In His Mind

Mark left the dusty road and parked his beat up pickup truck. A soccer mom struggled to get three unruly boys into the blue Chevy in front of him while keeping an eye on a toddler in a stroller. He studied her swinging hips, bare pale legs and the unflattering sandals she wore. Her blue skirt and blouse sensually caressed her body and she had a tan line below her neck. He enjoyed the sight for a short while, then pushed his fingers through his long black hair, took a deep breath and got out of the car.

"Listen to your mother now," he told one of the unruly boys.

The boys ignored him and kept on kicking and screaming. Mark lifted one of them up from the ground, put him in the stinking car and locked him in the seatbelt. The boy kept on screaming and threw toys and trash down on the car floor.

"That kind of behaviour won't get you anything," Mark said.

He turned to the next boy who screamed at the top of his lungs. "Your turn."

"Damien! Get into the car!" The mother glanced at him with tired eyes while holding the third boy. "Some days they are a bit too much."

"Don't worry ma'am. I know how it can be."

The warm wind tangled her blond curly hair and he wanted to touch and play with it. He stopped his thoughts and grabbed the second boy, pushed trash to the side and strapped him in his seat.

"They mess thing up faster than I can clean up," she sighed while she strapped the third boy to the seat and made a half-hearted effort to clean up some of the trash.

"Don't worry ma'am."

The chipped blue polish on her nails made her seem younger, he thought.

"You have kids."

Her pretty blue eyes studied him and he turned the scarred part of his face away from her.

"No. 14 siblings, all with strong wills."

"Lord have mercy! I have four and I'm exhausted."

Her breasts seemed to be ready to escape her blouse at any moment and he imagined touching them, the soft skin under his fingers and the large nipples pointing at him. He pulled his eyes away and noticed her finger ring less finger.

"Your husband should help you more," he said to fish for information.

"Carrie!" a woman shouted. "Where's Joe?"

The soccer mom's attention turned to her friend; he closed the car door and walked away. It's for the best, he told himself; he had something he had to do, something that could not wait.

He went back to his pickup, opened a black backpack and made sure he had all the things he needed. The decision he had made scared him, but he could not find any other option. Fear exists to be conquered he told himself and locked the car. The soccer mom still talked to her friend, and he caught one last glimpse of her legs before he crossed the parking lot and walked down the street. The walk to the police station police station helped him clear his mind and grow courage. He had to do it, he had no other option. The scuff marks on his boots irritated him; he should have polished them before he left. This day would change his life forever he should look his best.

A young woman in a sleeveless dress walked in front of him and he followed her skinny legs down the street. The short dress worked its way up with every step she took and exposed her buttocks bit by bit, soft young flesh swaying before him with a purple string dividing them. He imagined what holding them firmly in his hands while pounding her doggy style, sweet tender flesh moaning and squirming under his control. Her slender hand reached for the edge of the dress and French manicured nails pulled it down again. He knew he should let her go, he had something important to do, but he continued following her well defined claves. The elegant way she walked made him think that she danced or did gymnastics.

She turned and crossed the street, it would look suspicious if he followed her, but he was not ready to let go of her yet. He pretended to tie his bootlace while glancing at her at the corner of his eye. Her bouncing buttocks disappeared behind a parked car, she got in, kissed the driver and then they drew away.

He started walking again, she had distracted him for a while and it annoyed him. Once again he focused on his mission and turned down the side road leading to the police station. The midday sun baked the dusty street and birds sang among the budding leaves in the trees. He stopped and sorted the things in the backpack, reassuring himself that he had all the things in order. Then he walked up the steps to the police station. The heavy dark door made him think of the gate to hell announcing a future in gloom and doom, and he hesitated for a moment before he opened it and went inside.

"I'm looking for detective Brian Rush," he said to the cute receptionist.

Her big brown eyes seemed to see straight through him and his pulse started to rise.

"He's not in right now. Would you like to wait or leave a message?"

He pulled his eyes off her soft kissable lips. "Eh… I'll be back later."

Mixed emotions of disappointment and relief flowed through him as he turned to walk away.

"Wait! There he is now!" the receptionist called out and pointed to a bald man with a huge moustache that came in through the door.

"Detective Brian Rush?" Mark asked even though he knew the answer.

"That's me," Rush answered and shook Mark's hand.

"I need to talk to you, in private."

"This way."

He followed the detective through a door, down a long corridor and into a barren room with two chairs and a table.

"I think it's best that you record what I have to say," he told the detective.

"Wait a minute and I'll get a recorder."

He opened the backpack and sorted through the things, and then he put three objects on his Market pockets instead. The detective came back to the room and Mark pushed the backpack under his chair.

"There, it's on and recording."

Sweat pearled down his back and the words stuck in his throat.

"Perhaps you should start by telling me your name?"

Mark picked a folded newspaper page out of his pocket. "This is why I'm here. I found your name in this."

Detective Rush took the paper and unfolded it. A large photo of a smiling young woman covered half the page and the text said: "Family still hopes for Angel Chase's safe return".

"She didn't look like that." Mark struggled to form the words. "Her hair had blond highlights and her front tooth had a chip in it. She gave me this."

He showed the detective a necklace with leather string and a wooden charm on it. The wood burned his skin and he found it difficult to let go of it.

"Where is she? Is she alright?"

The memory of her filled his mind, her tanned legs, the blue skirt she wore and her contagious laughter. Her kindness and her warm hugs warmed him and he found the strength to speak.

"You can tell her family to stop looking for her. She's dead." The dark burden he had carried for years lifted from his shoulders and he felt good about himself for the first time in his life.