Dogs dart through the thick under layer of bushland, leaping over roots and dragging Marissa along. One of the dog's tug on the lead and pull Jason after him.
"What are you expecting to find?" Marissa groans, jerking forward.
"Good news hopefully," Jason mumbles. They trudge through the forest and back toward the road, lead by the dogs.
Sweat beads over Marissa's forehead, soaking her blond hair. Cicadas hiss around her. The sound pollutes the hot air. Steamy moisture rises from the leaves, curling around the soles of their shoes.
The two dogs stop, circling a patch of earth knotted with roots. "Hay Marissa hold on," Jason mumbles, yanking the dog away. "What is it?" she frowns.
"Hold the dogs," Jason says, shoving the other lead into her hand. She wraps the strip of nylon around the back of her hand and drags the dogs back. "Christ."
Jason crouches down over the leaves. He snaps on a pair of pail blue gloves, tugging them of his wrists. "What is it?" Marissa asks, awkwardly craning her neck, "Jason what is it?"
"It looks like blood. Lots of it."
He rubs two stained leaves between his fingers. Death holds damp mildew inside their brown veins. Speckles of dark blood have been sprayed across the tree roots and fleck the ground.
"Call in the forensics. Tape it off,' Jason sighs, dragging himself to his feet.
***
Marissa sweeps her hair into a tight ponytail and drags the mask of composure across her features. Drawing in a deep breath she pushes the heavy door open and strides into the claustrophobic room.
The whitewashed walls echo the lonely silence. Joan Miller cowers at the limp wooden table. Her glassy eyes stare aimlessly across the room. She remains disconnected from her husband and Marissa.
"Hello Mr. and Mrs. Miller," Marissa nods, "Can I get you something to drink? A coffee or water?"
"No thank you," Roy sighs. Marissa's gaze flashes toward Joan. She watches her slowly shut down to the world around her, locking herself inside her dreary world of mourning.
"We have found something related to your daughters disappearance," Marissa breathes. Her blue eyes drop to the floor and flicker across the room. Balling her hands into fists she forces herself to meet the eyes of Roy.
"We found a lot of blood in the forest not too far off of the road. The forensics are doing testing now but we are fairly sure that it is your daughter's."
Roy's jaw clicks tights, "H-how much is a lot?"
"It wouldn't be enough to cause death but it would inflict serious injury. Maybe even unconsciousness."
"So she could still be alive?" Roy clings to the frail ray of hope like it's the thin, silver thread tying him to life. The thin, silver thread that could snap at any moment.
"It's still a possibility. Yes," Marissa says. Doubt fills her mind like venom leaking into her veins. A slow response plays across Joan's features. "You will find her, right?"
Marissa hesitates, "We will do everything we can Mrs. Miller."
"Y-you have to find her!" hysteria rises Joan's voice into a scream.
Tears stream down her pale cheeks and pain rips through her chest. "Mrs. Miller please. We are trying to find her and we are doing everything we possibly can," Marissa falters over her words.
"You have to find her!" Joan shouts, "Tell me you're going to find her!"
Roy clamps his hand over hers, squeezing it gently. "Joan please. Just calm down," he soothes.
Colour rapidly drains from Joan's face. "She's dead...isn't she?" Words dry up over Marissa's tongue, "We don't know that for sure."
"Oh God," Joan sobs, doubling over. Her forehead presses against the smooth table top and her trembling fingers knot amongst the hem of her shirt. "Oh God. Ella," she murmurs like a fragile prayer.
***
Roy sits in his study, huddling against the soft leather of his old chair. The dim light of the lamp pools over him. Shadows dance across the heavy mahogany bookcase and make him feel claustrophobic.
For the first time in weeks he allows himself to cry. Pain claws through his chest, digging up raw fits of agony.
A long hour drags on and eventually he falls into silence. Cringing he slides a stocky glass toward him, filling it with whiskey. He sculls the warm liquid, letting is burn inside his throat.
He slaps it down on the desk and hauls himself to his feet. He cracks the door open and wanders down the hall. He feels his way through the inky darkness, running the tips of his fingers over the wall.
He pushes open the bedroom door. His gaze flickers over the double bed. Sheets are crumpled at the foot of the bare mattress. Roy's blue eyes search for Joan.
"Joan?" he whispers. He turns in the doorway and staggers back down the hall. His footsteps echo inside the confinements of the house.
Roy stumbles down the stairs, pausing in front of the laundry door. A deep rumble churns out from underneath the heavy door. Frowning Roy cracks open the door.
Joan cowers on the floor with her head buried into her knees. Her wild sobs are drowned out by the sound of the dryer. Roy sighs heavily, slumping against the thick frame.
"Joan?" he mumbles. Her head snaps up and a shudder ripples through her. Her bloodshot eyes are glassy and circled with tears. Colour dwindles in her cheeks and her hair clings to the side of her face.
"Come on sweetheart what are you doing down here?" Roy sighs stepping toward her. She whimpers and smears the tears away with the back of her hand. "She's gone," Joan sobs.
Roy shakes his head, flicking the dryer off. "We'll find her."
"Roy she's dead," Joan cries. A hysteric tone pollutes her voice like clouded storm.
Hesitantly he sits down beside her with pain ripping through him. He doubles over slightly as if he's been punched in the stomach.
His chest feels hollow. The constant beating of his heart has been gouged out, leaving the empty shell.
"The police said that it wasn't enough blood-."
"Roy," there's a pleading look embedded in Joan's dark eyes, "Oh God Roy please don't." He slips his arm around her thin shoulders and cradles her against his chest.
She twists his t-shirt around the back of her fist and drowns the agony in his warmth. "That son of a bitch," she chokes, digging her nails into his flesh, "That God damn son of a bitch."
Roy winces and presses his forehead against the top of her head, "We'll find her." He tightens his arms around her body.
He can feel the delicate rise and fall of her chest against his. The warmth of her shaky breath races over the side of his neck. "We have to find her," he murmurs.
YOU ARE READING
Salvation
Teen FictionShe's his prize, his beautiful, flawless prize. She's his trophy, a girl he stole from the world. He holds her captive in the harsh shadows of the basement and tortures her. He loves her, charishes her every breath and lives off her every scream. He...
