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MidReal Story
Jax
Scenario:Nadia Asker a homicide detective gets brought onto a case with her ex partner on the job, Erika Miller who was now an FBI agent, to find a kidnapped 12 year old boy, Logan Hunter whose mother was out of town when he was kidnapped from his yard while his grandmother was watching him, his grandmother claims she went inside for 2 minutes to check on his 9 year old sister, Lila Hunter who was working on homework, when she came back outside, Logan was gone.
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Nadia Asker
stubborn, and introspective. Nadia grew up in foster care and was haunted by her past, leading her to become a dedicated detective. Her career took off when she solved her first major case, earning her the nickname "The Cheetah." Her personal life is complicated by her past relationship with Erika Miller, now an FBI agent. Working with Erika again on a missing child case brings up old emotions.
Erika Miller
perceptive, and composed. Erika was once romantically involved with Nadia and respects her exceptional detective skills. Now, she finds herself working alongside Nadia on a critical case of a missing 12yearold boy named Logan Hunter. Her presence challenges Nadia emotionally, but she remains focused on helping solve the case, demonstrating her commitment to justice and her skillful investigative prowess.
Eva Hunter
whose daughter Lila was present when Logan went missing. She is worried, resilient, and caring. Eva was away when Logan disappeared and relies on neighbors for information. Her emotional state is visibly shaken by the news of her son's disappearance, and she works closely with detectives to gather information and coordinate the search effort to find Logan safely.
I was a homicide detective in a small town.
I didn't exactly have a reputation for being the best at my job, but I was determined and stubborn as hell.
I had to be.
Growing up in foster care, I had been written off more times than I could count.
I never thought I would make it out of that system, let alone become a success.
But after landing my first major case, everything changed.
My career took off, and I became known as "The Cheetah."
It was a ridiculous nickname, but it was mine, and I owned it.
Now, though, I was about to get my world rocked again.
This time by a case involving a kidnapped twelve-year-old boy.
And to make matters even more complicated, my ex-partner on the job—and my ex-girlfriend—was now an FBI agent and was being brought in to help find the boy.
Erika Miller was her name, and she was smart, beautiful, and fucking unflinching.
We had worked together for years, solving crimes until our relationship went south.
Then she left the force and me behind to become an FBI agent.
I sat at my desk, staring at Logan's school photo.
He had bright blue eyes and a crooked smile that reminded me of another kid from my past.
Tommy Martinez was his name, and he was my foster brother.
He went missing twenty years ago, and I never forgot about him.
I never gave up hope that he was still alive somewhere.
The precinct was bustling around me, but I tuned it out.
I spread out the crime scene photos from Logan's yard on my desk.
We had to find something we missed the first time around.
Anything that could lead us to the kidnapper.
A partial footprint in the mud caught my eye.
It was too small to belong to an adult, but it could be a clue.
I made a note to send it to forensics for further analysis.
Broken branches on the fence were another sign of a struggle.
And a receipt from Miller's Gas Station caught in the bushes?
That was definitely unusual. I picked up the phone and dialed Erika's number.
She needed to see this evidence, even if talking to her made my chest tighten with anxiety.
"Agent Miller," she answered curtly.
"Erika, it's me," I said, trying to sound casual despite the butterflies in my stomach.
"What can I do for you?"
"I need you to come down here and take a look at some evidence," I said, trying not to let my voice shake.
"What kind of evidence?"
"A partial footprint. Broken branches on the fence. A receipt from Miller's Gas Station caught in the bushes."
There was a pause on the other end of the line before she spoke again.
"Okay. I'll be there soon."
"Good. Thanks."
I hung up the phone and rubbed my temples.
I gathered up my files and headed to my car.
My hands were shaking slightly as I unlocked the door.
I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself down.
The drive to the Hunter residence only took ten minutes through the quiet suburban streets.
The yellow police tape was still up around the yard, and Mrs. Hunter's mother sat in a rocking chair on the porch, watching me with red-rimmed eyes as I ducked under the tape.
I walked the perimeter of the yard again, measuring the distance between the broken fence branches and that partial footprint.
Something about the angle seemed off.
I crouched down to get a closer look at the footprint.
Erika's voice came from behind me, startling me.
"You always did have a knack for finding the smallest details," she said, her tone a mix of admiration and old familiarity.
I stood up, brushing dirt off my hands. "Yeah, well, this one feels different, Erika. Like it's connected to something bigger."
I kneel beside the footprint, pulling out my ruler to measure its depth.
Erika moves closer, taking pictures of the broken fence slats from different angles.
The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the yard, making it harder to spot details.
We move methodically, crossing paths occasionally, our shoulders brushing against each other.
It's tense but familiar, like falling into an old routine.
Near the bushes where I found the receipt, Erika bends down, examining something closely.
She stands up and walks over to me, a small torn piece of fabric caught in her hand.
It's dark blue, like the jacket Logan wore in his school photo.
I pull out a bag and carefully place the fabric inside, making sure not to touch it with my bare hands.
But as I look at where the fabric was caught on a thorn, I realize it doesn't line up with where the footprint was.
The escape route didn't lead that way.
I look up at Erika and see her expression change from professional to concerned.
"There's more to this than just a kidnapping, isn't there?" she says quietly, her eyes searching mine.
I nod, feeling the weight of the past pressing down on me. "Yeah, and I think it might be connected to Tommy's disappearance all those years ago."
Her eyes widen slightly, and she takes a step closer. "You really believe that? After all this time?"
I notice movement at the edge of the yard and turn to see Mrs. Chen, our elderly neighbor, shuffling toward us with her cane.
Erika takes a step back, creating professional distance between us as Mrs. Chen approaches.
The old woman's hands tremble as she grips her cane, her eyes filled with a mixture of curiosity and worry.
"I saw you both working," she says in broken English, her accent thick with Chinese roots.
"I wanted to tell you something."
I nod respectfully, inviting her to speak.
"Yes, Mrs. Chen, what is it?"
"I heard car door slam. Around 7 PM."
She glances between us, her expression uncertain.
"I didn't think much of it then, but when I saw all police cars here today…"
Her voice trails off.
"Did you see the car? Can you tell us what it looked like?"
Erika asks, her voice soft but direct.
Mrs. Chen adjusts her thick glasses before speaking again.
"Dark blue, like my grandson's car."
She points toward the big oak tree standing tall in the corner of the yard.
I walk Mrs. Chen back to her house, steadying her arm as she moves slowly.
"Did you notice anything else about the car, Mrs. Chen?" I ask, trying to keep my tone light and friendly.
"Chrome rims, tinted windows," she says, her voice steady.
"And there was a dent on the rear bumper."
We reach her front door, and she hesitates for a moment before speaking again.
"I also saw a man walking past my window earlier today. He was wearing dark clothes."
She glances around nervously before turning back to us.
"He didn't look like anyone from around here."
Back at the crime scene, I compare Mrs. Chen's statement to the timeline we've established.
The car matches the description of one reported near Tommy's disappearance site all those years ago.
My hands tremble slightly as I write this detail in my notes.
Erika notices my reaction and moves closer to read over my shoulder.
I lead Erika through Mrs. Chen's backyard to the tree line, our flashlights cutting through the growing darkness.
The woods behind her property stretch for miles, dense with old oaks and thorny undergrowth.
We move cautiously, following the edge of the yard until we reach a narrow trail worn into the leaves.
It's barely visible unless you know where to look.
Erika crouches beside me, her breath visible in the cold air as she photographs the evidence.
I notice fresh boot prints in the soft earth, partially hidden by fallen leaves.
They match the partial print from Logan's yard.
I crouch down again to study the footprint more closely, this time measuring it precisely with my ruler.
The size catches me off guard - it's only about seven inches long.
Erika kneels beside me, her shoulder brushing mine as she peers at my measurement.
The print is too small for an adult kidnapper, more like what a child would leave behind.
I pull out my phone and compare the photo of the print from Logan's yard to the one in front of us - they're identical sizes.
My mind races through possibilities: Could Logan have come this way himself?
Or is this evidence of another child entirely?
Erika leans closer, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Do you think it could be Tommy's old shoes?" she asks, her eyes wide with a mix of hope and fear.
I shake my head slowly, trying to piece it all together.
Following the child-sized footprints, we move deeper into the woods as darkness creeps in.
The trail winds between thick tree trunks, the only sound the crunch of leaves beneath our boots.
Erika and I exchange a look, both of us sensing something off.
We round a bend, and suddenly, a massive oak comes into view.
Wooden planks are nailed into its trunk, leading up to a weathered treehouse perched high above.
Leaves crunch overhead, and shadows shift behind the grimy window.
I draw my weapon, moving cautiously around the base of the tree while Erika circles the opposite side.
She stops at a patch of mud and points down - more fresh prints.
Floorboards creak above us, and I grip the first plank, testing its strength.
Erika touches my shoulder, her eyes wide with fear as she points to a nail protruding from the wood.
I test each plank before putting my full weight on it, ignoring Erika's whispered protests below.
The rotting wood creaks under my boots as I ascend.
Halfway up, a rusty nail catches my jacket sleeve, tearing the fabric.
I pause, listening to movement inside the treehouse - shuffling footsteps and what sounds like quiet breathing.
The last plank feels loose under my hand, and I hesitate.
I press myself against the trunk, reaching for my flashlight with one hand while keeping the other steady on the wood.
A child's face appears in the window, eyes wide with terror.