Twenty-Three Grace
All I want to do is walk home. To my parents’ house, not to Geny’s.
But if I don’t do what I need to do now, I’m afraid I’ll lose my opportunity.
When Garrett realizes he can’t find his ID badge, will he have it deactivated for a replacement?
Will they be more on alert, considering it could have been stolen?
I think the chances are higher for the former than the latter, but either way, I can’t take the chance. This is a one-time opportunity.
I walk to the police station, letting the cold sink into my skin and wake up my brain.
The thing about Raven being so small is there isn’t always someone at the police station waiting for crime to strike.
There are a few operators who switch off night shifts, but they work from their homes.
If, on the off chance, there’s a call during the night, they call the on-call officers, who are dispatched from their homes.
This leaves the police station empty at night.
My heart pounds in my throat as I approach the front doors. I wish there were a more discreet way in, but there’s not. Not without a crowbar or a stick of dynamite. I’m hoping with a badge, nothing will get noticed or triggered. It’s a risk, but I’ve never been afraid of a risk.
Before I can second-guess it, I swipe the badge in the card reader. It turns green and I hear a click. I enter, holding my breath. The inside is dimly lit by a single light behind the reception desk. It’s eerily quiet.
I could be on camera. If I am, I’m screwed.
But I wonder how thorough their camera systems are monitored if they’re taking drugs from the evidence room on a regular basis.
I walk to the door by the reception desk that goes back to the rest of the station.
There’s another card reader and I swipe the badge again. Green lights.
Now where would case files be stored? Digitally? I glance over at one of the few computers I’ve seen. Maybe, but Raven is old school. Everything about this town refuses to catch up with the times. I’d bet good money on them still doing paper filing.
I roam the station until I find a room full of filing cabinets. Bingo. I go to open it, but it’s locked. There’s another badge reader. Thank God. I swipe and it opens. I wonder if there’s anywhere his badge isn’t authorized for.
I expect the filing cabinets to be locked, but they’re not, making my job much easier. I search through them alphabetically, searching for my dad’s file first. I find a file with his name on it and start rifling through it. It’s thinner than I would have thought.
There’s an initial report. I snap a picture of it with my phone before reading through it. The reporter is listed as anonymous. A couple lines down, words are scribbled describing an unknown person reporting seeing inappropriate pictures on Kenneth Chandler’s computer at the high school.
There isn’t much else. The report doesn’t even have the name of the officer who wrote it.
I take pictures of the other papers in the file.
I need to hurry. I shouldn’t be here any longer than necessary.
But I pause when I get to papers with pictures printed on them.
Are these the pictures that were supposedly on his computer? They must be.
They’re old pictures, not recent, I think.
I could be wrong but that’s how they strike me.
Not great quality, garish flash in some of them.
And I can see some of the girls’ faces. Hairstyles from the early 2000s.
Thinner eyebrows. So at least some of them are older.
I stop on one picture. A girl I recognize. Tara. My old friend.
My heart slams against my ribcage. She’s grinning, clearly aware the picture is being taken. But she’s young and topless. My stomach turns. I search my memory of my friend and try to place the photograph. It could have been freshman year. Maybe sophomore. And then I spot something else.
In the background I can see part of the flooring, and I recognize it right away.
It’s old linoleum in a weird flowery pattern.
It’s from a large utility closet in the school.
Part of the flooring that didn’t get replaced in the remodel.
It was dubbed the make-out closet, and Wyatt and I snuck in there more than once.
I sort through the pictures again, trying my best to disassociate from what I’m seeing, but it’s impossible. Tears gather in my eyes, and I blink them away to see clearly. There are multiple pictures that show some part of the closet.
I close the file and put it back. I try to slow my breathing before I hyperventilate. The pictures were taken in the school. And not only that, I know someone in them. Tara would know who took the picture.
I start for the door but stop as soon as I grab the handle. There are other files I came here for. Mine and Morgan’s. I run back to where I was. My file should be right by my dad’s with us having the same last name. I flip through the tabs, but it isn’t there.
It’s not all that surprising though. I just came back when they thought I was dead.
I’m sure Frank or someone else has the file.
I shut the drawer and scan to the right until I find the O’s.
I pull the drawer open and search for O’Neil, Morgan.
I come across Brooke’s file first. I pull it out and quickly scan it.
The report describes a traffic stop for speeding.
The officer claims to have smelled marijuana in the car, initiated a search, and found an eighth of marijuana under her seat.
Just like Brooke said. I scan the document all the way down to find the officer who made the find.
Garrett Wilson. I close it and look at the name on the next file, expecting it to be Morgan’s, but it isn’t.
I scan backward and forward, but her file isn’t here.
It makes sense that mine isn’t here right now, but why isn’t Morgan’s? I close the cabinet, scan the room, and try to think. But I’ve already been here too long. I need to get out before I get caught pushing my luck.
As quickly and as stealthily as I can, I slip out of the file room and out of the police station. I look in all directions on the street to make sure no one has seen me leaving. There’s no one out. I should be safe.
It takes two blocks for my pulse to slow down and I’m shivering when I reach the house.
My parents’ house. Despite the cold, I feel the need to be outside a little longer.
My head is a mess, and the fresh air is helping me think.
I grab one of my dad’s jackets from the hall closet when I get inside and go straight to the back deck.
The jacket smells like him and tears prick my eyes.
I wish I had come back, even secretly. But I couldn’t risk it.
Deep down, through the guilt, I know it wasn’t an option.
I made peace with that a long time ago and I keep reminding myself that even though it’s unfortunate, I did what had to be done.
It’s hard to really regret any part of it, despite all the heartache and the pain.
I sift through this new information, unsure what to make of it. The pictures. My and Morgan’s files missing. I don’t know what to make of the missing files, but I’m thankful to have a direction to follow for my dad. I need to talk to Tara.
I eventually go back inside and go upstairs to the primary bedroom.
I crawl beneath the blankets like I’d done so many times.
This was always a safe place when the world felt too scary.
I wish I hadn’t stopped coming here when things got to be too much.
I wish things had been different. But at the same time, I don’t.