My Wife Is Missing(17)
Michael finished his drink in a gulp before retrieving Teddy. The thought of Bryce separated from his beloved bear shot a pain into his heart. His vision turned watery. Michael wasn’t a crier, but now it felt as though a bottomless reservoir floated right behind his eyes. He tamped down the sadness to focus on his web query.
Google would help. It always had some answer.
In the search field Michael typed: Runaway Adult.
The first link to appear was something of a “how to” guide, essentially an online instruction manual for ways and means to disappear. He wondered if Natalie had done the same search and come up with the same website. The lead paragraph opened with a reference to a Hindu practice that promoted running away as an act of spiritual illumination. According to the dogma, after twenty or thirty years of managing societal obligations, the time would be right to withdraw and seek the true meaning of life. The rest of the site was ludicrous, with tips on living as a vagabond, or backpacking around the country, even how to get a job aboard a yacht.
Is that what had happened here? Had Natalie embarked on some sort of pilgrimage? Had her sleep deprivation made her delusional?
Michael reasoned he should do as Kennett had suggested and call the police back home in Lexington to file a missing persons report. Too bad he didn’t have access to Natalie’s social media accounts. He did have Instagram, but never posted. Even so, the account gave him a view into Natalie’s feed. Her last post was the same family picture Michael intended to send to the Lexington police. She captioned it:
Arrived safe and sound! Can’t wait to explore the city. #familylife #familyluv #blessed #grateful #NewYorkCity
It sickened Michael to think she’d made that post knowing what she was going to do. There were about twenty likes and some comments, including one from Tina urging her to have a blast and get some sleep in a city that never does. At the end of her comment, Tina added a wink emoji.
He scanned the names of people who had liked and commented on that post as well as others she’d made over the years—pictures of their life together, trips to the beach, the mountains, the pond, the park. It wasn’t long before he forgot all about his mission to identify someone with whom Natalie might have sought shelter and instead found himself lost in a sea of memories, snapshots of family life that left him feeling gutted and despondent.
He jotted down the names of a few people he thought lived out of state. Michael was about to go for his second two-finger pour when his phone rang. His heart leapt to his throat. The caller, from the 212 area code, wasn’t someone in his contacts. He pressed to answer, feeling a dip in his stomach.
“Natalie?” he said, his quiet voice full of hope.
“Michael,” a male voice answered with authority. “It’s Detective Sergeant Amos Kennett. I have a question for you. Got a second?”
“Of course,” Michael said. What other answer could he give? He had all the time in the world now.
“So we ran that plate. Wondering if you know a person named William Gillespie?”
Michael didn’t have to think long to answer.
“No. Never heard that name.”
“Natalie hasn’t mentioned a William to you?”
“No. Not a William. Not a Gillespie. Why?”
“That’s the name of the guy who picked her up. Drives for Uber.”
Michael tried to tamp down his excitement. It wasn’t much, a thin thread at best connecting him to his family, but even so, it was still a lead. It was something.
“Did you call him? Go there? Talk to him?”
“We called,” Kennett said.
“And what did he say?”
“He drove them to Penn Station. Short ride. Cheap fare. Good tipper.”
Michael puzzled that one out.
Amtrak. The vastness of the rail system meant that she could have gone anywhere. Still, there was cause for hope. There’d be security camera footage to look at. Plus Amtrak would have ticket information, and, assuming Natalie used her real name, the police could probably pinpoint a destination. It wasn’t a home run, but it was a start.
“Did he say anything about Natalie? If she seemed okay, or in distress?”
“He said she was another fare and business hasn’t been great, his words. He wished she was going to LaGuardia.”
“Can you do something? Contact Amtrak? See if you can get a destination from her ticket?”
“If she used her real name, I think so, Mike. That’s assuming she didn’t somehow acquire a fake ID. Then we’ll really be at a loss. Any idea where she might want to go by train?” Kennett asked.
“No,” he said. “I’m thinking about friends she might have gone to stay with.”
“Okay. Well, listen. I doubled-checked the laws. You may have a case of parental interference here. Did you file a missing persons report with your local police?”
“No. I’m going to do that soon,” Michael said in a quiet voice just shy of despair.
“Okay, Mike. Let me know if you need help there. I’ll be in touch if we learn anything. What are your plans?”
Michael looked around the room, the emptiness caving in on him. He rushed to his suitcase. Grabbed the clothes he’d taken off earlier and tossed them inside. He did up the zipper.
“I’m going home,” he said. “Right now. I’m leaving here.”