Chapter 7 #2
The police station looms a few blocks later, all fluorescent buzz and echoing voices as we push through the doors.
The desk sergeant, a burly guy with a mustache that looks like it belongs in a bad cop movie, looks up from his paperwork, eyeing us with the bored skepticism of someone who's heard every sob story twice.
“Help you ladies?” He asks, pen tapping lazily against the clipboard tucked under his arm.
I step forward, my mouth suddenly dry as sandpaper. For a second the words stick in my throat, refusing to come out, but Maddie nudges my elbow gently, a silent push of support that steadies me just enough.
“Yes.” I say, forcing the word out. My voice wavers at first, then steadies. “I need to report two incidents. Two separate files, actually.”
The sergeant’s pen pauses mid-tap.
“One’s about my boyfriend.” I continue. “He’s been abusive. Physically and emotionally.”
A beat passes.
“The other… is about a stalker. Someone’s been harassing me for weeks. Texts. Photos. And now…”
My throat tightens. “He installed a hidden camera in my flat. He has videos of me. Private ones.”
The sergeant’s eyebrows shoot up, but to his credit he doesn’t react beyond that. Instead he grabs a form from a stack behind the counter, flipping it open and setting it down with the practiced efficiency of someone who’s filled out a thousand like it.
“Alright.” He says, clicking his pen.
“Start from the top.”
He glances up at me briefly. “Full names first. Yours, the boyfriend’s. Stalker too, if you’ve got it.”
The pen hovers over the paper. “Addresses for all parties. When did the abuse start? Any witnesses? And the camera? Where exactly was it, and how do you know it’s him?”
The questions come fast. Too fast. Each one feels like another layer of skin being peeled back, exposing something raw and humiliating beneath. I swallow hard.
“My name is Iris Mae Whitlock.” I begin, my voice thin but growing steadier with each word. Maddie stands beside me like a silent guard, her presence grounding me.
“My boyfriend is Ryan Matthew Reed.” I continue. “We live together at 214 Elm Street. Unit 3B.”
The sergeant scribbles quickly.
“The abuse…” I hesitate. “It’s escalated over months. But the worst was last night.”
I can still feel his hands. “He grabbed my neck. Shoved me. Hit me.”
The pen pauses briefly.
“No witnesses.” I add quietly. “It always happens behind closed doors.”
“And the stalker?” He prompts.
“I don’t know his name.”
My fingers curl tightly around my phone.
“It started with texts. Unknown numbers. He’d comment on what I was wearing. Where I was going.”
I force a shaky breath out. “Then a sandwich showed up in my class. Left on my desk. He knew I hadn’t eaten. And the video came today.” I finish softly. “Me in the shower.”
The words feel poisonous leaving my mouth. “He threatened to share it if I told anyone.”
The sergeant continues writing, his pen scratching steadily across the paper. When I mention Ryan’s workplace, Assistant Director at Reel Time Productions downtown, he gives a small grunt and flips to another section of the form.
“And your address again?” He asks. “Full thing for the report.”
“214 Elm Street.” I repeat. The words stick slightly in my throat. “Unit 3B.”
I know what comes next. The pity. The judgment.
Elm Street sits deep in the part of town most people pretend doesn’t exist. Rent is cheap there because safety is optional. It’s where people like me end up after scholarships stop covering everything and the last of your family is lowered into the ground.
The sergeant’s pen stops moving. He looks up. Something in his expression shifts. The professional neutrality drains away, replaced by something uglier. A smirk tugs at the edge of his mustache.
“Elm Street?” He repeats slowly. He leans back in his chair. “That dump off the highway?”
He slides the form back toward me across the counter. “Look, sweetheart.” He says casually. “I can’t file this report.”
The paper stops inches from my hands. For a second I just stare at it, the words refusing to make sense.
“What?” I ask quietly. “Why not? You asked for everything. Names, dates, proof.”
I lift my phone slightly. “I have screenshots. The texts. The video file even.” My throat tightens again. “Please. This guy’s dangerous.”
The sergeant chuckles under his breath, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “Dangerous?” He says. “In that neighborhood?” He shakes his head slowly. “Come on, sweetheart. What you’re describing? We hear versions of that every week.”
My ears ring.
“Half the time it’s an ex stirring up trouble, the other half it’s neighbors recording each other through thin walls.” He continues, voice calm, almost bored. “Doesn’t mean there’s some criminal mastermind out there.”
He makes a small dismissive gesture with his hand. “And this ‘stalker’?” He flicks two fingers in the air. “Sounds more like someone with a phone and too much time.” He shrugs. “Not our jurisdiction anyway. Elm’s vice territory, not patrol.”
The words land like blows.
“Go sort it out with community mediation or something.” He finishes. “We’ve got real crimes here.” He glances dismissively at the form. “Not ghetto drama.”
Heat rushes into my face so quickly it burns.
“Ghetto drama?” I repeat, my voice rising despite myself. “That’s what you think this is? My privacy is being violated. My safety.”
I lift the phone again. “He has a video of me naked and he’s threatening to send it everywhere.” My voice cracks. “How is that not a real crime?”
The sergeant is already returning to his computer. “File it online if you’re that worked up.” He mutters.
He waves a hand dismissively. “Or move out. Problem solved.” His fingers hover over the keyboard. “Next.”
Maddie moves before I can even process what just happened.
Her palm slams against the counter hard enough to rattle the coffee cup beside his keyboard, the liquid inside sloshing dangerously close to the rim.
“Excuse me?” She snaps.
Her voice cracks through the room like a whip. People in the waiting area turn to stare.
“You’ll write that report right now.” She continues, leaning forward over the counter. “Or I swear to God I’ll have your badge by morning.”
The sergeant straightens slightly, his smirk faltering as he looks her over properly for the first time. Designer coat. Perfect posture. The quiet confidence of someone who has never been told no.
“Do you know who my father is?” Maddie continues.
“Montclair Industries. Half the tech contracts in this city run through him.”
Her voice drops dangerously. “One call, and you’ll be explaining to Internal Affairs why you mocked a victim instead of doing your job.”
The sergeant studies her for a long moment. Then he leans forward again, the smirk slowly returning.
“Oh yeah?” He says. “Daddy’s little princess slumming it with the welfare cases?”
He chuckles. “Go ahead. Call him.” His gaze flicks to me with open contempt. “See if he cares about your charity project. We’re not wasting ink on Elm Street sob stories.”
Maddie’s face flushes red with fury. Without another word she yanks out her phone and dials.
“Fine.” She mutters through clenched teeth. “You asked for it.”
The call connects on the second ring. She taps speaker and holds the phone between us like a weapon.
“Dad?” She says quickly. “Yeah, it’s me.”
Her voice trembles slightly but stays firm. “Listen, I’m at the police station trying to file a report for my friend. Stalking. Abuse. The works.”
She shoots the sergeant a pointed glare. “But this officer here refuses because she lives in a ‘poor neighborhood.’ Says it’s not worth the paper.”
A pause crackles through the speaker. Then her father’s voice cuts in sharply.
“Maddie, what on earth are you doing at a police station? And with who?” His tone sharpens further. “Some friend from that arts school?”
“But she’s in real danger…” Maddie starts.
“I told you to stay out of trouble.” He snaps. “Go home right now. And do not mingle with the likes of her.”
Maddie’s hand tightens around the phone. “Dad, please…”
“We have a reputation to uphold.” He cuts in sharply. “I have a board meeting this week and the last thing I need is my daughter getting dragged into some public mess.”
“Dad, this isn’t about reputation…”
“Stop being rebellious for five minutes and think.” He says coldly. “Poor people dragging you into their messes… and you running straight into it like always.”
“But…”
“Drop it.” He finishes. “And stay out of trouble.”
The line goes dead with a sharp click.
Maddie's hand shakes as she pockets the phone, her face crumpling with a mix of shock and betrayal that mirrors the devastation crashing through me.
The sergeant's smirk returns full force, but she doesn't rise to it. Instead, she grabs my arm, steering us toward the door.
"We're done here." She mutters, her voice tight. "Let's go."
We stumble out into the night, the rejection hitting like a gut punch, leaving me hollow and reeling as tears blur the car park. Defeat settles heavy in my bones, the hope we'd clung to shattering into pieces that cut deep.
Back in the car, Maddie grips the wheel white-knuckled, staring straight ahead without starting the engine.
"I'm so sorry, Ree." She says finally, her voice breaking on the words. "That asshole and my dad, none of this is right. We tried, but... God, I feel like such a failure."
I reach over, squeezing her hand even as my own chest aches with the weight of it all. The mockery, the dismissal, the reminder that my pain doesn't count because of where I live.
"It's okay," I say, forcing the words past the lump in my throat. "We tried our best. Really. At least... at least you believed me. That's more than I had yesterday."
But it's not okay, not even close. Devastation floods me full force, a tidal wave of worthlessness that makes me curl inward, sobs hitching in my chest as the reality sinks in. No justice, no safety. Just me against shadows that the world won't touch.
Maddie starts the car eventually, the drive back to her place silent except for my quiet sniffles, and by the time we settle inside, coats shed, tea brewing as a poor substitute for comfort. Exhaustion wars with the grief churning inside me.
Maddie's phone rings then, shattering the quiet, and she glances at the screen before answering on speaker.
Maddie exhales heavily as she drops onto the couch beside me, rubbing her temples like she’s trying to push the entire night out of her skull. The living room feels smaller than usual, the air thick with the humiliation we carried out of that station.
“Al?” she says. “Yeah, we’re back.”
A small pause. “How’d it go with your dad?”
Static crackles faintly through the speaker before Al’s voice fills the room, familiar and warm, though threaded with concern.
“Survived.” He says.
I can almost picture the crooked grin he probably has right now.
“Turns out it was just some investor pulling a power play. Nothing world-ending.” A beat passes. “But you two?” He adds, his tone sharpening slightly. “How’d it go at the station? That creep sweating yet?”
Maddie lets out a humorless grunt and drops her head back against the couch. “Disaster.” She mutters.
I stare down at my hands, still trembling slightly in my lap.
“The cop was a total asshole.”
Al goes quiet on the other end.
“He mocked Ree’s address.” Maddie continues, anger creeping back into her voice. “Like it was some kind of joke.”
She presses her fingers harder into her temples. “Said abuse and stalking are ‘normal’ where she lives.”
The words taste bitter even when repeated.
“He wouldn’t even take the report. And when I called my dad…” Maddie exhales sharply. “Well… He told me to ditch her and protect the family reputation.”
I feel a small stab of guilt twist in my chest.
“Hung up like I was asking him for a kidney.”
For a moment the line stays completely silent. Then Al swears. A sharp, furious sound. “What the hell?”
His voice has lost all warmth now, replaced with something colder. “That’s bullshit.”
A faint shuffling sound comes through the speaker, like he’s already moving. “Which station?” He asks. “I’ll drive down there right now. I’ll make a scene big enough to get them audited.”
Then his tone softens slightly. “Ree… you okay?”
Another pause. “Mads, you need backup?”
I open my mouth to answer, but my phone buzzes in my lap, the vibration sending ice through my veins.
Unknown number. Always the same game. My hands shake as I unlock it, the message popping up stark and final.
‘You shouldn't have gone to the police. Let’s see who laughs when everyone enjoys watching you.’