LITMIR.BIZ

       16

      A field reporter in a yellow rain slicker stood before a cluster of flashing police cruisers. ‘Trudi, I’m at the Grassy Waters Preserve, a nature preserve and park in West Palm Beach, where a few hours ago a couple out walking one of the nature trails made a grisly discovery. The nude body of a woman was found in the water, right off this path behind me. Because of the tropical storm, the Preserve didn’t have many visitors over the weekend, and that might be a blessing, as it could have been a child who made this discovery. Police have confirmed that the body is that of eighteen-year-old Desiree Jenners of Wellington, who was reported missing Saturday night by her family. Detectives are not releasing details on the cause of death, other than to say that the body had been in the canal less than a day, and that this is, in fact, a homicide investigation.’

      Faith clenched the sheets beside her.

      ‘Desiree was last seen leaving the Wal-Mart where she worked with a white male believed to be her ex-boyfriend, Owen Walsh. Detectives with the Palm Beach Sheriff’s Office are asking the public for help in locating Walsh, who has an extensive criminal record and an outstanding warrant out of Miami-Dade County. If you have any information about the disappearance of Desiree Jenners or the whereabouts of twenty-five-year-old Owen Walsh, please contact the Palm Beach Sheriff’s Office.’

      It was like watching a horror movie: she wanted to throw the covers over her head so she wouldn’t have to see what she knew was coming next. But she had to know. She had to. She twisted the sheets around and around her wrists, so that they bound her to the bed.

      The split-screen picture of a smiling Asian girl and her dog and the mug shot of a stocky, brooding redhead appeared on the screen then with the names DESIREE JENNERS and OWEN WALSH. Faith exhaled and fell back into the pillows. The emotional roller coaster had recovered from another drop. But as quickly as it had come on, the feeling of relief was palliated by the realization that she’d been checking Internet newsfeeds all day and had seen nothing about any missing girls in Florida. Nothing at all. Not even the mention of this girl Desiree, who had apparently gone missing for several days before her body was found.

      Were all missing people reported missing? And did all persons who were reported missing make it on the news? She knew the answer: obviously not. Just as every crime didn’t make the news, neither did a report on every person who didn’t come home. Newscasts would be two hours long and newspapers would be a lot thicker.

      If pretty, unimportant Desiree Jenners from the upscale town of Wellington didn’t make the news when she went missing, why would the disappearance of a tattooed, pierced, probable drug addict raise eyebrows? The answer was, it likely wouldn’t. Ignorantly believing no news was good news, Faith had kept wishing all day long for tomorrow to get here so that she could know for sure that the stranger from last night was fine.

      The smiling anchor was back, along with the weatherman who wanted to talk about the beautiful weather pattern that was finally moving into South Florida. Faith watched as he and the anchor chatted cozily about what they would be doing outside with all this newfound sunshine. Now she understood that no news was simply that – no news. It didn’t mean the girl from last night was safe; it didn’t mean she wasn’t. What it meant was that Faith would probably never know what had happened to her.

      Jarrod walked out of the bathroom at that moment and she unwrapped her sweaty hands from the tangle of sheets and turned off the TV and her bedside light.

      She’d never know who the girl was, or where she came from, or why she was out there, barefoot and limping in the rain with those men.