The Creek

“Has Carter ever lived in this house?” Rosie asked the taller police officer. As far as Rosie knew, Carter didn't have any kids, or a wife for that matter. He simply existed by himself and kept to himself most of the time. He never spoke about having relatives in the area, let alone any kind of friendship with someone other than the Brewery Boulevard bartenders. And even with the bartenders he barely spoke.

“Not that we know of,” the officer responded. He took a step towards Rosie, who was still standing in the driveway. Rosie stepped back.

Why would the police have stopped to ask her where Carter was in the middle of the pouring rain? Rosie asked herself. And how would they know she was yelling out for the same Carter they were looking for?

“Why don’t you just go home and leave it to us to find Carter?” the shorter officer suggested.

Rosie didn’t trust these police officers, or police in general, and was glad for an excuse to leave the scene.

“We’ll call you with any information we have,” the short one said. “Can we have your number in case we need to reach you?”

Couldn’t he just look it up in the system? Rosie thought. But she didn’t say it out loud.

“I’m sure Carter will turn up, he usually does. My number is in the phone book,” Rosie lied. Her number was unlisted. “I don’t give out personal details to strangers.”

Rosie made a beeline for her car, not meeting the officers’ eyes, gunned the engine and took off down the road that no longer belonged to Carter. The flat tire was just going to have to wait until morning. She had forgotten all about calling a tow truck.

She had stopped trusting the police after her father died, or rather, after he was murdered.

Rosie had lived in the same town all her life. One night a cop came to the house, Rosie was sixteen. Her mother slammed the door in the officer’s face and Rosie knew. The women sobbed as her mother recalled the incident. Her father was gunned down in a back alley and left for dead. The investigation said it was an accident. Her father was caught in the line of fire by a rookie officer who was too scared to report he’d shot the wrong man. Months later the rookie confessed. He was discharged immediately.

As Rosie crossed over the swelling creek, she realized where she was and she wasn’t supposed to be there.

The note from Carter clearly said ‘Don’t go home tonight’. And without thinking, Rosie had put herself on auto-pilot and was now minutes away from turning on to her own street. It was approaching one o’clock in the morning and there was plenty of night left. If the message had been for her, she should heed its warning and turn around. Wherever Carter was now, he had intended to keep her safe.

The image of his abandoned truck and her unease with the cops earlier had her questioning the credibility of the whole story. The officers said the truck was on the other side of the hill. But she didn’t want to cross paths with them again tonight, planning to return back in the morning.

Rosie thought about the places she could go instead, but at this late hour, most of her friends would not appreciate a doorbell ring.

There was one place where she was always welcome though, regardless of the time. And she wouldn’t have to answer any probing questions.