ty tama
He was the sixth child to go missing.
Coffee shops and beauty parlors were full of armchair detectives—everyone had a theory to share or rumor to spread. Thanks to the papers, even the surrounding communities knew what he looked like and, especially, his name.
Everybody knew his name.
Another Child Vanishes; Cops Claim No Leads
Search Continues for Local Scout
No Trace of Bradley Jenkins, Age 8
Third-grader Bradley Jenkins was the sixth child to go missing.
* * *
Tamma walked into The Engine Room around 3:15. They didn’t open for another 45 minutes, but that didn’t stop the small band of regulars from taking their seats—or the bar’s owner, Ted, from setting a cold beer in front of them. Still in her first week, Tamma felt she was starting to gel with the rhythm of the place. Her arrival was acknowledged with polite nods as the routine hum of conversation went on unabated.
“Ain’t no way it’s a local,” one of the regulars said.
“You got that right,” Ted agreed.
“It hasta be,” said another.
“We’d notice someone that didn’t belong here,” affirmed a third.
“I heard they found his shoe,” the second added.
“Nobody found a shoe!“ the first replied. “Nobody ever found anything!“
“That’s why they’re never gonna solve’m,” Ted added.
“Y’all think it’s the same guy?” one wondered.
“Who said it’s just one guy?” answered Ted.
Tamma listened to their chatter as she cut lemons and limes into wedges and topped off the garnish center with cherries and olives. Once her prep was complete, she popped into the ladies’ room to freshen up before the happy hour crowd arrived.
* * *
It was familiar and foreign at the same time: a girl’s plastic barrette, teal blue, shaped like a butterfly. It was snapped shut, with ragged strands of hair trapped between.
Tamma stared at it, confused. When did she put this in her apron pocket? Or...did she put it there? She couldn’t remember. Children were not allowed in The Engine Room, so she couldn’t have found it here. Right? Why else would it be in her apron, though?
A group of women entered the restroom. Tamma started to throw the barrette in the trash, but stopped and slid it back into her pocket.
* * *
Tamma had worked at The Engine Room for just a few weeks, and she felt like she was losing her mind.
Somehow, someone kept...putting things...in her apron. It was probably a little friendly hazing for the new girl, she thought, and she tried to take it in stride—but these were weird, sometimes creepy little trinkets that made no sense, and, admittedly, it unsettled her. It started with that barrette. Next, a red and white domino. A few days later, a little elastic bracelet with heart-shaped beads.
But then, yesterday, there was this: a torn piece of white shoelace decorated with yellow ducks. Tamma turned it over and found it smeared with something—deep, rusty red. She moved from feeling uneasy to something much closer to scared.
If this had ever been funny, it wasn’t anymore.
* * *
“Hey, Teddy Bear,” a regular called out. “Answer me this. I need a birthday gift for my nephew.”
“What’re you asking me for? I don’t know shit about kids,” Ted replied with a laugh, looking up from his newspaper.
Tamma sat nearby and tried to focus on her liquor inventory sheet. Her mind was on the shoelace she’d found the day before—where it came from and what she needed to do about it.
“Isn’t he going into the Boy Scouts?” one asked.
“Get him a compass—what’s that one they all get...” the third began as he scrolled through his smartphone. “...yeah, here it is: ‘A Treeline Starter Compass has a compact baseplate designed for children’s smaller hands.’”
“I got one of those when I went into Scouts; that’s a good idea,” another agreed.
“Nah,” said Ted as he turned his attention back to the paper. “I think they break easy.”
“What does he know?” one teased.
“He said he don’t know shit!“ answered the third, and they all laughed.
* * *
There was a little pine tree icon on it, and the words were printed just under that: Treeline Starter.
“I got one of those when I went into Scouts.”
Tamma held the jagged plastic chip with shaking fingers. Her mind spun.
Search Continues for Local Scout
This just happened, she thought frantically. They were talking about this ten minutes ago.
“Children’s hands.”
She knew—without a doubt—that this just appeared in her pocket. Her apron was around her waist the entire time.
“They break easy.”
This is crazy—I know it’s crazy. But I know it’s real. This is really happening.
Her mind gripped that thought tight, and it steeled her.
* * *
In the quiet of the storeroom, Tamma tucked a slip of paper in her apron and closed her eyes.
This will never work, she thought.
She took a few deep breaths.
“Bradley. Tell me what you need me to do,” she whispered.
She waited a moment and retrieved the paper. There, in a child’s scrawl:
Wide-eyed, Tamma clutched the note to her chest. She quickly made her way to the office, slipped inside, and gently shut the door.
Standing in front of Ted’s desk, she surveyed piles of paperwork and stacks of folders. The heavy wooden desk had several drawers. She felt sick with fear, overwhelmed, and unsure where to begin.
Then one of the brass ring pulls flicked. It flicked repeatedly, up and down, slapping against its baseplate. It was the bottom left drawer. Tamma reached and then jerked her hand back. She took the bar rag from her waistband and wrapped it around her fingers, gripped the ring, and pulled.
At the bottom, there was the remainder of Bradley’s smashed compass. It sat alongside a yellow yo-yo, a cracked retainer, a small stuffed dog, and a teal barrette shaped like a butterfly.
* * *
Tamma followed the news with secret satisfaction. Of the items Bradley had tucked into her apron, she kept only the note:
The oak tree in her back yard kept watch over the rest.