Where Dreams Lay

[thirteen]

[thirteen] "those who mind don't matter, those who matter don't mind." -jessie j

    Getting to the police station toke two buses and a lot of walking. By the time I got there, my next class probably just finished. Too much time alone made me stress about numerous things, such as worrying about what happened. Perhaps they found a clue or something small that could lead to the solution. Or maybe they actually have even bigger news. Or maybe it's the opposite of what I'm excited for . . . perhaps they did find mom, but dead.

    I can't get the thoughts of possibilities about the case out of my head. When I do, they just stroll back to school, where Aiden said he'd rather help me then go with his friends. I honestly was astonished with what happened in that storage room. Most of all, I keep thinking about what will happen when I go back and face him. It was so out of the ordinary for us to be talking, not to mention sitting so close to each other. It was so weird that I have no idea if he'll pretend it never happened, or if we'll pick up from where we left off.

    Once I fully enter the station, Roger Banks is pacing back and forth, looking down at his phone. He's wearing a black suit again, except with a blue tie, instead of grey.

    "Mr. Banks?" I say reaching closer to hm.

    He looks up and says, "Paris, good afternoon. How are you doing?"

    That question brings back everything I was thinking about. But I say, "Okay I guess. Are you going to explain to me what happened all of the sudden that caused you to take me out of school?"

    "Well, first, you said it was fine for me to do that—"

    "I never complained about it—"

    "And second," he holds up a finger, "yes, something did occur while you were at school this morning. Why don't you come with me and we'll discuss it privately."

    I nod and begin to follow him down a hall, then into a room with a desk and a few guest chairs. Someone s sitting at the desk chair, and I notice it's a man, examining photos.

    He glances up and stands, "Hello, my name is Carter Grayson. You must be Paris." He extends out his hand and I shake it with my right and nod.

    "I've been hired to also work on your parents case," he continues, "May I please begin with saying I am sorry for your loss, and we promise you—"

    "That you'll be doing you best to try and find my mother. I know, and thank you." I interrupt.

    He gets taken back for a second, but stands up straight once again and fixes his black tie, "Yes, that's right. Please take a seat," he points to the chair in front of the desk, and I sit, as Mr. Banks stands next to me.

    Mr. Banks begins, "Over the course of a day or two, we've been trying to find clues from the accident to find out who toke her. We took photos of the crashed car, and found a symbol scratched on the front door using keys, we assume." He walks closer to the desk and lifts up a photograph of my dad's car. It indeed does have a symbol marked on the door. I lean in closer to get a better view.

    "Okay but what does it mean?" I ask, looking up at them.

    "That's what took a while to figure out." Mr. Grayson says, "The symbol was done on purpose, by the people who were in the area at the time the accident occurred. This obviously leads us to believe that the people who took your mother left their mark. It's the first clue to finding out where she is."

    "But what's so special about a symbol?" I question, "Did they leave anymore? Because maybe they want her to be found, and left clues that lead to where she is."