Superman's Cape (12 page)

“What’re you thinking, Captain? What’s on your mind?” Officer Dale Richards asked, entering the tented area with a handful of equipment.

“Thought I heard something,” he offered, taking another sip from his cup. “Thought there was a remote possibility this thing could be over before the sun comes back up.”

Officer Richards stood for a moment and gave a puzzled look toward the edge of trees. He moved his eyes across them and tried to pick up anything that Captain Peter Saunders might have heard.

He frowned, then added, “Not likely Peter,” as he set down the heavy equipment.

The Captain turned an agreeing eye before he turned to the trees and considered the circumstance of the young boy. He thought about what Kyle was facing. He thought about what Kyle was wearing; summer sleeves and shorts. He thought about the cold front playing war with what might be the last of the summer’s humidity. He turned to the puddling around the perimeter of the tent and thought about the steady rain.

The Captain drank down the rest of his coffee. “Few days, we could be seeing some real weather – a hurricane,” he grumbled looking at his empty cup. “I think the boy is in trouble. I think with nearly eight hours already gone, we may have only eighteen to thirty six more before we are doing a body recovery,” he finished glumly.

“We can’t project …
or
speculate,” Dale Richards answered back with quick words. “Not yet anyway.”

The Captain considered this, raising his eye to Dale. “I’m praying we have more time,” he countered as he moved his attention back to the table in front of him.

The Captain threw the remaining drops of coffee from his cup to the lawn before picking up his thermos. Urgency weighed on his shoulders. But then again, in cases such as this, urgency was expected. Maybe it was the weather or the threat of the hurricane. Or maybe it was the real possibility of his having to give terrible news to a woman who had a lifetime’s share of it already. This last thought pinched at his back. It needled between his shoulders, but he shrugged it off.

This wasn’t the Captain’s first missing persons find or die effort he was invited to run. There were more than half a dozen between his first and his last. The first two were publicized successes. The best known was his finding little Ginny Roberts. That case put his mug in the national spotlight. A bonafide hero. The remaining searches all ended somewhere on the second and third pages of the newspaper. He found the folks he was looking for. He always found them. But the measure of a successful find can be judged in terms of the living and the dead. These folks were dead. He could still see the images of their bodies. He could still smell their remains. He could still feel the dread as he spoke the words their loved ones didn’t want to hear.

The Captain held his thermos in his hand staring at the map in front of him. He thought fondly of young Ginny Roberts and grimly of the others. “Don’t take it wrong, but I’ll say it again. I think we’ve got some challenges if we don’t find Kyle by this time tomorrow. Otherwise, we’ll be in recovery mode,” he concluded.

When Officer Richards said nothing, the Captain looked up, a frown across his eyes, “you asked me what I was thinking, didn’t you?” he questioned sharply as he poured more coffee.

Officer Richards offered a solemn look, to which the Captain answered back, “you asked me what I was thinking, and I told you,” he said without emotion.

“We’ve got our work cut out for us. Come over to the map so I can show you what we have,” the Captain finished and directed his eyes to the table in front of him.

“May I see?” a thin voice asked from the tent’s entrance. Both men turned to see Sara coming into view. The Captain watched as she walked almost in silhouette against a light from her trailer. He watched her step in his direction. Thin and attractive,
in a respectful kind of way,
he told himself. The Captain didn’t know how much she heard of their conversation. He didn’t know if she heard his concern in finding her boy alive.
What was said – was said
, he thought and dismissed the regret. He had to.

“Yes ma’am, of course,” he invited as she stood next to him and waived a hand across the map on the table. The fresh smell of coffee surrounded them as the three moved closer to one another along the table where the efforts of the last hours sat waiting.

“I have some fresh coffee on. I don’t have enough for everyone since I can only make about eight cups at a time,” Sara disclosed, looking to the Captain’s thermos.

“Thank you, ma’am. We appreciate the offer. I think we have someone coming in later with enough to accommodate everyone.”

“This is a map of the Croatan National Forest, and this ‘X’ here is where we are standing,” the Captain said pointing his finger to the table
.

“
Our first step is to determine the immediate search area. If your boy entered from here, and with this type of terrain, is able to walk an average of a quarter a mile an hour, then he could be as far as here,” the Captain said moving his finger to another mark on the map. As the Captain spoke the rain quickened. The thumping on the canvas over their heads grew loud. And although the three were under a heavy tent, the raw cold of the breeze carried through them.

“It’s a calculation of the search area, right?” Sara questioned. The Captain raised an eyebrow and nodded before she continued. “So you’ve been able to figure out how far Kyle could have walked into the woods – in that direction,” she proclaimed.

“Correct. It helps us narrow the focus of the search … sooner, rather than later,” Officer Richards replied. He moved a small clock from one side of the table to the other. The wind tried to push the corner of the map.

“And as you can see, as the timeline grows we have a broader search area. But we are still able to retain focus on specifically where to search. That is, where to send our people, instead of just sending them in any direction.”

Captain Saunders watched as Kyle’s mother took a small step closer to the table. He watched as she took her finger and followed the circles around the areas on the map at eight hours, and then again at sixteen hours, and again at twenty four hours. He wondered if she knew why there were no more circles after thirty six hours, and he begged in his mind that she not ask. He saw her eyes blink away the tears forming.

“What is in there?” she almost whispered. The question cut the Captain’s attention from the map. He looked at her eyes and wanted to wipe the tears from them.
So much pain,
he thought, too much pain for one person. He wanted to tell her he was only two for too many in this sick game. He wanted to tell her he didn’t think he was the right person to do this. Not again. Captain Saunders dropped his eyes back to the map and considered saying nothing at all. He even considered resigning the details of running the search effort over to his First Officer. He considered getting back in his truck and leaving the scene of what he thought would be the eventual sadness and tragedy of finding the body of her twelve year old boy.

The Captain looked back to Sara when he felt her hand on his arm. The warm touch was a welcome feeling in the cold. He forgot about his track record and the smell of the dead bodies. He forgot about the dread he rehearsed in his head when thinking through the words he would tell the families.

Sara studied the face of the Captain. She lifted her chin to meet his eyes and to ask him what her son was going to be up against. She wanted to know what the Captain knew.
All of it. Leave no detail untouched,
she thought as she placed her hand on his arm and asked the questions. She listened to what he and Officer Richards had to say about the woods. They told her about the types of trees and the types of animals that lived there. They told her what kinds of berries he could eat and which ones would still be available for him. And if he couldn’t find any berries, they told her what else he could scavenge. She listened as they talked about some of the hiking trails Kyle might find and hopefully follow out. The hope was that he’d find a trail, and then walk it to where it would end, always at one of the roads that ran through from one end of the Forest to the other. And they also told her about some of the creeks whose waters were tidal-fed, causing the creeks to disappear for half of every day. For the next hour, Sara listened intently to all the details the two offered about the Croatan National Forest. Looking at the clock on the table, she watched the minute hand sweep around its face, brushing over the tick marks and counting the time that passed. The span of minutes grew from ten to twenty and more and she looked back at the map on the table and imagined the search areas growing that much larger.

Jacob sat at his desk. A blank stare on his face remained empty, save for the colors from the weather monitors around him. Each played images of the hurricane as he fought the fog that wrestled with his eyes. Each showed him a different map with different perspectives of the same storm. For the moment, he settled his eyes on just one monitor. He ran the tips of his fingers over the glass. A small static charge sounded as he felt the buzz of the screen’s energy play on his skin. The monitor showed him the cycling clouds he could no longer feel. Jacob watched. “Why can’t I see the storm,” he mumbled as he tapped his finger on the glass.

Hurricane Dani was traveling east to west and now skirting the edges of the Caribbean. The forecast tracks had it landing near Bermuda. Or, it might continue turning west and end up on their doorstep. He sighed with an unfamiliar concern weighing on him.

He tapped the glass again – he didn’t like being at the mercy of the technology. He didn’t like being the same as everyone else.
What an awful thing
, he thought, and pushed his finger hard against the screen. Jacob turned and looked around the room at everyone. “What a terrible thing to be so blind,” he mumbled and then glanced back at the monitors before dropping his eyes in an absent stare.

In a vain move,
almost silly
he considered, Jacob tried playing with some of the settings on a monitor. He rolled a knob, tuning the crispness of the screen in and out as if missing a favorite show. The same emptiness filled his head and dampened his heart.
I’ll have to wait
, he thought, and then slapped the side of the monitor. He slapped it again, harder, his palm stinging and fingers tingling. The sound surprised a few around him and even surprised him. Embarrassment approached his face but then quickly faded when he heard Jill’s voice.

“Oh here you are! What are you doing?” she started to lecture, but then wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a small peck. Her lips felt soft and her smell was good. The thoughts of the hurricane evaporated from his mind as storms sometimes do. He turned to welcome her sight and to put his arms around her middle and pull her close. He decided he didn’t care who was watching. He decided he didn’t care who at the station saw them together.
Let them stare and wonder.
Jacob smiled at the thought and what might be some rumors floating around later that day.

“Couldn’t sleep and wasn’t doing anyone any good, just lying around at home.”

Jill leaned forward, and with her thumb wiped some of the lipstick from his mouth and cheek.

“Actually, I haven’t been able to sleep in days, it seems,” he muttered while glancing back at the monitors. He shrugged it off, dismissing it, as his attention was hers to have. With her fingers, she lifted his chin. Their eyes met and her smile turned to a frown.

“You don’t look well,” she said, “You look bad … you do. I think you should go home.” Jill reached over and picked up one of his hands. She began rubbing the top, and told him how she felt. She told him how scared she was at last night’s follies on the floor of the ‘Rust Bucket’. How it had opened her eyes. She told him she was falling for him. And that she was afraid to fall further – especially, if it meant he might not be around.

He tried to read Jill. He tried to listen to Jill. But the hurricane on the monitors stole his attention. Even if it was for just a second, it was a second more than it should have been. The fog in his eyes spread into his mind and clouded his thoughts. The clouds cycled around every part of his brain much like Hurricane Dani on the screens. A small storm erupted as he tried to read her.

But there was nothing. He was drawn to the hurricane in his head. His thoughts. His feelings. All of him was caught up in the circular motion of the storm. He closed his eyes to steady the room. He reached to that area of his brain where his gift called home. He reached where his gift spread its wings and performed its magical scan of those around him.

But the room remained empty and cold. It was dead. He tried to turn it on. He wanted to read Jill. To see her the way he’d seen her that first night. When it was special. He looked in the dark corners of the room. He kicked through cardboard boxes lying on the floor, thinking someone put his gift in one of them. He wanted to see. Not with his eyes, or his hands, but with his mind. He couldn’t. He couldn’t see anything. He only saw and felt confusion and fear as it grew in him. Jacob opened his eyes. A sudden feeling of loss overwhelmed him. The loss felt like an amputation. He could not see. His gift was stolen from him in a spiteful way that struck him with panic.

“Jacob! You’re really HURTING ME!” Jill’s voice yelled out, as others looked up from their desks to see what was going on. Jacob jumped. Jill’s voice startled him and pulled him back from the ruins of his search. His pain and confusion was joined by awkwardness and shame as he dropped her hand.

“I’m sorry … I am so so sorry! Jill, are you okay?”

Jill pulled her hand back as she gave Jacob a hurt look. “You’re scaring me,” she breathed in a whisper shaking her head. Jacob’s heart sank. It sank further when he saw the imprint of his fingers on her skin.

“Oh my God. Jill. I am sorry,” he repeated as Jill pulled her hand closer to her body and walked away.