Can't You Save Me?

•5•

Later, back at the station, Pete sits at his desk and searches for a pad and pen or anything that could substitute. He had to write everything down about the boy at the school while it was still fresh in his mind. It was some kind of memory exercise his mom taught him when he was a kid, to write things down to help remind him of things. He wrote down the boy’s features, the clothes he was wearing, his height (writing down his own as an estimate), he wrote down every tiny detail about him hoping it would click into his brain. And….he’s drawing a blank.

Pete leaned back in his chair and reflected as hard as he could, he wrote down some of the boy's features and skimmed over the list:
-pale
-soft
-cherubic
-round
Then it hits him, well the cherubic part definitely sparks something, and it reminded him of that mugshooootjoidjfi!

Pete scrambles around his desk, knocking over the little cup of paper clips and nearly pushing the lamp to the floor.

“Where’s the file, where is it?” Pete mutters distractedly to himself during the chaotic moment. Where’d it go, he can’t fucking find it.
Joe pops his head in during Pete’s frantic searching and stands in the doorway, watching him a moment before speaking.

“I’m going to assume that you’ve lost something of great importance.”

Pete pauses momentarily to glare at Joe, who has an entertained grin on his face. “I’m looking for...there’s the...fucking…” Then Pete finally comes across it in his bottom drawer. “Yes! Fucking found it.”

“Find something?”

Pete unintentionally ignored Joe’s question, opening the file and gazing upon the same round, cherubic, soft, pale face he saw this morning in the high school parking lot. Exact. Same. Face. Strawberry blond hair, his fucking blue-grey eyes, he was hatless in the mugshot but it was the same kid. And Pete watched him walk away, he was right in front of him and he watched him walk a-fucking-way. So, so, so close and yet so damn far.

“Ah, fuck.” He sighed heavily, leaning back into the chair and combing his fingers through his hair.

“What’s up?”

“I saw him today, I even had a conversation with him. Dammit!" Pete glances at the clock on the wall. "I’m gonna go.” He says, getting up from his seat, it was about quitting time anyway. He heads out while Joe calls after him to get some rest. He’ll try, definitely try.

At home, Pete goes straight to the bathroom to shower in an attempt to wash away his frustration, staying under the hot water entirely too long and doing more thinking than actual washing. How could he not recognize that kid?

Afterwards, Pete changes into sweats and a white tee then goes into his living room and flicks on the TV. He was hoping to get his mind off the Stump case by gazing at the screen but to no avail. He’s just had a fucked up Tuesday.

Pete dozed off right where he sat and shockingly fell asleep earlier than he usually would, like much, much earlier; like eight forty-five early. He kind of wishes he didn’t have to go back into work tomorrow.