Page 4 of The Catcher
Unlike other schools, theirs seemed to be unable to afford a full-time guidance counselor, so he was also a regular teacher.
She glanced at her watch for the fifth time.
Every second felt like an eternity.
In one corner of the room, a bookshelf sagged under the weight of numerous binders and textbooks, organized meticulously by subject matter. Mia’s eyes lingered on the titles briefly before flitting away, her mind too preoccupied with thoughts of her absent father.
The desk where Mr. Anderson sat was cluttered with paperwork, and a laptop was open in front of him. A family photo nestled amidst the chaos, a reminder of the personal touch Mr. Anderson brought to his role as a guidance counselor.
Despite the warmth of the morning sunlight streaming through the window, Mia felt a chill settle over her as she sat in the office, the silence broken only by the soft hum of the fluorescent lights overhead. Each passing second only heightened her unease.
He wasn’t coming.
She knew it.
How could he do this?
Her mother always attended meetings.
Mr. Anderson leaned back in his seat, tapping his pen against his hand as he glanced out the window. Mia’s gaze bounced down to her Apple Watch, her worry growing as she noticed the time ticking away. She felt embarrassed as Mr. Anderson caught her fidgeting.
“Parents. What can you do,” she said, trying to make light of it.
He smiled back politely, but she could tell he wasn’t amused.
“Excuse me. I need to use the washroom,” she said.
With a shaky breath, Mia rose from her seat. Her decision to escape the suffocating atmosphere of the counselor’s office was driven by a desperate need for respite from the overwhelming sense of discomfort. As she stepped into the corridor, the muted sounds of the school echoed around her, a stark contrast to the oppressive stillness of Mr. Anderson’s office.
She let out a heavy breath.
Mia’s footsteps echoed as she hurried away, her thoughts consumed by the unanswered calls to her father and the gnawing fear that something was wrong.
Halfway down the corridor, Mia navigated through a crowd of students rushing to their classes. Lockers slammed shut as the bell echoed through the halls, marking another busy school day. With each step, her anxiety deepened, her thoughts consumed by the unanswered calls to her father.
She paused momentarily, pulling out her phone and trying to reach him again. The screen illuminated with his contact, but a lump formed in her throat before she couldtap. The last two attempts had gone straight to voicemail. It was unlike him to be late, especially for something as important as this meeting.
“Dad, where are you?” she murmured into the phone before hanging up, frustration lacing her voice. Mia’s mind raced with worry, her heart hammering against her chest as she entered the girls’ bathroom, seeking solace in the quiet confines of the space.
Once inside, she tapped Gretchen’s number, then Ed’s, hoping for some sign of her father’s whereabouts. With each unanswered call, her anxiety heightened and uncertainty pressed down on her shoulders.
Mia paced back and forth, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.
The sound of a flushing toilet signaled she wasn’t alone. A girl she didn’t know stepped out of a stall and glanced her way before washing her hands and leaving.
Embarrassment bloomed in her cheeks.
She had lied to Mr. Anderson, fabricating excuses about his job as a State Police investigator as the reason for his delay. But that wasn’t the truth. Mia felt a sense of helplessness wash over her.
Fumbling her phone, she made one last call, tapping a number she hoped would provide some answers. Mia held her breath as the line rang.
Adirondack Sheriff’sDeputy Callie Thorne pulled her cruiser to a stop at High Peaks Cemetery, the engine fallingsilent with a final rumble. Her gaze fixed on the figure curled up in a ball outside. Through the windshield, she saw him, oblivious to the world around him. With a sigh, Callie exited the car.
The door thudded shut, the sound echoing.
A cold chill nipped at her cheeks as she made her way across the cemetery grounds, golden leaves swirling around her feet — a reminder that winter was coming. Skirting around several gravestones, Callie approached the figure lying on the ground. Her radio crackled with static as dispatch spoke to others on patrol. She turned the volume down, focusing solely on the scene before her.
Upon reaching him, Callie said nothing, surveying the scene with a furrowed brow. Her gaze fell upon the headstone for Alicia Michaels before drifting to an empty glass bottle of bourbon nearby.
