White Space Season 1

looking into Jon’s eyes.
    He seemed so much kinder than usual. Gentler, even. Cassidy had always wondered why Sarah had fallen for him. Jon had always seemed more Cassidy’s type — bold, brutally honest, brash, and prone to troublemaking and bouts of excess. Perhaps Sarah had seen a layer of Jon that Cassidy had overlooked — a kind, gentle side which mirrored Sarah’s own.
    Cassidy felt another wave of guilt for her role in their breakup.
    Had she been clean, none of this would have happened. Jon and Sarah would still be together. Sarah would be alive. And they’d be with Emma, one big happy family.
    Now, because of Cassidy’s weakness, her sister was dead, her niece missing, and Jon was alone.
    “I’ll see you in the morning,” Cassidy said, turning quickly before Jon could see her break down. Before she spilled her guts and told him everything.
    “Goodnight,” he said, surprised, but retreating to his car without argument. “Call me if you hear anything.”
    “Okay,” Cassidy said, going inside her dark house, and closing the door. Once inside, she slumped against the door, crying her eyes out in the darkness. Wanting to just close her eyes, wake up, and have the past week not happen.
    The pills in her guest room called loudly.
    Welcome home, Cass. We’ve been waiting for you.
    She went upstairs, not strong enough to fight them any more.
    As she walked toward the bathroom to wash up, she saw that her mom’s door was open, and she was sitting up in her bed, the glow of Seinfeld on the TV lighting the darkness. The way the shadows fell on her face, Cassidy couldn’t tell if her mom’s eyes were open.
    “Mom, you awake?” she asked softly.
    “Oh, hi, Sarah,” her mom said, voice slurred with drink.
    See, everyone needs a little something to cope. Your mom drinks. You have pills.
    “It’s me, Mom. Cassidy.”
    “Oh, you, ” she said, you dripping in disappointment. As always.
    “Any word about Emma?” Cassidy asked, ignoring her mom’s drunken insult.
    “Emma?” Vivian asked, as if she didn’t know the child was even missing.
    “Yes, your granddaughter. She’s missing. Jesus, Mom.”
    “Ah, yeah, Emma. Yeah, yeah, don’t worry. They’ll bring her back.”
    Cassidy’s heart nearly froze. She wanted to flick on the light and ask her mom “Who?” but resisted the urge to shake her up and cause her to get distracted and maybe forget what she was saying.
    “Who mom?” Cassidy asked as shadows danced across her mom’s face, hiding most of her features. “ Who will bring her back?”
    “The people in the sky. They always brought you back, Sarah. They’ll bring her back, too.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

::EPISODE 3::
    CHAPTER 1 — Brock Houser

    Ocean County, California
    10 years ago…

    Detective Houser knew he was staring into a set of guilty eyes the second the sleazeball peered from his side of the flimsy security chain which would pop off in an instant if Houser kicked the door in.
    There is an undeniable look worn in the eyes of the guilty — a look you got to know as a cop. A look Houser had become aware of, and well-tuned to, as a child. For Houser, instinct was as accurate as any of his senses. His eyesight had failed him a few times, his instincts, at least in this area, not even once.
    This was his man, sure as shit. The twisted fucker who had kidnapped six year old Cecilia Ramirez.
    “Can I help you?” the man said from the shadows of his dark apartment.
    “Hi, my name is Detective Houser. We’re talking to people in the neighborhood about a missing girl. I’d like to ask if you’ve seen her?”
    Houser raised the photo for the man to see, fixed on his eyes the entire time.
    Recognition? Yes.
    Guilt? Yes. Without a doubt.
    Richard Jurgen was his man.
    “Nope, haven’t seen a thing,” Richard shook his head.
    “Are you sure?”
    The man took a second longer glance at the photo, studying the gloss for a half-minute or so before raising his nervous eyes to meet Houser’s. “Nope, ain’t seen her.”
    The monster started to close the door.
    Houser slipped his boot against the bottom of the door, keeping it ajar. “I’m sure you won’t mind if I ask you about something one of your neighbor’s said.” Houser pretended like it was a question.
    “Sure,” Jurgen said, easing his force on the door.
    Houser kept his boot in place, but didn’t push on the wood.
    “Someone said they saw you last Tuesday, with your hatchback backed up to the garage, late at