Our Son Our son has been gone for a little over four months. We've lost all the hope mustered up from the beginning of it all. We had nothing of his to hold on to; no clues lead anywhere. The detectives, the volunteers, his friends, nobody had any direction of where to look. One day he was there, quietly living, the next gone. And the same quietness haunts me. He was our only son. By now we know he's not coming home. But the search isn't over. I'm not seeking my son; I'm after the truth. My hubby, Drew was out every day looking. His drive lasted longer than mine. By Christmas, I came to the conclusion that this would be one of many winter seasons without presents under the tree with his name, with his empty stocking, with no christmas hymns crawling out of his piano. And I wasn't wrong. "Our son was a good boy," Drew said into the microphone. "Is. He is a good boy. I cannot fathom an enemy of his, nor a person so ungodly to commit such a...such a thing. We ask for your continuing prayers. Paxton would have been seventeen today. Happy Birthday, Pax." I walked to him and gave him a side hug while thanking them for coming to honor my boy. I smiled over at Katherine's mom, and she scornfully turned away to avoid having to return the smile. I suspected more than that too. Katherine was first to go. Then Paxton. We shared the same destinies. Yet, she hated us. As if out boy took from Katherine's murder. Or maybe because Katherine was found dead and Paxton was only missing. The town was frantic. Two occurrences yielded the possibility of a serial killer. Schools closed. Curfews were instated. Fear pro#liferated. But she had no reason to hate me. We both met the same fait, and maybe she just hated the way we were tied to each other now. We were both "The Victims' Parents". She pushed through the crowd and I glanced at Drew, who shrugged. Love him to death, but he was clueless. He saw things in one dimension. Always taking things black or white. Never understanding the complexity beyond that. The palette of slates, and silvers, and gainsboro, and all other shades of grey was unapparent to him. All he had to do was consider the whys and the hows. But Drew only concerned himself with the whats. ("She hate's us, okay." "He's gone, let's look for him." "We're having marital problems, so now what") "She's just reminded of Katherine. That's all." That's not all at all, but I didn't care anymore. His blissfully ignorant world was a joyous escape. He could be aloof to any reality as long as he could make some sensible sense to it. Like a spider focused on making the web and not where the best place to make it is. Or clueless, like a male black widow pampering his pregnant wife. I love my husband, despite my arachnid analogies. But it's been hard living with a man who sees things only one way while I can see far beyond. I could see that Janet was angry at us because we could understand her grief, and she couldn't herself. Our vigil ended and the candles were blown out at once. The smokey air smelt like burning incense. I wanted to be home, to push aside the cake and stare at the empty wrapped boxes. I wanted to celebrate what could have been.

Forester Nonie clutched the knife with a sweaty palm, cutting up the washed head of lettuce. The garden aroma lunged out in each slice. The blade barely glazed the sides of the iceberg, imitating the Titanic collision. Her idle cutting became methodic, a systematic gesture, while her predatory eyes stalked the landline, tucked in the corner of the granite countertop beside the carousel of spices. He should call any minute now. Nonie expected the jarring chime, hoping not to be startled. In a debate to cease her kitchen work, she looked down at the block of wood and the half of the severed plant. Okay, I’ll finish this and then go somewhere else. I gotta stop eyeing the damned thing. But she kept her gaze, narrowing her scope on the screen where the caller ID would display. ​It lit up, the hideous orange LEDs, and she read each bold letter. FELDMAN, ALEXANDER. Glancing at the clock, it was FOUR sharp. Apparently, Alex stuck to his word. ​“Hey, Al. What’s the scoop? Did they catch him?” ​His weariness to answer was obvious. Awkwardly, he hesitated, responding with: “We think so. There’s not much I can say, but I’ll tell you this much, the son of a bitch looks guilty. It wasn’t an arrest, Nono. They’re holding him for questioning.” ​“You mean to say that he’s not caught? How long are you keeping him?” Her voice ran a little frantic, and she thickened her words to talk slower. She calmly exhaled. ​“Forty-eight. That’s all we got to ream him. So far it’s a lot of circumstantial. In fact, we have no evidence specifically linking him to the crime. But don’t you worry No. We’ve got him.” ​The phone was wedged between her left shoulder and cheek, her hands left free to hold down the vegetable while pressing the handle sharply. Her chopping was sloppy, leaving uneven shards, like shattered glass. ​“Still there?” ​Jerky cuts, increasing in speed, finished off the nub of lettuce, to the point where it sliced the tip of her thumb. Shit. That’s when she dropped the knife and swung her hand to her lips. Her thumb pressed into an agape mouth, clamped gently by her front teeth. With glee, she sucked. Regression in its prime, she thought, I’m sucking my effing thumb. ​“I’m here,” she grunted. “Listen Al, I appreciate you calling. I, uh...” ​“Don’t mention it,” his voice trailing off as well. The utter of a goodbye between the two and then click. Nonie didn’t bother to place the phone back in the charger where it was docked. It sat on the counter dumbly, the orange dimming after ten seconds of inactivity. Turning to the island, she paused. The lettuce was all cut up, her thumb still a little achy, and the knife was rocking still, side-to-side in a cradle motion. Nonie trudged over to the sink, grabbing the knife on the way, and rinsed it. The faucet made her think of crying, reminding her how deeply she felt like doing just that. But it was almost like the tears leaked inside her empty body. She felt hollow, like a porcelain figurine, filling up with her salty waves of tears. Her eyes were dry, Nonie aware of that. If only they could roll back inside her head and watch as she flooded internally. The thought of the Titanic reiterated itself. She promised to stay strong; in fact, that she would be unsinkable. For the rest of the evening, she sailed through idle tasks, just to keep her mind afloat and off the thought of that man’s freedom approaching by the minute. Unfortunately, this was the maiden voyage of what would be many nights in agony. Maybe, she reconsidered, she would sink into sleep with the aide of an AMBIEN.