Never Never: Part Two
Page 4
January 7th-July 15th, 2011.
I flip through the pages and see that it’s a journal. In the box beneath this one, there are at least five more.
She must love to write.
I look around, lifting pillows and blankets, searching for something to put the journals in. If I want to find this girl, I need to know where she frequents. Places she might be, people she might know. Journals are the perfect way to find out that information.
I find an empty, worn backpack on the floor a few feet away, so I grab it and stuff all the journals inside. I begin pushing things aside, shaking out books, looking around for anything and everything that might help me. I find several letters in various places, a few stacks of pictures, random sticky notes. I take everything I can fit into the backpack and make my way back to the attic opening. I know there are also a few things in the bedroom at my own house, so I’ll go there next and sort through it all as fast as I can.
When I reach the opening, I drop the backpack through the attic hole first. It hits the ground with a loud thud and I flinch, knowing I should be quieter. I begin to descend the shelves one by one, trying to imagine Charlie making the journey up and down these makeshift stairs every night. Her life must be pretty bad if she escapes to the attic by choice. When I make it to the bottom, I grab the backpack and stand up straight. I pull it over my shoulder and start toward the door.
I freeze.
I’m not sure what to do, because the officer who tapped on my window earlier is now staring straight at me.
Is being inside my girlfriend’s house illegal?
A woman appears in the doorway behind the officer. Her eyes are frantic and they’re lined with mascara—like she just woke up. Her hair is wild, and even from several feet away, the scent of alcohol finds its way across the room.
“I told you he was up there!” she yells, pointing at me. “I warned him just this morning to stay off my property, and he’s back again!”
This morning?
Great. Wish I had informed myself of that fact in the letter.
“Silas,” the officer says. “You mind coming outside with me?”
I nod and proceed cautiously toward them. It doesn’t seem like I’ve done anything wrong, since he’s only asking me to speak with him. If I did anything wrong, he would have immediately read me my rights.
“He knows he’s not supposed to be here, Grant!” the woman yells, walking backward down the hall, toward the living room. “He knows this, but he keeps coming back! He’s just trying to get a rise out of me!”
This woman hates me. A lot. And not knowing why makes it hard not to just apologize for whatever the hell I did to her.
“Laura,” he says. “I’ll have a talk with Silas outside, but you need to calm down and move aside so that I can do that.”
She steps to the side and glares at me as we pass her. “You get away with everything, just like your daddy,” she says. I look away from her so she won’t see the confusion on my face, and I follow Officer Grant outside, clutching the backpack over my shoulder.
Luckily the rain has let up. We keep walking until we’re standing next to my car. He turns to face me, and I have no idea if I’ll be able to answer the questions he’s about to throw at me, but hopefully they aren’t too specific.
“Why are you not at school, Silas?”
I purse my lips together and think about the answer to that. “I, um…” I look over his shoulder at a passing car. “I’m looking for Charlie.”
I don’t know if I should have said that. Surely if the cops weren’t supposed to know she was missing, I would have clarified that in the letter. But the letter only stated that I needed to do whatever I could to find her, and reporting her missing seems like it would be the first step.
“What do you mean you’re looking for her? Why isn’t she at school?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. She hasn’t called, her sister hasn’t heard from her, she didn’t show up for school today.” I throw a hand behind me in the direction of the house. “Her own mother is obviously too drunk to notice she’s missing, so I thought I’d try to find her myself.”
He tilts his head, more out of curiosity than concern. “Who was the last person to see her? And when?”
I swallow as I shift uncomfortably on my feet, trying to recall what was written about last night in the letter. “Me. Last night. We got into an argument and she refused to ride home with me.”
Officer Grant motions for someone behind me to come toward us. I turn around, and Charlie’s mother is standing in the open doorway. She crosses the threshold and makes her way out to the yard.
“Laura, do you know where your daughter is?”
She rolls her eyes. “She’s at school where she’s supposed to be.”
“She is not,” I interject.
Officer Grant keeps his eyes trained on Laura. “Did Charlie come home last night?”
Laura glances at me and then looks back at the officer. “Of course she did,” she says. Her voice tapers off at the end like she’s not sure.
“She’s lying,” I blurt out.
Officer Grant holds up a hand to hush me, still directing his questions at Laura. “What time did she come home?”
I can see the confusion wash over Laura’s face. She shrugs. “I grounded her for skipping school this week. So she was up in her attic, I guess.”
I roll my eyes. “She wasn’t even home!” I say, raising my voice. “This woman was obviously too drunk to know if her own daughter was even inside the house!”
I flip through the pages and see that it’s a journal. In the box beneath this one, there are at least five more.
She must love to write.
I look around, lifting pillows and blankets, searching for something to put the journals in. If I want to find this girl, I need to know where she frequents. Places she might be, people she might know. Journals are the perfect way to find out that information.
I find an empty, worn backpack on the floor a few feet away, so I grab it and stuff all the journals inside. I begin pushing things aside, shaking out books, looking around for anything and everything that might help me. I find several letters in various places, a few stacks of pictures, random sticky notes. I take everything I can fit into the backpack and make my way back to the attic opening. I know there are also a few things in the bedroom at my own house, so I’ll go there next and sort through it all as fast as I can.
When I reach the opening, I drop the backpack through the attic hole first. It hits the ground with a loud thud and I flinch, knowing I should be quieter. I begin to descend the shelves one by one, trying to imagine Charlie making the journey up and down these makeshift stairs every night. Her life must be pretty bad if she escapes to the attic by choice. When I make it to the bottom, I grab the backpack and stand up straight. I pull it over my shoulder and start toward the door.
I freeze.
I’m not sure what to do, because the officer who tapped on my window earlier is now staring straight at me.
Is being inside my girlfriend’s house illegal?
A woman appears in the doorway behind the officer. Her eyes are frantic and they’re lined with mascara—like she just woke up. Her hair is wild, and even from several feet away, the scent of alcohol finds its way across the room.
“I told you he was up there!” she yells, pointing at me. “I warned him just this morning to stay off my property, and he’s back again!”
This morning?
Great. Wish I had informed myself of that fact in the letter.
“Silas,” the officer says. “You mind coming outside with me?”
I nod and proceed cautiously toward them. It doesn’t seem like I’ve done anything wrong, since he’s only asking me to speak with him. If I did anything wrong, he would have immediately read me my rights.
“He knows he’s not supposed to be here, Grant!” the woman yells, walking backward down the hall, toward the living room. “He knows this, but he keeps coming back! He’s just trying to get a rise out of me!”
This woman hates me. A lot. And not knowing why makes it hard not to just apologize for whatever the hell I did to her.
“Laura,” he says. “I’ll have a talk with Silas outside, but you need to calm down and move aside so that I can do that.”
She steps to the side and glares at me as we pass her. “You get away with everything, just like your daddy,” she says. I look away from her so she won’t see the confusion on my face, and I follow Officer Grant outside, clutching the backpack over my shoulder.
Luckily the rain has let up. We keep walking until we’re standing next to my car. He turns to face me, and I have no idea if I’ll be able to answer the questions he’s about to throw at me, but hopefully they aren’t too specific.
“Why are you not at school, Silas?”
I purse my lips together and think about the answer to that. “I, um…” I look over his shoulder at a passing car. “I’m looking for Charlie.”
I don’t know if I should have said that. Surely if the cops weren’t supposed to know she was missing, I would have clarified that in the letter. But the letter only stated that I needed to do whatever I could to find her, and reporting her missing seems like it would be the first step.
“What do you mean you’re looking for her? Why isn’t she at school?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. She hasn’t called, her sister hasn’t heard from her, she didn’t show up for school today.” I throw a hand behind me in the direction of the house. “Her own mother is obviously too drunk to notice she’s missing, so I thought I’d try to find her myself.”
He tilts his head, more out of curiosity than concern. “Who was the last person to see her? And when?”
I swallow as I shift uncomfortably on my feet, trying to recall what was written about last night in the letter. “Me. Last night. We got into an argument and she refused to ride home with me.”
Officer Grant motions for someone behind me to come toward us. I turn around, and Charlie’s mother is standing in the open doorway. She crosses the threshold and makes her way out to the yard.
“Laura, do you know where your daughter is?”
She rolls her eyes. “She’s at school where she’s supposed to be.”
“She is not,” I interject.
Officer Grant keeps his eyes trained on Laura. “Did Charlie come home last night?”
Laura glances at me and then looks back at the officer. “Of course she did,” she says. Her voice tapers off at the end like she’s not sure.
“She’s lying,” I blurt out.
Officer Grant holds up a hand to hush me, still directing his questions at Laura. “What time did she come home?”
I can see the confusion wash over Laura’s face. She shrugs. “I grounded her for skipping school this week. So she was up in her attic, I guess.”
I roll my eyes. “She wasn’t even home!” I say, raising my voice. “This woman was obviously too drunk to know if her own daughter was even inside the house!”
