Missing Like You

FIVE

After that, I began bringing little things for her as well. A muffin that my mother baked. A chocolate bar. A candy from the vending machine. Anything I could bring her, I would.

One day the teacher told us to pair up for an upcoming project, so of course, Isabelle was my partner. This was the best way to see each other outside of class and move our friendship from the classroom to the real world.

She came over to my house one afternoon. We sat in my bedroom, cross-legged on the floor, textbooks scattered around us.

At one point, she looked up from her book and glanced around, observing my bedroom. "How come you're allowed to have your door closed?" she asked me.
"What do you mean?"
"If I were to have a boy over, in my room, my parents would make me keep the door open."
I smirked at her. "That must mean your parents don't trust you."
"On the contrary," she said. "It means they don't trust whoever's with me."
"Well I'm a very trustworthy guy," I said. "Hence why I'm allowed to have my door closed."
"Is that so?"
I nodded. "Do you trust me?"
"I don't know," she said. "Can I?"
"Of course."
"Good." Then after a moment, she said, "Trust is good to have. Trust is important."
"I couldn't agree more."

I've been sitting in my office, staring at my blank computer screen for the past hour. I've called her cellphone twelve times – they all go straight to voicemail. I've been avoiding all contact with the outside world like the plague. I don't want to talk about it. I don't want it to be real. I keep waiting for my phone to ring, hoping it's someone telling me that this is all one big misunderstanding and she's fine. But that doesn't happen.

Eventually, I leave the intimacy of my office and make my way to the break room to get coffee. As it brews, I poke my head out and scan the office. I see Jake in the corner talking with someone. I stare at him hard, hoping my eyes are burning holes in his back. Finally, he turns around and sees me. I signal him over.

He walks directly into the room, closing the door behind him. He stares at me as though he's been waiting for this all morning. So... his eyes say.
"Isabelle's missing."
It takes a moment for him to register it. "What?"
"The police came by to see if I've heard from her, which I haven't. They said she didn't show up to work today. No one can reach her. I don't know where the fuck she is."
"Holy shit." He leans against the counter. "Where could she have gone?"
"I have no idea. I think something's happened to her. I don't know what, but it can't be good. She's never done something like this before."

Jake and I met when I first started here at Brookside Corp, where we specialize in programming and computer security. I'd say I'm smarter than him, but I'm not. In all honesty, he's a complete asshole, but he's smart as hell. He's my biggest competitor, but he's also my best friend. Although neither one of us will admit it, we both envy one another. Or so I believe. He's also the only person here who knows Isabelle as well as I do.

"When did you see her last?" Jake asks.
I turn and face the coffee machine. It's done. I reach into the cupboard and grab a mug. I hesitate, then grab one for Jake as well. "A few weeks ago."
"Under what circumstances?"
I walk over to the fridge, take out the cream. I'm stalling and he knows it. "Her car had a flat," I say, pouring the cream into our mugs. "I helped her out."
"Is that it?"
He's on to me. "No," I say, handing him the coffee. He takes it from me. "We may or may not have slept together."
"Jesus, Scott," he takes a sip from his mug. "What did I tell you?"
Jake doesn't approve of my little rendezvous' with Isabelle. Told me it's better to have a clean breakup, cut all contact. But this isn't just some random breakup – it's Isabelle. I will dedicate the rest of my life trying to get her back.
"How'd that go?" he asks when I don't respond.
"Fine."
He gives me a look. "And you haven't spoken since?"
"No, that was the last time. But I didn't think it would be The Last Time last time."
"What do you think happened? Somebody took her?"
"I don't know what to think," I take a breath and try to keep calm. "This isn't some episode of Criminal Minds. Who would take her? And why? This shit doesn't happen here. It doesn't happen to us."
"People do fucked up things. Isabelle's an attractive, young female. She's tiny. Easily taken advantage of. Someone could have scooped her up and threw her in the back of a van."
"Don't say that shit." I snap at him. "I don't want to think about that."
"They say the first forty-eight hours are the most crucial," Jake tells me. "They'll find her soon, don't worry. Wherever she is, she's alive."

_____

Isabelle hated watching TV. She said it was a waste of time. I never quite understood that. If you have nothing to do and want to simply sit back and unwind in the evenings, what is so wrong with watching TV?

Isabelle especially hated crime shows. She said they were sick and morbid. "Why would they willingly broadcast that on television?" she said to me once when I was watching CSI. She didn't want to see dead bodies on screen and murderers being hauled off to jail.
"It's just fiction," I told her.
"And what do you think fiction is based on?" she said to me. "Real life. Real people. These shows wouldn't exist if this shit wasn't happening in the world. So yeah, it may be dramatized, but it still happens. People get murdered all the time. So I apologize if I don't want to watch that as entertainment."

She had a point I guess.

Isabelle and I had spent so much time together since we were young that we almost merged into one person. I knew the thoughts going through her brain before she even thought them. I'd open my mouth to speak and she'd already have a response. She always used to say that we were cosmically synced. That meant that our brains, thoughts, hearts, and spirits were synced together. I tended to agree with her.

Nothing Isabelle said would surprise me. I was so used to her and her vocabulary that nothing caught me off guard. She was sort of predictable in that sense, which became somewhat boring over time. I wonder if she ever thought the same thing about me.

I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with Isabelle, and never once did I have regrets in marrying her so young. But sometimes I wondered what life would have been like if I hadn't met her. Would I still be the same person? Would I be different?

I wanted to die with Isabelle. I envisioned us growing old together, being pushed around in wheelchairs by our grandkids. We'd live well into our nineties (because we eat healthy and maintain physical exercise on the daily), then we'd die together in our sleep, holding hands as our souls left our bodies.

But that all changed six months ago, when my wife – this woman I'd known for half my life – came into the kitchen on that fateful morning and told me this wasn't going to work anymore. Not that it came as a huge surprise to me. I guess there was a part of me that saw this coming, but I was in denial. When she actually said the words aloud, it became real. And just like that, my world and everything I once knew came crashing down around me.