Fading Desert Footprints (Complete)

'Don't be scared to walk alone. Dont be scared to like it.' John Mayer

A light tap at the door takes me out of my thoughts of cats, and events leading up to this trip. I am still melted into my brown leather chair, trying to will my migraine away. I find temporary relief if I don't move. I open my eyes but remain still.

Business news drones on in the background; something about the dramatic plummeting value of the dollar which was down a fraction of a percentage of one tenth a penny, or thereabouts, and the various reasons that caused this, as outlined by an expert in a three piece suit and a yellow polka dot tie. He seemed to have all the answers after the fact, and claimed that it was related to a storm somewhere, and a few extra barrels of oil popping up somewhere else.

The door raps recur, louder than before.

I assume it's a charitable canvasser, or Jehova's Witness, so I remain motionless. I don't breathe fearing they will hear me, and I think of the song 'Who Can It Be Now'.

The third set of knocks are like cannon shots, as if trying to break down the entry.

Three assaults on the door should be the limit to leave one of two impressions;  no one is home, or, the homeowner really does not want to answer the door.

A minute passes. I sigh in relief, and then wince at the shot of pain behind my right eye. The weather is on, and I get an update on Australia temperatures.

I hear a light shuffle at the door, and a card slides under it, like a mouse trying to sneak in.

I tip-toe to the door. My head pounds with every step as if my brain is slamming into the sides of my skull. The card is from the police. I'm confused. I open the door.

The officer's back is to me; he turns.

He takes off his hat. He is solemn.

A flurry of thoughts run through my mind. Bad news? My neighbour Mel? Crimes in the neighbourhood? A door to door search?

"Are you Kelly Rembrandt's father?" he asks quietly.

My immediate reaction is confusion.

Then, the words hit me hard in the stomach, like a punch; I lose my breath. My heart sinks, and pounds slow and hard like a sledgehammer. In seconds, it accelerates to jackhammer speed.

I forget to breathe. My head and chest want to explode as thousands of thoughts swirl in my head. 

Then, I become numb, and don't feel anything.

I am standing at the door, yet I feel separated and detached, as if I am watching myself.

He continues,

"May I come in?"

I don't answer, but take a small step to the right so that there is some space for him to squeeze by.

I sit down before he asks me to.

"There's been an accident in El-Fasher, Sudan..."

Officer Johnson is of average height, solid build with a perfectly clean shaven, long chin. It appears that he doesn't have any eyebrows or eyelashes because they blend in with his complexion. His light eyebrows are tilted up in sorrow creating deep creases in his forehead, so that he looks like a Shar-pei puppy. Through my pounding chest and racing mind, I vaguely feel bad for him having to do this job.