Knight Casefiles Book 1: Revelations

Revelations [Chapter 12]

Chapter 12

The station wasn’t new but then again, I hardly expected it to be, but compared to New York precincts, this looked like the Taj Mahal. As testament to its mountainside blithe, it was free of graffiti, litter, and shady characters hanging around – until a certain person wearing a black leather jacket, black shirt, and jeans walked in. People immediately stared. There were only three of them – a matronly receptionist, two of the local authorities. They all gave me the same weird look. I tried to smile but they just winced. Talk about a waste of years of dental care.

Trying to look too much like a delinquent, I walked over the elderly matron clacking away at her computer, my shoulders hunched in an effort to make myself look smaller. It’s always about appearances. Regardless, the woman must have seen her share of tourists in her time so her eyes still flicked back to me again and again as I approached, her head twitching in a nervous tick.

A meaty arm stopped my advance, blocking my path. It was one of the cops. He looked fairly well built, face marred with wrinkles. He wore a thick jacket over his uniform, the badge and his holster peeking out innocently. The man gave me a friendly smile. “Just keep at it Caroline,” he said to the woman, who gave him a grateful nod, before he turned to me. “Can I help you with anything?”

“Uh, yeah,” I said, instilling my voice with shakiness. I didn’t want to get on this guy’s bad side even if I could take him physically and politically. I peered at the name on his uniform. “Officer Smith? I was just wondering if you saw a kid go in here.”

Smith grunted. “A kid?”

“Yeah, about this tall.” I held a hand a quarter of the way up my hip. “Around five years old, messy hair, Dressed in rags.”

He shook his head. “Didn’t see anyone like that come in here.”

“You sure? Cause he’s really small.” I demonstrated how small again. “Maybe you guys just missed him?”

“You’re not a local and I didn’t see you check into any of our inns or lodges.” He leaned on Caroline’s desk, arms crossed. “Who’s this kid to you?”

I shrugged. “I just saw him outside. Seemed wrong to leave him out in the snow like that so I chased him.”

Smith nodded. “You don’t find that the least bit troubling? A grown man running after a five year old wearing nothing but rags?”

I gave him a blank stare. “I don’t understand the question.” In all honesty, I did, but I didn’t like what he was insinuating at all. This is why I hate authority figure. They always think they’re better than you and do whatever it takes to remind you of it.

Smith was already giving off a self-righteous vibe. I was a head taller than him but somehow he managed to make it seem like we were looking eye to eye. “Where are you staying?”

“The Whistler Lodge,” I said, forgoing the friendliness in my voice.

The corners of his eyes creased. “That place has been closed for decades, kid. Care to change your answer?”

“No, not really,” I said. “You can call them up if you want. I’m sure they’d love to hear how you’re hassling one of their benefactors.”

Smith just grunted again, unimpressed. “Take a seat, mister...”

“Pierce,” I supplied. “Christopher Pierce. And if you don’t mind, I think I’ll look around here a bit.”

“I wouldn’t advise that.”

“Taken under advisement,” I said, smiling. His expression faltered for a moment. I take back what I said about my oral hygiene.

Officer Smith gave me another once over before walking back to his partner. He murmured something to him, which the partner nodded to, before disappearing into a back room, presumably to make a phone call. I waved politely at the remaining officer, who cheerfully waved back. Must be new. I looked around the station, wondering when Elaine and Sigrun were going to pop in. I doubted either of them would be happy to see me but for now, I had what I wanted – access.

I propped my elbows on the matron’s desk, leaning in. “You wouldn’t have happened to see the kid I was talking about, would you?”

She shook her head jerkily, eyes fixed on her computer. “I didn’t see anyone,” she muttered.

“You sure?” I pressed. “Look, I’m not trying to be creepy. I just don’t like the idea of seeing street children dying of hypothermia.”

“There aren’t any street children in White Oaks,” she said, still not looking up.

“You seem awfully certain of that. Who’s to say it’s not just the child of one of your tourists who wandered too far away?”

She stopped typing. “No, that can’t be.”

“Why not?”

“It just can’t.”

“Mr. Pierce, I think you should take a seat,” the other officer said, standing from where he sat. I waved at him again, holding up a finger. No, not that finger.

“Why not?” I repeated, leaning closer and saying the words slower this time. “Come on, Caroline.”

Caroline finally looked at me. Elderly, her face was far more wrinkled than Smith’s. She was hunched over her computer, her bird-like face looking tired and haunted. With a bony finger, she pointed at the the far corner of the room. She returned to her work as if she hadn’t done anything.

“Thank you,” I murmured, before walking to the area she pointed. It was a rather small bulletin board that I should’ve noticed when I first entered. “God damn,” I murmured.

The board was just like any other you’d find in a police station. Only I doubted even New York could rival the number of Missing Person flyers adorning the wall. From top to bottom, left to right, the board was covered with various pictures of people that claim to have gone missing. It was…simply staggering. People go missing all the time – that’s a well-known fact even if the evening news rarely covers it. Every year, in America alone, hundreds of thousands of people from various backgrounds disappear without any known cause. A huge chunk of these were probably the victims of a supernatural predator. But even discounting that, the number was still so high that critics would have to wonder what the government was doing about it, ignoring the idea that maybe they could do something themselves instead of relying on a flawed establishment.

White Oaks would probably account for another huge chunk of that. Only a very small portion of the board was dedicated to non-missing person’s cases and those that were missing persons flyers were already stacked on top of one another, obscuring the older ones from vision. The people ranged from children to adults to old people, from Caucasian to African American, from backpackers to businessmen. Swallowing the bile in my throat, I sifted through the pictures, looking for the little kid.

I found his file buried underneath those of an old Hispanic woman and another Caucasian child. In it, he was smiling.

“You’re clear, Mr. Pierce,” Smith announced, a door slamming in his wake. He didn’t seem all too happy about it. “I’m sorry for the confusion. I wasn’t aware that the Whistlers were back in town.”

“It’s this kid,” I said, holding it up.

Smith narrowed his eyes and strode over, peering at the flyer I held. “You sure about that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

He grunted. I wondered if inarticulacy was one of the job descriptions. “Check the date.”

I did and I didn’t like what I saw. The flyer was posted in 1983.