Chapter 4
Thomas
Chapter Four
I stopped the car a corner away from my real destination. People in small towns like this gossiped a lot, so it was a practical decision I had to make. My mind was jumping between old memories trying to surface and the girl I was supposed to stay away from, standing in my kitchen. Kinsley’s piercing eyes when she questioned me, her smile when she thought nobody was looking at her, all flashed before my eyes, and I had to stretch my neck as I tried to push them deeper in my brain. I fixed my gaze ahead and quickened my steps. Emotions could get the best of people; I knew that, I just didn’t like them trying to get through me.
I ignored the familiar streets and shops and took a right turn that led me to the edge of the main street. Miller was already sitting on the old bench where we had arranged to meet, with a box on his lap. When he noticed me coming, he stood up and flashed a smile in my direction.
“Thomas,” he called, and I dipped my head, curving the corner of my mouth.
“Kevin.” I took his outstretched hand and shook it.
“A few officers are still inside.” We both turned to look at the building behind us. “But most of them have already gone home,” he added, while I studied the two-story, brick building.
As soon as I decided to come back to Coldwater, I contacted Kevin. He was a childhood friend whose grandfather happened to be the lead investigator of the case that summoned me back here.
“Are we sure we want to do this?” he asked, his eyes still fixated on the police station’s structure.
It was a risky plan we made up, but this was my only possible lead since Kevin’s grandfather had passed away. Without answering his question, I turned my steps toward the stairs. I heard Kevin’s hesitant steps behind me, but I didn’t halt until we reached the blue front door. We only shared one look before he opened it and stalked inside. I caught the door before it could close, keeping it open just enough to hear Kevin’s signal. I didn’t see him open the box full of doughnuts or if the officers took the bait, leaving their desks and positions. I could only hope so.
“My dad is not in today?” I heard Kevin’s pretend surprise. “Shame, I really thought he was working.”
“Kevin?” a woman’s voice came. “Can I help you with something?” she asked, and I stalked closer, waiting.
“Maeve.” Kevin hiccuped. “I-I just brought some snacks.” For a moment I couldn’t hear anything, then Kevin started talking again. “Also, could I ask you some questions?”
I knew he was trying to save the situation. Kevin told me about Officer Maeve. She was his father’s right hand, and she was definitely not supposed to be here. The next thing that reached my ears was his nervous laugh. Receding laugh. The signal. I speared one last glance behind me at the empty street before I snuck into the police station. The door closed behind me with a light thump, but my attention was already elsewhere. I repeated the instructions Kevin had told me in my head. Up the stairs, right turn, and the third door on the left is where they store the case files. I shook my whole body as I straightened from my hiding position and changed my whole appearance into the guy my father raised me to be. I stretched my neck and walked into the station like I owned it. This way, even if I met somebody, I had a chance; they wouldn’t stop me and ask questions.
I walked up the stairs and turned right toward a blue double door which led to another hallway. I almost reached it when I heard footsteps approaching. I looked around in the empty stairway for any hideaway, the footsteps closing in. I noticed a narrow white door next to the stairs, and with two big steps, I darted up to it. I let out a relieved breath when I found it open, and I slid inside. So much for being the man I was raised to be. Fuck. A weird smell reached my nostrils and I grimaced. White tiles covered the walls, but I didn’t even have time to register that I was in the bathroom when someone flushed and stepped out from one of the toilet stalls. I turned around, my hand already on the doorknob, but then?—
“Hey, you,” he called, and I pressed my lips into a hard line, taking a breath and turning back around. “Who are you?” the short, mouse-faced man asked.
I lifted a brow. He seemed like a nice guy. It may not have to be hard after all. “I’m here on behalf of the Rhodes Architecture and Design firm,” I held out a hand, before pulling it back when I remembered where he was just a moment ago. “We own a house at the lake,” I added with a tone that implied that he was at fault for not knowing.
He moved his head quickly. “Yes-yes, the Rhodes’s house. Terrible, terrible tragedy. Runaway mother. Left all her family behind, two children,” he explained, and I nodded, hardening my features.
There was a moment of silence, and I was about to excuse myself when he opened his mouth again. “I’m Officer Gregory Fisher,” he introduced himself with a small, proud grin. “But call me Greg. Everyone does. Is th?—”
“I heard there are doughnuts downstairs,” I cut in, and his whole face lit up as he went to finally wash his hands. “Doughnuts?” he asked excitedly, and I nodded.
“If you didn’t miss it already,” I added, and his eyes widened.
“Oh, I better hurry then.” He let out a nervous giggle, and I opened the door, finally stepping out from the toilet smell. “It was nice meeting you,” he called back, while hurrying past me down the stairs.
I walked over to the blue door and pushed it open. This time, there weren’t any interruptions. The hallway I stepped into was packed with doors, and I was glad I already knew which one I was looking for. I hurried to the third one on the left and read the label. Records section, it stated, and I pulled out the key Kevin “borrowed” for me from one of the officers and put it into the lock. I exhaled when I turned the key, and the door obediently opened.
The records room was a small space with shelves and filing cabinets crammed inside. I turned on the flashlight on my phone and directed it at the labels on the cabinet’s drawers. A small smile tugged on my lips when I noticed the stickers on them that marked that they were arranged in alphabetical order. I ran down my fingertip on the drawers until I reached the one I was looking for with the letters M–S on it. I opened it, my eyes searching for the name Rhodes between the fifty other brown folders.
“There you are.” My eyes finally caught the familiar last name. My name. There was a feeling deep inside my chest that maybe I should be hesitant. That I should feel something more than eager curiosity, but I didn’t. Maybe in the first six years after my mother disappeared I would have. In the second six years, I moved on. But now that I ended up back in this town anyway, I wasn’t the little boy begging for answers about where his mother was—I was here to demand them and get them one way or another. I opened the file, my eyes jumping over the picture of my mother and landing on the report. The only paper the folder contained.