Chapter 8 #2
“Fair assumption,” I chuckle. “But to clarify…it’s can’t, not won’t.” Before he can fire back a smartass response, one of their bedroom doors is thrown open on the second floor, mumbled complaints preceding Dayton’s heavy footsteps a second later.
“I think my pores are permanently clogged with the stench of sweaty teen boy and Axe body spray,” he gripes, his disgruntled voice making me chuckle.
Dayton stomps down the stairs, his middle finger raised and aimed in my direction from the glee I take in his misery.
He’s fresh from a shower and dressed in gym shorts, his gargantuan thighs on full display as he uses a towel to roughly dry his hair.
“He’s a high school teacher, not a predator,” Col clarifies, speaking to thin air as a throaty laugh escapes him.
“What the fuck?” Dayton queries, his eyes growing wide with alarm.
“Just letting the FBI agent who’s tasked with listening in on us know that you’re not a threat.” Col grins, popping the top on a beer and lifting it in a cheers motion. “We all know that Raiden’s piss poor ability to keep his mouth shut has put us on their radar.”
“ME?” I sputter in indignation. “How the fuck is your entering of my home, without invitation, a reflection of my abilities as a detective?” I snag a beer of my own, shoving Col aside in the process. I swear the annoying asshole could give a master class in rage-baiting.
“Pish posh,” he stupidly mutters. “This is about you, not me.” It’s no wonder I drink twice as much in his presence, but the comedic relief is for my benefit.
As much as they’ve borne witness to regarding Veritas and the trauma it’s caused Andi, they’re not naive enough to think there isn’t a mountain of shit they don’t know about, and likely won’t unless Andi herself decides she wants them to.
“Back to what actually matters,” I snark while side-eyeing Col. “Andi’s getting settled in at my place–which is actually her place, as far as she’s concerned.” They both nod in acknowledgment, so hopefully no one slips up and says the wrong thing in front of her.
“And what about you?” Dayton asks, his head tilting to the side as he assesses me. “Do you need a place to stay? We’re tight on room, but we can make it work.”
“I’ll be fine,” I insist, brushing off the offer. “I booked a room at the extended stay down the street, with plans to stop by daily. I didn’t have time to get Andi a phone today, but I told her she could come to you guys if she needs to reach me.”
“Of course she can,” Col agrees, his earnest reply easing some of my worry, but I never really doubted that he, nor Dayton, wouldn’t jump at the opportunity to simply be in her presence.
“As for what I can tell you right now,” I start, knowing that Col doesn’t expect me to reveal anything compromising, and he was only being a pain in the ass earlier with his remarks about me refusing to answer their questions.
“We recovered seventeen victims.” A slew of curses echoes throughout the two-story great room as they voice their disbelief.
“I don’t know what condition they were found in, but from the bit of eavesdropping I was able to do at the hospital, it sounds like a few of them are in pretty rough shape.
I have no idea what the next few days are going to look like.
Chaos, if I had to guess, but I need the two of you to promise me that regardless of how crazy things get, Andi stays away from any bottom-feeding reporters who only give a shit about selling her story to the highest bidder. ”
“Damn right she does,” Dayton assures me, arms crossed over his massive chest, as if to accentuate the veritable wall they’ll have to go through to reach her.
Glad we’re on the same page, then.
“I’ll keep you both up-to-date as much as possible, but don’t hesitate to reach out if something seems out of place.
Keep an eye out for any unfamiliar cars that seem to be frequenting the area, especially at odd times.
I’m hoping to keep Andi’s location from getting out, but we all know how quickly word spreads in Chaplain.
I swear some of these old women have nothing better to do than sit around and talk shit.
” We all grunt in agreement, then spend the next hour or so catching up on other areas of our lives, particularly the whole Briggs debacle and what their next course of action should be.
I debate bringing up the Andi issue and how we plan to keep the two of them from crossing paths, but they have enough problems to contend with without me adding to it.
It doesn’t take long for time to get away from us, and then I’m rushing out the door with a hasty goodbye tossed over my shoulder.
Thirty minutes later, my headlights illuminate the overgrown field next to the former high school.
Dozens of people stand waiting, their arms loaded down with supplies as Mrs. Pearlman, our county clerk, points them in the right direction.
I hit the brake, my hand fumbling with the gear shifter as I struggle to process the sight before me.
I’m not particularly sentimental, but seeing this city come together so quickly makes my throat grow thick with pride.
We work through the night, sorting the various donations into organized piles.
Clothing is separated by gender and size, and makeshift baskets are assembled with basic necessities.
It takes us hours, but we clean every inch of the auditorium, including the bathrooms. Shifting the folded-up bleachers, we position them to act as barriers, doing our best to create the illusion of privacy.
Leonard’s, our local camping store, graciously gifted us cots for everyone.
As the last bed is fitted with a fresh set of sheets, arrivals from the hospital start to trickle in.
Before calling it a night, we coordinate who can be here and how often, creating a schedule of sorts.
When I finally make it to my hotel room, it’s almost dawn.
I’m so exhausted my vision is blurry, but I power through a quick shower, painfully aware of how imminent my alarm is.
This might be the longest day of my life, beating out the many sleepless nights I spent in college, studying for finals at the campus library.
Tomorrow won’t be easy, but with that ache and tiredness comes a level of catharsis.
We did a good thing today. Despite our varying differences and beliefs, our community came together when it mattered the most.
Chaplain won’t go unscathed by the actions of Veritas, but the stain they’ve left won’t define the entirety of our city.
I refuse to believe that the evil in this world outweighs the good.
If that were the case, what’s the point in trying to be decent human beings if it won’t make a difference in the end?
But people like Andi are proof we aren’t a lost cause.
She’s faced the darkest parts of humanity, and though she’s had every reason not to, she’s held tight to her own.
I could live a thousand lives and still never amount to the person she is or the resilience she’s shown.
That type of strength is bred under the harshest of circumstances, and I’m fortunate to have never experienced anything of that magnitude.
It truly puts things into perspective that you never know what someone else is going through.
They could be silently battling a multitude of things, and to us, they’re just another passerby on the street.
For the rest of my life, I’ll be eternally grateful that, for whatever reason, Andi laid eyes on me across the rows of stalls at the Farmer’s Market and decided I was the stranger worth trusting in her moment of desperation.