Masquerade - The Complete First Novel

-2-

(Dakota)

My eyes widened as I sprung from my place on the bed. Turning on the lights and grabbing my phone searching for the news channel as I turned on the lights to the kitchen. I tear the book from its place inside the box and flip open to the page. That one page of her headshot. Of her sky eyes. I glanced down at the caption, reading it aloud. "Clementine Foster, 12 years old," I sit back matching the name on my phone to the one in the book. My jaw opens as I realize what I'm currently seeing. I turn my attention back to my phone, checking once more to see if there was a slight chance I was wrong. I wasn't. The exact photo was in the news article, but the headline crashed the wave of goosebumps all over my fair skin.

MISSING: CLEMENTINE FOSTER
A 12-year-old girl has mysteriously vanished about three months ago in March. The police still have no leads or evidence of where the child has gone, and most police stations across Seattle, have given up on trying to find the missing child.

I let the words sink in as the rest of the article remain unread. I could have the evidence to find this missing child. I switched my screen, to the phone's keyboard, and typed in the numbers. 9-1-1 was printed on the other line as I spoke.

"9-1-1, what's your emergency?" My voice was still raspy, as my hands were shaking. My mind still tried to make sense of all of this. All the madness I uncovered today.

"Um, I would like to have an officer or a detective come to my house. I think I have some evidence of where Clementine Foster is."

"Excuse me?" I repeated.

"I think I have some valuable information that can help the Clementine Foster case."

"What's your name, miss?" We don't have any time for questions, it doesn't matter. However, I never disobey the police.

"Dakota Lockwood," I heard typing on the other end and some mumbling. I wonder what she's saying.

"What's your address, Dakota?" I recited my address, along with my age and who I live with.
"I live alone,"

"I see," there was a pause, "Dispatch: we need a Detective and some Officers at 1352 Briar Hills, Seattle, Washington," again, I heard muffled voices. It seemed scratchy like it was coming out of a radio. It probably was.

"What do I do now?" I heard a small sigh, something that wasn't intended for me to hear. I was always told I have a good sense of hearing.

"Well, since it's not an emergency, I will have to let you go," I nodded, even though she can't see it. "Miss. Lockwood, this is an emergency line, so please, if you have anything more to this story—please go on the website and call the non-emergency number, please," I nodded, realizing that she couldn't see me for the second time.

"Yes ma'am," I don't know why I'm so intimidated by this woman's voice. Ana always said I was squeamish. What did she call squeamish? A wuss.
"I'm going to let you go, okay?" I nod, stopping myself and answering. "Are you going to be okay?" I respond accordingly as she hangs up. I turn on a small light in the kitchen, still shaking. I open another box, taking out a small box with little trinkets inside.

The box was beautiful, it was green with red and white on it and golden legs. The red and white make swirls all over the box and the gold makes small dots all over the box, resembling flakes.
I open the beautiful case, seeing jewelry. This must be Jessi's. The ivory earring disgusted me as I found out that they were real. The small box had many others. A diamond necklace along with several rings, an emerald ring, and several necklaces that were decorated with crystals. I put them back in the box, not desiring to take any.

I find the box full of toys and Barbies. Most with blonde hair, and one with red hair. I took off the doll's glasses. Now it's like a small me. I throw the doll back in the box, as the doll gave me the chills. Another one gave me more. A porcelain doll with black hair that was made into two pigtail braids with a green ribbon that secured them. Her eyes were green, matching the green and black checkered dress that had a black bow tied around her waist. Her shoe shine was taken away by the dust on the black leather. Her skin was paler than mine, almost white.

I put the doll back in the box, not wanting to touch the dust-covered thing again as the thought scared me. Even as the doll lays in the box, its eyes burn through me and I close the box lids to protect me from it. I get up and walk away from the little box of horrors.

The dark grey sky bleeds into pitch black as the clock struck three in the morning. I push the box of memories and fears away from me, waiting for the police I called for an hour ago.