The Color of Saffron

A walk in the park.

Ben's Journal - August 17th, 10:30 PM

I need to write this down while it's still fresh. While I can still remember exactly what I saw.

The evening was perfect. 75 degrees, a few clouds catching the last of the sunlight. Not too hot, not too humid. The kind of summer night that makes you forget everything else for a while. The kind that made me forget about Zoe.

I took Saffie out around 8:30. The path by the house was recently paved and she still sneezes from the asphalt smell. She misses the old dirt trail with the pine needles. At least her paws are easier to clean now.

We reached the park at 8:45, our usual halfway point. I let her run around, tire herself out. I've been getting up earlier for work since the promotion, and the last thing I need is her waking me overnight.

It was not five minutes when a sharp whistle rang out. Then another.

A woman stepped out from the edge of the trees. The park lantern caught her dress. Beautiful, unmistakable. The dress I bought Zoe for her birthday last year. The dress she was wearing the last night I saw her.

Four months ago.

That's impossible. I know that. She's been missing, presumed dead. The rational part of my brain screamed that I must be seeing things, that the dim light was playing tricks. It couldn't be her.

But then Saffie ran to her. Saffie, who hates strangers, who barks at everyone. She went right to that woman when she whistled. She recognized her.

I'm staring at these words and they sound insane. But I know what I saw. And Saffie knows too.

A visit from a King.

Ben's Journal - August 18th, 6:00 AM

Last night was sleepless, like the early days of Zoe’s disappearance. She frequently visits my dreams, but that image of her in the park, in that dress, was burned into my waking retinas.

My mind continues to play tricks on the senses. As I lay waiting for morning, my nose caught traces of vanilla on her pillowcase. Her favorite perfume. I know that scent has long since faded, but it was unmistakable.

Saffie seems undisturbed by last night's events. Like clockwork she jumped into bed, always five minutes before my alarm would go off. I’ve made her breakfast, complete with quail eggs, and will soon start my workday. Routine and distraction could do me well. Help quell these swimming thoughts.

Ben’s Journal - August 18th, 7:30 PM

The day has done nothing to quiet my mind! Quite the opposite. I received a visit from a most unwanted guest, Detective King.

His figure loomed on the porch when I returned from work, exactly as it had a few months prior. Grey suit. Cut way too heavy for this heat. I suspect he had not anticipated leaving the station today. He even had that cheesy, unlit cigarette hanging loosely from between his teeth.

His timing couldn’t be coincidence. It has been months since he last visited. Since his incompetent handling of Zoe’s first 48 hours. I don’t believe the stories. The hot-shot detective from the city could not be the same man I’ve dealt with. I’m digressing.

I dared not guess his motives for stopping by after this time, but what he shared was unforeseeable. An envelope dropped on his desk sometime today, unknown sender. A sticky note attached with the words "Special Delivery." Inside, a solitary Polaroid. Blurry, but unmistakable.

A cup of Earl Grey.

Ben's journal - August 19th, morning

Nobody will believe me, I know this. But if anyone could, it would be her mother, right? She's been rather distant with me, cold even, ever since Zoe disappeared, but I need her to know what I saw.

Journal of Laura Cross - August 19th, Late Evening

It feels as if time has slowed to a crawl. Couldn't move until I heard the door click. I don't know how long that took. The air in the kitchen is heavy, like the first breath after walking out into the summer humidity.

I've busied myself with the kettle. Twice, actually. Spilled the first cup of Earl Grey all over the counter and didn't even notice until it reached the floor. Zoe's old kettle screaming away and me just standing there, miles off somewhere. It was then, as I reached for a cloth, that I saw it.

A Polaroid, tucked partly under the breadboard. The moment I laid eyes on it, I knew he meant for it to be found.

The photo made no sense.

A woman. Back half-turned, face caught mid-look, mouth open like she's saying something. She's wearing that yellow-orange dress. My yellow-orange dress—the one I gave Zoe for Christmas. The little vintage one that she adored. And the trees behind her are full and green. Summer trees. Like today.

It looks like her.

God, it looks so much like her.

My tea's gone cold, so I've nabbed the bottle of whiskey from the top shelf. Haven't touched it in months, but here we are. One sip turned into three. It's helping, a little. Settling something.

Was I wrong about Ben? Could his grief actually be real, and I've just... grown bitter, sitting here waiting? One photograph isn't proof of anything. I know that.

But I went digging through the pile by the fridge anyway. Found what I was looking for underneath a stack of coupons:

Marcus Smith – Private Investigator

The card's got a coffee stain on it from the day we met. I'm going to call him in the morning.

I have to know.

Journal of Laura Cross - August 19th, Near Midnight

I told myself to sleep on it. To refill my drink and forget. Not when a Zoe-sized hole reopened in my heart. The weight of the photograph was suffocating.

So I followed.

My sandals slipped on the slick path, I tripped over roots in the darkness, yet I tiptoed on in silence. I nearly turned back. I nearly called out. I thought I must be mad.

Ben walked stiffly, as if pulled by a string. Past the hedges, past the lamps, past the gate. At times I could hear him speaking, but my distance was too great to make out the words.

He stopped at the trail bend, where it opened to a park. He stood still, staring into nothing. The tree above him shivered though no wind moved the branches. He waited.

And there was no one.

Only then did I retreat, heart hammering in sync with my steps. I was angry. At Ben but mostly myself. I shouldn’t have trusted him. In the end we’re both still alone.

A short 72 hours.

Ben's Journal - August 20th, around noon

I see no other options. I know city hall stores the security footage from the park—my company helped set up the IT infrastructure. If I had thought of this yesterday, I would have had time to use the company credentials to access their server. They have a 72 hour retention policy except for police investigations. Now I only have four hours. I'll have to go the analog route.

Case No. 0234 — Det. King, Alexander. August 20th.

Received a phone call from Mike Peters, clerk at city hall, whom I met with only yesterday. Male suspect, mid-30s, dropped my name to get access to security footage around 14:00. It has to be Benjamin. I'll confirm tomorrow but have no doubts he's the only person up for this.

Peters said the suspect did quite a number there once he got past the front desk. Locked himself inside the security office while the guard grabbed a coffee. Papers, tapes, drives, thrown everywhere. Clearly looking for something.

The suspect knocked the security guard over as he was reentering the room. No major physical damage. Spilled coffee and a bruised ego. Subsequent chase as suspect fled out the front of city hall caused additional minor property damage. Toppled filing cabinets, paper, supply trays.

A reverie.

Ben's Journal - August 25th, evening

I don't know which is worse. If Zoe really is back after this time, that means I failed her. I gave up. Accepted her death and tried to move on. When I should have continued searching. When I should have trusted myself instead of listening to what others had to say. But if she is back, where has she been? What has she been doing for so long? Why come back just to remain hidden? I can think of a million more.

I'm dancing with madness. I see her everywhere I go. Feel her everywhere I go. Even smell her everywhere I go. She consumes my thoughts all the time lately. Every moment of distraction, I slip into reverie.

Today, she felt closer than usual. Close enough that her invisible, imaginary breath lifted the hairs on the back of my neck as I took Saffie for a walk to the park. By the time we got there, it seemed neither of us was much in the mood for play. I sat on one of the benches with Saffie's leash coiled loosely in hand. If she changed her mind, I wanted to let her run and play in the field.

I was so tired and I was on the edge of dozing off right there on the bench when something snapped me to attention. A woman at the edge of the path. A ruffle of a dress that I knew too well. I pulled Saffie along and ran towards her. She turned to flee but we quickly caught up. The dress was wrong. More brown and too short. It was not who I thought.

Figured it was time to head home after that. A quiet walk back. Even Saffie didn't bother barking at the passing dogs. I've wiped her paws, set her food out, and fixed myself a drink. Nothing interesting on TV, but I like the noise.

Ben's Journal - August 26th, morning

The knock came after dark. I had dozed off in the living room. I had a hunch who was on the other side. It was dark through the peephole, but the white paper from the unlit cigarette was enough to confirm my suspicions.

Detective King said he was just checking in on me, but I really think he does this to appear busy to the station. He gave me a half-hearted lecture about my recent behavior. Said I was lucky people know I'm still grieving. But that wouldn't last forever. Eventually people wouldn't be so forgiving, and I "... couldn't go around breaking into municipal buildings, loitering all day at the park, and god forbid chase strangers." (How he knew about the woman from the park, I don't know)

He wasn't around for long. Not the most fun conversationalist. His usual gruffness bordered on somber tonight. But he left a sealed envelope with something small inside that would "answer my questions."

A man's best friend.

Ben's journal - August 28th, evening

The envelope stayed put for a couple days. As if filled with cement, I couldn't lift it from the coffee table. I'm not sure why I was afraid of what sat inside.

It's been ten days since Zoe reappeared in the park. Ten days and no more clues, no more answers. My body aches like gravity doubled. It's time.

A single swipe of the finger between the seal and there was no going back. I turned the envelope over and out fell a USB drive. Accompanying it, a piece of notepaper with Detective King's hurried handwriting:

Ben,

I managed to pull this video just before you made it to the city hall security office. Sgt. Parker was making a copy for me when you found the office unattended. It's a four-hour block, but your answers are near the beginning.

I took the USB to my office and plugged it in. The video loaded instantly. I was staring at a view of the park, time-stamped August 17th, 20:00 hrs. 45 minutes before I'd arrive with Saffie. 45 minutes before we'd see Zoe.

I fast forwarded to 20:40 but no further. I didn't want to miss anything. For five excruciatingly slow minutes, I stared at a view of the empty park. And then, movement.

From the bottom corner of the screen, a man entered the park. He walked up next to the bench and stood there. Stood there for 5 minutes, turned, and left the park.

The man was me. But Saffie, with her brilliant white coat, was nowhere to be seen.