Page 3 of Facade

Clarke called every hospital and law enforcement agency along his route. Her dad was not registered as a patient. Three accidents had been reported, but Charles Voudrie wasn’t involved in any of them.

As the hours crawled by with no word, Clarke prayed that it was something simple like a flat tire and a damaged phone. Her intuition told her that there was no simple explanation, and this was serious.

But that was a terrifying concept. She willed her dad to walk in the door with apologies and reassurances. But he didn’t.

Clarke sat up all night, clinging to Slob, and hoping for a miracle. But when the sun crept over the horizon in shades of lavender, rose, and melon, she was still alone.

Two days later, Clarke was notified that her dad’s vehicle had been found parked at a rest stop. There was no sign of her father, or a struggle. The police had no leads.

She answered questions about his mental state, medical conditions, and habits mechanically. No, her father had never used drugs that she was aware of. He was healthy in both mind and body. No, he had never disappeared before.

This made no sense. He had to be somewhere. Her dad would not have just walked off into the wilderness.

Clarke felt like she was splintering apart. It was summer, but she shivered with bone-deep chills. The normal comforting sounds of children playing and cars driving down the street seemed far away, like she was in an unreachable bubble. It was hard to breathe.

Clarke

The last two weeks had been a blur of anxiety, anger, and sleep deprivation. Clarke had no appetite, and she couldn’t concentrate. Her head pounded from the constant crying.

At least summer school was over. It would have been difficult, if not impossible, for her to focus on teaching.

The anger was directed primarily at herself. She had a psychic power that could provide clues to her father’s disappearance, but it wasn’t cooperating. The police still had no leads.

Her dad’s friends and business partner called frequently. Even Jace, the son of three of her dad’s fishing buddies, whom Clarke hadn’t seen since she was a kid, sent concerned messages.

Jace had contacts in law enforcement, but hadn’t learned anything new. He said he would keep trying. She appreciated it.

They were all supportive, and encouraging, but also asked if she’d had a vision. Clarke felt like she was letting all of them down, especially her dad. Her perception of being useless as well as helpless was magnified every time she tried and failed to achieve a vision.

Hannah and Slob were the two things keeping Clarke sane. Having to take care of Slobby gave Clarke something else to focus on. He sensed her distress and stayed close day and night, sleeping in her bed, providing an emotional anchor.

Hannah took some vacation days from work, and stayed with Clarke as much as possible. She took over most of the chores and lovingly bossed Clarke into eating and taking care of herself.

All of her friends were sympathetic and thoughtful. They called to check in regularly and asked if there was anything they could do. Clarke was grateful to them.

But Hannah understood what Clarke was going through better than her other friends. They had both lost a parent, Clarke’s mother to a terminal illness, Hannah’s dad to violence. Nearly a year after Clarke’s mom had died, Hannah’s father had been killed in the line of duty.

Both were tragic, and left a terrible void. Clarke’s dad and Hannah’s mom did their best, trying to be there for their children. But they were also suffering a devastating loss. Two wounded souls adrift in a storm of grief, Hannah and Clarke clung to each other. It had forged a very strong bond.

Clarke took a long, shuddering breath. Hannah had gone out to get groceries. Slob was snoozing next to her on the couch. The house was quiet. It was a good time to try for a vision.

The way her precognition manifested wasn’t common. She went into a trance, without remembering what she’d seen. It was similar to automatic writing. The visions were transferred to paper by sketching or painting.

Every single time, it was an unnerving experience. That probably contributed to Clarke’s inability to call the visions at will. When it did happen, they usually showed random, unimportant things. But the visions were always very accurate.

She could do this. Her dad needed her. Clarke tried to center herself as she sat down with a sketch pad and colored pencils.

Previously, she had tried with paint. Maybe pencils would be a better medium for her visions. She focused on needing clues to find her dad, and let everything else fade away.

When Clarke came to, she was stiff everywhere with a twinge in her neck and cramps in her fingers. Noise coming from the kitchen indicated that Hannah was back, and probably cooking. Clarke hadn’t heard her enter the house. Did that mean it worked?

The sketch pad was now sitting on the coffee table. Terrified of what she might see, but also excited, Clarke leaned forward to look at it.

The drawing depicted a gated drive with a guardhouse. A large stone slab to the right of the drive bore the sign Mars College for Evolved Males in elegant, raised letters. How did that make sense?

“Oh, good,” Hannah said from behind her. “I didn’t want to do anything that would knock you out of the vision, but it’s been over an hour. Here, you’re probably thirsty.”

“Thanks,” Clarke said as she accepted the glass of water. She drank half of it down before speaking again. “I don’t doubt my visions, but I was trying to get a clue that would lead to Dad. How could Mars College be a factor here? Dad didn’t go to school there. I don’t know any alumni, and it isn’t that close to where his car was found.”