interstellarsoftime
He was losing hope. Fast. Then again, in his line of work, there was no real thing such as hope, but days spent with her slowly but surely revived that missing hope.
James was not a policeman, not a detective, but he knew the statistics, knew the chances of a missing person’s survival. Every day she was missing, the chance of her being found alive dropped. After a month, it was near impossible to find her alive, let alone find her at all.
His personality, his mindset, his love would not allow him to believe that. He refused to believe that Janet was gone, gone from his life the moment he turned away. The first few days, he thought nothing of her absence; she often left, to do what she needed to by herself. It was normal for her. Then days passed and there was no message, no phone call reassuring him that she was alive, just stuck in whatever work or chore she had taken up.
James, by that point, had left a few voicemails on her cell. The first ones were simple, brief, teasing. ‘You get stuck somewhere?’ ‘Visiting friends doesn’t take that long.’ ‘Did you find a case and took it yourself?’
A week and a half later, he got a call. He all but jumped up, knocked the table over, empty bottle flying, in a scramble to grab the phone. He expected her soft voice on the other end of the line, but he got another woman’s. Jan’s. Her voice was fast, frantic, rambling about how Janet hadn’t called in a few days, how she was worried for the woman, how she feared the worst.
The voicemails started turning worried.
‘Where the hell are you? It’s been more than a week.’ ‘Look, if I did something wrong, tell me. Don’t leave me hanging like this.’ ‘Janet, this is serious. Answer your damn phone.’ ‘Janet, where the fuck are you? Jan’s worried about you too.’
Weeks past, and nothing. No word, no sign, the same voicemail message over and over, repeated so many times. ‘Where are you?’
What little hope he had was gone, burnt out when the weeks started piling up and there was no sign Janet would return. James had accepted this fact, had taken to sitting in the motel room and knocking back beer, whiskey, bourbon, whatever he could get his hands on.
The hunter was resigned to just sit and wait. For what, he didn’t know. Maybe it was Janet’s return, maybe it was his death, though more so the latter. He had come to terms with Janet’s death, and was simply in mourning now, leaving a voicemail ever few days, just to hear her recorded message.
Mind a haze of alcohol, he thought he was hallucinating when he saw her, blonde hair and warm eyes. He blinked once, twice, thrice for good measure, but her image did not waver. He stood slowly, world tipping at the edges, a burning growing behind his eyes that were quickly turning red.
“Janet--?”
A meager question, rasped out in disbelief and tentative hope. It could not be her, could not be Janet. She was dead, gone, no more. James knew she was gone, she had to be. Anger would have lit up his blue hues if he wasn't so hopeful, so in disbelief and shock. Could it be--...?
