I Can't Find Him
“Uncle Owen, I think I need your help. I can’t find TK; he was supposed to meet me over an hour ago, but he never showed up.”
Owen Strand almost always forgot Evan Buckley was his nephew and not also his son. Considering the way TK and Evan were nearly inseparable whenever they were together, which was as often as they could be, it wasn’t hard to confuse him as another Strand.
Knowing what he did about his sister, the relationship she and her husband—a man he’d never truly cared for—had with Evan, saw Owen bringing the kid to Manhattan every chance he got to spend time with the Strand family.
Julia Strand Buckley was never the same after 9/11, having lost her first husband, Killian, along with most of the man’s squad at Ladder 391, in the very same disaster that had cost Owen much of his own firehouse family. Owen did the best he could, lending support to his sister and her children while trying to hold his own life together.
Unfortunately, Owen didn’t just fail at keeping his marriage in one piece; he failed at keeping his family together too. Less than a year after the attacks that tore his whole world apart, Julia had seemingly buried herself along with Killian. She’d become more of a hollowed-out version of the woman she was, marrying a man, Marcus Adaire, who seemed less-than-interested in the two children that came along with his sister. Fortunately, Maddie was already grown and off at college by that point, so she wasn’t too badly influenced by this particular adjustment, but little Evan was still well under foot and felt every change in his household.
It didn’t take Owen long to realize his sister hadn’t just lost her husband that day; she’d also lost the best parts of herself. He could see it in the ways Maddie stayed away, in the ways Julia refused to answer any questions regarding her wellbeing or the state of things in her home, and in the ways Evan’s smiles became fewer and farther between—until they’d almost disappeared completely.
Owen took the kid in as often as he could; practically anytime he had TK, he’d also have Evan. Julia and Marcus never objected, and it pained Owen to know that his sister had become so far removed from herself and her once-loved role as a mother.
The day Owen overheard Evan ask TK what it was like to have a mother who still loved him, even without his father around, tore a hole open in Owen he wasn’t sure could ever be filled.
When the remaining members of the Buckley-Adaire family—so named because little Evan refused to give up his lifelong attachment to Killian’s legacy by changing his name—up and moved to Hershey, PA on little more than Marcus’s whim, Owen couldn’t help but wonder if he shouldn’t try and stop them from taking the 12-year-old boy with them. He knew it was a ludicrous thought; according to his ex-wife, he barely had enough time for his own son, let alone trying to handle a second.
Even after accepting this hard truth, Owen couldn’t help but feel like he was letting the kid down by letting him go.
Knowing what TK’s relationship with Evan meant to his son and vice versa, Owen did the next best thing he could. He gave his nephew a prepaid cell phone with 1000 minutes queued in and told him to call whenever he needed to. Be it for a chance to just talk or for Owen to send him a train ticket back to Manhattan, Evan’s calls would never go unanswered.
And for the next six years, not a single call went ignored, train ticket receipts became common wallet liners for Owen, and TK spent as much time with his cousin and best friend as he could.
Until today.
“What do you mean he never showed up, kid?” Evan may be an adult by legal and height standards now, but it didn’t stop his only uncle from still thinking of him as that shy little boy that needed him to come to bat for him because no one else would. “Where are you?”
“I’m at the new bubble tea place on 15th near McCarren Park. TK told me last night he wanted to try it—you know how he is with tapioca. But I wanted to call Maddie and stop at the library this morning beforehand. TK said he had an errand to run in the Heights anyway, and he promised to meet me at one.”
Owen checked his watch and grimaced—nearly three. “And he hasn’t called at all?”
“No, and he won’t pick up his phone when I call him. It rings and rings and rings, then goes to voicemail.” Owen can hear the way Evan is trying to maintain his cool and keep his breaths leveled despite the obvious anxiety coloring his words. “Uncle Owen, he’s never late and he always answers his phone. What if something happened to him?”
Despite his nephew’s faith in TK, Owen couldn’t help but think about how wrong Evan was about TK lately. He hadn’t mentioned it, of course, but TK’s behavior was getting more erratic by the week. He’d been late for curfew more often than not, didn’t always pick up when Owen called, and he’d been more than evasive about his whereabouts. He knew at sixteen, kids were prone to acting out, especially children of divorce and tragedy like TK, but Owen was starting to worry there was something more serious going on.
Finally voicing these concerns to himself out loud led Owen to offering Evan the option to stay with him and TK for his entire summer before college in September. Since his nephew would be going to John Jay in the fall anyway, it made sense for him to come earlier and get settled in the city permanently. The fact that Evan’s relief at the offer was practically tangible through Owen’s side of the phone just reinforced that he’d made the right call. Owen just hoped his always-responsible nephew’s bright presence would be a good influence on TK the way it always had been before.
And for the past three weeks, it had seemed to work wonders. TK and Evan never missed curfew, one of them always checked in about their whereabouts or plans, and both boys always seemed to have a smile on their face about something. The knot of tension that had started growing in Owen’s chest was finally starting to unravel.
That is…until today.
“Okay, kid, take a breath for me. I’m sure everything is just fine with TK.” Owen tried to prevent his own concern and skepticism from leaking out in his words. “He probably just got hung up with whatever he was doing and lost track of time.”
Doing his best to sound as reassuring as possible for his nephew, Owen stood from his desk and started shuffling papers around, looking for his keys. “It’s going to be okay, Evan. I’m going to try calling him, maybe his mother, and a couple of people I know who may be able to help. We’ll find him. It’s not like New York is a big city or anything, huh?”
The sound of his nephew’s light and somewhat-relieved laugh brought a small smile to his face—despite the situation. “Okay, yeah, you’re right. We can—we can figure this out. What do you want me to do, Uncle Owen?”
Owen smiled again; there was the Evan Buckley he knew, son and nephew of firemen, always ready to jump into the flames to make an assist. “Keep trying to call him and head for the apartment. Ask if any of the neighbors have seen him and, if not, hang out there for a while. If he comes home, you can let me know and I’ll come home and wring his neck for worrying us.”
Trying not to wince at his use of the word “if,” Owen listened for a few minutes more while Evan reassured him he’d do as asked and that he’d also check all of TK’s usual haunts along the way. Thanking his nephew again for his forethought, Owen told him to be safe on his way before hanging up.
He dialed another number and quickly brought the phone back to his ear, waiting three rings before hearing, “Detective Marks?”
“Isaac, hey, it’s Owen. I’ve got a problem.”
“Hey, man, what’s going on?”
“It’s TK. He’s missing, Isaac. Evan, my nephew, just called and told me he never showed up to meet him at some new tea place on 15th in Williamsburg.”
“Okay, Owen,” he could hear Isaac flipping open a notebook, probably already committing everything Owen had told him to memory. Owen and Isaac had been friends for several years and worked in adjacent fields for even longer. He was a good detective and, ironically, specialized in missing persons. “Last known location? Time? And do you know what he was wearing?”
Trying to remember what his son had been dressed in before he left for work that morning, Owen quickly rattled off what he knew. “He was at the apartment this morning with Ev and told him he had an errand to run in the Heights while my nephew went to the library. They were going to meet somewhere on 15th at one, but I’m not sure what time Evan left to go to Pacific this morning. Maybe 10? 11? TK was in black jeans and a white t-shirt with some kind of band on it. The Killers, maybe?”
“That’s great, Owen, it’s a place to start. I’ve got TK’s ID photo pulled up; I’ll print it off and take a few guys over to the Heights. See if anyone has seen him or anyone who looks like him. Do you want me to give you a call if we find him?”
‘If again,’ Owen thought to himself. “Please do. I’m going to try calling his mother and a few other people, see if they’ve seen or heard from him. If no one has, I’ll meet you downtown and help look.”
“Alright, Owen. I’ll let you know what comes up. Keep your phone handy.”
“I always do. Thanks, Isaac.”
After hanging up with Isaac, Owen paced around his office calling his ex-wife—delightful as always—and parents of a few of TK’s friends. No one had seen his son, but they all promised to keep an eye out. Gwenyth was livid with him, of course, and assured him she’d keep calling TK as well as a few other people she knew who may have seen him.
The longer Owen paced and the more negative responses he’d received regarding TK, the worse his feeling of anxiety grew. He couldn’t help but feel like his son was in trouble; call it fatherly intuition, something Gwen swore he never actually possessed, but he could feel in his bones that something was horribly wrong.
After hanging up with yet another family friend who hadn’t seen TK, Owen decided he couldn’t stay in the office anymore, and ran out of the station. He’d always believed having a car in New York City was foolish, but it came with the job and for once he was grateful. Firing off a quick response to Evan’s latest “He’s still not here” text, Owen tried not to imagine the way his nephew was probably reaching nuclear levels of panic and turned the vehicle in the direction of downtown Brooklyn.
Another 20 minutes passed before he finally made it across town and not for the first time in his life, Owen cursed the traffic of his home city. He drove around a few blocks, eyes scanning the street for his son’s familiar head of tousled, chestnut hair. He might’ve felt foolish looking for anyone else’s kid this way, he may as well be looking for a needle in a needlestack, but this wasn’t just any kid. This was his son.
Just as he’d parked on a side street and was about to get out of his car to do a sweep through a few of the nearby stores and restaurants, Owen’s phone rang. Seeing Isaac’s name on the caller ID sent a thrum of anxiety through his bones and he tried to ignore the feeling as he pressed the ‘answer’ button. “Isaac?”
“Owen, we got him. But he’s…”
Owen was glad he’d parked the SUV before answering. With the way his hands had started trembling, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to brake properly, let alone parallel park. He felt his heart seize in his chest, and he brokenly stuttered out, “No. He’s…he’s not.”
“He’s alive. Owen, your son is alive. But it’s—it’s not good. You’ve got to get to BHC as soon as possible. Can you do that? Or do I need to send a car for you?”
Hearing that TK, his son, was blessedly alive, but that it also wasn’t good sent a flaming chill through his entire body. It was almost oxymoronic how he could feel searing heat and freezing cold at the same time. “I can—I can get there. I’m five minutes out.”
“Come through the ER. Room 417. I’ll meet you there.”
Owen barely muttered a ‘thank you’ before he was dropping his phone on the passenger seat and whipping his car out of the alley. Driving in Brooklyn was never an easy feat with the traffic, but with any pretense of patience gone, Owen slammed his hand down on his lightbar control and used the advantage his emergency lights provided to get him to the hospital—to his son—that much faster.