Page 29 of Once Vanished
“Liar.You just miss me making your breakfast,” Susan retorted, but her eyes softened at his words.
“That too.”Carlos sat up fully now, running a hand through his disheveled hair.His expression shifted, seriousness replacing the sleepy humor.It was a transition Susan knew well—the moment when the reality of her job intruded on their morning banter.
“Be careful out there,” he said, the same three words he’d spoken to her nearly every morning of their marriage.
Susan leaned forward, pressing her lips to his forehead.“Always am,” she replied, completing their ritual.The words were simple, worn smooth by repetition, but no less meaningful for it.In a world where guarantees were scarce, these small promises mattered.
She stood, retrieving her jacket from the back of the bedroom chair.“Don’t forget your mother’s birthday call today.”
“How could I?She texted me three times yesterday to remind me.”
Susan laughed.“She just misses you.”
“She saw us two weeks ago!”
“That’s an eternity in mother-time,” Susan said, slipping her arms into her jacket sleeves.“I’ll text you on my lunch break.”
Carlos nodded, already sinking back into the pillows.“Love you,” he called as she reached the doorway.
“Love you too,” Susan replied, her voice carrying through the quiet house.
She moved through their small home, keys jingling in her hand as she headed for the front door.Their house wasn’t large or fancy—just a modest single-story in a working-class neighborhood where most people still knew their neighbors’ names.But it was theirs, every mortgage payment a small victory, every improvement made with their own hands a source of quiet pride.
Susan stepped onto the front porch, pulling the door closed behind her.The morning air carried the crisp promise of autumn, not yet arrived but making its approach known in the subtle coolness that hadn’t been present a few weeks ago.She inhaled deeply, savoring this moment of stillness before the day’s demands closed in.
Their street lay peaceful in the early morning light.The Ramirez children’s bicycles leaned against their front porch two houses down.Old Mr.Winters was already in his garden across the street, tending to the tomatoes he nurtured with obsessive care.A newspaper lay on the Hendersons’ walkway, still wrapped in its plastic sleeve.These small, ordinary details of neighborhood life were precious to Susan—anchors of normalcy in a profession that often showed her the worst of humanity.
As she descended the porch steps, her thoughts drifted to work.Yesterday’s shift had ended with a mention that Officer Stanley Pope hadn’t returned from his lunch break.She’d meant to follow up on that, but a domestic disturbance call had demanded her attention until the end of her shift.
Susan didn’t know Pope well—they worked different areas and shifts—but his situation nagged at her.Through mutual friends in the department, she’d heard about his struggles.How he still suffered anxiety attacks stemming from an incident years ago, when he was just an army private in training at Fort Nash Mowat.Shot by accident during a conflict—friendly fire, the worst kind of tragedy.
Pope had recovered physically, but those who worked with him knew that the mental wounds ran deeper.Susan had noticed his hands trembling sometimes during briefings, the way his eyes darted toward exits, how he startled at sudden noises in the precinct.
She slid into her car, settling behind the wheel with a frown.Had Pope finally reached his breaking point?The department offered counseling services, but like many officers, Pope seemed reluctant to use them.Pride or fear of stigma—it hardly mattered which.The result was the same.
Susan started the engine, easing away from the curb.Maybe she could check in with him today, just a casual conversation.Sometimes that was all it took—knowing someone noticed, someone cared.
The neighborhood streets were still largely empty at this hour.Most of her neighbors wouldn’t leave for work for another hour or more.Susan appreciated these quiet moments, the gentle transition between home and duty.
She’d barely driven a full block when she spotted it—a dark SUV stopped awkwardly in the middle of the road, its hood raised.A man stood at the front of it, one hand shielding his eyes as he peered at the engine with obvious confusion.
Susan slowed, then stopped behind the vehicle.Strictly speaking, this wasn’t her jurisdiction—she wasn’t even on duty yet—but a stranded motorist in her neighborhood wasn’t something she could simply drive past.
She put her car in park and stepped out, approaching with the casual confidence that came from years on the force.The man looked up as she neared, his expression shifting from frustration to relief.
“Car trouble?”Susan asked, stopping a few feet from him.
He was well-dressed—khaki pants, blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, expensive-looking watch.Mid-thirties, perhaps.Not from the neighborhood, judging by his clothes and the late-model SUV.His dark hair was neatly trimmed, his face clean-shaven.
“Yeah,” he replied, offering a chagrined smile.“It just died on me.I was driving along, and suddenly—nothing.”He gestured helplessly at the engine.“I’d call for help, but my phone’s dead too.Just not my morning, I guess.”
Something flickered at the edges of Susan’s awareness—not quite suspicion, but a subtle disquiet.The neighborhood was quiet, yes, but not completely deserted.Why stop here in the street?Why not coast to the side of the road?
She pushed the thoughts aside.Not everyone knew what to do in a breakdown situation.Not everyone had her training.And it was just by chance that the breakdown had happened right here, close to large empty lot and a currently unoccupied house.
“What seems to be the problem?”she asked, stepping closer.
The man shrugged, his embarrassment seemingly genuine.“I have absolutely no idea.I know nothing about cars—can’t even change my own oil.My wife usually handles this stuff, but she’s out of town.”