Gone

Chapter 4

The sharp November air clawed at my mittens, scratching at my cheeks and pulling my hair. The backpack I had hurriedly filled with my life savings hung limply on my back, and my toes were shivering in their broken sneakers. 

As I walked, horrible images of my parents and little siblings tied up haunted my mind. In the back of a truck, on a ferry, in a trunk, bleeding and helpless ...

The cold tears froze on my cheeks. I wiped them away impatiently, trying to swallow amid a swollen throat. Suddenly, I remembered what my last conversation with my family had been before today.

"Shut the hell up, Kasey! I don't need your whining right now!"

My little sister smirked, her green eyes glinting evilly from underneath dark brown bangs.

"If you don't play with me, I'll tell Mom about how you got drunk at Dan Miller's party and puked in their pool."

"Why, you little-"

Kasey grinned again, running out of the room. 

"KAT RUTHERFORD! COME HERE THIS INSTANT!"

"Crap," I muttered to myself, anger boiling up inside me. When I got downstairs, Mom and Dad sat at the kitchen table, their faces masks of disapproval. Kasey sat beside them, smiling angelically. I bit back the urge to give her the finger.

"You've been drinking," Dad said angrily. "I knew something was up that day. You're only seventeen, Katherine! I thought we taught you better than that!"

I gritted my teeth.

"I told you, I wasn't drunk, I was just-"

"You're grounded," Mom said acidly. "No going out with friends, no dances, no nothing. You'll come back from your shift at K Mart at exactly ten. No ifs, ands, or buts. I am not pleased."

"To hell with you all!" I screamed, clenching my fists and sprinting up the stairs. "I hate you!"

My breath caught in my throat again. It had gotten hard to breathe. The cold air stung my throat. It felt as if I had attempted to swallow a knife.

There's nothing you can do about it now, I told myself fiercely. The only thing you can do now is bring them back. 

Sniffling, I tugged my mittens tighter around my numb hands. The Rough Diamond was right up ahead- a small, dingy cafe that sold bitter coffee and crumbly biscuits. I had gone there once with friends to watch a band performance, and it didn't look much better now than it did then. The neon sign was burned out, so the words shone dully against the dirty brick wall. Despite this, the cafe looked busy; the sound of hustle and bustle poured out of the small doors, people pouring in and out.

I took a deep breath and stepped in, regretting it immediately. The room was small and badly lit with cheap hanging lights. The ladies behind the counter were sweating and irritable, yelling both at each other and the customers. The Formica-topped tables were greasy and sprinkled with straw wrappers. 

I retreated to the corner of the room at a one person table, sandwiched between a crying baby with her tired mother and a couple passionately making out, knocking over their respective coffee mugs as they did so. 

As I looked around the crowded cafe, I realized something. How could the person who called me know who I was? What if the phone call had nothing to do with my family disappearing? What if I was just following a blind path?

A harried waitress swooped down upon me like a bat, interrupting my thoughts. Her curly blonde hair was matted under a net, pale blue eyes rung with streaking eyeliner. 

"What'll you be taking?" she asked boredly, chomping on her gum. She cast an annoyed look at the couple beside us, but made no move to reprimand them. 

The concept of coffee at a time like this was hilarious.

"Uh, a medium black, please," I said, trying to look enthusiastic. "With cream and sugar." 

"The cream and sugar is at the front," said the waitress snidely, a kind way of saying get it yourself. 

She scribbled something on the notebook and swished away, muttering get a room to the couple as she left. 

I burrowed my face in my arms as she returned with a flimsy paper cup, full to the brim with a dark, tarry looking liquid. I took a sip. It was bitter.