Page 36 of My Twin Sister

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.

Twenty-Four: Geny

The front door is locked and the spare key is gone. I use my own key to open the door and slam it behind me.

“Grace! Are you here?”

She’d better be here. I can’t believe she didn’t come home last night. I drove around all morning looking for her car, preparing myself to find it flipped into a ditch. Instead, I found it in the parking lot of Gentry’s Bar. I pulled next to the car to make sure she wasn’t sleeping in it and was out of ideas when it was empty.

Then I thought, maybe she drank too much and walked to Mom and Dad’s. It’s closer than my house. I just pray she’s here and that she didn’t go home with someone. I climb the stairs and I’m about to yell out to her again, but I stop when I hear a voice.

It’s Grace. She’s talking to someone and for a horrible second, I think she brought some guy home from the bar and slept with him in our dead parents’ bed. But as I continue to listen, I don’t hear a second voice.

I can’t bring myself to open the door. I can’t go into that room. I don’t even want to see it. I turn my head and strain to hear what she’s saying.

“I know. I’m so sorry. I miss you too.”

Who is she talking to? Who does she miss?

“I’ll call you later, okay? Okay. Yep. I love you.”

Pin pricks of electricity spark in my chest. She has someone back wherever she left. Bloomington? She told me she didn’t. Why did she lie about that? Why does she want me to think she’s single? Or is it because she wants Wyatt to think she’s single?