• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

By Root 503 0

cop on TV, led them into his office and spoke in a calm, practiced tone that Buster believed had been perfected over years of relaying bad news to people predisposed to wild acts of grief. “Now, I know this seems like a small outfit, but we do good work. We’re good cops and we’re going to get to the bottom of this,” he told the Fang children. Buster nodded, felt happy to be around someone who seemed in charge of things, but Annie was not satisfied. “Our parents have done this to themselves, Sheriff,” she insisted, leaning so far out of her chair that she seemed in danger of falling over. “I tried to explain this to one of your officers, but this is all a big hoax.” Buster watched the sheriff’s neck muscles tense then go slack, gathering patience, and he addressed Buster and Annie, choosing to focus his gaze on Annie. “I know about your parents,” he said. “We investigate, you know, so we’ve read about your parents’ little art things.”

“So you can see how something like this disappearance fits in with what they’ve been doing their whole lives,” Annie said.

“Ma’am, I don’t think you understand what’s going on here. Not everything is about art. You did not see the crime scene. You did not see the amount of blood next to the van.”

“Fake blood,” Annie interrupted. “Oldest trick in the book.”

“Real blood,” the sheriff responded, clearly delighted to have real forensic evidence to prove Annie wrong. “Human blood. B positive. Same as your father.” He rested his elbows on his desk and collected his thoughts. “I understand that this is a unique event, but I fear that you’re not allowing yourself to accept the possibility that this was not orchestrated by your parents. I think you’re afraid to admit that this might be something more dangerous than a little art thing.”

Buster felt the sheriff’s patience wearing thin and Buster tried to show that he understood, that he was not a difficult person to deal with. “I read somewhere that denial is the first stage of grieving,” he said.

“Goddamn, Buster,” Annie hissed, turning on him, but the sheriff interjected, “Well, I don’t think you need to be grieving just yet. I’m just saying that you need to let us pursue this case as if a crime was committed, that your parents are in some form of danger.”

“They are hiding somewhere, laughing themselves silly, reading newspaper articles about their possible murder investigation. They’re going to wait until you say they are dead and then they’re going to show up and act like they were resurrected.”

“Okay, fine, ma’am. Let’s just pursue your theory. In the state of Tennessee, if there is no body, a person isn’t pronounced legally dead until seven years after the event. That’s a long time to wait, don’t you think?”

“You don’t know Caleb and Camille Fang,” Annie said, but Buster could see the first instance of doubt on Annie’s face.

“Second, where would your parents be hiding? We’re tracking their credit cards. If they rent a hotel room or buy food or purchase gasoline, we’ll know about it. How are they going to live without money for seven years?”

“I don’t know,” Annie said. She seemed struck dumb by confusion, her mind racing to solve the puzzle of their parents’ disappearance, and immediately Buster felt that he had betrayed his sister by aligning himself with the sheriff. “They’ll pay cash,” Buster offered.

The sheriff waved him off. “And, ma’am? If your parents did decide to just disappear without a trace, as long as no crime was committed, then I really have no reason to track them down. Are you suggesting you’d prefer I stop expending any police resources to find them?”

“This is so damn stupid,” Annie said.

The sheriff paused, looked at Buster and Annie with what seemed like genuine empathy, and then he said, “Let me just ask you this. I understand that you two have been living with your parents?”

“Yes,” Buster cut in, “we’ve been temporarily living with Mom and Dad.”

“How long ago did you move back in with your parents?” the sheriff asked.

“Three or four weeks,” Annie said.

“So,” the sheriff continued, “you two move back into your