VD-49

Chapter 3: Searching Her Home

Damian tapped his finger against the steering wheel as they drove down the icy roads. Jude's mind was on Rhonwen's case file. The words ran away seemed to grip his mind with long, sticky fingers. And didn't seem intent to let go.

Ran away.

She said she was scared.

She didn't want to stay here anymore.

The similarities were scary.

No.

He wasn't going to start thinking about it now. If he let down that wall even for one second, everything would come flooding back. It was a torrent which Jude wasn't ready for.

"I think there's more to this story," Damian remarked quietly. Jude glanced at him.

"What do you mean?"

Damian ran his hand through his blonde hair, making it stick up in all directions. "Stella had said that Rhonwen was scared." His finger stopped tapping. "Maybe we'll get some answers from her father."
Jude lifted an eyebrow. "You think she ran away because there were problems at home?"

The young man shrugged and his finger started tapping again. "It's not that far-fetched," he said. "Mother and twin sister died in a car crash. Lived on the outskirts of town. Was bullied. Maybe Rhonwen just-" He sighed and swallowed. "Maybe she just gave up."

Jude studied Damian. "Maybe."

There was something bothering him. It was personal, Jude could tell. So he didn't pry. But he wondered if Damian actually needed someone to pry.

Damian got the honour of knocking on the door since he got there first. They waited a few seconds but it was quiet. "Maybe he isn't home," Damian suggested. Just then there was a chaotic scuffling on the other side of the door. They heard someone muttering then a key was shoved into the lock. The door flew open and Jude wrinkled his nose. Damian had a great poker face but Jude couldn't help pulling a face.

The smell of the man was horrible. It was stale, unwashed and reeked of alcohol.

"Watcha want?" the man slurred. Irritation flared once more.

Drunk.

"Uh..." Damian shot Jude a confused look. "We're investigating the disappearance of Rhonwen Smith. Your...daughter?"

The man gave a loud sniff. "My poor Rhonnie!" His vision cleared and he stood up straight. "'Ave you found 'er?"

"No, not yet," Damian said in a soothing voice. "Who are you?"

"Gavin Smith. Watcha doin' 'ere?"

"We need to look around," Jude answered. "Would you mind?" There was no sympathy in his voice. In some distant part of himself that he had lost track of, guilt sparked. But it was barely there. If Gavin had given up, it didn't mean that Jude would.

His mind went blank. It was what she had told him so many years ago.

Just because you've given up, doesn't mean I will! She had shouted it at him because she thought he couldn't hear her.

Damian's subtle nudge as he stepped inside the house after Gavin jerked Jude out of his reverie. He shook his head. What was going on with him today? Everything seemed to remind him of that day. And the nightmare that had followed.

Even the house stank of alcohol. Gavin unsteadily led them into what Jude assumed to be the living room. He plopped down on the couch and clutched a pillow to his chest. He carelessly waved a hand in no particular direction. "Look 'round if ya wan'. There's nothin' much to see."

Jude made his way up the staircase to the second floor of the house. He trailed his hand on the handrail and looked at the photos that hung on the walls. He saw two identical girls holding each other and smiling up at the camera. Rhonwen and her twin, Bronwyn. They were so young in the picture. There was another with a woman, probably their mother, and Gavin goofing around in the snow.

They looked so happy.
How different would Jude's life have been if Kalene were still here?

He almost collapsed against bannister as her name popped up in his mind. The wooden railing groaned under his hands as he clenched it, trying to get a grip on himself once again. His chest was tight and his eyes burned. He pressed a hand to his face.

"Jude?" Damian's voice echoed through the silent house. "You still alright, mate?"

"Yeah. I'm fine." By some miracle, his voice was steady. Still a bit gruff, though.

He took a deep breath, the cold air scorching his throat. Through the jumble that was his thoughts, he had to admit:

The case was becoming personal.