Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 82068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
This woman truly believes everything’s perfectly fine.
It’s not fine.
“I don’t know what to do,” I mutter. “What if you’re wrong and she’s been kidnapped?”
Her smile falters and I can see it in the twitch in her eye that she’s losing patience with me. “There’s nothing for you to do except go back to your room or class or wherever you’re supposed to be right now. I’m sure when the time is right, Miss Benson will reach out to you. If not, it’s something you’ll have to accept. I’m sorry I can’t help you any more than that.”
Gritting my teeth together, I stand and try not to hiss in frustration. “I guess I’ll just have to make a police report then,” I threaten. “I won’t let her disappearance get swept under the rug.”
Mrs. Caplan also stands. She reaches over and pulls open a drawer. I see a blue pamphlet in her hand. My stomach does a nervous flip.
“Is that CUP—”
“This service is totally free for students,” Mrs. Caplan interrupts. “At USC, we care deeply about our students’ mental health. I strongly encourage you to go have a chat with the folks over there. It’s just one building over.”
I pluck the pamphlet from her hand and stare at the picture of a woman with her face buried in her hands.
Depressed? Anxious? Overwhelmed? We can help.
Heat creeps up my cheeks. I quickly turn away from her so she doesn’t see my visible shame. Muttering out my thanks, I stalk out of her office, making sure to toss the pamphlet on chemistry girl’s desk on the way past.
I’m not crazy. I’m not.
Megan Benson is missing, and no one seems to care.
I care.
I’m going to find you, Megan.
That’s what friends do.
They don’t give up.
I won’t give up.
Romy
It’s been three maddening days. Three days of unread texts, unanswered calls, and voicemails that will no doubt also go ignored.
Is that what this is?
Is Megan ghosting me?
No.
No matter how much I want to put this on me, I can’t. It’s not about me. I’m making it about me because my obsessive, anxious thoughts always go there, but deep down, I know the truth.
Something happened.
Megan disappeared from my life and it’s strange.
So why doesn’t anyone else think so?
That part is what keeps me up at night. Teachers, counselors, and even her roommate all seem to be unbothered by her disappearance.
She’s a nobody to them.
The thought is a punch to the gut. Megan mentioned that to me once. That nobody notices her. I laughed it off, but it was a truth she wholeheartedly felt. It pains me to realize she was right. No one but me seems to notice or care.
“Miss Langston. Detective Bryant will see you now.”
I jolt at the intrusion of the maze my mind is currently navigating. With a polite smile, I rise to my feet and follow the short woman to a tiny office that reeks of stale coffee and mothballs. Detective Bryant, a man in his late fifties or early sixties, with a protruding gut and dark rings under his eyes, doesn’t bother looking up from his phone when I enter.
As I take a seat, I quickly scan the messy space. Folders and papers are stacked haphazardly all over his desk and back credenza. There’s no rhyme or reason to the mess. He also has an impressive collection of McDonald’s to-go cups crowding the area behind his computer monitor. I become fixated on the swollen, bubbled side of one of the cups that looks seconds from bursting all over the important-looking documents beneath it.
“You’re here to report a missing person?” Detective Bryant says, voice monotone and uninterested.
“Yep,” I say, straightening and forcing my gaze away from the disaster waiting to happen. “Her name is Megan Benson. She’s a student at USC and was in my government class. Her roommate said—”
Riiiip!
The detective tearing off a form from a pad drowns out my words. He slaps it down in front of me on top of other papers.
“There’s a spot for all that,” he says, motioning a meaty finger at the form. “Just put it there.”
I swallow down my irritation and scan the atrocious desk for a pen. He’s already gone back to scrolling on his phone, not even bothering to feign interest in this case. When I notice a pen poking out from beneath a folder, I reach over and pluck it out.
It takes me a good five minutes to fill out the form. I write down in precise detail every single thing I know about Megan, every conversation had about her disappearance, and even a few of my theories about where she could have gone. My main worry is that she’s been kidnapped.
When I finally finish writing the last detail on the back of the form in the margins on the side, I find Detective Bryant staring at me with narrowed eyes. Ignoring his annoyed expression, I hand the completed form over to him.