James Carroll drove ponderously towards the station garage. There was less of a crowd here today, though even spread thinly it still went all the way to the cross street. They seemed aimless by and large, not standing together, just lingering as if they had nowhere better to go. Those freshly rejected from inside, finding no help, were showing their photos to any who would listen.
He watched one desperate man in his fifties, bouncing from loiterer to loiterer, showing them all a small beat up polaroid. He was met with shaking heads, consolations and being shown photos of their own lost loved ones. The poor fellow was directed to a wall beside the steps of the station where a small pile of flowers was building, above which people had begun sticking their photos and signs with various names scrawled on them to the bricks.
“That crowd’s getting restless.” He commented, but Owen only nodded, he had a few photos of his own in mind. “I hear there’s a photo wall at all the stations now. And city hall.” Yup, still no answer. “You know anyone who’s gone missing?”
“No.”
Those who knew Owen, who could be counted on one hand, knew very little about him, mostly through the work he did. Many simply knew him in passing, and by rumour. He existed entirely in his own world.
By nature he was a quiet man, and circumstance had beaten the last words out of him. Despite his overcast demeanor people generally erred on the side of liking him. He had an unceremonious manner that accompanied by his aloof detachment kept him from pressuring people the way most others do. He would be easy to be around if he was around for long. His isolation from the rest of the force was more self-imposed, which his superiors did nothing to discourage.
He had long ago thrown himself into his work, buried himself alive you might say. With his soft determined eyes behind the black forest of his beard, the pursuit was always on his face. The only reason he didn’t feel helpless was that he didn’t allow himself room to feel much of anything. Every day he made sure he was too tired to think. That and a little drinking never hurt anybody, no matter what time of day it was.
Two days off had done nothing to change his mood and Carroll found him as dismissive as before. The young detective flicked the siren on and off to usher the crowd from the driveway. He leaned out the window and signed in at the boom gate.
He watched one desperate man in his fifties, bouncing from loiterer to loiterer, showing them all a small beat up polaroid. He was met with shaking heads, consolations and being shown photos of their own lost loved ones. The poor fellow was directed to a wall beside the steps of the station where a small pile of flowers was building, above which people had begun sticking their photos and signs with various names scrawled on them to the bricks.
“That crowd’s getting restless.” He commented, but Owen only nodded, he had a few photos of his own in mind. “I hear there’s a photo wall at all the stations now. And city hall.” Yup, still no answer. “You know anyone who’s gone missing?”
“No.”
Those who knew Owen, who could be counted on one hand, knew very little about him, mostly through the work he did. Many simply knew him in passing, and by rumour. He existed entirely in his own world.
By nature he was a quiet man, and circumstance had beaten the last words out of him. Despite his overcast demeanor people generally erred on the side of liking him. He had an unceremonious manner that accompanied by his aloof detachment kept him from pressuring people the way most others do. He would be easy to be around if he was around for long. His isolation from the rest of the force was more self-imposed, which his superiors did nothing to discourage.
He had long ago thrown himself into his work, buried himself alive you might say. With his soft determined eyes behind the black forest of his beard, the pursuit was always on his face. The only reason he didn’t feel helpless was that he didn’t allow himself room to feel much of anything. Every day he made sure he was too tired to think. That and a little drinking never hurt anybody, no matter what time of day it was.
Two days off had done nothing to change his mood and Carroll found him as dismissive as before. The young detective flicked the siren on and off to usher the crowd from the driveway. He leaned out the window and signed in at the boom gate.
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