One night, Detective Samantha 'Scarlet' Francisco vanishes into thin air. Then, five years later, she walks in off the streets, with no explanation of what happened, and no memory of the last five years.
She pulled at the front door of the station-noting that it had been repainted lately-and slipped quietly inside. The sting of floor wax was pungent in her nostrils. She could hear the janitor whistling down the hall out of her sight. She looked at her watch. It was ten o'clock. She started down the hallway. It was surprisingly empty. Melancholy. She wondered if her desk were still vacant. How strange it feels, she thought, to hear my footsteps in this hallway again.
She slipped into the lounge first-there weren't many people in there. A few officers clutching their Styrofoam coffee cups, sipping at the blackish liquid and chuckling sotto voce among themselves. Some of them she recognized as old coworkers. Some were new faces to her. And Steele-good old Steele-standing at the counter, pouring himself a cup from the station's ancient coffee maker. Scarlet would have smirked at any other time. They still hadn't replaced that thing.
She crossed silently to the counter, quietly making herself a cup of cocoa. Gradually, the muffled conversations around her grew silent. The casual glances to see who had entered were turning to gawks of disbelief. She began to feel the presence of eyes on her back. She turned. Every officer was staring. The older, more familiar ones in shock, the younger, newer ones in confusion. Even Steele. Good old emotionless grunt-hello Steele-staring. Eyes bugged out as large as Ping-Pong balls. Good old Steele. Silently flabbergasted as if he'd seen a ghost. I guess that's what I am by now. A ghost. Surely they gave me up for dead five years ago...
She nodded to him-meeting his eyes once, profoundly, then turned and silently left. The shattering of the coffeepot on the lounge floor stung her ears, followed by the buzz of astounded officers. She felt her heart constrict in her chest, but she moved on. A few people were in the hallway now, summoned by the noise of the coffeepot and the excited chattering. Some rushed right by her, never noticing, perhaps not aware, to find out what the commotion was about. Others stopped, stared as she crossed without a word or a glance to another room.
A dozen or so officers were milling about, and a few detectives sat at their desks, nursing coffee cups and clicking mice and shuffling papers-just the way she used to do. She slipped in largely unnoticed and crossed to where her desk was. Or at least, used to be. It probably isn't my desk anymore...
She pulled out the chair and sat down. It wasn't dusty, she realized. Pictures of family members that weren't hers stood at attention at the desk's edge, along with a mug she'd never seen, filled with pens she'd never written with. Stacks of papers she'd never read and cases she'd never worked on made small mountains on the surface. She wiggled the mouse, and the computer screen flashed to a wallpaper she'd never programmed, demanding a password she didn't have.
She stared for a full minute at the winking password request, then sighed and rose, leaving her cup of cocoa on that desk. A few officers turned to see her leave-some in indifference, others doing a double-take, before she disappeared out into the hallway again.
The file room was empty. For that, she was thankful, in a way. She located a file cabinet and opened the second drawer. What they'd done with her file would indicate what she was to them. Nebulously missing for five years? Or dead?
Her fingers raffled through the manila folders, her numbed mind skimming over the names. Francisco, Samantha. She plucked it out, sighing, and opened it. Her picture from five years ago stared back at her, along with assorted vital information, numbers, and what-not. A clean sheet of paper, white and fresh despite being dated at five years ago, gave a brief report of her disappearance that night. Cited situations, people, events, all so familiar to her, and yet...
...and yet it feels like eons ago...
"Missing; Presumed Dead": that was the stamp on the paper. Her throat tightened, her eyes burned. A clipped newspaper article-quite small-gave the scant details of that night. Otherwise, she had vanished into thin air. Since then, almost every trace of her had been removed from what was once her life, as if she'd never lived.
So I'm dead, then. I can't blame them, I suppose. What else were they supposed to think? I wonder how long it took them to...give up the ghost? To call off the searches? To finally clean out my desk? To stamp 'Missing; Presumed Dead' on my file...
She closed the folder, started to return it to its proper place, then hesitated. The edges of the folder were warped, frayed, as if the contents had seen much reviewing. As if someone couldn't let go...
The tears started to glide down her cheeks as she clutched the folder to her chest and sat there beside the open file cabinet, mind reeling from the blow it had been dealt. She had been dead-vanished into thin air-for so long. Her life had been erased from everything but memory and paper files. And now...now that she was little more than a ghost that people gawked at, she was forced to plunge back into life and start over...
She squeezed her eyes shut, bit her lip to hold back the sobs that threatened to destroy her control. One escaped. Then another... Quickly she replaced the folder, slammed the cabinet shut, and got unsteadily to her feet, fighting back the tears. She'd leave the station. She couldn't stand it here, not yet. There was too much history that had been erased. Too much to remember, and too much that she could not. She started towards the file room door. She didn't know where she'd go...maybe she'd roam the city. It was dark and dismal enough.
She ignored the chatter that now had the station in a dream-like state and slipped out the front door. She'd run. Go far away. She didn't know where. Maybe sleep in an alley somewhere. She was sure her apartment was no longer hers. There was no reason to check on that.
For some reason, she got no farther than the second step. There, bewildered, exhausted, confused, and devastated, she sat. Sat and wept. She wasn't sure how long it had been. Maybe a few minutes, maybe an hour. She wasn't even sure she was fully conscious at first of the hand on her shoulder and the warm bulk that had settled on the step next to her. It was several more minutes before she could cease crying--briefly--and glance at her comforter.
His face seemed older than she remembered. Etched with more lines. His hair and mustache greyer. His eyes wearier. But something in his face seemed like a hint of warmth had just broken a long, bleak winter... "Chief..."
He patted her shoulder and said nothing for a while. Finally, "I didn't believe it at first when Steele staggered into my office and proclaimed he'd seen you in the lounge. I thought he was nuts. Told him to take a vacation. When everyone else started backing up his story, though..."He ran a hand over his mustache, thoughtfully. "Well...I knew where to find you."
She sniffed and stared at the steps. He sighed and shuffled his feet for a moment, unsure of what to say. She sniffed again, then looked up. "How-how long did it...take you to...assume I was..."
She couldn't say it. The words that had been buzzing in her head simply would not come from her mouth. She was dead to the world, except for a few officers in a police station, and yet, she couldn't say it...
"We gave you all the hope we could. Launched a huge search for you. We never even considered your not being alive for six months. By a year...well, the search had been officially called off, but some people were still pursuing their own searches. We never found a trace of you. No calls, no messages, not a scrap of clothing or a single hair-nothing." Scarlet swallowed and sniffed, but let him go on.
"Steele assumed that if you were still alive you'd have tried to contact us to let us know. A lot of people tended to agree with him. Rita wouldn't believe it. She said she wouldn't believe it until someone found a body."
Scarlet shivered. "But...eventually, everyone assumed..."
"What else could we do, Scarlet? You were gone for five years. Rita took it upon herself to put your stuff in storage when your apartment was rented out to someone else, and she took care of your cats...but I think even she believes now that..."
Scarlet looked like she was going to cry again. The Chief stopped himself.
"W-when did you print my obituary?"
"We never did."
Startled, she looked up at him for an answer, an explanation. The Chief gave a little smile.
"Never had a death certificate printed either. We kept you as alive as we possibly could."
Scarlet sniffed again, then embraced him. "Thanks Chief..."
The embrace lasted several minutes before Scarlet asked, "Where's Rita?"
"At home. If you want I'll call her. I can guarantee you she'll run right over here regardless of what she's doing. Every time there was a potential break in your case, she wanted to be the first to know."
Scarlet tried to smile. "Sure...It's been a long time...wouldn't mind seeing her again..."
The Chief rose to his feet, offered her a hand up. "Come on. Let's go refresh an old friendship."
Scarlet hesitated, then took his hand and followed him back into the station.
* * *
The Chief's office hadn't changed in all that time, Scarlet thought. Not that she was surprised. The Chief hated unnecessary change. The chair she now sat in had been in that office from the first time she'd walked into the station, and was still here. In fact, it probably always would be in here-at least until there was another Chief of Police.
At least it was quiet, private, and away from all the people in the Chief's office. He'd sensed her desire to avoid the stares and demanded complete privacy. He was on the phone now while Scarlet sat, looking around in solemn familiarity.
"That's right. Something new on Scarlet's case. Yes, I know it's late, but I also know this is a big clue. Yes. I think you'll be very much interested. Get down here."
The Chief winked at Scarlet as he re-cradled the phone. "Don't want Rita to know just yet...want her to have the same kind of surprise you gave Steele."
Scarlet said nothing, but her eyes-though weary-seemed to ask him what he meant.
"You really surprised Steele. He's still feeling a bit sheepish about dropping the coffeepot."
Scarlet nodded.
The Chief wiggled his mustache. "Do you just want me to leave you alone?"
Scarlet shook her head. "No, I'm fine...I'm just...tired..."
"I understand...you should have seen how many people were concerned about you when you disappeared. This whole place banded together to take down the last organization you were working on before you vanished. Brought 'em in in record time. No one would admit to killing you. Now I see why."
He smiled at her, and there was something appreciative in her eyes that he took as being as close to a smile as she could get right now.
"You had everyone pulling for you. Everyone. The governor heard about it, Steele helped organize the search effort...you even had a request from the state prison for information on what happened to you."
"Antonio," Scarlet said. "I wonder how he took it."
"Well, from what I understand-course it comes through the grapevine, sort of-he refused to believe you were dead unless they could find your body. Kinda sided with Rita on that."
Scarlet nodded. "Can't expect any less from him, I guess."
Hurried footsteps in the hallway caught their attention. In seconds, there was a polite but obviously expectant knock on the door. Rita. "Come in, Diego," the Chief barked. Rita wasted no time and was in the door before Scarlet could think to blink.
"Okay Chief, what did they--"
She halted in mid-step when she saw Scarlet.
It wasn't the first time Scarlet had had someone stop and stare at her that night, but somehow, it was different from Rita. Deeper. More profound. More Painful.
"Oh my G--...Chief, when did...how..."
"About an hour and a half ago," the Chief answered, explaining the 'when' of Scarlet's sudden appearance. "As for the 'how'...I don't know."
Rita took a few more hurried steps forward, then stopped as if she were standing on hallowed ground. "But...how...you've been gone so long...thought you were dead...where were you? Where did you go? Why couldn't we find you?"
Scarlet wasn't sure she should answer any of Rita's stumbling, half-phrased questions. She wasn't even sure she could, in fact. She didn't have the strength to respond to Rita with enthusiasm. As it was, Rita was like a face from the past...a face that she wondered briefly what to do with.
She felt herself caught up in Rita's embrace before it really registered. Slowly, with all the energy and pleasure she could muster, she returned Rita's hug.
"I'll be making calls in the morning," the Chief said, "to inform various interested parties that you're back. Tonight, though, Scarlet, I thought maybe Rita'd have enough heart to take you in." He smiled slyly. "That all right with you, Rita?"
"All right?" Rita nearly screeched. "If she wanted to stay with me for the rest of her life, I'd let her!" She turned back to Scarlet, beaming. "We have an extra bedroom so you don't have to sleep on the couch! I'm sure Miguel won't mind at all...and Ebony and Ivory will be so glad to see you again..."
Scarlet looked confused. "Miguel?"
Rita's smile dropped for a moment. "Oh that's right...you were gone when I...got married. And I promised you that I'd have you for my maid of honor, too..."
Scarlet tried to smirk. "It's all right Rita. At least I'm back now."
