Soul Tides

THREE || building a mystery.

There had been no doubt in Mara's mind that Mrs. Miller would come through with the police report. But marred with inconsistencies, it was barely legible, signed off by the town's new interim-chief. The daughter had been abducted from a locally owned truck stop near the highway, just down the road from the motel where she'd been staying with her family. She had walked to the truck stop sometime after midnight, went to the bathroom, and never came back. The police came up with virtually nothing in terms of evidence and concluded that she'd run away willingly since there was no sign of a struggle.

Tossing the report to the passenger's seat, Mara stepped out of her jeep, studying the brick exterior of the truck stop. Two double doors in and out, flanked by a row of windows. Inside, a kid store attendant sat behind the counter. His head hardly lifted as she shut her car door.

Slipping around the corner of the building, she made her way past a couple dumpsters where a black truck parked along the brick wall caught her eye. An array of faded stickers slapped across the rusted bumper praised the Commonwealth's militia and three, four-year terms of loyalty, pledged to their leader. To top it off, a decal of the confederate flag stretched across the rear window.

As Mara reached inside her jacket, the tip of her knife teased her finger, longing for the satisfying hiss of four slashed tires, but the nagging voice of her former partner echoed in her head.

Get your head back in the game, Philips.

Continuing her lap around the back of the building, Mara passed a single loading dock and a man door armed with a security camera. The only other exit, it seemed. But as she stepped off the crumbling asphalt into the overgrown grass to round the last corner, a tramped down path led to another door. Originally painted to blend in with the brick, it now was faded to a burnt sienna and riddled with rust spots.

As she got closer, chipped black paint spelled out RESTROOM across the top. Nowhere in the report had it mentioned outdoor access to the bathroom, but it now made more sense as to why no one had seen anything. Mara's eyes darted to the eaves of the building, looking for additional cameras, but none could be seen. As she reached for the handle, the crunch of footsteps on the asphalt made her spin around.

"Do you need the key?" the store attendant drawled.

"Oh, uh yeah, sorry," Mara stammered. "I thought it was unlocked already." The boy looked to be about eighteen, baby-faced with not a fuzz of facial hair. His eyes were mostly hidden under the shadow of his red baseball cap that matched his polo shirt, both bearing the truck stop's logo of a red teardrop on a white circle; a coded allusion to the regime.

"Nope, you have to ask for the key," the boy stated blankly.

Mara stood there looking at him for a few seconds, waiting for him to hand it over, but he made no move to do so. "Okay. Can I get the key?"

"Yup." From his pocket, he pulled out a corroded metal chain and dangled it in front of Mara.

"Thanks." Pinching the chain, she took it from him. He continued to stand there watching her as she walked over to the door and unlocked it.

Instantly, her nostrils were assaulted by the strong smell of urine as she opened the heavy steel door. Hitting the light switch with her elbow, she glanced around the room. The lights flickered for several seconds before turning on, casting a bilious yellow-green hue over everything.

Not very favorable lighting for a bathroom selfie, if that's what the girl had in mind.

She let the door fall shut behind her and it locked automatically. Grime and dust caked the cracked tiles lining the walls of the six by six foot room. There wasn't a soap dispenser in sight and the corroded faucet dripped with discolored water. In the corner of the room, the toilet was literally an antique with a long pull chain to flush and half the seat was broken and missing. The lights continued to flicker erratically while Mara took a closer look around the bathroom.