Where is she?
The rain poured in the middle of the night, and splashes of water could be heard as Thomas dashed through the street, out of breath, desperately searching for her. In the mist, he glimpsed her familiar, illuminating blonde hair blowing through the heavy rain. Those emerald eyes met him as he continued to push and struggle through the storm.
It was his best friend, Beatrice. Thomas glanced at her feet and saw a cat with fur as black as ink, walking in circles around her. He tried to step forward, but the cat threatened him with loud hisses and violent scratches. “Ow!” he howled as the cat lunged forward, sinking its sharp teeth into its leg. Thunder roared in the sky. It was a loud—
BANG!
September 20th, 1976, Monday.
Thomas opened his eyes, shaking off the remnants of the dream. He narrowed his eyes, peering through the window and realizing that a rock had caused the loud bang. Thomas quickly stood up and approached the window, greeted by Beatrice, who was waiting on the front porch of his house.
“Wake up, sleepyhead!” she shouted from outside. “I'm up!”
“Come down here; we're going to be late again!”
Thomas yawned; it was only six-forty in the morning. He shuffled into the bathroom, splashing water on his face, and washed his body thoroughly. His reflection stared back: dry lips, chocolate eyes, short brown hair. He has an oval-shaped face that holds memories of countless adventures with Beatrice, an average weight, and a height of five feet eight. He suited up in his school uniform, dabbed on a hint of perfume, grabbed his school bag, and descended the stairs to meet his mom.
"Oh, hey, sweetie! Have a great day at school, okay?" Thomas's mom said, her eyes glued to the television. “Okay, Mom, I love you,” he replied, grabbing an apple he saw from the fridge and stealing a quick kiss from her before heading outside. Beatrice was waiting, her presence as familiar as the morning sun.
"Morning, Tommy! Let's walk," said Beatrice.
Her soft lips curved into a smile, emerald eyes dancing. Long, wavy blonde hair framed her heart-shaped face. At five feet four, she exuded energy and determination. Her school uniform, paired with a denim jacket and a purple backpack, screamed “Beatrice” all over it. "When are you going to buy an alarm clock, though? It's throwing rocks every day." "I promise I will; it's just that I don't have enough money to buy one," answered Thomas. “Alright, fine,”
“Anyways, are you free tonight?” he asked, bumping her shoulder. “Why?” asked Beatrice, curiosity twinkling in her eyes. “I'm planning to watch a movie tonight.” “I will join, as long as you tell me what movie it is,” Beatrice said, smirking. She knew him too well. “It's your favorite—a mystery movie!” "That's great! Uh, speaking of mystery..." "...Yeah?" asked Thomas, raising his brow. “Butler Eric has vanished from our house today,” Beatrice answered, looking down. “Hmm, that's weird.”
"I know, right? He already spent his vacation this summer, and he didn't even ask permission from my mom. My mom always tells me if Butler is leaving. Since he's gone, I did the cooking all by myself!" “Ooh, what did you cook?” Thomas asked, biting into the apple in his hand. "Bacon and eggs. I think I overcooked it; it smells burnt." Beatrice giggled. Hey, at least you tried.” Thomas replied, patting her on the back.
“You're great at dancing and singing, though!” he added as an attempt to lift her spirits. Thomas reached his arms wide and swayed his body to the beat. “See? Look at me,” Beatrice giggled back, their laughter echoing down the familiar path. “I do think I am good at it. Thanks.” As they walked towards the school, Beatrice's eyes lit up with excitement. “Hey, do you remember the science fair last year?” Thomas smiled. "Yeah, you and Layla both had amazing projects. Yours was so creative." Beatrice laughed softly. "Thanks. Layla's was impressive too. She worked so hard on it."
"Yeah, I remember. She was passionate about it." Beatrice agreed. "She was. I think that's why it was tough for her when the results came out." “What do you mean?” Thomas asked in a genuinely curious manner. "Well," Beatrice hesitated, "she just seemed different afterward. Like, there was this unspoken competition between us. It's probably nothing big."
Thomas bumped his shoulder playfully. "We've got each other's backs, Beatrice. No competition can change that." “Yeah,” Beatrice said, her voice softening. “I just wish things could be more like they used to be.” Beatrice smiled at Thomas before spotting the school in the distance. She pointed her finger toward the Crystal River School. “We're almost there!” said Beatrice. “Let's race, Thomas!” She moved her head in a continuous clockwise direction, her bones triggering a satisfying 'crack!' as she stretched out her arms and legs.
“Yeah, sure, but I have to—” Thomas was accidentally hit by Beatrice on his shoulder as he saw her running away. With no choice left, Thomas ran. His energy slowly rose, and his heart pumped faster. The cold morning wind brushed against his skin as he passed every tree and house before him. He saw Beatrice reach the school gates, catching her breath, both hands on her knees. She looked at him as he ran closer. "Ha! I won first place!" she teased, raising her fist in the sky. "Alright, alright. Let's get in now." Thomas and Beatrice opened the school doors, greeted by the school's familiar scent. Students chatted along the corridors, and parts of the walls were scattered with posters.
Thomas and Beatrice ascend the stairs to the second floor. Thomas gripped the door handle and carefully opened the door, holding his arm out, gesturing for Beatrice to enter first. Beatrice smiled at him before stepping into the classroom, until... “Oh, the brat is here!” a voice called from across the room. Thomas looked at him; it was Paul Steele—the class bully. “Oh, shut your mouth, Paul,” Layla responded.
Even though Beatrice belonged to a rich upper-class family, it didn't mean she was a spoiled brat. Thomas always knew that from their childhood. He glared at Paul, and Beatrice scoffed before sitting at their respective desks. The whole class fell silent as a man entered the classroom. Mr. Payne, the calculus teacher, greeted everyone with a brisk “Good morning” as he settled at the teacher's desk. Thomas, who harbored a deep dislike for calculus, shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
"For today," Mr. Payne announced, "we're doing a group activity. Beatrice Williams, you'll lead group one, and Kelly Fisher will lead group two. Teresa, Bethany, Milo, and Tony are with Beatrice, while Thomas, Paul, Robert, and Layla form Kelly's team." Kelly raised her hand. “Uh, sir, what exactly are we supposed to do?” “Great question, Kelly,” Mr. Payne replied, writing a problem on the blackboard. “We're going to solve this calculus problem.” Thomas groaned inwardly. Not this problem again. From the corner of his eye, he suddenly noticed a paper on his desk. He leaned forward, looking for the source, but there he saw Beatrice sending him a wink.
He snorted, opening the paper to find the word “Hello” with a smiley face written beside it. Thomas guessed that Beatrice was the one behind it; she always did these things. Thomas looked at Beatrice and caught her smiling at him. He reached for a pen in his bag and wrote a reply on the paper. He wrote down the words 'Are you excited for the movie later?' before passing the paper back to her.
As the groups huddled together, Kelly leaned over Thomas's shoulder. "Hey, Thomas, we're brainstorming where to work after dismissal. Can we use your house?" Thomas hesitated. “Sorry, I can't. Layla, any ideas?” Layla, lost in her thoughts, didn't hear at first. Kelly poked her. “Layla, can we use your place?” “Nope,” Layla replied, her expression unyielding. “My house is a mess—stuff scattered everywhere.” “Too bad,” Thomas said. “Kelly, any other options?” Kelly pondered. “Alright, fine. We'll work at MY home.” "Nice. Who's attending later?" Thomas asked. “I can help,” Robert volunteered.
Layla shook her head. "I won't be there. Visiting my mom in the hospital. But sure— I think I can buy snacks for all of us, how's that?" she offered. “Great idea,” Kelly said. “We'll work at my place, and Layla can bring the snacks.” “Sounds good to me!” Thomas agreed.
Mr. Payne interrupted their chatter. “Group two, please be silent!” he barked, causing Thomas and the others to shut their mouths. "As I was saying, the deadline is next week. Has anyone seen my calculus teacher's book around?" Thomas didn't mind the question; Instead, he glanced at Beatrice. Her frown and slumped posture caught his attention. I have scribbled a note:
'What's wrong? You look sad.'
Beatrice stopped abruptly. “May I help you, Beatrice?” Mr. Payne asked. “Oh, I'm just throwing this away,” she replied, tossing a crumpled paper into the trash. When she sat down, Thomas extended the folded paper toward Beatrice. She glanced at him, then added her writing to the same paper. Beatrice returned the folded note to him, and Thomas carefully unfolded it. The words revealed themselves:
'It's fine, I just got a wrong calculation in a calculus problem.' Beatrice wrote.
Thomas took a sigh. 'Okay, see you later at my house for the movie!' he wrote. Thomas folded the paper once again and handed it out to Beatrice. She received the paper, read it, and smiled back at Thomas. They continued listening to Mr. Payne's lesson.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
"Thomas? Are you listening to me?" Kelly asked as they left the Crystal River School. It was three o'clock in the afternoon. “What's up?” Thomas looked at her. “What date is it today again?” asked Kelly. “Oh, it's September 20, 1976.” “Was it a Monday?” “Yeah, I remember it's a Monday.” "Great. Going back to what I was saying, I want the activity to have color—I want it to look presentable," Kelly explained. “As we enter the house, I want all of you to remove your shoes when entering, okay? My Dad would kill me if he saw shoeprints on the marble floors.” She joined as the group walked toward the front porch.
Kelly's house, with its white picket fence and neatly trimmed lawn, stood as a beacon of suburban comfort. The porch swing creaked as Thomas stepped onto it, the wood groaning under his weight. "Has anyone seen Paul around? He's not present in this activity," asked Robert. "I haven't seen him around after class; he must've gone to the mall again," Kelly replied.
The group started removing their shoes outside before entering Kelly's house. Thomas stepped inside and saw Kelly swiftly gathering all her art materials in the living room. He sat beside Robert and Layla on the couch as they patiently waited for Kelly. After a while, Kelly sat on the floor with her art materials ready and her calculus textbook ready.
"Alright, let's start," "Robert, you can have the marker. Thomas, you're in charge of the colors, and Layla, you're responsible for the snacks, correct?" added Kelly. "Yeah, I'm about to head outside now for the snacks. I'll be back here," Layla said as she left the house. “Alright, let's begin solving this calculus problem, I guess,” said Thomas.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Finally! Screamed Kelly with joy. Thomas closed the textbook. “We are now done solving this stupid calculus problem!” Robert giggled. “It's six o'clock now, I guess Layla didn't come back for us.” Said Kelly. Thomas and Robert sighed. “I think that's it, Robert and Thomas.” "You can now go home; I'm going to make sure the people who didn't help in this activity will receive a zero unless they help us before the deadline," Kelly added.
The sun dipped low, casting a warm glow over Kelly's cozy living room. Thomas, Kelly, and Robert surveyed the mess they had made on the floor due to their calculus activity. Papers were stretched across the floor, equations and graphs tangled like fallen leaves. The remnants of their mathematical journey begged for attention.
“Alright,” Kelly declared, rolling up her sleeves. “Let's tackle this mess before we head out.” Thomas grabbed a trash bag, while Robert fetched a broom. They worked in tandem, sweeping up crumpled papers and discarded pencils. Kelly wiped down the table, her movements efficient and purposeful.
“High-traffic areas first,” Thomas said, pointing to the spots where they'd huddled over equations. “And let's sort the recyclables.” Kelly nodded, and they separated paper from plastic, laughter punctuating their efforts. Finally, as the last scrap found its place, they stood back, satisfied. But before they left, Thomas knelt to tie his shoelaces. Kelly and Robert followed suit, each securing their shoes with care.
“Ready?” Kelly asked, glancing at her friends. “Ready,” they echoed, their laces snug and secure. As they stepped outside, the sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a warm, golden hue over the suburban neighborhood. It was 1976, and the streets exuded a sense of simplicity. The neighborhood seemed quieter and more serene, and the smell of dinner wafted from open kitchen windows.
"Alright, see you tomorrow, Thomas! You, too, Kelly, you're a math wizard!" Kelly chuckled. “Thanks, Robert.” Thomas watched as Robert disappeared around the corner, his laughter echoing down the quiet street. Kelly's words lingered in Thomas's mind. Layla hadn't returned. Where was she? The knot of worry tightened in his chest. As he approached his own home, the familiar scent of his mother's cooking enveloped him. The screen door creaked as he pushed it open. His mom, apron-clad and humming an old tune, greeted him with a smile.
“How was school?” "Yeah, it was good! Beatrice is going to come here to watch a movie again with me tonight." “Have fun watching later!” The soft glow of the hallway light followed Thomas as he climbed the stairs. His mom's smile lingered in his mind, a mix of pride and concern. She'd always been there, a steady presence in their cozy suburban home. But today, even her warmth couldn't dispel the unease that settled in his chest.
In the bathroom, Thomas splashed water on his face, the coolness soothing. He stared at his reflection, the same chocolate eyes, the same unruly hair. But today, everything felt different. Beatrice's absence echoed in the empty spaces around him.
He changed into comfortable clothes, the familiar fabric against his skin. The room held memories, from late-night study sessions, whispered secrets, and shared laughter. But now, it felt incomplete, like a symphony missing its keynote.
Thomas settled on the bed, the television remote in hand. The screen flickered to life, casting shadows on the walls. He flipped through channels, the voices of news anchors and sitcom characters blending into a dull hum.
The blankets lay folded at the foot of the bed, waiting. Waiting for Beatrice, who should have been here by now. The movie night they'd planned, their escape from all the calculus problems and suburban routines, felt incomplete without her.
Outside, the sun dipped lower, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. Thomas glanced at the window, as if expecting Beatrice to appear, her blonde hair catching the last rays of daylight. But the street remained empty, the familiar rhythm of footsteps absent.
He pulled the blankets over himself, cocooning in their warmth. The room held its breath, waiting for her laughter, her teasing remarks, her emerald eyes that always saw beyond the surface.
“Where are you, Beatrice?” Thomas whispered, the room echoing his longing. He'd never imagined a world without her. A world where the streets felt quieter, the days less vibrant. He roamed his eyes throughout the room, wondering,
“What can I do in my free time?”
“Read?” Thomas said as he grabbed a notebook from his bag. But it wasn't just any notebook; it was his special one, where he had been practicing the lines he planned to say to Beatrice.
He glanced at the first page, where he had written and rewritten his confession a dozen times. He took a deep breath and began to recite quietly to himself. He cleared his throat, standing up from his bed. "Beatrice, we've been friends for so long, and I've come to realize that I want more. I want us to be more. Will you go to prom with me?"
He paused, feeling that it sounded too formal. He thought of another line: "Hey Beatrice, you know you're amazing, right? I've been thinking a lot, and I really like you. Will you be my date to prom?"
Thomas shook his head. “No, that's too casual,” I murmured. I have paused and tried again. "Beatrice, I can't stop thinking about you. I want to be more than friends. Would you go to prom with me?" I have frowned. “Still not quite right.”
“Dinnertime, sweetie!” called his mom downstairs. “Maybe Beatrice is doing something else,” Thomas wondered as he put the notebook on the bedside table. He got out of his bed and walked towards the bedroom door. He headed downstairs to eat dinner with his mother.
...
When Thomas came back to his bed, Beatrice still wasn't there. “It's already seven o'clock…” he wondered. Still, he continued to wait... and wait... until the short hand of the clock struck at nine—three hours waiting for an answer. As the television continued to drone on, Thomas listened for the sound of rain tapping against the window. Rain, the backdrop to countless memories, the canvas for their shared adventures. But today, even the rain seemed to hold its breath.
And so, Thomas waited, his heart aching. But he knew one thing: Beatrice was out there somewhere, too. Until she returns, the suburban neighborhood will remain incomplete, like a puzzle missing its final piece. I sighed and turned off the television for tonight. He knew Beatrice wasn't coming around anymore. “I'll check on her tomorrow morning.” Thomas turned off the lights as he jumped into his bed and closed his eyes.
...
The schoolyard became the battleground.
“Give us your lunch, Beatrice!” The bully demanded.
A young, six-year-old Beatrice clutches her lunchbox, her eyes wide with fear. “Yeah, hand it over!” another bully commanded, reaching his hand out to the lunchbox.
"Leave her alone! If you've got a problem, you deal with me!" a young six-year-old Thomas stormed in and blocked Beatrice with his arms wide open, shielding her against the hostile bullies. The bullies turn to see Thomas, a boy no bigger than themselves, but with a fire in his eyes that makes them hesitate to bully the girl even further. The leader of the bullies scoffs but decides to take a step back.
“Whatever, let's go.” The bullies backed off and left the two of them. Beatrice wipes her eyes and looks at Thomas with admiration and gratitude. "Thank you. I don't know what I'd do without you." She cried. "What's your name? I'm Beatrice." “I'm Thomas, nice to meet you.” He smiled. "You're my hero. You're brave, you know?" “Nah, I just don't like seeing people get picked up on. Friends?”
Thomas extends his hand formally, suggesting a handshake. Beatrice giggled before shaking it.
“Friends.”
...
He opened his eyes.
September 21st, 1976, Tuesday.
Seven-thirty. A time that spelled disaster for anyone trying to make it to school on time. He glanced at the wall clock, its hands ticking away like a relentless metronome. Thomas's heart raced as he leaped off the bed, the urgency of the moment propelling him.
The bathroom mirror reflected his wide-eyed panic. Thomas splashed water on his face, the cool droplets jolting him awake. He dressed in a blur, yanking on his shirt and shoes. His backpack hung by the door, ready for action.
Downstairs, the house felt eerily quiet. His mom's absence puzzled him. “She must've gone to the mall to buy groceries,” he reasoned, grabbing an apple from the fridge. But even the familiar crunch couldn't ease his racing thoughts.
As he stepped outside, the sun bore down, turning the pavement into a heated ribbon. Thomas squinted, scanning the street for any sign of Beatrice. But the air remained still, devoid of her usual morning rock-throwing ritual.
“She must've gone to school too,” he muttered, sprinting past houses and cars. The heat clung to his skin, but he pushed forward. The school gates loomed ahead, and Thomas's breath came in ragged bursts.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
“Thomas Patterson, you are late.” Mr. Payne called out. "I-I'm sorry, sir. It won't happen again." Thomas slipped through the class, his heart pounding. Beatrice's absence gnawed at him like a missing note in a familiar melody, as he sat down at his desk.
"Beatrice is absent today from our class. As her best friend, do you happen to know where she is?" “No, I haven't seen her, Mr. Payne.” Inside the classroom, Thomas scanned the rows of desks. Empty. Not Beatrice. "Hm, maybe she has a fever or cold, so she's absent. Reach out after school, yeah?"
Thomas let out a nod. The teacher droned on, oblivious to his turmoil. He sank into his seat, the room closing in around him. Why hadn't she thrown that rock today? Why wasn't she here? Thomas's mind raced, weaving scenarios of illness, accidents, or mysterious disappearances. He longed for the comfort of her laughter, the shared secrets during calculus class.
But the minutes ticked by, and she remained absent. Thomas vowed to unravel the mystery. He'd find her, no matter what it took. Because Beatrice was more than a friend. She was the missing piece that made his world whole.
And so, as the teacher droned on about trigonometric equations, Thomas plotted his next move. The school day stretched ahead, but he'd chase after Beatrice, following the trail of her absence until it led him back to her. Thomas's mind raced as he leaned toward Teresa.
“Hey, Teresa?” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the rustling of papers. “Yeah?” Teresa turned toward him, her curious eyes. “Did Beatrice attend your group activity yesterday?” Teresa frowned. “Attend? We didn't even get to start our group work yesterday.”
Thomas's heart sank. “We didn't see her the whole afternoon.” Teresa shrugged, her expression puzzled. "I didn't get to see her either. We thought she was with you since you guys are very close."
As Mr. Payne droned on about calculus, Thomas's thoughts spun. Why hadn't Beatrice been there? She was always the first to dive into group projects, her enthusiasm contagious. But yesterday, she'd vanished like a missing variable. “Beatrice must've been sick,” Thomas mumbled to himself. “I should visit her at home later.”
The classroom blurred around him. Thomas vowed to unravel the mystery, find Beatrice, and restore the equilibrium of their friendship. Because without her, the numbers didn't add up, and the world felt incomplete. “Okay, class, let's do an exercise for the day, put out your notebooks and solve this calculus problem,” said Mr. Payne as he wrote on the board. "Speaking of calculus, has anyone seen my calculus book? I need it badly."
The classroom buzzed with the collective groan of students. Thomas fumbled through his bag, searching for his trusty notebook. But when he pulled it out, it wasn't there; his panic rose. "Oh no! I forgot my notebook back home!" Thomas's whispered confession echoed in the quiet room.
His forehead met his palm in frustration. How could he have been so careless? Mr. Payne’s stern gaze bore into him, and Thomas knew he’d be defenseless without his notes. Across the aisle, Layla bent over her pad of paper, pencil flying across the page. Her foot tapped a rapid rhythm against the floor. Thomas leaned toward her, desperation in his eyes.
“Hey, Layla?” he whispered, and she glanced up, her brows raised. “Can I have a piece of paper? I left mine at home earlier.” Layla tore a sheet from her pad, handing it over. “Sure,” she said, her expression curious. “Thanks,” Thomas accepted the paper, relief flooding him. “Nice gloves, by the way,” he added, noticing the intricate pattern on Layla’s hands.
She looked down at her gloves, a soft smile playing on her lips. “Ah, these? They were a gift from my mother. Thanks, though.” As he started to write on the sheet, he couldn’t help but think about the gloves.“It’s kind of hot today for gloves,” he thought to himself.“Maybe they have some special meaning to her.”
Focusing on the calculus problem, Thomas attempted the calculations. But each attempt led to more mistakes, and soon the paper was a mess of crossed-out numbers and frustrated scribbles. He crumpled it in his hand, frustration mounting. His gaze shifted to the trash can. It was nearly full, the edges straining against the weight of discarded papers. Thomas hesitated. If the trash hadn’t been taken out yesterday, maybe there was something valuable in there—a clue to Beatrice’s disappearance.
“If the trash can was nearly full, then the trash hadn’t been taken out yesterday,” he wondered.
As he sat in class, Mr. Payne’s voice was a distant hum; Thomas’s mind raced. Beatrice’s crumpled paper from yesterday haunted him. What if it held a clue? What if she had tried to communicate something important?
“Beatrice looked kind of sad before she threw the crumpled paper yesterday... What if she intended to write something back to me? If I check, maybe I’ll find something useful on what might have happened to her yesterday?”
His determination surged. Thomas leaned over, ignoring the curious glances from his classmates. He uncrumpled every piece of paper that had found its way into the trash can. Each one yielded nothing... until he held a familiar note. He tried his best to uncrumple every single piece of paper that came his way.
“This? No. Is it this?” he whispered, sifting through the remnants of discarded thoughts. Thomas whispered as he searched for another... and then, there it was. A message from Beatrice, ink smudged but unmistakable:
‘Of course, dude! I’m excited! Do you wanna go to L’s store with me later after school? Need snacks!’
“May I help you, Thomas Patterson?” asked Mr. Payne. Thomas’s heart raced as he stood near the trash can, holding the crumpled paper in his hand. Mr. Payne’s stern gaze bore into him, and the classroom seemed to hold its breath. Paul’s laughter echoed from the back of the room, and Thomas’s cheeks flushed.
“I noticed you’ve been scavenging through the trash can for over three minutes now,” Mr. Payne added, his tone dry. Thomas’s mind raced. How could he explain this without revealing the real reason? He stammered, “Oh, I-I was looking for my old answers.”
Mr. Payne raised an eyebrow. “Good. Now sit down. You have seven minutes left to answer this problem.” Thomas walked back to his desk, the uncrumpled paper from Beatrice still in his pocket. He sat on the edge of the desk, glancing at Layla. “Hey, Layla?” he whispered. Layla turned toward him, her eyes curious. “Yeah?” “Can I have a piece of paper for one last time? I left mine at home earlier.” Layla tore a sheet from her pad, handing it over.
Thomas thanked her and began answering the calculus problem. His mind raced; maybe Beatrice was sick. He’d check up on her at her house later. But for now, he focused on the numbers, the equations, and the mystery that unfolded both on paper and in his heart. “Maybe Beatrice IS sick,” he wondered. “I’ll check up on her at her house later. I hope she’s fine,” Thomas sighed and continued answering.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Rain pelted Thomas’s face as he sprinted through the quiet streets. Why did it have to rain now, of all times? Beatrice’s house loomed ahead—The Williams Mansion. Thomas’s sneakers squelched on the wet pavement as he reached the front porch, passing through the gardens. He pressed the doorbell, the sound echoing through the empty hallway. No response. He rang it again, anxiety gnawing at his insides.
Still no answer.
Desperation fueled his actions. One last attempt—he pressed the doorbell, willing someone to appear. Then, the door creaked open, revealing a silhouette. Thomas squinted through the rain, it was Butler Eric. “Butler?” Thomas gasped, his breath ragged. The butler’s worried expression mirrored his own. “Yes, how may I help you, Thomas?” His voice trembled. “I haven’t seen Beatrice all day,” Thomas blurted out. “Is she sick? Has she caught a fever?”
“Beatrice?” The butler stammered. “She wasn’t here yesterday.” Thomas’s shock intensified. “Why isn’t she here?” he demanded. The butler’s face contorted as if he is hiding something sinister. “I don’t know,” he mumbled, covering his eyes. Thomas noticed it; the dirt-caked fingernails, the soil clinging to the butler’s skin. His mind raced. Beatrice loved gardening, and the rosebush by the garage was her pride. But why would the butler be digging? “Did Beatrice’s parents visit earlier?” Thomas pressed.
“No,” the butler replied. “They’re still in the city. They’ll come to Crystal River by Saturday.” Frustration bubbled within Thomas. “You have to call them,” he insisted. “Beatrice is missing!” “I can’t,” the butler snapped, surprising Thomas with his rudeness. “Why not?” Thomas’s patience waned. “Stop asking!” The butler’s outburst shocked him.
“I’m sorry, Thomas. I am not in the right mood now.” Without another word, the door slammed shut, leaving Thomas standing on the rain-soaked porch.
No choice, Thomas ran back home in the pouring rain. Thomas’s heart ached with the absence of Beatrice. The town felt emptier, the streets quieter. No more morning rock-banging on his window, no more shared laughter during study sessions. It was just the humming sound of the rain; It was as if a vital color had drained from his world. Thomas continued running with his mind reeling. The reality of her absence hit him like a tidal wave, and his knees buckled. He dashed towards the raining street, trying to steady himself.
“This can’t be happening. Where are you?”
With every step he took, there was only one thing on his mind,
“What happened to Beatrice?”
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Thomas’s wet clothes clung to his skin as he stepped into the warmth of the house. Rainwater pooled at his feet, forming a small puddle on the tiled floor. “Thomas! Where have you been?” she exclaimed, her voice tinged with panic. His mother’s worried expression mirrored his own. She hurried over, concern etching lines on her face.
“Beatrice is missing!” he blurted out, his breath ragged. His mother’s eyes widened. “What? How?! Wait, let me grab you a towel,” she interrupted. “You stay right there.” Thomas nodded, shivering as she handed him a fluffy towel. He wrapped it around his shoulders, the warmth seeping into his chilled bones. His mind raced, replaying the events: the empty porch, the butler’s strange behavior, and Beatrice’s absence.
“When did you realize she was gone?” his mother asked, her voice gentle. “I just realized it now,” Thomas explained. “I last saw her yesterday at school. We were supposed to watch a movie together, but she never showed up. Today, she was absent, and then—” His mother’s expression softened. “It’s going to be okay, Thomas. We’ll find her.”
“Butler Eric acted weird,” Thomas blurted out. “And his fingernails, they were covered in dirt. Something’s not right.” His mother’s eyes narrowed. “We’ll call her parents immediately,” she declared, rushing toward the telephone. Thomas watched her dial the numbers, his heart pounding. Beatrice was out there somewhere, and he wouldn’t rest until he brought her home. After minutes of waiting that felt like an eternity, someone finally picked up the phone, and it was a female voice.
“Yes, may I help you?” She asked. “Hello, Mrs. Williams?” “Yes, how may I help you, Mrs. Patterson?” “How’s the city? Are you and Mr. Williams safe there?” Mrs. Patterson asked. “Oh, being here in the city has been busy for both of us these past few weeks,” Mrs. Williams shared. “I am missing the smell of the fresh air in Crystal River. The suburbs, the trees, the river, they give me the comfort of nostalgia.”
“That’s nice to hear, but can we tell you something very urgent?” “Oh, go ahead, I just arrived home from work. What’s going on?” “Your daughter Beatrice, she’s missing.” Mrs. Williams’s shock reverberated through the phone. “What? Wh-When did she go missing?” Thomas took the receiver from his mother, his mind racing. “Mrs. Williams,” he began, “I last saw Beatrice yesterday at school. She hasn’t been here since. Her group mates haven’t seen her either. I visited your house to check on her, but the butler insists she wasn’t there.”
“Wait, are you serious? I have to go back there- I have to go now! But my boss... My work leave is in three weeks, I can’t just go there—” Mrs. Williams panicked. “Thomas, did Beatrice ever leave something, like a clue, or do you recall her saying anything that might help right now?” She asked in an anxious and terrified manner.
Thomas hesitated, the memory of the crumpled paper vivid in his mind. Beatrice had tossed it aside back in school, but he’d retrieved it. The words scrawled on it now echoed in his thoughts:“L’s store, in front of the school.”It was their last connection, a fragile thread leading him to her. “I remember,” Thomas said, his voice urgent. “Beatrice mentioned L’s store. I have to go there—right now.”
His mother nodded, concern etching her features. “Be careful, Thomas,” she warned. “We’ll contact the police. We need to find her.” “Mom- I’ll be back. Mrs. Williams, make sure to tell Mr. Williams about this. We have to act fast now.” Guilt gnawed at him sharp and relentlessly. Beatrice’s disappearance weighed heavily on his shoulders. Why hadn’t he noticed sooner? Why hadn’t he done more to prevent it?
“Oh, and another thing, Mrs. Williams?” “Yes, Thomas?” replied Mrs. Williams. “Please look after Butler Eric, he looks unusual today. Beatrice also said yesterday, before we went to school, the butler hadn’t been around that morning. Please check up on him,” he’d pleaded with Mrs. Williams. The words echoed in his mind. Beatrice had mentioned the butler’s absence yesterday morning, and he’d brushed it off. Now, the guilt had consumed him.
“Will do, Thomas. Thank you so much for telling me about all this. Please expect me to arrive at your doorstep tomorrow morning.” Mrs. Williams’s promise to check on Eric offered a glimmer of hope, but it didn’t erase Thomas’s self-blame. Beatrice was his best friend, his confidante. He should have been more vigilant and more protective.
His mom's voice interrupted his thoughts. “Thomas, what's wrong?” He thrust the phone into her hands. "Mrs. Williams is coming tomorrow morning. We have to find Beatrice." His mom's eyes widened. "We will, sweetheart. But don't blame yourself." Thomas shook his head. “I should have done more. I should have—”
His mom pulled him into a tight hug. "You're a good friend, Thomas. Sometimes things happen beyond our control. But we'll find her." “I hope we will, Mom.” He tightened the hug, with Mrs. Williams overhearing the entire conversation through the telephone. As he rushed out the door, Thomas vowed to himself that Beatrice would come home safely. And he'd never forgive himself if she didn't.
Thomas dashed towards the door and into the cold rain once again. "Thomas! You should've brought an umbrella with you!" His mother's voice echoed from behind. His heart pounded, despair urging him forward. Thomas needed answers—answers that might lead him to Beatrice.
Thomas's sneakers splashed through puddles, the cold rain drenching his clothes. The suburban street blurred around him as he sprinted toward L's store. Each breath came in ragged gasps, but he pushed forward, fueled by desperation and determination. The houses stood like silent sentinels, their windows darkened by the storm. Thomas's heart pounded, echoing the rhythm of the rain. He glanced at his watch—three o'clock. Beatrice had vanished at this very hour. He couldn't afford to waste a second.
L's store loomed ahead, its neon sign flickering like a beacon. “L's store,” I muttered. "I hope you know something. I'm going to find you, Beatrice." The convenience store had seen better days, faded linoleum, flickering fluorescent lights, and a faint smell of old newspapers. Inside, rain-soaked and determined, Thomas spotted an old lady behind the counter. She wore the store uniform, her eyes wise and weathered. He approached her, breathless.
The cashier squinted at Thomas, her nametag reading “Mrs. Lipps.” She was in her late fifties, with a no-nonsense demeanor that matched her graying hair. “Hello,” he said. “May I ask something?” Her gaze met his. "Yes? What is it?" “Did a girl with blonde hair, wearing a denim jacket, come here around three o'clock yesterday?” Mrs. Lipps frowned. "Oh, dear. I don't remember. But if there's a photo of her with you, maybe I can remember."
Thomas emptied his pockets, his feet tapping nervously. His wallet showed a faded photo of him and Beatrice beneath a tree. He held it out to the cashier. “This is her,” he said. "Her name is Beatrice. Do you happen to remember her from yesterday?" Mrs. Lipps squinted, studying the image. Then, she pointed a trembling finger at Beatrice's face.
“I remember her!”
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