"The Disappearance of Morgan Kate" (an excerpt from a novel)
by Jamie Goodall
“Eight years later and still no sign of Morgan Kate,” the television newscaster broadcasted as the rain hit the side of the window. I had been in the coffee shop for only an hour and I had heard about the story twice. Anyone else, would have had chills- being told about the horrific story- but from my secluded seat in the coffee shop I laughed, my face hidden behind my mug. A few, disgusted glances were thrown my way so I sat back and looked out the window with a straight face.
Instead of paying attention to the story, I concentrated on the rain. The constant beat of its pitter patter put me at ease, as did the soft lights of the coffee shop. A waitress walked leisurely to my table in order to pour me more coffee. I slid my mug over to the edge of the table so that I did not have to talk to her face to face. As she poured the hot drink into my cup, an image showed up on screen again for good measure. This person had brown, fluffy hair and flashing green eyes and they looked to be twelve years old. Their face was long and their clothes were new. The broadcaster made a plea for anyone with information to report it to police.
The question had occurred to me as to why people still cared. It wasn’t to be sadistic, but rather truthful. Had it been anyone else, I’m sure that the story would have died down. A kid gone for eight years, yet still being talked about each year that they have been gone. One without any parents-a troublemaker- being missing was not news to anyone. This child, however, had a secret that no one else knew; but they did not intend to keep it that way.
“And here’s your check, when you are ready to go…” The woman placed a slip of paper onto my table, me met my vibrant green eyes, and examined my brown hair. I had no doubt that she knew who I was. She went to reach for her phone in her dress pocket, but decided against it.
“Smart,” I mumbled, looking confidently down at the mug that I held lazily in front of me. A part of me wanted to explain, but how? What would I even say? How would I begin?
You see, when I was little I witnessed a secret service meeting, that I apparently should not have.
I’m trying to protect us from our own rulers.
Neither of those seemed to quite work.
The only speech that I could think of said too much, yet left so much unsaid. Obviously, I could never tell her what was planned. Although, I didn’t think that I would have to. Just by looking at her, one could tell that she was an intelligent person.
And it was clear to her that I was alone, and in perfectly good health. I had no one with me, holding me hostage. I was getting coffee in some peculiar city for God’s sakes. She slipped her phone back into her pocket.
“Why?” She whispered, and I was unsure as to whether it was due to the shock, or in order to avoid unwanted attention. I took a moment, pretending to be cocky and quick witted. In reality, my head was spinning, thinking of so many things to say.
I decided to sit back and say simply “You’ll see.” I kept my voice as soft as possible as to not alarm the waitress. I took out money and handed it to her, making sure to include a good tip, and she took the check back to the counter with her; both of us had been unsure of what to do next.
Quickly, I left the shop and headed toward the bus station directly outside. After letting my hair get wet by the rain, I put up hood to make sure I still looked presentable. Not even ten minutes later the bus arrived, and I boarded. Upon seeing there were no other passengers, I took a seat in the far back, where the cameras could barely detect me.
Feeling my back pocket, I found that my hard drive was still in tact. Eight years after I found it, I still had it in my sight.
It took me eight years of running, and hiding. Eight years to tell everyone just what was going on, right under their noses, but I would make sure I warned them all.
It was my destiny.
by Jamie Goodall
“Eight years later and still no sign of Morgan Kate,” the television newscaster broadcasted as the rain hit the side of the window. I had been in the coffee shop for only an hour and I had heard about the story twice. Anyone else, would have had chills- being told about the horrific story- but from my secluded seat in the coffee shop I laughed, my face hidden behind my mug. A few, disgusted glances were thrown my way so I sat back and looked out the window with a straight face.
Instead of paying attention to the story, I concentrated on the rain. The constant beat of its pitter patter put me at ease, as did the soft lights of the coffee shop. A waitress walked leisurely to my table in order to pour me more coffee. I slid my mug over to the edge of the table so that I did not have to talk to her face to face. As she poured the hot drink into my cup, an image showed up on screen again for good measure. This person had brown, fluffy hair and flashing green eyes and they looked to be twelve years old. Their face was long and their clothes were new. The broadcaster made a plea for anyone with information to report it to police.
The question had occurred to me as to why people still cared. It wasn’t to be sadistic, but rather truthful. Had it been anyone else, I’m sure that the story would have died down. A kid gone for eight years, yet still being talked about each year that they have been gone. One without any parents-a troublemaker- being missing was not news to anyone. This child, however, had a secret that no one else knew; but they did not intend to keep it that way.
“And here’s your check, when you are ready to go…” The woman placed a slip of paper onto my table, me met my vibrant green eyes, and examined my brown hair. I had no doubt that she knew who I was. She went to reach for her phone in her dress pocket, but decided against it.
“Smart,” I mumbled, looking confidently down at the mug that I held lazily in front of me. A part of me wanted to explain, but how? What would I even say? How would I begin?
You see, when I was little I witnessed a secret service meeting, that I apparently should not have.
I’m trying to protect us from our own rulers.
Neither of those seemed to quite work.
The only speech that I could think of said too much, yet left so much unsaid. Obviously, I could never tell her what was planned. Although, I didn’t think that I would have to. Just by looking at her, one could tell that she was an intelligent person.
And it was clear to her that I was alone, and in perfectly good health. I had no one with me, holding me hostage. I was getting coffee in some peculiar city for God’s sakes. She slipped her phone back into her pocket.
“Why?” She whispered, and I was unsure as to whether it was due to the shock, or in order to avoid unwanted attention. I took a moment, pretending to be cocky and quick witted. In reality, my head was spinning, thinking of so many things to say.
I decided to sit back and say simply “You’ll see.” I kept my voice as soft as possible as to not alarm the waitress. I took out money and handed it to her, making sure to include a good tip, and she took the check back to the counter with her; both of us had been unsure of what to do next.
Quickly, I left the shop and headed toward the bus station directly outside. After letting my hair get wet by the rain, I put up hood to make sure I still looked presentable. Not even ten minutes later the bus arrived, and I boarded. Upon seeing there were no other passengers, I took a seat in the far back, where the cameras could barely detect me.
Feeling my back pocket, I found that my hard drive was still in tact. Eight years after I found it, I still had it in my sight.
It took me eight years of running, and hiding. Eight years to tell everyone just what was going on, right under their noses, but I would make sure I warned them all.
It was my destiny.