Werewolves Don't Wear Cowboy Boots

Chapter 8: Missing persons and missing chickens

The first thing Colum saw when he walked into the convenience store to pay for his gas was James, studying a bulletin board, a thoughtful expression on his face.

After paying the bored girl working at the register, Colum ducked his head and meant to walk out unnoticed, but James offered a tired smile. "Hey," he said, glancing the board one last time with a wince and then turning away. "On your way to pick up Bridget?"

Colum gave a slight nod, and James motioned to the bulletin board. "You might tell her to be careful. Did you see there's a missing girl?"

He shook his head and glanced at the poster, newer than all the others, with the sunny face of a young brunette girl smiling back at him. "It says she's a runaway?" He glanced back at James, who was looking at him as if there were something he wanted to say but couldn't find a way to word it. It filled him with dread – it would undoubtedly be something awkward, and Colum was already awkward enough without help. And he could only imagine it was about Bridget, as well. He wished he could just say, "Whatever is going on between you and my sister, I don't need to know," and leave it at that. Instead, he just waited for James to either say what was on his mind or, preferably, discretely decide to keep his thoughts to himself.

He chose the latter, and gave an embarrassed smile and a shrug. "Yeah, probably. But you just never know. I mean, it could be anything. She could have been picked up by some crazy person passing through, or attacked by an animal. You know, just recently something got into Mrs. Hendrick's chickens. She didn't see it, but she said it had to have been big."

'Oh. That.' Colum thought. He swallowed and shifted nervously, "I'll tell her. But I should ... I should go."

* * * * *

Colum was out the door before James had even managed to say goodbye. If it weren't for how painfully shy the Irish boy was, James would have thought he'd done something to offend him. He'd wanted to ask him if he knew anything about vampires – surely he couldn't be in the dark if his sister was carrying around holy water? – but that would mean explaining why the topic had even come up. And the explanation would certainly mean breaking Bridget's trust by talking about things she clearly didn't want talked about. Now that he finally thought he was in her good graces, or nearly so, he sort of wanted to stay there. Anyway, he told himself with a sigh as he put the number listed on the poster into his phone, he couldn't exactly start talking about vampires in the middle of the store.

After paying for his sunflower seeds and pop, he walked went out to his truck and sent the call through.

"Police department," a gruff voice on the other end said.

James, using his most respectful and adult voice, said, "Hello, sir. I'm calling from The Star Ledger. I was wondering if you could give me some information on the missing girl?"

There was a pause, and then the man said, "Didn't we fax you a report about that?"

He was just a second away from responding with, 'Fax?' but stopped himself and instead said, "Well ... yeah. You did, actually. But we were hoping to get some quotes." He thanked his lucky stars he'd been friends with the girl who ran the school paper, and hoped he could rely on that to keep himself from saying anything too far off base.

There was another sigh from the other end, and then, "The family of Brittney Jones is asking for help from the community concerning any information that might lead to her safe return. She was last seen Saturday, July 13th. She attended a party with her friends on Cedar Street. They left around 11 p.m., when several members of the party went to the sand hills. She was last seen at one of the picnic tables just before midnight. If anyone was at any of those locations that night -- or saw her afterward -- and has information that would lead to her whereabouts, we urge them to call this number. There. Can you work with that?"

"I can, thank you," James said calmly, though his heart was hammering away at a ridiculous pace. Brittney Jones had disappeared the same night he and Bridget had their adventures with the vampire. "But I was wondering, do you think this could be tied to any other disappearances in the area?"

"I'm afraid that's all the information I'm free to give you at this time," he replied stiffly.

"Right. Sorry. Uh, before I go, can I get your name, sir?"

"Deputy Chad Blaser."

"Well, thank you very much for your help, deputy," James said lightly. "I hope you're able to find her soon."

He didn't waste any time dialing Bridget's number when he got off the phone.

"Is this important?" she said in a tone that was somewhat put out, but not entirely unfriendly. "Because Colum just walked in the door, and I don't know if he can bear having Kenzie throw herself at him twice in one week."

James hesitated for just a moment, then said, "A little important, yeah. The party you went to .... was it on Cedar Street?"

He could hear Bridget draw a sharp breath, then let it out slowly, taking an agonizing amount of time before she finally said, "I don't remember. I remember what the house looked like, but I don't remember street names. Why?"

He considered how to answer that, then finally said, "I'll tell you later. Care to blow your brother off and go for a drive with me?"

She hesitated for just a moment, then said, "Icould manage that, I think. But if this isn't important, then there had betterbe dinner involved, or at least a movie."

_____

Note: This is belated because of internet issues, but happy Easter! This is a holiday that always makes me think of Colum (it's his favorite), so he's been in my thoughts a lot throughout the day. 

As a bonus, here's a random bit that I wrote years ago as part of a character contrast prompt. It's not connected to the plot of the story, just a brief portrait of Colum at an Easter service.

Anyway, other than that, I should have another chapter ready next week.

***

Colum breathed in the faint tangy scent of wine as the people in the pews around him settled back into their seats. He squeezed shut his eyes and focused instead on the soothing song and the sweet smell of incense that always seemed to stay with him, even long after the service was over. The musical chanting of the priest fell upon him in soothing waves until a baby cried, and for a moment he lost the words and heard only the rhythms. Eyes open again, he caught sight of the rows of people in front of him – the broad shoulders of men in their blazers and suits, the colorful dresses of the ladies in the floral prints and pastels of spring, a little one peering cheekily over the back of the pew and smiling at a stranger. Near the alter were rows and rows of white Easter lilies amid white candles. The Easter service filled the place, leaving Colum a bit uncertain of himself. He loved the way it all came to life on Easter; the way families gathered as if in reminder that life continues and new hope is born each year. He loved the renewal of the baptismal vows, and the message of new life and forgiveness. Yet he was never at ease among so many people. A part of him wanted to celebrate this dearest of holidays in solitude, in a monastery somewhere remote where monks chanted or on the ruins of an old friary where his only company would be the ghosts of those long past. But Easter isn't about ghosts or hiding from the world, he reminded himself. It is about the future and new beginnings and love. Love for God, yes, and that he could celebrate any time he came to the church during the week. But love for others as well, and for that, he should be where he was. Shaking hands with the person on his left and his right, smiling at the wee child two rows ahead of him, and joining with the others as they rejoiced in the grace that had been granted them.