THREE ATTEMPTS: A PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLER, page 2
I hear the click of the overhead speaker turn on. My stomach begins to churn. “Hello, Natalie. You were unsuccessful at your escape.” There is a lag before their next statement. “I failed to mention, there are some ground rules. You only get three attempts to escape.”
What?
“You have three attempts to escape before you die. If it comes to that, I’ll let you pick your fate.” The voice cuts off, still ricocheting in my mind. Great, there is one escape down the drain. I’m going to have to be very strategic in my next attempts. I want to get home to my boyfriend. I’m sure Ryan is worried sick over me. We live in the apartments next to each other, so we are basically attached at the hip. We were even talking about getting engaged at the end of the semester. I start to cry again. I have to stay strong, stay strong for him, for me.
I take a moment to gather myself and I remember. I remember prior to trying to make a run for it, the thud next door and the shadow. I avoided staring into the open door because I didn’t want to be distracted. But now, I’m trapped again, and I have nothing to lose.
Inching toward the hole, shifting my body so I can see with one eye, I peer through the tiled opening. There is a woman lying on the floor. She’s bloodied and bruised, her once platinum blonde hair nothing but stubble; They shaved her head too. She groans, trying to move herself off the cold, wet floor.
She lifts a few inches and then turns her face toward me, colliding back down on the floor. Her eyes are still closed but I recognize her.
I gasp. There is something weird about this, about this girl. I know her, well know of her. I’ve seen her long blonde hair and emerald-colored eyes before. I follow her on Instagram; I’ve seen her outfits, her aesthetic, her meals.
That’s Jocelyn Summers.
ATTEMPTS REMAINING:
NATALIE: 2
JOCELYN: 3
Chapter Three
Detective Hughes (2023)
The phones are ringing off the hooks. We are a smaller police department but in the last two hours, we have had more bullshit calls than ever. In all my years I’ve never heard more reckless driver complaints. I try to keep my phone open for important calls, like murders and missing people.
I’m at my desk, waiting for lunch. I’m clicking through old documents on my desktop, looking through old cases to see if any clue jumps out to me. Someone hollers out, “Hughes! They need you in the breakroom.” I roll my eyes. These men are nauseating to work with. I avoid the breakroom and usually eat at my desk since they don’t know how to clean up after themselves. I scoot myself away from my desk and slide my phone in my back pocket.
I follow a long hallway, nodding and giving greetings to those I pass. When I reach the break room door, it’s closed. I turn the small knob and enter the black room. I reach to the wall and flip the light switch on. The room erupts with cheering and laughter, “HAPPY WORK ANNIVERSARY!” Everyone yells.
I’ve been at this office for 25 years. It was the first detective job I took, and I’ve stayed ever since. I smile, 25 years is a huge accomplishment; I should be proud. On the clothed table, there are snacks, a cake, dips, and drinks. I don’t know how they pulled this off without me knowing.
I fold my hands together, “Thank you everyone. I’m pleased to have been here this long. You boys don’t make it easy, but I don’t want to be anywhere else. I’m ready for 25 more! Now, let’s dig in so we can get back to work.”
The crowd breaks apart, grabbing plates and beverages. I’m the first female detective in the state to have worked this long.
I cut the cake, grabbed a piece, and filled a plate and thanked those who joined, getting pats on the back and praise. After weaving through the hallway, I finally place my plate next to the computer and sit, noticing a small yellow Sticky Note. I pick it up, looking closer at the print:
Might have a new case. Call me. -RS
I grab the office phone and dial 1-1-7 and listen to the ringing tone. A moment later I hear, “This is Sanchez.”
“Hey, it’s Hughes. What’s up?” I question, shoving a chip with spinach dip into my mouth.
“Well first, congratulations on 25 years, that’s a long time, old woman,” he says jokingly. He’s the youngest one here at 26. I’m old enough to be his mother, or maybe even his grandmother. He studies under me, getting all the information for cases and sends it on to me. He continues, “We got a call from some students from OCU. There was a student who didn’t show up the last two days of class. One of those students reached out to her mom and she hadn’t heard from her either. I called the mom myself and she confirmed.”
I finish the bite in my mouth and say, “Okay, yeah. Send over her information and I’ll start a case. And thank you, I’m happy to be here.”
He laughs, “I’m sure you are. I’ll send it over in a second. I’m sure you’ll have her found in no time.” The phone call ends and in a second, an alert on my computer tells me he’s on it. I take a minute before opening and finish my lunch, devouring the rest of the dip, meatballs, and vegetables. I take a big swig of punch and click into my emails.
I select the unread message and it expands on the screen:
From: Sanchez, Reed
Subject: Missing Woman
3 calls from students, confirmed with mother, woman had not arrived at school for two days of classes. I’ve attached the audio calls if you need their contact information.
Natalie Johnston- Female, 24 years old.
DOB- 12-13-1998. Student at OCU, there for a singing scholarship. Possibly missing early morning of Tuesday, 5-30-2023. Dog found alone on a leash wandering around campus. Heard she ran for fun on the local trail. Lives on campus. Last seen exiting her apartment building at 4:58:13 A.M. on 5-30-2023, confirmed with cameras.
Attached picture.
Let me know if you start investigating. I’d love to help.
-RS
I pull up her photo and save it to my desktop. Opening our database, I search Natalie Johnston in the search bar. She has a perfectly clean record, no traffic stops, no crazy nights out in town. I mark her as missing and input the information provided in the email, along with the phone numbers and names of those that called. I write their names and numbers down on my notepad then pull up the police department’s Facebook page. I type out a missing person post, asking anyone with information to call the department.
It’s sad, she’s a young, pretty girl. I have found several dozen missing people but every time another comes along, I get nervous it will be the one that’s never found. I have a bad feeling about this one. I can’t place my finger on it.
I pull my cell phone out of my pocket and send a text to my husband, letting him know that I’ll be at the office longer than normal. He sends back a thumbs up and says that he will have dinner ready for when I get there. I smile and replace my cell with the office phone. I hesitate for a moment on dialing the number. There is an unsettling feeling in my stomach, I don’t know if it’s from the food or this case. I take a sip from my punch and dial the first number on my list. Time to find Natalie.
“Hi, is this Mrs. Johnston? This is Detective Rhonda Hughes of the Carleson County Police Department. We have some questions regarding your daughter, Natalie, and her possible whereabouts. Is now a good time to drop by?”
Chapter Four
Detective Hughes (2023)
I spent around 4 hours at the Johnston residence asking her and her husband questions. Mrs. Johnston confirms that she hadn’t heard or seen her daughter since before the 30th. The first 48 hours are the most critical in a case like this. Unfortunately, it’s very difficult to talk to all the friends and family in that short period. If someone isn’t found in the first 48, the likelihood of finding them starts dwindling down.
The Facebook post has acquired a lot of attention, people in all states are sharing it. We’ve hung up posters all over this area and sent them to other police departments to share. Sadly, there haven’t been any leads yet.
The afternoon the case opened we went to the park where she was supposedly kidnapped. There was no evidence there that suggested a struggle or foul play. Someone found her dog a block away, still on the leash. Everyone that knows her said that they went on morning walks every day. We think that when she was abducted, the dog wandered off.
Honestly, we’ve found no evidence at all. The cameras of her apartment building showed that she was wearing running shorts and a matching blue top, we’ve found none of that discarded anywhere. There is a concrete sidewalk, so footprints weren’t as easy to pull up, not to mention it’s a high traffic area. Her phone was found on a random sidewalk, with only her fingerprints on it. It was dead, but once charged, we scoured through her socials, her texts, phone calls, everything. No one had been harassing her, and other than her boyfriend, friends, and parents, there were limited encounters with other people. We searched her apartment for DNA, gathering hair strands from her hairbrush, fingerprints, and a blood sample from the trashcan in the bathroom. Hopefully we find other evidence that we can compare to her DNA.
I’m downing my third cup of black coffee of the day. My husband is growing annoyed that I’m letting work interfere with my home life again, but I can’t not try to find this girl. She’s young, and as a parent, I would want people doing everything that can to get my child back. Natalie is about the same age that my daughter would have been if she were still here today.
She disappeared when she was 15. She was a loving child, always willing to spend time with her parents. She was so pleasant and did great in school. She started acting a little differently, I just assumed she finally got a boyfriend. Then one day, she came home from school and was distraught, sobbing uncontrollably. I kept asking her what was wrong and all she would tell me is that she wanted to transfer schools and she wasn’t happy there anymore. It went on for weeks, so I didn’t ask questions; I just got her transferred. Now, I wish I would have. To this day, I’ve never figured out why she was so torn up those weeks.
She got transferred to another school about 15 minutes away from our house in the other direction. About a month later, she would have been walking home from school and she never made it home. She left her cellphone at home that morning, so we were unable to track her. Our team, excluding me because they wouldn’t allow me to be a part, did everything they could to find her, but it was a cold case. We don’t know if it was a boyfriend, other girls at school, or just a random kidnapper lurking around. Several years later, a piece of fabric from her backpack was found in a forest near the school. We don’t know if she was lured there or went willingly.
I miss her every day. I think that’s why I take missing persons so seriously. A part of me thinks that if I save everyone else, it fills the hole that Jaime left. But I, better than anyone, know the hurt that the parents are feeling.
I’m interrupted from my thoughts when Sanchez rounds the corner. “Any leads?”
I sigh, sitting down the stack of paper in my hands. Shrugging I say, “No, not yet. Everything on her phone checked out. We couldn’t pull any footprints from the park. She was literally abducted in plain sight, and no one saw anything. All the security cameras on the surrounding buildings weren’t aimed in that direction.”
He slides into the chair across from my desk and props his feet up onto it. “I know these are hard for you. Please let me help you. We can find out who’s doing this, together.”
“I want you to go question the boyfriend again, just to be sure. He seemed okay when I talked to him, and he had an alibi. But you are around his age so maybe you can dig something out of him that I couldn’t.”
He nods, accepting the job. “Sure. Do you have his info handy?”
I slide him over the boyfriend's file, and he opens it, skimming the pages. “I know of this guy. I think he plays golf with us on Saturdays. I’ll go talk to him and see if I can get anything out of him. I’m on it, boss.” He stands, smacks my desk, and retreats to his.
After a few hours of looking into footage and calling her last known where-abouts, I get a call from Sanchez, explaining that he talked to Ryan, the boyfriend.
“He has a solid alibi, I mean, I really do think he’s innocent. No one, including the cameras, saw him leaving the apartment that morning. His roommates attest that he was there with them. I think we are going to have to look further outside the box,” he says.
I shrug and sigh, “Yeah, keep looking. I’ll keep looking too. I’m going to question some of these choir kids. I’ll let you know if I come up with anything.”
Chapter Five
Jocelyn (2023)
I linger around town for hours, avoiding going back home. I got to the mall around 10 this morning and I’ve been here since. I’m getting bored so I decide to walk outside, skimming the sidewalk for something worthy of attention. There is a blooming dogwood tree to my left. After a few more paces, I’m able to zoom in and get a beautiful shot of its clusters of pink petals. I put my phone away and realize I’m a block or two from my friend Taylor’s house. I decide to walk there, hoping that she will let me crash on her couch tonight and avoid going home. I shoot her a text and say I’m across the street and I’m dropping by.
My mom and I have really been having problems lately. She’s been hateful since I decided to drop out of school; I was failing anyways. She thinks that being an influencer is a joke. Little does she know; my socials are still soaring, and I have had brands reach out to offer me PR. I’m nowhere close to where I want to be, but I’ll get there, with or without her blessing.
Cars are whizzing by with windows down, music blaring, bass rattling side mirrors. Kids are on bikes and skateboards, weaving carelessly. It’s a nice summer day, so it seems like everyone is taking advantage. My eyes squint and my skin feels warm from the sun.
Taylor’s beige house comes into view. It’s a one-story place on the corner. I look both ways, about to cross the street when a van door opens next to me. I turn to look inside and there is a person is in solid black and holding a single finger to their mouth, silencing me. I’m stunned. I start to back away, but they are too fast. I’m grabbed and pulled inside. Tape is immediately covering my mouth, deafening my cries.
I look through my tearful eyes and see wide dark eyes peering at me, the person’s distorted voice says, “Hi, Jocelyn.”
****
I feel my body drop onto a cold hard floor. I try to stand but I can’t. I just look around and then finally close my eyes. This last 24 hours or so has been a blur, literally. I can only hardly see out of one eye. I looked around from the chair I was in. It looked like an operating room, appeared clean but smelled like decaying flesh.
My face stings with tears, my eyes burn, my body feels crumpled like a piece of paper. I know they shaved my head too. I had to sit in front of a mirror while my lengthy blonde hair fell into my lap. Then, they strapped me into a chair and poured sulfuric acid into my eyes repetitively. I just assumed that was what it was because it smelled like rotten eggs. I remember so vividly staring into the mirror, fighting the burning sensation while my eyesight depleted. The person was wearing solid black, just like the one who kidnapped me. Is this the same person? Or is it multiple people in one sick game? I’m still in my white t-shirt and jeans, although the top is browner now with red stains, and the jeans are even more worn and ripped.
This is a sick place. I feel my stomach churn with disgust. I never heard the door shut behind me, is it open? Did they do this on purpose? I need to regroup and plan a way out of this. Despite me wanting to live on my own, this isn’t how I wanted to do it. I wonder if my mom even notices that I’m missing yet. She’s probably too occupied with Paislee, my little sister, to even care.
I open my eyes again, having only a small amount of vision through my left eye. I round up enough energy to pull myself to my knees. God, I’m so sore. I feel like I was beaten with a bat. Actually, it was a bat, a wooden one. While in the chair, I was beaten until I passed out. I remember blow after blow to my head, ribs, and neck. I’m lucky I’m able to finally get the strength to stand and try to look around.
It’s a cold, metal, dull room. No windows, no chair, no anything. Nothing I can make out with my one good eye anyways. I hear a click and static overhead. I look around to identify the noise. “Hello, Jocelyn. Welcome.” The same distorted voice. I swallow hard. “We will be getting started soon.” There is another click, and it goes silent.
I am petrified. I look around. I guess someone had come back and shut the door while I was unconscious because it’s closed now. I make my way to a hole in the wall, and I see a figure seated just feet away on the other side. She’s facing the door in a fetal position, slowly rocking herself. I don’t say anything, just stare. She also looks like she’s got a shaved head. I can’t make out much of her features, but I can tell there is dried blood caked around her mouth. I wonder if she’s a victim too.
I walk closer and take a seat on the floor, just as close as she is to the hole in the wall. As I squat, my knee pops and she startles, turning quickly. I raise my hands and plead, “I won’t hurt you; they brought me here too.”
She stalls for a moment, not saying anything at all. Maybe we can help each other, plan a way to escape. “Maybe we can try to break out of here,” I say, trying to keep my voice low and calm. I can see that she’s becoming distressed. “Are you hurt?” I ask in a whisper. Why won’t she talk to me?
I hear a sob, but it doesn’t sound how most sound when they cry. I rub at my eyes so I can get a clearer picture of her. It is still fuzzy, but I can make out that she has large wet tears streaming down her face and her mouth is agape. She is pointing to her mouth. I lean closer to the hole, trying to see what she is trying to show me, and I see nothing. Where I should see a tongue, I see nothing.
