At 10 a.m., his boss called the house asking where he was.
That was unheard of. Michael was religiously punctual.
Rachel felt the first sharp stab of fear.
She called Michael’s cell phone—off. That was strange. Michael always kept it on in case the family needed him.
She waited, thinking maybe transit problems. Buses were unpredictable. The Metro sometimes stalled between stations.
But noon came. And still, nothing.
Fear turned into alarm.
She called the company again. No—he hadn’t arrived. He hadn’t called.
She called relatives. No one had heard from him.
At 2 p.m., she left the boys with a neighbor and went searching—walking the route Michael took every day.
She asked shop owners, street vendors, anyone who might’ve seen him.
No one remembered seeing him.
It was as if Michael Carter had dissolved into the air.
That same afternoon, Rachel reported the disappearance to the local public prosecutor’s office.
The officer who took her report—a tired middle-aged man—reacted with routine skepticism.
“Ma’am, a lot of men take off for a few days. They come back when they cool down or when the money runs out.”
Rachel insisted Michael wasn’t that kind of man. Something bad had happened.