“Come in,” you call towards the door. “Not getting shot, good. I’ve got the right place,” a voice replies. He steps into the living room besides you and observes the barren apartment. “You weren’t kidding. Not much left that ain’t nailed down.” “Yeah,” you curtly grunt. “Right,” he says, trying to shift his tone to match your mood. “Let’s see what’s left.” He steps towards the entertainment center, brushing a finger across the empty main compartment and rubbing the dust between his finger and thumb. He hums in thought, then shifts towards the desk with the farewell papers, looking them over. “Whew,” he whistles. “Not a lot of nice words for you.” “I know,” you sigh. “Come on, Rip. Work with me.” You’ve already told him as much as you’re willing over the phone. You just found out your daughter and her boyfriend ditched town sometime in the last week, and you need help tracking them down. “You got any idea where they would’ve gone?” “I don’t know…” You rack your brain for even the most tenuous of possibilities. Where’s somewhere Lucy always talked about going some day? “Caldera Bay?” “Caldera Bay? That boy she’s with got any brains?” You nod. At this point, probably more than you. “Then they’re not going to the Bay.” He draws his attention to the pair of phones on the bed. “Putting those brains to work alright. The one with the purple case hers?” You nod again. He picks that one up, looking at it from multiple angles. He presses a thumb against a part of it, and a small compartment slides out. “No SIM. If they got new phones, that’s an easy trace. Paying attention?” “Yes,” you say, more alert than before. He clicks a button and the screen lights up. “Charge is pretty high, too. Probably haven’t been gone for the whole week. Few days, at most.” “What about the other?” you ask. “You got a warrant for that?” “Didn’t think you needed one.” “Glad to hear the desk job didn’t melt all of your brain and put it on your belly.” Any other time, please. “I don’t. Already desperate enough to get murky?” You shake your head. Tempting, but not worth it. Not yet. “That’s everything, of the things they wanted us to find, anyway.” “Is it enough?” you ask. “It’s a start; all that’s left now is following their lead and catching up. If we can narrow when, we can narrow how.” He places the phones on the desk. “But more important than how is why. You remember your academy days: mens rea. If we can’t think like them, we can’t predict their moves.” “How the hell am I going to think like them? I barely knew them,” you mutter. The other musters a grunt, bending himself over the three clues you did have. “Twenty-three percent of runaways go more than fifty miles away from home, nine percent leave the state.” Sounds like he did his homework. Pretty impressive given the timing, but that’s why you called him. “Your net is pretty wide given your position. They know you’d probably come looking for them. Seventy percent are spur of the moment…” A quick glance around the room squares that stat away. “Desperate though they may feel, this shows they thought this through. A plan.” The moment lingers. “Can you get into her phone without pulling rank? You pay for it.” “I can certainly try.” You pick up Lucy’s phone, twisting and turning the dormant device in your hand, hunting for a potential attack vector. A specific angle catches the light in just the right way to highlight a few smudges on the screen. Clicking the power on, you notice a smudge lining up with the ‘1’ key on the password interface. It can’t be that simple, can it? You poke the key until the password field is full, and the screen switches to a picture of Anon giving a thumbs up. Guess you have some brains too. “Mind if I give you some unsolicited advice?” your partner queries, sensing your surprise. “Could be a lot of details in there. I doubt you want to know all of them. We’re not here to judge, we’re here to help. Remember that.” “I… yeah. Of course.” Texts, search history, even phone calls beckon as options to explore. Violating your teenage daughter’s privacy won’t be the worst thing you’ve done thus far, but it certainly won’t be pleasant. If you even go through with it. “Between that and the SIM, I’d say you’ve got your hands full for a good while. Try not to get too dirty.” “What about you?” “What about me? All their stuff had to have gone somewhere. A few polite talks could go a long way. Considering the locale, a bit of palm-greasing would probably work better.” You’re going to pretend you didn’t hear that last part. “Ripley?” “What?” “Forty-seven percent of teens that ran away or were homeless indicated that a conflict with their parents was the major reason why they left.” “I’m… very well aware that this is my fault, Castle.” “Are you? Then you’re going to get to the root of it, or are we going to be back here in six weeks time?” You shoot him a heart-stopping glare in response, which he smirks at. “Something to keep in mind. I’ll call you if I get anything.” “Likewise,” you grumble. He exits the room, flicking his hand in a way vaguely reminiscent of a wave. Sometimes, you wish he wasn’t such a pain in the ass. Even if he is right. You sigh, stuffing the pair of phones into a pocket, then neatly folding the two pieces of paper and stowing them away in another. This, and whatever Castle can find, is all you have to go off of. They could be anywhere in the state. The country. The world. Needle in a haystack can’t begin to describe it. One of the phones in your pocket buzzes harshly against the others. You scramble to fish for the right one, fingers latching onto the offending device. You yank it out and see that it’s yours. Your wife is calling. Shit. You said you would be back as soon as possible. You accept the call and put the phone up to your ear. “Honey?” she demands, clearly upset. You’re not sure how long it’s been, but you know it’s too long. “I know, I’m sorry. Things took a bit longer than I expected,” you explain. “Did it go over well, at least?” An affirmation catches in your throat. She’ll find out, eventually. You wish it weren’t over the phone, but you might as well pull the trigger now. “They’re gone.” “I’m sure they’re just running some errands. She’ll talk to you when she’s ready.” You feel a pang in your heart, desperate to drop the subject now and leave her knowledge as is. You’re already keeping enough secrets. “They left the city, Sam. For good, as far as I can tell.” Her voice hitches, cutting off her first response. “We… we both knew this was going to happen one day,” she says. “I know, but… there’s still some things I still need to take care of. Important things.” “Please, don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” she pleads. “You can’t force this.” “I… I know, but I need to get a word in. An apology, at least. It’s what she deserves.” She sighs, knowing you won’t be changing your mind on this. “Be careful, would you?” That carries a lot of implications. “I will. I’m on my way back,” you say, closing the apartment door behind you and locking it. Not like anyone will be using it for the foreseeable future. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- You slide back into your chair in the study on the upper floor of your house, staring at the items before you. You place Anon’s phone on the far side of your desk, hopefully far enough to resist the temptation to look through it, and place Fang’s phone right in front of you. You think for a moment, then turn to your computer screen, shaking the mouse and lighting the screen. The SIM card is your first and easiest target. A quick browse to your network provider’s website and a few submenus bring you to their locator service. A button sends the request, and a few seconds later, the results show up. At your current location, one, two, three devices online. The fourth device… Is grayed out. No location found. Guess you already used up your luck. You’ll have to do this the hard way. You turn back to Fang’s phone, clicking the power button and typing in the password. Where to start? Call logs, messages, or personal notes? Maybe internet history? Search usage or current logins? There’s also telemetry, installed apps and their usages… so many choices. Just need to pick one and start. You’ll get to all of them eventually, so the order doesn’t really matter. You could even pick one at random… You’re stalling. Come on. You need to do this. They’re out there somewhere, getting tangled up in God knows what, thinking that they have each other and no one else. You reach forward, and your chest tightens. You relent for a moment, taking a deep breath. No matter what you do, every time you reach for that phone, your body reacts negatively. You were so sure you could do this a couple of hours ago. Why now? Are you? Then you’re going to get to the root of it, or are we going to be back here in six weeks time?’ What Castle said earlier slaps you in the face. Is this getting to the root of it? Blatantly disrespecting something as basic and fundamental as your daughter’s privacy? She’s not a drug runner or some petty thief, for God’s sake. You… You can’t do this. No matter how easy it would be, or how valuable the information could be, this just isn’t right. And if you really want this to go the way you want it to, you need to do it right. You sigh, placing Fang’s phone next to Anon’s, and shift their goodbye letters in front of you. Mens rea - the thought behind the action. This wasn’t much to go off of, but it’s the best you have at the moment. You slowly and painstakingly look over every aspect of the letters, every word lashing at your soul like fiery whips. Handwriting, word choice, content and context. Ignore the tightening in your stomach and the sweat on your brow. Agonizing as it was, a second and third reread combined with a recollection of your earlier conversation does shed some light where it’s needed. Whether it’s because of understanding, fear, respect, or something else, Anon doesn’t seem nearly as… upset… with you as Fang does. It’s just a theory, but if he has as much ‘brains’ as Castle says he does, they might not have gone as far as they could have. A bit of reason to reel in the emotion, pulling them away from that nine percent figure that leaves the state. And if they’re not going to the Bay, they probably went somewhere affordable. That doesn’t narrow it down much, but it’s a start. You consider contacting her friends to see if they know anything. The purple one… although they knew each other for a long while, you recall what seemed like a falling out between them. Might be worth pursuing later. The raptor boy… he showed up much later, but if he wasn’t out of his mind on some unholy chemical cocktail at some point, he could know something. Nothing but ‘might’s, ‘maybe’s, ‘could’s, and a whole lot of work to be done. But that’s what you signed up for, isn’t it? A phone rings nearby, and your heart skips a beat. It takes a second for you to realize the sound is coming from your pocket, meaning it’s yours again. You put the phone up to your ear. “Hello?” you answer. “Rip,” Castle responds. “Got something here. Turns out these Skin Row pukes love to talk when Ben Franklin’s a part of the conversation.” “Already? It’s only been a couple of hours.” “How long did you think I would need?” he chuckles. Don’t answer that. “They didn’t go far to peddle their stuff, cheap at that. From what I can gather from these fine gentledinos, they were last seen Wednesday afternoon. Unless they took the midnight train going anywhere, they left sometime in the last twenty-four hours.” “That should make catching up a bit easier, at least.” “You know… I’m sure they knew you were going to be occupied this morning. Would’ve been pretty symbolic too. Creative type might appreciate that.” The realization catches you off guard. You might have missed them by mere hours. Or minutes. “Just trying to get us in their heads,” he says, noticing your silence. “Speaking of, what’ve you got over on your end?” “SIM card is offline,” you reply. “I’ll keep an eye on it, but that lead’s cold for now. As for the letters, I think you’re right about the boy having brains, and chances are they’re still somewhere in the state. Probably somewhere cheap and easy to live.” Castle waits, seemingly expecting more information. “And the phone?” he queries. “I… can’t do that.” “Bets’re placed and chips are in the pot,” he says without skipping a beat. “Next piece of the puzzle is how they’d get to where they want to go, knowing it’s likely far but not too far. Any guesses?” Cars are hopefully out of the question. Buses and taxis wouldn’t go far enough on their own. Planes might be overkill, and would be a pain to get information on. “Boats or trains,” you answer. “And how close is VB Rapid Transit to Skin Row?” “One or two miles.” If you had been thinking straight, that would’ve been the place to check the second you realized they were gone. At least that handily narrows it down, considering the proximity to where they sold their belongings. “I’ll let you take care of that one. Need to get my things together to follow the trail. Leverage that honesty and desperation you’ve got going on. Who knows, maybe you’ll get lucky.” “Think I’ve already used up all my luck,” you muse. “Gambler’s fallacy, Rip. You can never be too lucky. With that, I wish you good luck.” You can practically hear him smirking over the phone as he hangs up. You stow your phone away and lean back in your chair. You aren’t exactly a detective, but there’s not much choice in the matter. How to approach it, though? Start with the badge, bring it in later, or leave it out entirely? How heavy to lean on the ‘missing child’ angle? Moreover, how many trains out of the city have left in the last twenty-four hours? Will it even matter if you give them a name and they give back a destination? Minimum wage workers don’t tend to be the inquisitive type. Don’t get too ahead of yourself. It’s still up in the air. First order of business is getting there. Friday afternoon traffic is not going to be a pleasant experience. A trio of knocks on your study door interrupts your planning. You can tell that it’s Naser, and more importantly, it was plain as day that Samantha told him what happened. He wasn’t taking the news easily. “Come in,” you call. Naser opens the door and steps into the room. His face says everything, and his voice manages to say even more. “Is it true?” he asks. He already knows the answer. “It is.” You grab your car keys and wallet, stuffing them back into your pockets, and then rise from your chair. “Why did this happen?” The question roots you in place. You know all too well why. Where do you begin? Can you begin? “Fang took something from you,” Naser continues, stepping further into the room and starting you down. “That’s when everything started going to Hell. What was it?” He knows enough to ask that question and not enough to be satisfied with anything but a complete explanation. “I…” Go on. Tell him about what his big sister did. His role model. The one he shares so many happy memories with. “I’m sorry. I don’t have the courage to tell you.” You’ve spent eighteen years building a reputation and earning his respect. How much of it vanished in that instant? “At least you’re honest about it,” he mutters, turning away. “I’m working on fixing this-” Naser exits the room before you finish your sentence. Guess he’s looking for actions, not words. If there was any chance of you losing motivation before, it’s gone now. Both of your kids losing their faith in you is not an option. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- You step out of your car and look at the complex before you. Volcaldera Bluffs Rapid Transit Station. The massive yard bustles with activity from trains and people alike, passengers and cargo being constantly ferried in and out of the station. It has been a while since you’ve last been here, and its sheer size gives you pause. Maybe it’s for the best that you waited to come here. Going in blind would have been like looking for a needle in a haystack. You enter the building, craning your head over the crowd. Passenger trains, ticket sales, a computer with records. There has to be something like that around here. You slither through the crowd as best you can considering your stature, following directions on signs that you think may bear fruit. They bring you to what looks like the customer service section, a handful of booths correspondingly staffed and serving small lines of people, separated by transparent dividers. You lean against a pillar a distance away, taking note of the who’s and the what’s. Of particular interest is the open booth the furthest to the left, being run by a younger-looking female ankylosaur. She should be the easiest to get sympathy out of and urgency through to, which you’ll need as you doubt they’re supposed to be giving away what you’re looking for without a warrant. If that didn’t require reporting a crime and potentially getting Anon or Fang arrested, you would’ve done it in a heartbeat. A few minutes pass and the line you’re watching dissipates. You take the opportunity to walk up before she can call another customer over. “Excuse me,” you say, lowering your voice and leaning in as close to the divider as you can. “My daughter, she’s- she’s gone missing, and I think she was here earlier. Can you- can you check if she got on a train?” She seems taken aback at first, but it shifts to suspicion. Looks like you’ll have to double down. “Sir, we aren’t-” Before she can get her thought across, you interrupt, speaking faster than before. “She- she was supposed to show up to graduation earlier today, but she didn’t. I went to check up on her apartment in Skin Row, and the door- the door was unlocked, and it was empty. Completely empty, everything was gone, and I don’t know where she is.” The idea of an unlocked door in Skin Row seems to shock her back to your side, as her eyes widen and she turns over to her computer. It’s a bit of embellishment, but it’s more or less true. “And… what is her name?” she asks hesitantly. To the point, good. The longer this takes, the more chance it has of going bad. “Lucy. Lucy Aron.” She taps the name into the computer and clicks the mouse a few times. Come on. A destination is all I need. “It says she got on today’s seven-thirty to Haffton…” She trails off, probably realizing she shouldn’t have said that, but it’s too late. Before she can probe you for information, you dip out of line and straight to an exit. As soon as you’re outside of the building, you speed-dial Castle and head back to your car. “Hello?” Castle asks through the phone. “Castle. Haffton, seven-thirty, this morning,” you bark, your raised heart rate quickening your speech. “Oh, Hell. That’s a journey. Alright, I’m on it.” “Meet me in front of my house, we’ll take your car,” you demand, clambering into your car. “Not happening. They’ll bug out if they see you,” he retorts as you slot the key into the ignition. A response catches in your throat. “I know what this means to you, but you’ve got to let me handle it.” “Damn it…” you sigh. “You’ve done what you can for now, and you’ve still got more to do, but that’ll be when the time is right. You know I can do this, that's why you called me.” “Okay… okay. Just, call me if you see anything.” “First thing,” he reassures, hanging up right after. You check the time. Mid-afternoon. It feels like an entire day has already passed, but there’s still half the day left, and all you can do is twiddle your thumbs and wait. How long do these things normally take? A day? A week? A month? You whisper a prayer for the former. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Day… Eight. Work occupied your mind effectively enough throughout the week, but now that the weekend has come, there is little to slow your thoughts. Every day that passes is another day that it can all go wrong for Fang and Anon. What if something does go wrong? Would Castle tell you if it did? You’re certain you can trust him, but the doubt creeps in all the same. There are others to worry about, too. Colleagues catching on to your mood at work. Friends wondering where your little girl went. Family demanding more information. Things aren’t there yet, but you’re not sure how long it will be until people start asking questions you aren’t willing to answer. You wish there was something that could take your mind off of it all, yet no matter how much you consider asking to spend time with Samantha or Naser, or even just a joyride for yourself, it all feels… hollow. There’s nothing stopping you or them from putting a damper on it and sending it all back to square one. So there you sit, blankly staring at a computer screen, minor digital errands no more closer to completion than they were hours ago. Your hand hovers over your phone, the urge to call Castle waxing again as it had over the last few days. You resist, for now. At best, he would have nothing to report, and at worst, you could interrupt something important. All you can do now is wait and attempt to focus on other things, like you’ve been trying to do all afternoon. Your phone buzzes. Robotically, you pick it up and bring it to your ear, answering it. “Hello?” you ask, sounding like you just woke up. “Rip,” Castle responds. Your lethargy vanishes in an instant, every mental facility lighting up at once. The blast of lightning flashing across your brain stops you from responding quickly. “Got good news: I have eyes on. Both of them, together.” Relief you didn’t think possible washes over you. It took five weeks of unprecedented chaos and pain, but something finally went right. “Thank you… thank you,” you sigh. “How are they looking? Good?” “Can’t see too much from where I am, but it looks to me like they’re enjoying a Saturday afternoon at the park. Don’t think you could ask for much better.” “Sweet Raptor Jesus, you don’t know how much it means to hear that.” “Not often I’m the bearer of good news. Now, I just-” He stops short. “Castle?” There’s a few seconds of worrying silence, your heart rate spiking. “Sorry, looked like something spooked her for a second. Thought I was spotted. All clear.” “You think she’d recognize you? Been a while since we worked together. Publicly, at least.” “Better safe than sorry,” he retorts on instinct. “Alright. What’s the plan? You going to talk to them?” “Not right now and not when they’re together. At the moment, I’m just gathering intel. I’ll let you know if I make any more headway.” “Wait, before you go. When you get the chance, tell them that I-” “Save it,” he interrupts. “No rehearsing either.” “Alright,” you chuckle. “Thank you. For all of this.” “Don’t mention it. Really, don’t. I’ll call if anything happens.” The two of you say your goodbyes and hang up, and you sink back into your chair. Just like that, the entire day has turned around. Hell, the entire week. They’re okay. They’re in the same place they left for a week ago, so chances are they aren’t planning on going anywhere any time soon. A professional you have faith in is on the scene and already planning everything he needs to do. All you have to do is wait and be ready, right? There is at least one thing you should take care of. You get up from your chair and walk over to Naser’s room, knocking on the door. “Yeah?” he shouts from inside. “Can I come in? It’s important,” you say through the door. “Sure,” he replies with much less enthusiasm. You open the door and take a step inside. You haven’t been in here for a while, but you remember it being a lot… cleaner than this. When was the last time you saw that parasaur girl? “Just got off the phone with a friend of mine,” you say. “And?” he snaps, not turning from his desk. It’s a bit of a shock and you have half a mind to demand his respect, but you probably would’ve acted the same ten minutes earlier. “He saw them. They’re okay.” He whips around in his chair, filled with a sudden liveliness. “Where?” The answer almost escapes your beak before you realize what might happen if you tell him. “I can’t. We’re in the same boat here, but we need to let him handle it.” He sinks back into his chair, the wind taken out of his sails. “Are they coming back?” “I hope so. But right now, my priority is making sure they’re stable and comfortable, whatever decision they make.” “Okay…” he whispers after a titanic sigh. How much is from relief and how much is from frustration, you’re not sure. “Thank you.” “No problem,” you reply, exiting his room. Whatever Castle has planned, you hope it comes to fruition soon. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ‘Today’s the day. Make sure you’re available.’ Today’s the day. Racing heart, scattered mind, constant pacing; no mental or physical exercise exists that could possibly keep you in line. The possibility of a second chance after this is slim, if there is one. Even then, you’re not sure it would matter. Someone else would need to track them down a second time and set everything up when they’ll be more on guard. What would be the point? Stop. Focus. Think productively, or at least try to. It took another week, but Castle told you the other day about how he got a foot in the door through Anon. He’s going to meet with him and Fang, and tell them what you need for them to hear. He’ll call you right beforehand to keep the conversation fresh in his mind, and then it will be all up to him. It pains you to put all your eggs in one basket, but there’s not much choice in the matter. All you can do for the moment is wait and try to get your thoughts properly aligned. You’re not sure if you’ve ever been this anxious in your life. All the time at the academy, prepping for big busts on criminal circles, questionable requests from the government - none of it seemed to compare. How could it? Your actions have needlessly put your own flesh and blood in harm’s way, and it’s not just her that stands to get hurt. The stakes couldn’t be higher. Your phone buzzes. In reality it could be anyone, but you already know who it is. You answer the phone, but your mind blanks on the greeting, your beak wordlessly hanging open. “Rip. How you holding up?” Castle asks after a mercifully short silence. Your response is a quiet sigh, conveying more than any combination of words ever could. “Yeah, I get it. Just take it easy - it’s only me. Give me everything, and I’ll give them the good parts, alright? It’ll be fine, they’re pretty desperate.” “Yeah… yeah…” you mutter, leaning against a bare part of one of the walls in your study. Maybe doing it this way is for the best. Just… start simple. Go through what’s been on your mind these last few weeks. Castle will stitch it together, so the order doesn’t matter. “You need a minute, or you ready?” “I’m ready.” By the time you consider returning to your chair, you’ve already slid down the wall and onto the floor. Castle stays quiet, and part of you is glad he can’t see you like this. Start simple. “I guess I should start with… that I’m sorry. I wish I could have said this sooner, but I didn’t understand what was happening until it was too late. I didn’t want to understand it. I thought if I kept going the way I always did, things would return to normal. That didn’t work, and now all of this happened. I’m sorry that this is what it took for me to realize what I was doing.” You let out a heavy, shaky sigh. That’s the easiest part done, right? “All the yelling and screaming… the demands and threats…” The memory of staring down the barrel of your gun resurfaces. Violently. “Even with my life on the line… I still didn’t get it. I stood back and watched, thinking that was the end of it. That it couldn’t possibly get any worse than that. How wrong I was. I’m sorry that this is what it took to finally get through. I let you become a stranger to me. We lived in the same home, yet I knew you no better than some random person on the street. How… How could I let that happen?” That one hurt. “God, I…” A lot. “I just hope it’s not too late for me. That, even after everything that happened, you’re still willing to give me a second chance. Even if you don’t want to come back…” You wince, slumping forward. You’d have nobody to blame but yourself. “Even if you don’t want to come back, I still want to help, if you need it. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you out there and I could have done something about it.” You take a breath, and an unexpectedly loud sniffle comes with it. Guess keeping it together was too much to ask… There’s a long silence, and you take a moment to think about what you said. It was a bit vague and meandering, and there were a couple things you simply weren’t willing to touch, but it wasn’t exactly meant for Castle. She’ll hopefully understand. “Castle?” you ask quietly. There’s no immediate response. He’s not crying too, is he? “D-Dad?” Lucy?