Is This True?

Chapter 8

"We found the boy."

Wait, what?

"We were just discussing the case, as we speak." I thought, eyeing the pair of agents walking into the room.

"Where? Where did you find him?" Mr. Woods demanded.

"We did a thorough search of his home, but couldn't find either him or his mother. We then thought maybe they had gone somewhere, but Andrea's credit card showed no use in weeks and there was no money taken from her bank. Therefore, we concluded she wouldn't have gone somewhere. But, we figured what if the boy was taken somewhere familiar? That's where we found him in the fenced-off baseball field where his dad had watched him play."

That would have been one of the first spots I would have looked. Three days?

That poor boy.

"What about his mother? Was she there too?" Mr. Woods then asked after taking in all the information that he could.

"Yes, she was there also along with the unconscious boy. She was standing above him--"

The man paused as if holding in information from us, but continued, "--holding a baseball bat."

Mr. Woods sighed deeply, running his hands through his hair and pacing around the room before meeting back up with the agent to pat him on the shoulder.

"Well done. If you hadn't found them, I'm sure--I'm sure Andrea would have killed her son. Whatever reason that may be, we don't know; but we're going to find out."

"Soon."

***

"You good with kids, Miss Patterson?"

I hear a voice behind me, but I don't have to turn around to know who it is. I just roll my eyes, annoyed by everyone calling me 'Miss Patterson'.

"Doesn't anyone have first names around here?"

"No, because it's not formal." Agent Davis answered standing beside me as we looked through the glass of the interrogation room. The lawyer and Charlie, who had just been omitted from the hospital, sat behind the cold, metal table. Charlie seemed terrified as I expected, but I wasn't sure if he'd open up to us yet since he hadn't spoken a word to anyone since they found him.

"And since when are we all formal? I even saw Harper eat a donut with a fork." I turned to him, disbelief written all over my face. "A fork? For real?"

Agent Davis just smirked, before I continued, "Anyway, to answer your question, yes. I think I am good with kids, maybe, I hope so."

"You don't seem so sure."

"Well, I mean, I was a counselor at a camp a few times, and was generally called the 'nice or fun' counselor while they compared their other counselor to Hitler."

Davis laughed, "I'm sure it wasn't that bad."

I turned to give him an exhausting look, "Trust me, it took them a lot to just obey and get into bed in a timely fashion, let alone get them ready in the morning."

Davis again smirked before nodding his head in front of us. "Let's hope that Harper has enough patience as you do."

"Yeah, about that." I began slowly, searching my words carefully. "Why are you two at such odds against each other? I mean, you're practically at each other's throats whenever the other mentions or says something."

I instantly feel I hit a sensitive spot as Agent Davis raises his head and sighs, "We just go back with some bad history."

"Oh, I see."