Atonement

~Peppermint and Rust~

The candle in my office lets out a scent of peppermint to sharpen my senses, the light reflecting from a mirror in the far corner giving the room a vibrant look to contrast the true terror that has begun its downpour upon me. Everything I have worked for in the last year to bring myself back to the top is finally coming to a point where achievement refuses to exist. My little Margaret is gone; my love, Cassandra, has abandoned me. And now when I have finally come to terms and begun my personal resurrection, it all falls into a pit of torment; the torment being what drags with me, and what destroys my hopes of a forgiving future.

I knew it would not be the end of God's torture. Before I was kicked from my church, I was told that he had a plan for me, and that the plan would involve true atonement and correction of my actions.

The church saw me as a heathen due to my admitting of infidelity, to which they agreed not to tell Cassandra personally. Cassandra did not know before she left. She did not know before Margaret was killed. The church told me that I should confess to her, that it would annul the consequences with god, though atonement would still be required. I told them I lacked the faith to care about atonement and I was thrown from the church steps.

While the spirit of my once-perfect relationship watches over me, the spirit of my dead daughter lacks a presence.

While I continue to dwell on my nightmares and my past, I hear the click of my doorknob. I shut the drawers and tuck away the papers that I have stolen.

"Backwater, why are you still here? It's late." Detective Jurgowski says, putting the candle out.

Jurgowski always has a way of irritating me, even the slightest thing can get under my skin, like him pressing his tongue to his two fingers and pinching the wick to eradicate the flame.

"I'm in my thoughts, Wonder," I say, rising from my seat to block the drawer that holds the papers.

I try to think back to why he was called Wonder; I know it has origins back to 28' when I first joined the agency and met him. Was I lost enough not to remember my partner's nickname that I had dubbed him?

"I know what you're thinking Eli. Don't do it. Please." He pleads, leaning against the wall that houses the portrait of Margaret and Cassandra. I glance at the picture once, then twice. I look at Jurgowski and frown. He does know. I can tell by the way that he attempted to block the view of my family.

I lost my daughter, and I lost Cassandra. I will not let another family lose their child, regardless of the consequences.

"Eli. This boy is in Pennsylvania, that is completely outside of our reach, someone else will figure it out! You can't throw your life away for your torn apart family!" Jurgowski exclaims.

Torn apart? Family? This is morals. I lost everything, and now someone else is about to experience the same.

"Good luck Wonder. I will see you in a few weeks." I say before slamming my office door behind me. I left the papers. Dammit!

I think back to what was printed on the faded pages:

NICK RUTHERFORD – 7 YEARS OLD

LAST LOCATION – KARVILLE, PENN.

CASE – CLOSED

-

They have not done anything about it. They looked outside Karville and left it as is. Why? Why would they close the case without solving it?

I look toward the sheriff's office and begin to juggle my plan. If I can get into that office and search through more documents on Karville, maybe I can crack the case before I have to open it. 

I stare down the narrow hall that leads to the parking lot, the lights on the walls give just enough off to see but leave the shadows between each dome intact. The pattern of light-shadow-light continues down the hall, all the way to the sign that reads "EXIT" In bold red letters; the sign giving the surrounding area a spotty red aura that makes the wall look as though blood is beginning to grow like mold.

The sheriff's office remains illuminated due to the lamp next to the door; the exit dark and shaded with the color of blood. It must mean something, leaving will result in a grizzled future for me and the family, while that office can be the key to shining the light on the Rutherford's.

My stomach begins to twist, wringing the fear from itself. It gives me a feeling of hope.

I proceed to the sheriff's office and turn the doorknob as silent as a fox, I turn it until it stops itself, and then pull the door open. No sound. I do the same for shutting the door behind me, and then eyeball the file cabinet. Only a fool leaves something with this information unlocked, and I guess my superior is a fool. 

I notice how the office has old fashioned paintings that are supposed to represent his beliefs and faith. Maybe the sheriff's faith is what keeps him going. But faith is not going to help me right now.

The file cabinet is rusty and old, it is as if it has not been touched in decades, to which I know is not the case, as the sheriff constantly pulls information from it. I notice a red glare from under the cabinet, I feel my stomach turn once again, as if it is reversing time to draw back in what it kicked out. Fear.

I blink, and the red is gone. I just need these damn files. Stay focused.

I pull open the cabinet and it is as silent as the door was to the office. No sound, so silent that I began to feel as though the smallest breath would draw in the entire police force. I look the cabinet up and down. The rust is gone.

I sift through the letters, A-B-C-D on and on until I reach "K", I pull the tab and investigate the deep selection of articles. I begin grinding my teeth to the sound of the papers swishing, rhythmic. I feel them begin to hurt as I look much more aggressively.

KARVILLE CASES

Found them.

I pull the folder out and peel a strange layer of tape that wraps around the opening, tightly placed... As if tape would keep someone out. An adrenaline rush kicks in, my hearing dissipates, and ringing begins to travel through my head. I look at the papers in pure horror as the paper reveals that Nick is one of four to go missing near Karville. The other three who have gone missing being between six and eight years old.

I close the folder and shut the cabinet, not realizing how loud the sound was. With the amount of silence that has settled in the building, the cabinet sounded as though a gun went off. I see more light begin to peer down the hall, a door has opened.

 Someone is coming.