Harsh Reality

Heart pounding.

Fear.

Agony.

Running.

No escape.

Begging for mercy.

Pleading for life.

Darkness.

Moon curtained by stars finally fading into oblivion as the heart beats its last.

Abandoned.

The small body on the edge of the farmland, covered only by the darkness of night.

Chapter 1.

The crisp autumn morning dawned with the usual flurry of waiting birds for the feeder to be filled with seed. The dogs waiting impatiently for their breakfast. The normal mad dash to get to work before the onslaught of rush hour traffic. No feelings of impending doom. Just a lingering memory in the recess of my mind of a voice calling that had woken me in the early hours of the morning.

Walking to the office kitchen for the morning cup of coffee lost in thought about what I would be doing over the weekend. Abstractly greeting colleagues as everyone made their way to their desks to get the day over and done with. Friday, the day of the week that everyone prepares for two days of freedom.

The weather spoke well for the weekend. Knowing we had a family wedding the next day, thoughts filled my head of another young couple setting out on the journey of life. Shaking this thought I settled down to get the days mundane job behind me so that Monday I could start a new batch of requests, instead of facing an unfinished section of work, which was boring to the extreme.

Chatting to my colleague I answered the ringing phone and felt the icy hand of fear grip my heart. On hearing my nephew’s voice I wondered why he would be phoning me so early in the morning. He asked me if my car had been stolen. I thought his warped sense of humor had come into play. Laughing at him, I told him my car was still parked in the yard at home. In a very somber voice he said “Not the Corolla the Corsa”. Realizing he was serious, the fear and feeling of unreality grew stronger and stronger. The Corsa was registered in my name but in fact belonged to my daughter.

Not long after receiving his call, I received a call from the police stating my car had been found abandoned on the highway. My immediate question was “Is there any sign of the driver.” The answer was an emphatic “No”. I asked if the keys were still in the car and did it look like there had been any sign of violence. Again the answer was “No”. I was a little startled at this reply as the back window had been smashed the day before and the shattered glass had not as yet been cleaned up and yet these people were telling me there was no sign of violence. How did they know when the window had been smashed, or is it “normal’ to find abandoned cars with smashed windows?

I then asked if they could tell me how the driver’s seat was positioned. My daughter was not very tall and all I was trying to establish was whether the last person to have driven the car was my daughter.

They could not answer me. I suppose so many cars get found it is not normal to check the position of the driver’s seat, but because I was so personally involved it was very important to me.

Replacing the receiver, my private phone rang and Tracey’s friend was on the line asking if Tracey had slept at home the previous night. By now the sense of panic had taken over and my mind was functioning on a level I had never been exposed to before. Intense feelings of anger that this girl had not phoned earlier screamed through my head. I knew with a certainty that could not be shaken that my life had been changed forever.

My next step was to phone the local police station to report my daughter missing. Then the worst phone calls of all. Phoning all the hospitals and mortuaries in the area to try and see if we could find any news of an unidentified patient or body. My friend and colleague had taken half the numbers and I had taken the other half. These calls gave me a little hope, as the only victim was a young man.

I couldn’t help wondering to myself why my nephew had been phoned. How had the police got hold of his number and his relationship to me? We did not have the same surnames, nor was the car in any way connected to him. For the sake of having something to do, I phoned him and asked the question. Simple answer. One of his business cards had been found on the floor of the car, and he had been phoned by the police to ask him if he perhaps knew who the owner of the car was.

Waiting for the police to get to the offices was pure torture. All I wanted to do was get out on the road and search for my daughter.

Finally the officers arrived and gave me the documents to fill out for a missing person. With my mind a blank my colleague and friend helped me fill in the relevant forms and description of my daughter. The first strange feeling was when I asked if they required a photo of my child I was told that it would not be necessary.

How did they hope to identify her, if they did not have a photo? Irrespective of how good a description is surely a photograph is better? When I confronted them with my thoughts they changed their minds and told me to bring a photograph to the police station, later that afternoon.

The day blended into hours of numbed actions that seemed to lead nowhere. I had left work and after many confusing stories about the locality of her car, I finally traced the car to the police pound. I tried for hours to get hold of someone at the pound to find out if I could collect the car. Eventually mid afternoon the phone was answered and I was told that they had closed for the weekend, but I could fetch the car on the Monday. I had been told that the keys were in the ignition, but the car was empty of petrol. Knowing there was nothing I could do regarding the car I headed to the place Tracey had been staying

I had no idea what to expect. Her friends were waiting for me and I was soon giving them the third degree about the previous night’s activities. I could not understand how she had left the premises and not one of them heard her leave. I did not believe any one of them. Insisting that the male flat mate call his drug dealer as I knew he was a user and Tracey had had a history of recreational drug use. Although she had been in rehab and had been clean for a year, I was not going to ignore the fact that she may have relapsed.

He tried to deny his drug usage until I drummed into his head that Tracey’s life was at stake and I did not have time to listen to his denials and lies.

He said he had no air time so I gave him my phone to make the call. He dialed a number and I heard him speaking to someone, but very softy so that I could not hear what was being said. When he finished the call he said that no one had seen her for weeks.

He handed my phone back and I immediately checked – No phone call had been made. I did not tell him that I had checked, but made a mental note to inform the police of the possibility that this youngster knew where my daughter was.

With eyes that refused to meet mine her three so called friends and flat mates volunteered very little information of the previous night’s happenings.

I did manage to establish that the one flat mate had borrowed her car and he had returned the vehicle to her with no petrol in the tank. I found this rather strange as Tracey did not like other people driving her car, but knowing Tracey had always been a soft touch when it came to helping people out I gave him the benefit of the doubt. Knowing that Tracey had only been staying with them as they had no transport to get to work and back she may have decided to lend him the car to save the double trip of taking and fetching him from work.

Tracey had not been comfortable with the situation she was in and had spoken to me on the Tuesday about moving back home but she first wanted to discuss bringing her friend to stay at the house with her. She had already told the other youngsters that she would be moving home over the weekend and they would have to make their own transport arrangements for the future.