"Would anyone here like to tell me how it's been two goddamn months since the Jean's disappearance and we have absolutely nothing?"
The office was quiet, still and unmoving, only broken by the shy yawns of a few officers.
"Well? Are we gonna talk?"
Silence.
The chief sighed in disbelief, bringing his thickly scarred hand to the line of his brow. He was sweating, two months had passed since Baby's disappearance, and in these two short months, the ever proud "M.A.C.A" was founded (moms against child abduction.) You would think that a club wouldn't be needed for an issue like this, but it was. Apparently. In short, after the news of Baby's disappearance got wind, the "soccer moms" of the neighborhood decided that some sort of change was needed, that them and their children's well-being was being "attacked" by the insolence of the law. This newfound inspiration took form in protesting outside of the police department, chanting phrases like "think of the children!" or "bring him home!" Which, in all honesty, is pretty ironic. It's not like Baby would have any "home" to go to, his parents fled the city after the incident, packing up any evidence that anyone had lived there at all. Along with that, almost everyone in town could absolutely guarantee that none of those "brave women" would lift a finger had he been found.
Either way, the crowd was an issue. Every day they were there, screaming "Bring him home! Bring him home!" again and again, throwing glass and rocks at the department windows and employees. It was passive enough at first, they stayed in straight lines leading to the door of the office, waving their signs passionately and marching in place— smoking when the officers went out for lunch. But as the days turned to months, and hope for finding the poor boy drained, they crowded doors, broke windows, harassing each and every person to walk in a fifty foot radius of the office. They seemed to think their cause was just, screaming down the streets of his disappearance—assuming anyone in that god-forsaken town actually cared. But, nevertheless, Chief Harrison had hoped it would die out, and they'd find that poor Baby had just "wondered off" somewhere with little conflict. That plan fell short however, as Lieutenant Mauro tased the leader of the group, Martha, in the foot, (this only feeding the flames of the mother's spite.)
The chief sat down in his slick leather chair, groaning as he ran his fingers in streams through his greasy red hair.
"Listen, we need something. This goddamn kid is dead at this point; the unit can't handle much more publicity." He cringed at his grim wording, but continued. "To motivate you, nobody is off the clock for the night. Find me something, or get fired." A unanimous groan ran throughout the room, they doubted they would actually get fired, everyone was used to his "mind games." Really, the worst they were expecting was a 3am lecture, mostly consisting of Jesus Christ how long can this guy keep talking. On average, two to three hours.
Harrison huffed dimly as he headed towards the office door, hoping to push through the "mom club" and finally go home, maybe get some sleep after a grueling 12 hour shift.
"Mr. Chief! Aren't you staying?"
He stopped for a moment, removing his palm from the door and turning around. There sat a lanky, worn out twenty-something-year-old. His eyes were wide with ruffled brown hair, wearing a zipped green jacket over his police uniform. Harrison rolled his eyes, of course it's this guy.
"Excuse me?" He spoke grimly.
"Well, you said that nobody was going home until a clue was found, so I assumed that that would include..." The boy trailed off.
"Jesus Christ, Lieven," The chief groaned, an exasperated laugh sitting beneath his tongue. "Okay, you know what, just show up with something by the end of this week and I won't kill you."
A satisfied smile grew on the younger boy's face, grinning gleefully as a wave of relief drew over the office, only tensing after realizing that he probably wasn't joking with the "kill you" part. Yes, he wouldn't be willing to fire an entire office, but murder was definitely on the table.
"The case files are on my desk, do what you want. I really don't care."
Running a hand down his face, he headed for the door once more. He grabbed the thin, silver knob and turned smoothly, slipping out into the waiting room and begrudgingly pushing through to the exit. A few screams (and a rock) slipped through the briefly opened door, the most notable being "Your officer shot Martha in the foot!" to which the chief replied "It was a taser dammit!"
The atmosphere of the office had changed now, a rough laugh coming from the perpetrator of Martha's fall. With the chief gone, nobody had to care anymore— meaning it was time to go home.
Wesley Lieven held a face of intense concentration for a moment, waiting for his coworkers to filter out the door. He then quickly marched up to the chief's desk, sorting the case files and putting the folders into a ripped, blue backpack he held to his side.
"Aren't you going home today, Wesley?" Questioned a soft voice from behind. He spun around in surprise, meeting a strangely thin woman with messy, blonde hair drawing to about her shoulders.
"Oh! Right, very sorry. The name's Penny." She said, awkwardly tipping her police hat and holding her hand forward for a handshake. She could tell her twinkish coworker was extremely intimidated, or maybe... mute, as he stared back at her dead in the eyes without much movement.
Her eyes moved to the floor awkwardly. "...Yeah." A long, drawn-out silence followed. The younger of the two blinked dumbly, suddenly wide-eyed and gasping with realization and sudden energy.
He moved his hands to pull at a chunk of his hair. "Sorry, sorry. I'm just not very used to, uh, talking." He mumbled. "I'm just getting some of the case files before I leave, you know, I really wanna solve this case and all that. Poor kid. How do you know my name exactly? Oh well I guess that's kinda a stupid question, sorry, you're new like me right? That must be nerve wracking for you too right? I think I saw you at orientation, you know—" He drifted to a stop, lifting his eyes from the floor to see a squinted and humorous expression meeting him. She laughed for a moment, turning away with a flick of her hair to head for the door.
"Not used to talking, my ass."
