of Cathy. What would we talk about? How could we talk, knowing that she was out there somewhere? A terrified girl, or a broken body.

No, I couldn’t think like that.

I stood up and paced my room, an unholy mess of books, DVDs and posters, complete with a wardrobe that was overflowing due to laziness and, more recently, worry- I had taken to throwing clothes around when I thought about Cathy- how angry it made me feel- because they wouldn’t break anything.

Mum wouldn’t be pleased, she’s very particular, but thankfully she hasn’t checked my room in a while.

“Jess!” Speak of the devil.

Her tone sounded concerned, so I hurried to the top of the stairs. My heart leapt to my mouth when I reached them.

A policeman- not my Dad, he works nights with the force- stood by my mother, frowning. In my trail of thought, the knock at the door had slipped unnoticed.

“Jessica Park?” he asked me. I nodded. “Just a quick word, please.”

He asked me about Cathy. Of course he did. He assured me that it was just a procedure- Sandford was a small town, so asking questions to every child in my school was no painful task. I’m sure he thought this would comfort me- it didn’t. His questions, so simple, just unnerved me.

When was the last time I’d seen her?

“Monday morning.”

Had she said anything to me? Anything that may have hinted at her disappearance?