“File cabinet,” we say in unison before looking at the numerous ones lining the far wall of the office. Ian snags the key from the box and begins turning it into them with little luck.
“Dammit,” he mutters after the key gets stuck in the fourth cabinet he’s tried. I sit behind the desk in the seat still warm from Ian, staring at the thumb drive when my knee hitssomething hollow in the interior. I glance under the desk and find a drawer hidden in the side of the desk, a small keyhole barely visible.
“Ian…” A chill passes through me as I consider that maybe I don’t want to know what our dad’s been hiding. That freeing myself from the man that made me may come at the cost of understanding all the horrible things I helped him do. Nausea roils in my stomach as Ian slides the key across the desk.
“Open it,” he instructs but his eyes have shifted into the same haunted expression I know I’m wearing. Like he too realizes that there's no going back from whatever we might learn.
“Ian…we can stop if?—”
“Open the damn drawer, Andrew.” His voice is hard, despite the hollowness in his gaze. I turn the key, hearing the soft click of the lock before pulling the drawer open. Three cream colored file folders are laid in the drawer, each labeled with a name.
William Chapman
Elliot Walker
Rebecca Spellman
A boulder falls to the bottom of my stomach as I see mom’s name, her folder significantly thicker than the other two and my fingers tingle with the urge to open it. To see all the tabs Glenn’s kept on mom over the years—on me. The knowledge is bittersweet. I think this is the most care, if you could call it that, my father is capable of.
Ian slides past me, grabbing the folders from the drawer and dropping them on to the desk. He opens Will’s first and there has to be over a hundred papers inside, from school records to candid photos taken of him around town. My pulseis racing at the sheer mass of information sitting in front of us. At the realization that there is a bombshell in this folder just waiting to be uncovered. Ian begins flipping through the pages when we hear the gears of the garage door thrum to life.
“Fuck,” Ian whispers as both our eyes snap to the door.
“I thought you said he was going to be out of town this week,” I hiss, panic shooting up my spine.
“Do you really think he gives me that much information? I just assumed…” Ian quickly snaps photos of the pages in Will’s folder as I fumble around, trying to shove everything back into place.
“Hurry up,” I urge, my heart crashing into my rib cage.
We can’t get caught. Not when we’re just getting started, when we’re finally on tosomething.
The hum of the garage door quiets just before we hear a door slam. “Ian!”
He slams the folder shut, moving to swipe the remaining folders off the desk but it’s too swift. Elliot Walker's folder goes sprawling to the floor.
“Shit…” Ian stands still for a second as we hear the door leading from the garage creek open. I drop to the floor, quickly gathering the papers back into a neat stack. The similarities pull the words and photos on them into focus, and I realize it’s profiles of women that are strewn across the floor, their faces just iterations of each other: blonde, tan, young, just different enough that I can tell they aren’t all the same person. I grab the last two when my eyes catch on deep blue eyes, eyes that I haven’t been able to get out of my head. Blue eyes like the ocean and the night sky all at once. Eyes that I’ve memorized laying in bed next to me.
Her packet has multiple staples, is thicker than the others and cold dread fills my throat. Her name’s typed neatly at thetop.
Sloane Fielder
I hear hard footsteps approaching and hurriedly shove the packet back into the folder before carefully shutting the drawer, bile sitting high in my throat. When I look up, Ian’s in a doorway on the opposite side of the room, frantically gesturing to me. I crawl across the room, sliding in just before the main office door opens. He silently shuts the door and we both melt against the wall, our breath fast and hushed as we hear Glenn enter the office. The sound of the computer powering up has me wincing, and I close my eyes because I know we are fucked when I feel the soft vibration of my phone. My father’s name flashes on the screen and if I didn’t know better I’d think I was having a heart attack.
I show Ian who vigorously shakes his head no, so I ignore the call, sending Glenn straight to voicemail. I hear him let out a loud sigh on the other side of the door, and suddenly my phone’s vibrating again. Ian’s eyes widen, Glenn’s name filling the screen once again. He points to the far edge of the ridiculously long bathroom, as far from the door as possible and mouths an answer. I crawl against the cold marble, wedging my body in the furthest possible corner.
“Hello…” my voice is a hushed mumble, my hand shaking as I press the speaker to my ear.
“Andrew. Where are you right now?” His voice is harsh, abrasive against the cool silence of the bathroom. Terror trickles down my back, and I wonder if he knows I’m here, if he’s trying to catch me in a lie, if he’ll drag me out of here and use everything in my mother’s file to make their life a living hell.
I look at Ian, his hands waving around, trying to conduct me to a response.
“The library, big bio exam this week.” I wince, not sure ifmy tone is calm enough to be believable. I hear Glenn let out a breath and can almost see the roll of his eyes, his expression so similar to Ian's.
“Any news on the Fielder girl? I need to know if she’s talking.” A knot forms in my throat, rage sitting at the center of it as I remember that packet remember the name Elliot Walker scrawled at the top of the folder it belonged in.
“Who’s Elliot Walker?” I ask before I can stop myself, even though I know. In my heart of hearts, I know it’shim.
Steady anger fills my ears like a loud thrum as I wait for my dad’s response.
