He failed to call. Two days in a row Julian Stewart failed to call his mom, Meredith's flat to speak with his little girl, and when he finally had the time to, in the right frame of mind to speak, Ray had already retired for the day.
How could he call himself a father?
He spoke shortly with Meredith, concealing details of his current assignment. Grateful Shirley hadn't spilled the beans.
The latter wasn't a threat because Meredith never loved Shirley. His mom never wanted Shirley around his daughter. But she cared. She made a conscious effort to get on Meredith's good side but our grapes were never pleasant.
He missed them. Meredith and his daughter.
"It's just that she'd been bouncing off the walls about the father-daughter relay race."
Even Meredith sounded dejected. How could he let his daughter down the way he did? She was too young to deal with these disappointments. This cut straight to his heart.
"Is she alright?"
"She should be after she talks to you."
He heard her cluck her tongue, a habit she did when disappointment billowed inside of her. How was he ever going to make it up to them?
"If only Gretchen was here." Meredith's last line of defense.
"Well, she's not."
Gretchen had dumped, had walked away from him and their six-month-old daughter for a better and brighter life with a college quarterback. If only Meredith knew.
She adored Gretchen, she never found fault in his ex-girlfriend but in Shirley.
He never dared to spill the beans on why and how Gretchen left. He believed Meredith's health was better off without being told his ex-girlfriend had chosen to walk out on him just as Shirley did.
He was the problem.
"I'll call again in the morning."
The promise he wasn't a hundred percent sure of as he sat in the darkness of his room by the window staring at the birches, conjuring figures that weren't as though they were.
If at all the burly figure staring right at his window was real then he needed to call the cops. But what if he was all in his head?
He could risk things but certainly not this case.
"Gretchen wrote," Meredith's voice broke through to him, "Her sweet words helped calm Ray."
He smacked his eyes tight, he was going to rot in hell for this deception. These letters they received once a month from Ray's mom weren't real. They were all a lie. His lie.
But whatever was going to fill the vacuum in his daughter's heart, whatever was going to make her feel wanted and loved, was all he ever would do even though it meant dropping a lie or two.
"Shirley broke things up."
Anything to steer the conversation from the rough edge and just then, his eyes caught sight of this figure slipping from the garden towards his back door.
His gaze instantly flew to the time on the nightstand, eleven Fifty-nine. He'll, midnight.
He muttered a curse.
"Is everything alright?" Meredith's concerned voice confirmed he just panicked.
How could he not?
"I'll call you in the morning, Mom. I love you and Ray."
He added the latter for various reasons. Tonight, this psycho could get to him leaving him lifeless on the floor or he could have him disappear forever.
When the call ended, he sat still in the dark, waiting, listening to every sound around him.
What if he attacked? He needed something to defend himself with. He got to his feet, with his eyes already adjusted to the darkness he sought his way to the closet. Turning on the lights was a foolish move. Foolishness was one thing he dared not afford. Not tonight.
He found the hockey sticks he brought along from where he'd put them away in the closet. He grabbed one, holding onto it like it was all he got.
It was all he got if he had put on a defense against the bloody murderer.
He waited, it was unwise to make the first move. A defense was safer than launching an attack.
'Call the cops!'
The voice in his head yelled.
'The cops' sirens will only scare him away. Get him!'
Another voice refuted, sending strength coursing through him.
He remained there, still as rocks in the closet, ready for however the night would play out, hell-bent on one thing—self-preservation.
He remained this way until the break of dawn. It wasn't until he saw the first light of dawn did he choose to let his shoulders slouch. Whatever terror lurking was gone.
Moving steadily to the bedroom window, the garden was void of anything alarming, as though a disturbing figure wasn't planted there a few hours ago.
He needed to grab his powerful flashlight to venture to the garden just to be sure no one was stealthily positioned in there but he chose to remain in the safety of his flat.
Julian had no idea when he'd fallen asleep but when the groggy sound of his phone brought him abruptly awake the sun had risen, piercing through the window, escaping the drapes to blind him.
He squinted, rolled over and out of bed, reaching for his phone. Hilary was calling.
He'd slept in, almost ten a.m., blew out his cheeks as he answered the call.
"We want more news on this." Hilary chose to forsake any form of pleasantries.
"You just woke me." He hissed.
"You think?"
The line went dead. Julian understood this was just the first of a thousand more pressures. However, he couldn't publish anything on this, not without prior permission.
Then it hit him. The night before. Grabbing a shirt he took giant strides to the back door. Without hesitations, he stepped out to be embraced by the morning sunshine.
He scanned the area, but nothing to suggest there was anyone in there. How so?
No, he wasn't losing his mind. He saw him.
After a while of a fruitless search of what he had no idea of, he went back inside hoping no neighbor picked up on his weird and frantic search.
At eleven a.m. sharp, Julian stepped out of the bathroom, got dressed and ready for the day. First, he was going to stop by the local police department to find news on Christine Rhode.
He mumbled his prayers Christine had been around somewhere.
Meredith's call stopped him abruptly by the door, it hit him hard he'd forgotten to call. Who was he becoming?
He answered the call but his attention instantly left whatever his six-year-old was saying to the footprints on his front doorstep.
They weren't his. He wasn't mistaken.
"How about dad calling you right back?"
"No!" She heard her drawl which broke off in a sniffle.
This was a terribly hard position to be in. For the first time in years, he wished Gretchen was here. Their daughter needed a parent in her life sadly he had other bagging things on his hand.
"Fine then, tell me all about it."
He listened to her endless rambles about the day he failed to spend with her, he took note of the disappointment in her tone as he walked around the front lawn searching for any suspicious item or mark.
"Are you coming over today?"
It was then he realized it was the weekend. He usually stopped by Friday evenings to spend the weekend with her.
"No sweetie Dad's on a trip."
The silence from the other end stabbed him hard in the heart. He almost thought she'd hung up until her thinned-out voice whispered, "You're always busy."
Disappointment twice in a row was not healthy for a child's mental health.
"How about next weekend? We'll see a movie and have some ice cream?" A smile curled on his lips.
Thinking about spending time with her filled him with joy.
"You said that the last time, we never did."
"Not this time sweetie. We'll get that dollhouse you've always wanted."
Guilt ate him on the inside. He couldn't wave these things at her face as a make-up for lost moments.
He could call this all quit, go home and be with his little princess or he could stay back here in Willow Creek and unravel this mystery that was starting to play out.
He owed Ethan this one case. He'd promised his best buddy to find whoever did this and have him face the law. Now wasn't the time to give up. The road he knew before he got on this journey wasn't going to be a smooth one.
Just as D.O.D. said, it gets thorny.
He took pictures of the footprints on the doorstep, took samples for forensics, and headed to his truck with the police department in mind.
He needed to be a lot more careful. He survived two nights. Whatever this maniac had in mind for the past two nights, it clearly wasn't breaking into his flat.
What if these antics were aimed at scaring him off Willow Creek?
Then he failed, hopelessly.