Michael hopped out of his crooked parked car and jogged up the stairwell to the station. He pushed through the revolving doors and approached the front desk.
"How may I help you?" A woman said without looking up from her computer.
"I'd like to file a missing person's report," Michael stated. "I believe it's been more than seventy-two hours." He added.
The lady looked up at him without showing any emotion, "Never wait seventy-two hours. You need to report these things right away. Every second counts. Waiting may have cost precious time," she looked back to her computer.
"I'm here now. This was as fast as I could come, look I believe—"
"Is the person a child or someone with a dire medical condition?" She cut him off.
"No, she's an elderly woman," Michael stated.
"And you believe she wandered off?" The lady asked.
Michael decided to assume she was taking notes. "No, I believe she was kidnapped."
Michael noticed a split second look of confusion break the woman's face before returning to a blank stare. "An elderly woman kidnapped. What's your name?" she asked.
"Michael Robinson," he stated, "Let me explain."
"Please have a seat." She pointed to a row of chairs next to the door, "Someone will be with you shortly."
"But—"
"Someone," she raised her eyebrows, "will be with you shortly. Go sit down."
Michael sat in the waiting chair, impatiently tapping his foot. This was ridiculous. He wasn't at the doctor's office. She'd just said how valuable time was in these cases. He stood up, paced, then sat back down. He could hear movement in the back room, but it didn't seem too busy. Undoubtedly not hectic enough to blow him off like this. As soon as he explained his case, they'd have to apologize. If something happened to Mimsy and they were minutes late, these were the minutes he'd point to.
Just when he was about ready to leave, an officer came around the corner, "Michael Robinson?" He asked. The man was in a pinstriped button-up with khaki slacks. A badge hung from a chain around his neck. He was a few inches taller than Michael and had a scrunched face that seemed to rest in a permanent scowl. The type of person Michael was hoping for, "I'm Detective Morris, come." He turned without shaking Michael's hand.
Michael followed him into the main room. There were desks spaced evenly throughout the room. Morris walked him to the back left desk. He took a seat and gestured for Michael to sit across from him.
"You're Michael Robinson, correct?" He asked once they were both seated.
"Yes, and I'm here to report a missing person," Michael answered quickly.
"Is the person a child or an individual with a serious medical condition?"
"No she's an elderly woman, I have reason to believe she's in danger." Michael tapped the desk with his finger, ready to elaborate when asked.
"Is her name Dorothy Whitley?" Morris asked.
Michael stared at Morris, not sure if it was good or bad that he already knew. "Yes, How do you...Did someone already report her missing?"
"No, she was in here a few days ago," Morris said, glaring at Michael.
"Was she ok?" Michael felt his frustration building again, "Was she injured, was she scared?"
"She filed a missing person's report on you." Morris pressed his lips together, causing them to turn white, "And now you're here. I recognize you from the picture she gave me. Where you missing?" He asked.
Michael was flustered, "I wasn't missing. No, I'm fine, but she's missing. I think she's been taken."
"She said you'd been taken as well." He shook his head, "We know what she looks like. We'll keep an eye out for her. Please don't waste our time." Morris stood.
"No, this is serious," Michael raised his voice as he stood to his feet. Heads around the office turned to look at the spectacle.
"Calm down." Morris scoffed, "Could you tell me where you were?"
"I was home," Michael lowered his voice.
"Do you have reason to believe she's been abducted?" Morris tilted his head and scrunched his nose.
"Yes," he answered without thinking.
"What is your reasoning?" Morris crossed his arms. Michael shook his head. "Please don't waste our time. I'm sure she's fine. If there is more to this—" He reached across the desk and handed Michael a business card, "Feel free to give me a call, but she's probably just out looking for you."
"Thank you," Michael said, stuffing the card in his pocket. He slowly made his way back to the main entry. The front desk worker didn't even look as Michael walked by. He pushed through the revolving doors and wandered back to his car.
She'd gone to the police, and then he'd shown up, making them both look like they were a bit loopy. It was apparent detective Morris wouldn't help, but he did learn something that helped. She'd been looking for him.
Michael pulled back into Mimsy's driveway to find the house still vacant. He hadn't expected her to have returned but still wanted to be there just in case something came up.
He walked into the bedroom he'd spent the latter years of his childhood in. Other than a thorough cleaning session by Mimsy, it was still the same as he'd left it so many years ago.
She'd been looking for him. She had that sixth sense. He hadn't even said anything was wrong in the voicemail, and she still knew he was in trouble. It made him ache thinking about how worried she must've been. It made him hurt thinking about how she was out there somewhere right now, and he was helpless.
He sat on the twin size mattress. If she'd been searching for him, she probably started with a call. When he didn't answer, she had to of checked his apartment. She had a key to get in. Even though she hated them, the next place she would've turned to would've been the Bissett's. She hated the Bissett's, but she would've gone there if she believed he was in danger.
He pulled the covers of his chest. He wasn't ready to face Victor yet. He didn't want to see Victor yet. There was a decent chance that Victor was Harvey Sinclair and Mimsy walked up to his front door and questioned him about everything. It was possible Victor thought Mimsy knew about his whole operation. He might have taken matters into his own hands, especially if she'd informed him she had or was going to get the police involved.
The thought frightened Michael. He got up to turn off the lights. He'd give her a night to show up. If she wasn't accounted for by the morning, he'd have to confront Victor.