Wrote this this last Thursday because 1) I had an exam the next day and needed to procrastinate, 2) I hadn’t written a single word, except for school work but I’m not counting that, and if I didn’t write something, I was going to burst, and 3) Once an idea sparks, I need to write it down immediately or I will lose it forever. I have no idea where this is going. I don’t even know if the person whose POV I am writing in is male or female. Though I kind of want to write in the male perspective. Anyway, enjoy! And if you have any thoughts or suggestions on where this should go or what it looks like its about, please feel free to share! I‘m begging you! Also, I have not given up on my current WIP, I have just been so busy with school and work I had to sadly cut something from my life until I have time again to write. And it’s been killing me inside to not write a word, until this anyway! It helped. My crazy level has shrunk a bit. Anyway, I’ll stop and let you get on with the excerpt 🙂
The detective sifted through the folder, pursing his lips. I rubbed the palms of my hands against my jeans, to wipe away the sweat forming. Why should I be so nervous? I did nothing wrong.
“Hmm,” he remarked, his eyes narrowed at a sheet of paper I couldn’t see. “Tell me about this photo.” He took the paper out of the folder and flipped it around for me to look at. It was a picture I had printed out years ago, of Albert Einstein riding a bike, a smile on his face. The photo was from my locker. The cops went into my locker? Why?
Out of habit, a smile broke on my face despite the annoyance of having strangers rummage through my school things. “It’s Albert Einstein.”
“Yes, I know. But why do you have this picture?”
“It always makes me happy.” And he was my idol.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. He just looks so care free and happy. Like he’s having the time of his life.” I forced away the smile from my face and directed my eyes up at the detective. “Why am I here? What have I done wrong?”
The detective put the photo back and closed the folder, setting it on the table. “It’s nothing you have done, (Ms./Mr.) Stevens. It’s about your friend, William Haythan.”
“William?” Willy. We hadn’t spoken for years. Not since . . . “He’s not my friend anymore. I’ve seen him around school, but we don’t really talk to each other.” I was almost sure he’s been ignoring me on purpose. Couldn’t he just learn to forgive and forget? But when he does look at me, he doesn’t see me. I have become invisible to him.
“To my understanding, you two have known each other since you were born, and were quite good friends for many years, until you had a fallout.”
Jeez, did this guy know everything about my life? I nodded. “Yes.”
The detective leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “When was the last time you saw William?”
I thought about it. “Possibly the last day of school. I wasn’t exactly looking for him the day we graduated. Why? Is he okay? Has Willy done something?”
“You haven’t seen him at all this summer? Don’t you two live across from each other?”
I nodded. “Yes. But I’ve mostly been working. And I get up pretty early in the morning to leave and I come home in the evening. So, no, I haven’t seen him.”
The detective frowned.
“Sir, why do you want to know where he is? Isn’t he at home?” Or work, maybe.
The man leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “William Haythan has been missing for thirty days. His mother assumed he went on a road trip with his friends, but when she found his room untouched, no clothes pack, phone on nightstand, she called the police. No one else seems to know where he is. I thought perhaps his former best friend might know where he could’ve run off to.”
I sat back in my chair, no longer nervous. Missing? How? Willy wouldn’t run away. He cared too much about his mom. He won’t even go to college out of state because he’s afraid of leaving her alone. No. Willy couldn’t have run away. Then . . . kidnapped? No. Impossible. The guy knew how to defend himself. He was the star player on the baseball team, for Pete’s sake. What could’ve happened to him? “I have no idea.”
“Can you think of any place you two would hang out when you were friends that he might’ve run off to? Or maybe you heard something or seen something–”
“No. I mean,” I swallowed, “there was this old shack out of town we’d play at, but I haven’t been there since I was thirteen.” Fond memories of us running around in the forest entered my mind. A small grin spread on my face. How many times have me defeated the pirates and taken their treasure, or discovered a new civilization, or try to defend the creatures of the forest? The shack was out ship, our tent, our castle, our playhouse. Was even still standing to this day? The poor structure was barely holding together the last we had been there, three years ago.
The detective took out a note pad and pen. He clicked the top of the pen. “Where is this shack?”
“South. Past Grant Road. You go across the train tracks. There’s a barbwire fence, but we cut a hole years ago. Then the shack is maybe a mile. Just follow the creak. You can’t miss it.”
“Thank you.” He clicked the pen again. “I’ll check it out. If I have anymore questions, will you be willing to answer them?”
“Of course. As long as it’s not in here. I feel like I’ve been accused of committing a murder.”
The detective nodded, though the seriousness of the atmosphere didn’t seem to lighten up. “All right. I’ll come to your home.” He rose from his chair.
I did as well. “Sir,” I paused. Willy and I may not be friends anymore, but I still cared about him and his safety. “If there is any way I can help–”
The man put his hand up to cut me off. “We have everything under control. Please do not get involved. If you answer our questions, that will be help enough. You may go.”
“Thank you.” I moved toward the door, but stopped before opening it. I turned around. “Sir?”
The detective turned around. “Hmm?”
“Willy wouldn’t run away. I know he wouldn’t.”
“You believe you still know your former friend?”
“He could’ve change. People change.”
“But not Willy. He hates change.”
The detective picked up the file. “Perhaps. But people do whether they realize it or not.” He motioned with his hand toward the door.
I opened it and walked back across the long hallway to the front. The woman at the front desk didn’t even acknowledge me. I stepped into the humid, evening air and took a deep breath. Missing. Willy was missing. Impossible.
So many questions! Firstly, what is the name of this person, who is probably going to be my protagonist? Sir or madam, you must have a name! But for now, they shall be known as “Unknown.” Secondly, why did Willy and Unknown fallout? It must’ve been a huge fight they had that could cause them to stop being friends after so long. Who is this detective guy and more importantly, what’s his name? Who’s Willy mom and what’s her name? And then of course, what happened to Willy?
Ooh, just thought of a name. If I choose male, I think I’ll call him Noah. Noah Stevens, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.
Anyway, thoughts? I might be swinging over to mystery here, though I don’t really read a lot of mystery books, so I have no idea where this came from. And I probably won’t do anything with this for a while, but it’s fun to run off on a new idea for a bit.