Lost Boy

“Is there something on my face?” he asks, wiping his hand across his mouth, and I realize I’ve been staring at him without speaking.

“Do I know you?” I find myself whispering, my soul reaching out across the table. Is this normal?

“It feels that way, doesn’t it?” He smiles, his eyes devouring my face. I shrug out of the daze and frown. He shifts in his seat and fidgets with a napkin, tearing pieces off and littering the table in front of him. The silence hangs heavy.

“Lizzy,” Charlotte calls my name, saving us both from the awkward silence.

“I have to get back to work.” I reluctantly stand and turn my back to him, sneaking a look over my shoulder when I’m near Charlotte. He’s still watching me. Charlotte’s standing, arms folded, back straight, her eyes focused.

“What’s up?” I ask, already dreading the answer.

“Look.” Her eyes flick to the TV. All eyes are drawn to the news. I stand awkwardly, wringing my hands together as we all stare up at the screen. A blonde woman sits next to an older man, a picture of Abigail in the corner of the screen.

“The gruesome discovery of twenty-two-year-old student Abigail Cane’s body was found around nine a.m. Monday morning by a passerby. The local authorities are withholding the details of her death, but we can confirm a murder investigation has been launched.”

“Why aren’t they telling us more?” She waves her hands at the screen. Movement shifts behind us. “We like to keep some cards to ourselves early in an investigation,” Detective Barnett announces. I didn’t see him come in. His imposing stance looms.

“Well, I think the public deserves to know if we’re at risk,” Charlotte scorns, folding her arms once more and giving him her best intimidating eyes. His lips hook, slightly amused by her boldness.

“Understandable, but when we have more information to share, it will be shared. As of right now, we have extra police patrols canvasing and we are doing everything possible to keep the public safe. It’s our top priority.”

My eyes seek out green, but there’s just the empty booth and the discarded paper, he’s gone.

Where did you go? My mood deflates. The disappointment is irrational, but it’s there all the same. “Well, what do we do if we’re worried about someone?” Charlotte asks. I round the counter to serve a customer while still listening to their conversation.

“Are you worried about someone?” Flicking my gaze to hers, I shake my head no. She ignores me.

“My neighbor. We haven’t seen her in a couple of days,” she tells him.

Humor flees his features as deep lines cut into his eyes. “Is it unusual not to see her every day?” I finish with the customer and give Charlotte my full attention.

“Kinda.” She shrugs, looking at me for confirmation.

His gaze follows hers. “Have you tried knocking?”

Charlotte looks like she’s regretting ever starting this conversation. Rolling her eyes, she says, “No. She doesn’t live in our building.”

Furrowing his brow, he places a hand on his hip, flashing his badge. “She lives in the building opposite ours,” I clarify.

“So, how do you see her every day?”

“Through her window,” Charlotte snaps like it’s obvious.

“It’s not as creepy as it sounds,” I add, flames growing up my neck.

The humor is back, curling his lips. “Well, it’s nice you’re looking out for your neighbors. If you get any serious concern, you can contact the station. They will send an officer over to do a welfare check.”

“Can I get you anything?” I ask, fidgeting. He must have come in for a reason.

“I’ll take coffee.”

“To go?” I blurt out. I don’t know why, but he makes me nervous, I don’t want him to stay.

“Sure.” He broadens his smile, looking between Charlotte and me.

There’s an oddness hanging in the air between us as I go about making his coffee. Sliding it across the counter toward him, I wave off his money, and say, “On us. Thanks for keeping us safe.” He offers a nod in recognition, and I exhale when the door closes behind him.

“Where did Mr. Sexy Face dash off to?” Charlotte croons, darting her eyes to the back of the shop. Walking back there to collect his cup, my insides jolt to see the coffee still sitting in the cup, the paper discarded, the front page circled with a red ring around Abigail’s face.

My hand slaps against my chest, my eyes scanning the shop and through the window but he’s nowhere.“Hey, you want to stay on for an extra hour tonight? It’s been busier than usual with that girl being cut up,” Jeff asks, adjusting his junk. Images of him at his desk getting himself off resurface, making me almost heave. I toss my sandwich in the trash, losing my appetite. I hate the words he chooses in regard to Abigail, but don’t bother wasting time telling him he’s an asshole.