from her? From Dad?"
"I was going to get them back! I pawned them, I didn't sell them. I was going to get the money to get them out of hock and figured nobody would be the wiser."
Clay's desire to hit him … hit something … anything … consumed him. His head ached with the chaos of the emotions that battled inside him. It was bad enough that Sammy had pawned anything of his mother's, but the fact that he'd pawned things she loved only made it worse.
Someplace in the back of his mind he knew he was angrier than the situation warranted. His subconscious mind knew that his rage wasn't just because Sammy had stolen his mother's jewelry, but was also because his father had been attacked, his mother had been taken away, and he couldn't get a handle on who was responsible.
"Clay." Thomas's voice came from the front door, sounding as weary as it had since the day he'd come home from the hospital. "Go home, son. I'll take care of this."
Clay stood his ground, unwilling to let his father take care of it, unable to release the anger that still swelled inside of him. "He took her jewelry, Dad. The jewelry you'd bought for her. He took it and he pawned it."
"What difference does it make?" Thomas cried. "What damn difference does it make? She's gone. She's been gone for so long. We're never going to get her back … never." With a strangled sob, Thomas stumbled back into the house.
Thomas's utter hopelessness was like a mule kick to the gut for Clay. He reeled backward, watching as Sammy hurried after his father into the house.
We're never going to get her back … never. The words reverberated around and around in Clay's head. With his stomach churning sickly both with anger and despair, he turned on his heel and headed back to his car. He peeled away from the house, spewing gravel from his back tires until he hit the highway.
He headed away from town, unwilling to do as his father had said and go home until some of the emotions inside him had quieted.
His father's loss of hope had been the final blow that had broken him. He'd been so strong through the entire ordeal, but he didn't feel strong now. Anger still tensed his shoulders and burned in his stomach. But the anger was mixed with other emotions too raw to identify.
He punched on his radio and tuned it to a favorite oldie station, hoping the sound of music would somehow soothe the beast inside him. But the light, rhythmic music only served to irritate him more.
He punched it off, opened his window to allow in the night air and fought off a press of emotion so intense he felt as if he might die.
Drawing deep breaths to steady himself, he knew that when the anger passed he'd be left with a painful, hollow emptiness.
He needed peace, but he didn't know how to get it. He needed a respite from his thoughts, from the brutal guilt and fear that assailed him more and more with each day that passed.
What if they never found his mother? Or worse, what if she was eventually found in a field, like Riley Frazier's mother had been … dead for months?
What if he never got an opportunity to see her snapping black eyes again, to see her beautiful smile, to tell her that he loved her? What if he couldn't bring her home to his father … a man who would never he the same without his beloved wife by his side?
The what-ifs could kill a man. They could slowly eat him from the inside out, like an insidious disease that can't be stopped.
Weariness tugged at him as well. The weariness of a man who had pushed himself too hard for too long. Since the night of his mother's disappearance, Clay's sleep had been plagued by nightmares.
In his tortured dreams his mother cried out to him, begging him to help her, begging him to find her. He ran, he hunted, he sought, but couldn't find her no matter how hard he tried.
He awakened each morning more exhausted than when he'd gone to sleep. If he could just have a few hours of dreamless sleep, if he could just have a moment in time where he felt at
"I was going to get them back! I pawned them, I didn't sell them. I was going to get the money to get them out of hock and figured nobody would be the wiser."
Clay's desire to hit him … hit something … anything … consumed him. His head ached with the chaos of the emotions that battled inside him. It was bad enough that Sammy had pawned anything of his mother's, but the fact that he'd pawned things she loved only made it worse.
Someplace in the back of his mind he knew he was angrier than the situation warranted. His subconscious mind knew that his rage wasn't just because Sammy had stolen his mother's jewelry, but was also because his father had been attacked, his mother had been taken away, and he couldn't get a handle on who was responsible.
"Clay." Thomas's voice came from the front door, sounding as weary as it had since the day he'd come home from the hospital. "Go home, son. I'll take care of this."
Clay stood his ground, unwilling to let his father take care of it, unable to release the anger that still swelled inside of him. "He took her jewelry, Dad. The jewelry you'd bought for her. He took it and he pawned it."
"What difference does it make?" Thomas cried. "What damn difference does it make? She's gone. She's been gone for so long. We're never going to get her back … never." With a strangled sob, Thomas stumbled back into the house.
Thomas's utter hopelessness was like a mule kick to the gut for Clay. He reeled backward, watching as Sammy hurried after his father into the house.
We're never going to get her back … never. The words reverberated around and around in Clay's head. With his stomach churning sickly both with anger and despair, he turned on his heel and headed back to his car. He peeled away from the house, spewing gravel from his back tires until he hit the highway.
He headed away from town, unwilling to do as his father had said and go home until some of the emotions inside him had quieted.
His father's loss of hope had been the final blow that had broken him. He'd been so strong through the entire ordeal, but he didn't feel strong now. Anger still tensed his shoulders and burned in his stomach. But the anger was mixed with other emotions too raw to identify.
He punched on his radio and tuned it to a favorite oldie station, hoping the sound of music would somehow soothe the beast inside him. But the light, rhythmic music only served to irritate him more.
He punched it off, opened his window to allow in the night air and fought off a press of emotion so intense he felt as if he might die.
Drawing deep breaths to steady himself, he knew that when the anger passed he'd be left with a painful, hollow emptiness.
He needed peace, but he didn't know how to get it. He needed a respite from his thoughts, from the brutal guilt and fear that assailed him more and more with each day that passed.
What if they never found his mother? Or worse, what if she was eventually found in a field, like Riley Frazier's mother had been … dead for months?
What if he never got an opportunity to see her snapping black eyes again, to see her beautiful smile, to tell her that he loved her? What if he couldn't bring her home to his father … a man who would never he the same without his beloved wife by his side?
The what-ifs could kill a man. They could slowly eat him from the inside out, like an insidious disease that can't be stopped.
Weariness tugged at him as well. The weariness of a man who had pushed himself too hard for too long. Since the night of his mother's disappearance, Clay's sleep had been plagued by nightmares.
In his tortured dreams his mother cried out to him, begging him to help her, begging him to find her. He ran, he hunted, he sought, but couldn't find her no matter how hard he tried.
He awakened each morning more exhausted than when he'd gone to sleep. If he could just have a few hours of dreamless sleep, if he could just have a moment in time where he felt at
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