The Gravity Of Alana

Chapter 3

"Hey, Andrew! The Chief wants to see you in his office," called out John, one of my fellow officers.

"Oh, sure. Thanks," I replied, standing up from my desk and stretching. As I walked toward the Chief's office, I ran a hand over my face, feeling the stubble that had already crept in after skipping a shave that morning. My reflection in the window caught my eye—tall, lean, with sharp cheekbones and a square jaw that always made me look a little more intense than I felt. My sandy brown hair was cut short, neat enough for the uniform, though it always seemed to have a mind of its own. I adjusted my shirt collar out of habit and knocked on the Chief's door.

"Come in," came the familiar gruff voice from the other side. I opened the door and stepped inside.

Chief Delgado sat behind his desk, a pile of paperwork in front of him, his coffee mug half-empty and perched precariously on the edge. His sharp eyes met mine as he motioned for me to sit down, so I pulled out the chair across from him and got comfortable.

"So, how are you holding up since you came to Alana?" he asked, leaning back in his chair, his hands clasped loosely in front of him.

"It's... okay, I guess," I said with a small shrug. "The people here are nice, the weather's decent. It's quieter than the city, that's for sure." I paused, raising an eyebrow. "What's this about, Chief?"

Delgado studied me for a moment before speaking. "I wanted to talk to you about the old lighthouse. There's been some chatter around town about strange things happening up there. Lights, sounds... the usual spooky stuff. The locals are starting to get worked up, and I need you to check it out. Just see what's going on and make sure it's nothing serious. Maybe you'll find some kids playing pranks, or maybe it's nothing at all. Either way, I need you to ease the tension around here, okay?"

I nodded, leaning forward slightly. "No problem, Chief. I'll get right on it." Delgado gave me a curt nod, satisfied. "Good. I'm counting on you." I stood up and left the office, heading back to my desk to start on the assignment. It's been two and a half years since I transferred to Alana. A coastal town with just enough charm to make it feel like a getaway, Alana was a far cry from the chaos I'd grown used to in the city. I didn't know much about the place before I arrived, but I'd heard it was quiet. Quiet was exactly what I was looking for or so I thought.

The truth is, I wasn't sure if I'd made the right call. There were days when the slower pace was a relief, but other days it felt like the silence left too much space for my thoughts. The scars from my time in the city—both the ones you could see and the ones you couldn't had followed me here, no matter how far I'd tried to run.

I logged into the incident report database and typed "lighthouse" into the search bar. A few reports popped up, each one brief but strange.

"Witness: J. Martinez. Strange lights near the lighthouse, 2 a.m."

"Witness: K. Thompson. Voices were heard from the cliffs by the lighthouse. No one visible in the area."

"Reported by a local fisherman: Lighthouse flashing at night, but no one is supposed to be there."

I frowned, tapping my pen against the desk. None of it sounded serious enough to worry about on the surface—probably just kids pulling stunts or a neighbour with an overactive imagination. But there was something about the consistency of the reports that made me pause. Lights. Voices. People unsettled enough to come forward.

I jotted down the details and glanced at the clock. Mrs. Thompson, one of the witnesses, lived not far from the station. I figured I'd start with her. If anyone could shed some light on what was happening, it would be someone who'd lived in Alana long enough to know the difference between a prank and something unusual. I grabbed my jacket and headed out, the crisp afternoon air biting at my skin.

At Mrs. Thompson's House

Mrs. Thompson's house was a small, tidy bungalow with flowerbeds that had seen better days and wind chimes that tinkled softly in the breeze. I knocked on the door, and after a moment, it opened to reveal Mrs. Thompson herself—a short woman in her seventies with silver hair pulled back into a loose bun. Her sharp blue eyes studied me, and she offered a polite but cautious smile.

"Officer Clarke. What can I do for you?"

"Afternoon, Mrs. Thompson. I was hoping to ask you a few questions about the lighthouse. You mentioned hearing something unusual a few nights ago?"

Her expression shifted, and she glanced over my shoulder as if making sure no one was watching. "Come in, Officer. Best to talk inside."

I stepped into her living room, which smelled faintly of lavender and old wood. The walls were lined with framed photos of smiling children and grandchildren, and a crocheted blanket was folded neatly over the back of the couch. She motioned for me to sit.

"So, what exactly did you hear, Mrs. Thompson?" I asked, pulling out my notebook.

She hesitated, her hands twisting in her lap. Finally, she said, "It was late. Around midnight. I'd gone out to the porch for some fresh air, and I heard the waves crashing like usual, but there was... something else."

"Something else?" I prompted.

"A voice," she said softly. "It sounded young. A boy's voice, I think. It was faint, like it was carried on the wind. I couldn't make out words, but it didn't sound right. It wasn't... natural."

"Did you see anyone? Any sign of someone on the cliffs?"

"No. That's the thing," she said, her voice shaking slightly. "There was no one there. And I know what you're thinking  it must've been a prank or the wind playing tricks. But I've lived here my whole life, Officer. I know what I heard."

Her words hung in the air, heavy and uneasy. I didn't want to spook her, but something about her tone made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

"Alright, Mrs. Thompson," I said, closing my notebook. "Thank you for your time. I'll look into it and let you know if we find anything."

She gave me a tight smile and walked me to the door. As I stepped outside, she added, "Officer Clarke... be careful out there. That lighthouse has seen its share of tragedy. Sometimes, I think it remembers."

Back at the Station

Her words stayed with me as I walked back to the station. I couldn't explain why, but they left an uncomfortable weight in my chest. Back at my desk, I decided to dig deeper. I searched for historical records tied to the lighthouse, and after a few minutes, I found it: Theo Peterson. 16 years old. Declared dead following a fall at the lighthouse. Ruled an accident.

I frowned, clicking on the file. The details were sparse, but it was enough to plant a seed of doubt. Was this just a tragic accident... or something more?

As I stared at the file, a quiet resolve settled over me. Whatever was happening at the lighthouse, I had a feeling it was just the beginning.