Misplaced (COMPLETED)

13. case closed

The next few days are a blur of police statements, trips to the doctors and a constant stream of sympathetic glances fit for a puppy that had been left alone in the rain for a week. Eventually both my physical and mental health (besides a few nightmares) both receive a clean bill of health from the doctors. The last box to check off before I'm allowed to leave the coastal town of Sandy Cove, is the police. 

Brick walls, thick panes of glass and clean cut edges bordering the block, the police station is both beautiful and terrifying at the same time. 

"I'll just wait in the car, okay Sweetie? Take as long as you need and if they or you need me, just call or come and get me, okay?" Mum tells me as I exit the red Fiat 500. 

For all the wrong that occurred that Thursday night, there are a few positives. For instance, despite the intoxicated teenagers and the initial panic of the police first turning up and the chaotic running that soon entailed, Mum's shiny red match box car has survived without so much as a scratch. How it wasn't stolen or even damaged a little bit, I will always wonder. As a result, Mum has claimed it as a miracle and for probably the rest of my life she will proudly remind me just how lucky her vehicle is. 

I nod back at her before making my way into the building. The air conditioner temperature has been turned down too low and I stifle a shiver when I first cross the threshold. A lady sits behind the main reception desk and sensing she seems friendly enough, I shuffle towards her with as much false confidence I can muster. 

"Excuse me, I'm Kaylee Shepard. I'm here for-"

"I know who you are," She interjects. Blunt and straight to the point, my previous impressions of her friendliness are all blown straight out of the water in one clean shot. "Take a seat and I'll call you when they're ready . . . please."

The seats are plastic and covered in a single cushion that's squishy in all the wrong places. I haven't been asked here today to get in trouble (I don't think) but to go over the case one final time. Word has it the case has recently been closed for good. The investigators involved, I quote: "feel explanations should be allowed to ensure complete closure for the victims involved". My anxiety had taken a surprising back row seat over the last few days. Annoyingly, it has chosen this waiting time to reappear in the front seat of my metaphorical car with one slimy hand gripping the steering wheel. 

A thin line of sweat appears in the crevices of my hands and my foot drums out an unsteady beat against the blue linoleum flooring. How long have I been waiting for? Seconds? Minutes? Days? An aeon later and it's not an officer dressed in blue that saves me from the nervous wait, rather a tall and familiar face I haven't seen in days. He exits a side room by himself with a calm yet serious expression drawn over his features - Roberto. 

Catching my anxious eyes, he gives me a 'sup' sort of nod and makes a beeline towards me. "Hey," he parks his butt in the seat next to mine. 

"Hey," I pause. There's a lot I want to ask him, about the police, about Zach, about how he's coping, about his nightmares. But as I realise this is our first conversation where it's just the two of us, I don't want to dive in and scare him with my natural self. Instead I settle with a, "How was it?"

He raises a shoulder and gives me a lopsided smile, "piece of cake." This is better. His naturally friendly and goofy personality gives me the courage to relax.  "It actually isn't too bad. Pretty informative. I'm just glad it's all over now."

I nod. subconsciously, I feel some of the anxiety woven into my bones bleed from my system a little. Now that this is 'all over' suddenly I'm wondering if I'll ever see Roberto again once I go home. Before this hellish holiday I had never seen nor heard of him before. What are our chances of staying in contact after I'm a hundred kilometres from him, especially as we're not exactly close friends? The answer: a small chance. A very small chance.