Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
ALASKA
“Don’t do it,” Matthew warns me, standing in my kitchen with his stupid Christmas sweater, his skin as pale as morning snow.
“Why? It’s just a cake.”
“Just a cake? C’mon, Laska, this guy dumped you and you’re making him a freaking cake?
” he says, resting his back on the wall.
My kitchen is small, but I love it this way.
I decorated it with little beach paintings and pink linens.
There are also a few movie quotes I framed near the counter.
It goes directly into my living room, which has a beautiful view of the forest through the large bay window.
Matthew says it looks like a tiny house, but I like it this way.
I never saw myself in something bigger. I would get lost or only use the same spaces.
When I see a massive mansion, all I can think of is how people must be hanging out in different rooms, while I wish that if I had had the chance to build a family, we would always spend time in the same areas.
“He didn’t dump me.” I look at him hard.
“He couldn’t make it this one time, that’s different.
” Jack left a flower on the doorstep of my bookshop yesterday morning with a note saying he had to postpone our hike.
He didn't say why, but I'm guessing it's work-related. The smile I had when I took the rose in my hand faded when I read his note. I was actually really looking forward to it. Is Matthew right? Was it a ghosting move? If he wanted to send me a message, he wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of picking a flower and writing a note, right?
It seemed genuine, and for some strange reason, I actually trust him.
So I thought, if he's stuck at work, then why not bring him a piece of cake and then go on with my day? There’s nothing wrong with a bit of cake…
“I thought you said you didn't want a relationship of any kind.” Matthew scoffs.
“I thought so too, but going on a hike together doesn’t mean we’re going to get married, it was just nice to—”
“Not married, but that’s a big step for you and—”
“Can you just stop? I’m trying to…” I rub my face. “I’m trying here. I’m trying something new. I haven’t felt this way with someone in years, I’m just…”
I just want to chase this feeling.
Here.
The way Jack looks at me when I speak, the way his touch warms me up from the inside out. No one does that to me. The idea of touching another being repulsed me until I met him. When he's near, there's this inexplicable state of being exactly where I should be for once…and I’m craving it.
“Hey.” Matthew comes near me, his step wet and loud, squelching against the wood floor and leaving droplets of water on it. He raises his hands but stops before dropping his arms by his sides. He's a hugger, but at least he respects my need to keep my distance.
All I want is to bring this average-looking cake to Jack and hear his voice say my name.
Even if it's silly and makes no sense. I like baking; it relaxes me and that’s one of the things I’m known for in my family.
Each year, I would make Christmas cookies in the shapes of snowflakes and my dad would call them Alaska’s Specials, and well, it always makes my day better to bake and make people smile with it.
“Come on, I didn’t want to upset you,” he says with an eye roll.
“Maybe…you should stop meddling in my life, Matt,” I hesitate, “We’re not the same person,” I murmur to my twin and he sneers.
“Okay, right, well, good luck handling it on your own, we both know how you manage that.” A cold smile is placated on his face before turning his back and walking to the door.
I don’t even look at him as he leaves, my shoulders relaxing after hearing the creaking of the door.
Finishing the topping on my chocolate cake with small sugary snowflakes, I set it on the table and start searching for a box to transport it.
The counter is already spotless as I clean as I go.
My spoons and measuring cup drying on the rack and ordered by size.
I kneel at my counter to look for a Tupperware box large enough to carry it, but when I do, I spot a few crumbs of cake fallen on the floor next to a little puddle of water.
Damn it, Matt can’t bother to remove his shoes each time he comes here.
Taking a cloth to clean it, I kneel back, but the puddle isn't there anymore. All I see are little chocolate crumbs, while I search for the missing puddle. I was sure there was water here, from Matthew’s shoe sole.
Whatever.
I get back up and pick up the plate, the cake balanced on it.
Hopefully, he’ll love it and maybe we’ll get to talk and just spend more time together.
I slide in my navy raincoat, the cloudy sky mingling with a dusty rain.
I take in my face in the mirror for a second and decide to add a bit of that cherry chapstick I’ve been loving recently.
The texture smears on my lips like fruit and I tap it with my index, blurring it like I’ve just been kissed.
Maybe one day, Alaska.
Maybe one day.
Jack
The only way to keep Alaska from invading my mind is to work.
So I’ve been here all weekend, surrounded by mostly empty offices and the lingering smell of coffee.
The building is dead quiet except for Dan, a young officer stuck on front desk duty, and me, alone in my beige office, boxed in by files.
Gotta admit, I kind of miss Jared’s laugh right now.
Time feels like it’s slowed to a crawl since yesterday morning.
I did make some progress sorting through the mountain of paperwork, which is something.
Two cases turned out to belong to another county and were mistakenly sent to us.
I sent them back, because there's a better chance they’ll be resolved where they belong.
That leaves five to go, even though there was supposed to be another one originally.
That’s what pulled me out of the house in the first place, something about that missing case scratched at my brain, distracting me from staying home thinking of Alaska like a broken record.
Out of all the evidence in the boxes, every file is labeled, every item tagged, every victim accounted for.
All except one.
A single photograph.
Higher quality than the others, likely taken with a digital camera instead of the older, grainy film photos from the other cases.
Definitely more recent. The image is blurry, but I can make out the edge of a dark piece of fabric.
It looks damp, or maybe that’s just the lighting.
And most importantly, no case number, no initials.
Nothing that gives me a name. Most of the other files had evidence like notes, site photos, maybe a shot of the body, but this one stands out.
A lot of officers would overlook it, but clothes say things.
They whisper hints about the wearer, about what happened.
Maybe this is the first thread. My phone rings, yanking me back to the present.
My stomach grumbles; I’ve been running on coffee fumes. What I'd give for a sweet treat.
"Parkson," says Fletcher, my current Captain.
"Captain."
"Heard you’re unfamiliar with the concept of weekends," he jokes.
"I-I wanted to get ahead on the, uh, archives. S-sorting things out," I explain, leaving out the real reason. Alaska, her smile, her voice, the way she’s taken up real estate in my head.
"All right, I appreciate the hustle, but don’t burn yourself out. If you’re still there when I call again tonight, I’ll send Dan in with a tranq dart."
I grin. "I’ll be out in a f-few hours, you have my word."
"City cops. You guys aren’t built for slow-paced towns." He chuckles. "Anything interesting come up?"
"Yeah. Made progress. Turns out the seventh case we were looking for, it-it exists. There’s a phot—”
"I’d rather you stay focused on the sixth one," he cuts in, his voice sobering. "The woman assaulted near Lakeside back in the late 2000s."
"But…I think this p-photo could lead us to a new victim. The quality suggests it’s recent. May-maybe it should be the p-priority? Witnesses might still be around, unlike the older cases—"
"Jack." The warmth disappears from his tone. "Drop it, alright?" I frown, my hand twitching.
"Yes, sir."
"Leave that photo where it is. Some things are better…er, left in the dark. Work the sixth case."
So, they’re covering something.
I’m not imagining it.
He’s deliberately steering me away. I bite down on my knuckle, my pulse spiking. Something happened here, something no one wants touched. Since I just arrived, I’m not in a position to fight the tide. Not yet.
"Yes, sir," I reply, though every bone in my body screams to do the opposite. My instincts, my drive to get to the bottom of it. The phone clicks. I lower it slowly and stare at the photo again. Then I slide it into my desk drawer and lock it. No one’s looking for it anyway. If it disappears, I want it to be with me. I might start digging a bit. Maybe it’ll help a family finally get closure.
Or maybe it’ll drag me straight into the kind of hell no one warned me about.
Either way, I won’t let it go that easily.
I chose this job to uncover the truth, even if it means going against my own.
A knock sounds at the door. I snap the drawer shut, turn the key, and slide it into my pocket.
"What?" I call, sharper than I mean to be. The door cracks open. Dan’s flushed face appears, his short black haircut making him look even younger than he is.
"There’s someone here to see you, Officer."
I straighten. "Who?"
He clears his throat.
"The Jenkins’ girl, sir.”