Fort Oakley | Part One

11 | Clayton Vance and the Awkward Truth

Claire wasn't one to display photos around the house. Instead, she stored them in photo albums tucked away in boxes in the attic.

I had never looked through the photo albums after I lost my memory, because I wanted to remember the moment the photos were taken—to feel the nostalgia of childhood days—and I knew that wouldn't be possible.

But I figured there had to be at least one photo providing more answers to all the questions in my head.

The ladder leading up to the attic creaked as I pulled it down, revealing the dimly lit space above. Dust particles danced in the air as I switched on the overhead light, casting eerie shadows on the cardboard boxes stacked haphazardly around the attic.

The air was thick with the smell of old wood and dust, and I couldn't remember the last time I had been up here.

I moved cautiously among the boxes, scanning each one briefly in search of the photo albums. Some boxes seemed heavier than the other, suggesting they held items more substantial than just photo albums.

My curiosity nagged at me, wondering what else Claire might have hidden away up here, but I pushed those thoughts aside, focusing on finding what I needed.

I pushed aside a box labeled 'Christmas Decorations' which I doubt had ever been used, and spotted a larger one tucked behind it. There was no label, just a plain cardboard exterior when all of the other boxes had something written on them.

I slid it out and opened the flaps.

Polaroids.

Hundreds of them.

I pulled out a few and turned them over in my hands. They weren't Claire's photos, they were Jacey's.

So what was Claire doing with them?

Jacey's handwriting was scrawled on the back of nearly all the photos, naming the dates and sometimes the people in the pictures.

The first photo was of a birthday party. Balloons and streamers hung in the background, and there I was—grinning so wide it almost hurt to look at. Jacey stood next to me, holding up a slice of cake like it was a trophy.

We couldn't have been more than seven years old.

I shuffled through more photos.

In one, we were sitting on the riverbank, our feet dangling in the water.

Another showed us climbing the old oak tree near the meadow.

Every picture felt like a punch to the chest.

We'd been so close.

I paused on a photo of the two of us sitting on Claire's kitchen counter. Claire herself was in the background, a smile on her face as she watched us. I couldn't remember ever seeing her look that relaxed.

So she knew we had been friends.

Some of the other photos confused me even more.

A little blonde girl appeared in several photos. She looked around the same age as us, with hair that glinted almost white in the sunlight.

In one picture, she stood between Jacey and me, her arms draped around our shoulders.

There were no notes about who she was, but it was clear that we had been close friends with her.

I shuffled through more, pictures, searching for some kind of clue, but the girl remained nameless. My chest tightened as the questions piles up.

Who was she?

I sat down against a couple of heavy boxes, clutching a handful of Polaroids in my lap. The weight of it all pressed down on me: the memories I would never get back, the life I apparently lived and lost, and now the pills.

Jacey's words echoed in my mind: You were never depressed.

Then why was I taking antidepressants?

I pulled my knees to my chest, staring at the open box in front of me. My hands shook as I pulled out my old phone which I had dug out of my closet the day I lost my new one.

I dialed Claire's number, my thumb hovering over the call button for a moment before I pressed it.

The phone rang.

And rang.

And rang.

No answer.

I let out a frustrated sigh. Of course she didn't pick up when I really needed her to.

I needed to talk to Jacey.

But how? I couldn't exactly show up at his house. I didn't know how his parents would respond if I knocked on their door, and I wouldn't risk putting him in a worse situation.

I thought about calling Finley to ask for Jacey's number, but something stopped me.

This felt too personal, too important to share with anyone else until I had more answers.

I gathered the photos and carefully placed them back in the box, deciding to take it down to my room. I wanted to look though all of the photos later, when my head wasn't spinning so much.

The sound of the doorbell echoes through the house when I placed the box of photos on my bed.

I froze.

Claire was out of town. Finley never knocked, knowing I was okay with him letting himself inside. And Sheriff Lucien always called before coming over.

My heart pounded as I grabbed the taser Sheriff Lucien had given me that day in the woods. I t wasn't much, but it make me feel a little safer.

I crept toward the door, my grip tightening on the taser.

The bell rang again.

I peeked through the peephole, my breath hitching as I recognized the man on the other side.

The FBI agent.

I kept the chain on the door and opened it, offering the man a "How can I help you today, Mr. Vance?"

"Please, just call me Vance." He glanced at his watch, arching a brow as he looked back up at me. "Aren't you supposed to be at school?"

I shrugged. "I wasn't feeling well, so I came home."

Was it an offense to lie to an FBI agent?

Mr.—Vance laughed, clearly not believing me but accepting my answer. "May I come in, Charly?"

I didn't know how he knew my name but this was a very small town, so I figured he had probably investigated everyone in town to see if we could be connected to the murder of Kinsey Abrams.

He probably knew more about me than I did.

Why did he want to come inside?

Did he want to know more about Lieutenant Roscoe and the men that almost killed him?

Did he think the two cases were connected like I did?

"Just so you know, I have a taser and the Sheriff on speed dial," I said as I closed the door and unlocked the chain.

Vance was grinning when he walked inside. "When I first met your mother as a kid, she was holding a kitchen knife and told me that she wasn't afraid to use it."

My surprise was hard to contain. "You knew Claire when she was younger?"

"No Charly. I knew your mother when we were younger. Jade Priace. She was dating my close friend back then. Darren Theyer, your father."