The Child: Episode 4

The Police Station

“That’s enough,” I said, tossing the boy his clothes. “Get dressed. We’re leaving.”

He clenched his jaw and lowered his chin. “I’m not taking you to the hospital,” I added, “but somewhere where you can get help.” He lifted an eyebrow. “You can’t stay here.” He stood there, half-naked in my living room, unmoving. “Go on! Get dressed.” Then it occurred to me, he’d just had a terrifying bathroom experience. “I won’t come in.” He glared at me. “I promise.” I waved him away.

As he was changing, my heart calmed, and a burnt smell stung my nostrils. A couple of scorched burger patties and overly crispy onions had turned blacker than the skillet. I flicked it off and cut off a bite. Too far gone. My stomach churned; wasn’t sure if it was hunger or anger.

I grabbed the skillet and turned toward the garbage, nearly running into the boy who had been standing right behind me. “Sheesh!” I barked at him. “Don’t scare me like that!”

He had put on his dirty shirt and jeans, but no shoes. “Don’t like my clothes, eh?” He shrugged. After thinking about it, when I dropped him off at the station, it would probably be better if whoever picked him up saw him wearing the same clothes he had on when I found him. Fewer questions, fewer consequences, I thought.

“You hungry?” I asked. He nodded. As soon as I said it, I regretted it. I checked the fridge. Four-day-old chinese, an open bottle of bbq sauce, and a half gallon of milk working its way into cottage cheese. I grabbed a slice of bread off the counter and scraped the last bit of the peanut butter onto it. “Best sandwich in the world,” I lied, handing it to him. He inhaled it, then snatched the white box of chinese food out of the fridge and scarfed it down, despite my objections. He then went for the milk, but I grabbed his wrist and he growled. “Hold on, bud. I know you’re hungry, but that’ll make you sick.” I poured it down the drain while he whined.

“They’ll have food and clean clothes at the station,” I said. “Let’s go.” He trotted toward the door. “Want some shoes?” I asked. He wagged his head no. “Let me rephrase that. Get your shoes on.” He reluctantly obeyed.

As we left the house, I locked the front door for the first time in years and headed toward the car. It was dark now, and cold. The moon was bright and full. I opened the car door, and a wolf howled, followed by a cacophony of baying. “Get in!” I said. The boy seemed absent of concern. “C’mon, let’s go!”

As I pulled out of the driveway, my headlights flashed along the treeline, revealing at least a dozen pairs of amber eyes. I stomped the gas, slinging gravel toward the woods. The boy kept his face glued to the window.

“We’re just about five minutes out,” I said, panting. It would be closer to three minutes the way I was driving. Too much drama in a day and I was done. Felt like something bigger was at play, and I didn’t want any part of it.

I hopped the curb and parked on the sidewalk in front of Middlebury Police Department. I darted around to the boy’s door and snatched him by the arm. “Inside,” I said, but he stayed glued to his seat. Anger flared in my chest, but I stuffed it back down, imposing an inauthentic calm. “I’m sorry. I can’t stay parked here. Gotta get you inside and then move the car.” He reluctantly got out. “Right this way,” I said as I were an officer, my hand firm on his back. I pulled on the front door. Locked. Of course. In Middlebury, only the police lock their doors.

I pushed the electronic doorbell, and a voice squawked over the intercom. “Yes? May I help you?”

“Um, yeah. I’ve got a kid here. Found him on the side of the road. We need to figure out who he belongs to.” There was a pause long enough to make me feel I was about to be arrested. Then a long electronic buzz came over the line and I took it as my cue to open the door.

We stepped into a small cinderblock room with a steel-framed barrier, metal door, and a large, glass barrier. There was a camera mounted in the corner of the ceiling, blinking red. The door snapped shut behind us. The officer took his time to acknowledge us. When he finally did, he brought two clipboards with him, sliding them through the slit in the glass. “I need you to fill these out,” he said.

“I’m not planning on staying,” I said. “Just need to get this kid some help. He’s hungry, too.”

The officer glared at me. His name badge read, SGT HALEY. “I’m not asking,” he said. I wondered if his excessive kindness was what landed him the night shift.

“Can I just explain what’s happening?” I said.

“Are you in danger?” he said. I knew by his tone it wasn’t really a question. Before I could answer, he said, “Anyone chasing you? Are you bleeding? I can call an ambulance,” he said with mock sincerity.

“Look, Mr… Officer… Sargeant Haley. I am tired. I’ve been away all weekend, and I have to get up early tomorrow for class. I found this kid in a ditch on the side of the road and I’m trying to get him some help.” My rage bubbled up again. “And you making us fill out forms isn’t helping!” My voice escalated. “How about you do your freaking job and help find out who this kid belongs to?”

I got my wish. Haley reached for his handcuffs and headed through the door. Just then, a howl echoed from the hallway. “What the…” he said. Behind him stood a large, grey wolf. He grabbed his radio and said, “Animal control… There’s a — ”

The wolf charged him and tore at his throat. I snatched the boy in my arms and darted for the door. The cool night air stung my face, but it wasn’t until I got in the car that I heard myself sniff and realized tears streaked my cheeks. I glanced at the boy, who didn’t seem the least bit disturbed.

I sped away into the night. There was only one place I could think to go. Only one person I knew I could trust, who might be able to help. My department chair at Middlebury. Dr. Harlan Forester.

CONTINUE THE STORY

The Child is an interactive puzzle fiction story. If you’ve stumbled onto this episode without reading the beginning, you can start at Episode One here.