The Secrets We Keep

The Forty-Third Chapter

Part Five: All The Signs

Christopher

I must be going crazy. After I get home from fencing practice, I go to my room and start looking again. Where the hell are the files?

I keep hoping that my not being able to find them last night (or early this morning) was because I was tired. But where could they have gone? My father was with me the whole night so he couldn't have been the one to take them.

I go around my room, opening all my drawers and closets to make sure I didn't forget I'd hidden them somewhere else but everything is goddamn empty. I close the last one harshly in frustration and pull at my hair. I have to be going crazy because how do things like this just disappear? 

I hear my door groan open and turn around, trying to keep my face neutral as I find my father standing in the doorway. 

He takes a moment to look over at my room, at the mess I've made by upturning all the drawers. 

He whistles before crossing his arms over his chest. The movement causes his white button-down to crease. "What a mess. I've been wondering what the ruckus was all about. Are you looking for something?"

I try to read the expression in his eyes. Is it smug? Knowing? Angry? But his eyes are cool as they gaze at me and all I can do is try and find my words. 

"I put something in here yesterday and now I can't find it anywhere," my voice comes out surprisingly steady and it encourages him to take a step into the room. 

"Well then maybe you shouldn't have put it in here. If it's gone, it's probably for a reason."

Usually, I try to avoid my father as best I can. If I don't have to talk to him, I won't. And yet I'm so frustrated with everything that's been happening lately that I say, "You knew I stole the files. Why not just openly call me out? Why take them instead of confronting me?"

"I'm sorry, I don't know what you're talking about," he says and he furrows his brow like he's deeply concerned at the accusation. "What files are you talking about?"

"The ones I took yesterday. I put them right here, under my bed," I say and point to where I've pulled up the carpet there, to check that they didn't slide underneath it. 

"You stole from me?" He asks and now as he comes forward, there's something tense about his body language. "Why would you do that? Take from your own father?"

I hate that his movements cause me to take a step back, he notes it too and his serious expression turns into a smirk. I've backed away, shown I'm intimidated and all he can see from that is weakness. 

"Don't play games with me. I'm tired of the fucking mind games. Just tell me where you put them and tell me why they're so goddamn important."

"You know Christopher, all of these stories of yours are really starting to worry me. You're beginning to sound like your mother. Maybe we should take a trip to Doctor-"

"I'm not fucking crazy," I say, raising my voice, and then try to calm myself down. "I just want to know what Amelia found."

"Amelia? The dead girl? How the fuck did we get here? I think you should lie down, you don't look well." 

He reaches forward, I think he's going to grab me by the neck or hit me but he doesn't. He just strokes his hand over my forehead and feels my temperature. 

It's the most fatherly gesture he's given me and it's left me more dumbstruck than any punch he's ever landed. 

"You're sick," he says and when I look into his eyes, there seems to be concern there. "Why don't you sleep and come and talk to me when you feel better."