The three traveled northeast across Ohio as the rain picked up. They drove by large, open fields of newly-sprouted corn and soybeans interspersed with thickets of trees. From grassy plains sprung up small towns and tourist traps. Large billboards alongside the highway advertised local businesses. After passing Columbus, Griswold turned the music off and listened to the rain as it pelted the car windows. She went into deep thought as the landscape slowly became more forested. The plains then transitioned to rolling hills with smaller farms hidden among the vast woods and valleys.

            After following the highway for what felt like an eternity, Jamie took a road that crossed a creek and brought them to a densely inhabited residential area surrounded by many trees with heavy foliage. “We’re here,” said August in an exhausted, creaky voice.

            Griswold, getting off her train of thought, looked at their surroundings and said, “We’re in Youngstown already?”

            “Well, the south side of it, at least,” said August.

            “What do you mean ‘already?’” asked Jamie. “We’ve been driving for almost four hours.”

            “Really?” asked Griswold as she stared off ahead. “Huh. Funny what intense thought is capable of doing.”

            “Well,” said Jamie, “since we’re here, should we drive over to where Charlotte was last seen and look for clues?”

            “Not at the moment,” replied Griswold. “Normally, I would agree. But, because we are already lacking a great deal of critical information, I fear that examining that area first might cause us to miss important details. In this case, I believe that it would be best if we explored Charlotte and August’s house first to see if we can find anything that might point us towards why she disappeared.”

            “Alright then,” replied Jamie. “So August, where do you live?”

            “We live at 23 Acacia Avenue, here on the south side,” he said.

            August gave Jamie directions as they drove. They passed through a seemingly endless maze of older, rundown houses from various decades, their faded paint appearing even dimmer in the shadows of the trees that surrounded them. Towards the center of the district, there were fewer trees and things became more spread out. Small, family-owned garages, shops, and businesses dotted the more open areas between houses and gave the district the sense of having its own miniature downtown. Brightly colored, hand-painted signs popped out through the gloom  that the rain and mist cast over the town. More than this, though, Jamie noticed a certain feeling, almost imperceptible, in the air. There was a kind of quiet sadness on the faces of people walking in the rain and on the boarded-up windows of abandoned houses. At the same time, there was a similarly quiet anxiety, a nervous tension for the present moment. They merged to evoke a feeling of hopelessness for the future and a painful aching for better days. Jamie drove on in an almost reverent silence as the feeling washed over her.

            As they approached the outskirts on the west side of the district, the rain finally stopped and the sun came out. After a few more minutes of driving, Jamie turned left onto a narrow street.

            “It’s coming up,” said August as he pointed to their destination.

            “Thanks,” said Jamie as she pulled up to the curb.

            They parked and got out of the car. Jamie saw that the house was narrow, two stories high, and covered in wood siding that had been painted white, but was now chipped and yellowing. A porch ran along the front of the house and led down to a small front yard surrounded by a short, decaying picket fence. After August went to the front gate and unlatched it, he ushered Jamie and Griswold up to the front door and let them inside. They walked into a small foyer with white walls and a scuffed hardwood floor. To the right was a staircase that led to the second floor. The entrance to the living room and kitchen was across from the front door.

            “Alright,” said Griswold as she closed the door behind them. “Let’s look over the house and see if we can find anything that could point us to Ms. Moran.”

            “Anything in particular we’re looking for?” asked Jamie.

            “Anything that stands out,” replied Griswold. “Care to help us August?”

            “Sure,” he said shrugging his shoulders.

            “Perfect!” said Griswold. “Is there anywhere you think your mom would be hiding something important?”

            “Her room, probably,” August replied.

            “Well, let’s start there!” said Griswold.

            August led Jamie and Griswold up to Charlotte’s room on the second floor. When they tried the door and found it wouldn’t open, Jamie took out a penknife to pick the lock. After a few minutes of fiddling with the mechanism, she heard a click and felt the door give a bit. She pushed it open and the three walked into a room with wood paneling and a red shag carpet. The atmosphere was thick and hazy as the afternoon sunlight filtered in through drawn vertical blinds.

            They each scoured a different part of the room. August diligently went through his mother’s closet, but found nothing other than revealing outfits, lingerie, and bondage gear. “This was not how I expected my Friday to go,” he muttered to himself.

            Griswold went through the drawers of a dresser not far from the entrance of the room. She spent a good deal of time combing through the articles of clothing it held and glanced over the makeup and cheap perfume on top of it, but also found nothing of interest. This left Jamie to examine the unmade bed positioned across from the dresser. She tossed aside its red comforter and faded sheets, kicking up dust particles that danced in the beams of light which entered from the window above the headboard. She felt around the uncovered bed in an effort to find anything hidden. However, it was not until she lifted the mattress out of its metal frame that Jamie noticed a small, folded slip of paper that had fallen to the ground. Putting the mattress down, she picked up the paper and unfolded it.

            “Hey guys,” she said as her eyes grew with horror, “you might want to see this.”

            Griswold and August went over to Jamie. Taking the note from her, Griswold read its handwritten message aloud:

            “I know where you live. Meet me at North Champion and your son doesn’t get hurt. Thursday @ 10”