The sound of the alarm brought him abruptly awake. The throbbing ache in Julian's head reminded him he had two or three drinks at the bar the night before.
Luck had been on his side because he'd gotten the approval he needed from the senior editor at Greekside, cleared his desk, and headed on his way to Willow Creek.
Here he was in the small town. It looked normal, even though mysterious things were happening more often the atmosphere remained reassuring.
He tossed under the eiderdown, and glanced at the timer on the nightstand, a few minutes past five o'clock a.m., he'd slept in.
He edited a few works, sent out some emails, and glanced through his private inbox to confirm if Shirley left a message. There was none—at least, none from her.
He released a breath and texted one. Unsure of the perfect message to send, he simply informed her he arrived at Willow Creek safely.
She read the message instantly but didn't type a reply. Julian waited the next fifteen minutes for the reply that never came. He texted a few more messages about how his life was incomplete with her and how terribly he wished she was here.
Tossing his phone on the bed, he swung to his feet feeling guilty. Guilty of the lies he just told to make his ex-girlfriend feel better. At least, feel the way he felt. For a man who his lifelong girlfriend had just broken up with, Julian felt at peace with himself that morning.
He certainly wasn't the problem. Or could be he was too vested in this meeting with this abductee to want to mourn a failed relationship.
It was bound to happen, the signs had been there. They knew it. Shirley wanted to get married more than he wanted to secure his job with Greekside by breaking out of the BAU and finding newsworthy articles for his column.
Shirley wanted him to marry her, but Greekside needed him to hurl their papers from obscurity to the limelight, he needed to secure a spot for himself in the up-and-coming daily papers. The woman he loved never understood this.
He heaved a sigh and headed to the bathroom. The cans of Sprinter vodkas reminded him he must've mourned the previous night when he arrived at his hotel room. He loved Shirley if only she had a little more faith in him.
He stepped into the warm spray and allowed it to heal him, in no time, got out to begin the day.
Julian parked his truck in front of the complex building and made his way to the front desk for a pass. A dream came true for him the second the smiling brunette by the desk offered him a gold pass.
This was it. This had been a long time coming and he didn't want to mess things up. After meeting and interviewing for his role at Greekside a few months ago, he didn't remember when last he'd felt this surge of adrenaline rush through him.
Stepping off the elevator, he pushed through a set of glass doors that led to an open conference area with a set of seats holding agents, detectives, and other journalists as keen as he was to find out what happened twenty years ago. All flanking the long and endless-seeming desk.
Julian didn't take this moment for granted, Detective Decker liberally gave him his pass. He was here because Decker chickened out of this case. But why?
He swiped his sweaty palms on his sleekly tailored pants, holding firm the bag in his hand, stopping here and there to offer a handshake to his counterparts as he filed into the conference hall.
The closed doors from a more private entrance he'd failed to notice earlier went open and the man he knew so well, he'd made a few headlines on the paper a while ago, popped in with his executive assistant going before him to be sure his coffee and computer waited for him.
Detective Jones. He was the man of the year in Willow Creek, the man he admired and respected the most.
The tall, lean man with haunted dark orbs behind Detective Jones reminded everyone why they were all gathered.
He looked nothing as the mental picture of what Julian had built up since he conceived the news. He looked totally different but in a good way.
He had dark sheen hair and a scar above his left eyebrow—probably obtained during his captivity, the certainty on his face made everyone believe this was the end of the road for this bloody murderer.
Somewhere in his mind, Julian wished this man before them, lucky to have escaped his captor was Ethan Edelman, his childhood best pal, who disappeared alongside nine other kids that night.
His mind had argued he could be Ethan but no he wasn't. Seated in the vast and opulent conference hall with his eyes glued to the man who looked somewhere in his thirties, he knew there was still a chance Ethan was alive.
How could he ever turn his back on this case?
With cameras forbidden in the hall, he whipped out his recorder and remained put in his seat, eyes glued to the pad for thoughts and possible questions, he was living in the only dream he ever had.
Digging to the bottom of this case.
"What is your name?" Detective Jones asked for the benefit of the eager faces flanking the conference table.
The man hesitated, briefly. Swallowed hard which made his Adam's apple bob. His eyes searchy.
"Simon Bale."
The accent was one Julian couldn't place but then, this man before him had spent all his life away from his family and the people who loved him. He was trapped and dipped in fear, probably tortured and bruised more than a few times. His accent wasn't what he should be worrying about.
Simon Bale.
The name struck a familiar chord. He'd memorized the names on the list of the abducted kids published in the local daily papers years ago, and Simon Bale came two names before Ethan Edelman.
A very selfish part of him wished this was Ethan, this moment haunted his dreams for about two decades now. Whatever Simon had to say would give clues to finding the rest of the kids—if they were still alive.