AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“What? Wait…wait, slow down. I—you’ve been—what?” she stammers. None of this makes sense to me and I’m not sure there is any way to make it much clearer to her.
“The Smith family accused me of kidnapping one of their children. I don’t know what’s going on, but I didn’t do anything. The police questioned me for hours but they’re letting me leave now.”
“Okay. I—I’ll be right there. Are you at the Newport police department?”
“Yes,” I say, my voice losing its sound. “Hurry. Please.”
“I’m on my way.”
As I hang up the phone, tears burn the backs of my eyes. I stare up at the fluorescent lights, trying to keep them from falling down my cheeks. “This way,” the female officer who has been escorting me says, leading me down the hallway toward the front entrance.
I pass a couple of holding cells. Only one of them is occupied, but I’ve only ever seen a jail cell on TV and never imagined being this close to one.
“Your car was impounded following the search. Someone will have to bring you down there to retrieve it. They charge by the night. The clerk will give you a card with an address and phone number so you know where to go.”
“Okay,” I say, sound barely scratching through my throat.
The officer scans her badge against an ID reader and the metal door before us screeches open and remains open just long enough for us to walk through. The door closes with a metal clanging that echoes between my ears. “You can retrieve your personal belongings at the station clerk’s window then take a seat in the lobby and wait here for whoever is picking you up.”
“Thank you,” I utter, shuffling toward the clerk’s window.
“Haley Vaughn is released from the initial questioning but has been told to be accessible for any further questioning that might arise. Mark her down as a person of interest for now.”
“Just give me a minute, ma’am,” the woman behind the Plexiglas window says before closing the opening seal to continue the conversation with the officer in private.
My verbal acknowledgment goes unheard. Person of interest? I don’t know what that means other than they can call me back to do this all over again. I can’t think of any other questions they would have for me.
I take a seat in one of the blue plastic bucket chairs, inhaling the musty stench of body odor and mildew with a hint of lemon-cleaner that’s doing little to mask the foul stench.
I lean my head back against the wall and shut my eyes, trying to convince myself I’m anywhere but here.
The memory of the conversation with Mrs. Smith last Sunday reels through my head as I try to recall key moments that stood out. I want to confidently remember that she said I would be watching her twin daughters. I know she said they were nine. That would have been the time she told me about another child of a different age.
No one mentioned the baby when I arrived tonight. I wasn’t brought up to the third floor where the baby’s nursery was. I wonder if Mr. Smith assumed Mrs. Smith had already taken me up there, but a baby would have woken up and cried. I would have heard something during the five hours I was there. A baby requires much more than the mere mention of a bedtime they forgot to tell me about. They eat at certain times and need diapers changed. Neither Blakely nor Madden mentioned a word about a sister.
None of this makes sense. I don’t understand anything that’s happening.
TWELVE
SATURDAY, JUNE 10TH 5:00 AM
The double glass doors across the lobby squeal, jolting me out of a half-sleep. Willa storms inside, looking more like she’s coming to visit me in a hospital bed rather than picking me up at the police station. Her hair is a mess, curls everywhere, half up, half down. She’s in flannel pajama pants and a tank top. It’s obvious she literally ran out of the apartment after I called.
The moment I stand from my seat she throws her arms around me, holding me as tightly as I need to feel safe.
“Your belongings are here when you’re ready,” the clerk says, placing a plastic bag outside the window.
I don’t know what time it is or how long I was trying to block out my surroundings while rehashing everything that’s happened over and over. All I know is I’m in a fog as I take my bag of personal belongings and sign papers agreeing to attend court on the given day of any hearing. I scuff my feet out of the high-security locked doors that have been released temporarily for me to walk through.
We don’t say a word until we are deep into the parking lot. “My God, Hales, what happened?”
“I’m so sorry,” I say, a sob bucking up my throat.
“Sorry about what? Just tell me what the hell happened?”
I shrug, struggling to lift my shoulders with her arm around me. All I can do is shake my head, because there is no answer. There is no logic. I’m as logical as someone can get. I analyze everyone, including myself and every situation. I’m always confident I know what’s going on around me and I have everything under control. Losing control is the worst thing that can happen to a person, and I refuse to let that happen to me again. I won’t.
But I have.
