Chapter 2: Sneaking Out, Sneaking InA Chapter by Steve ClarkChapter 2Chapter 2: Sneaking Out, Sneaking In “Good morning Kingsley. How’s Dad?” “His knee is all banged up.” “Banged up! Ha!” I glared at Sergeant Jenkins. He sensed a hit nerve; he immediately stopped his laughing. “Yes, well, it’s such a shame. Tell him I’m thinking of him.” “I will.” “So, what are you doing here?” I shuffled my toe outwards, gazing at the ground. “Dad left his reading glasses here. He sent me in to pick them up.” “Is that so? Trust Sam to leave his stuff lying around.” I nodded. “Happens all the time at home.” “I’ll bet.” Sergeant Jenkins raised himself from behind the front desk. He soon reappeared at the main door into the station, punching in the code and opening the door. I shuffled past him, avoiding eye contact. My fingertips were wet. I was in. I didn’t want to blow it now. “Let me unlock his door for you.” “Thanks,” I mumbled. Sergeant Jenkins fiddled with his keys. “Which one is it?” “The blue one.” He looked at me, the question written on his face. “How do you know?” “I remember from last time I was here. Dad used a blue key.” He inserted it in the lock and turned. “Of course it is. Thanks.” I nodded and stepped inside the room. “Let me give you a hand. Sam’s got a rather messy office.” I paused. How was I going to get rid of him? “It’s ok, Sergeant Jenkins. I’ll find them. Haven’t you got something to do? Don’t let me stop you from work.” “Well, I was keeping tabs on the Champions League game. Bayern Munich against Man U.” “What’s the score?” “Bayern’s up 2-1.” “Bayern should win from here.” How would I know? I like soccer, but don’t follow any of the overseas games. I’m more interested in the country versus country games, especially the World Cup. “Don’t let me keep you. I’ll only be a minute.” “Okay.” He left. Now, to find the file. How was I going to find it in all this mess? How can Dad ever solve anything if he didn’t know how to keep things in order? I rounded the desk to where Dad sat. Where would he keep the file? It wasn’t in the filing cabinet. Only old cases were in there. There was the one about pizza theft in there from a few years ago. Dad told us one night. I thought he’d made the story up until I opened up a newspaper one morning to read all about it. Dad had told us every detail. Why would someone steal pizzas? The eight-sliced bandit? The file had to be on his desk. I slowly began rearranging the items, searching for any manilla folder. There were so many " but none with the name Pet or Disappearances on them. I was quivering, knowing Sergeant Jenkins would return soon. I picked one up; it had a coffee mug stain on it, right where its name was written in messy writing. The first word, for sure, was Pet. But the coffee stain covered the remainder. Was it disappearances? Dare I look inside? That was the only way I would know for sure. I turned to the first page. A picture of a Chihuahua. So cute! But also, a pointless animal… That was all I needed. I stuffed the file down my jacket and quickly rearranged everything the way it was. Well, tidier at least. I had to get out. Leaving the room, I called to Sergeant Jenkins that I had found them. “Oh good.” “I should get going before Mum misses me at home. Can’t miss church.” “Of course. I’ll let you out.” “Thanks,” and I exited the door. Freedom! “Tell Sam I’m thinking of him.” You already said that, I thought as I pushed out the door and left. I ran all the way home, clutching my jacket. I burst through the front door and ran into my room. Will was coming out of the shower; the water pipe between the walls wasn’t shaking. I only had a minute. I undid the curl of my pillowcase and tucked the file inside there. It would be safe there. Will wasn’t cluey enough to notice the bulkiness. That’s when Mum came in the door. “Where have you been?” “I…I…Dad wanted me to get something for him from the office.” “What was it?” “His reading glasses. I’ll take them to him after church.” “Well, you’d better take them with us. We’re going there straight afterwards.” “What? Can’t we come back here after church?” “No.” I looked at the ground. How was I going to get the file to Dad without anyone noticing? Will walked in, his towel covering his lower half. “Mum, get out! I have to change!” Mum frowned. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen.” “Doesn’t matter, get out!” Will went beet red, his cheeks glowing like a Sherrin. Mum left, shutting the door gently behind her. “We leave in 10 minutes,” her voice echoed as she returned down the hall. “Do you mind?” said Will. I let out a shortened breath. “Gosh!” I left the room, scratching the side of my temple. Come on, Kingsley, think. Perhaps he needed a pillow. Hospital pillows were so uncomfortable. And they were shared by someone else who was last there. I shuddered at the very thought of someone else’s dandruff on the pillowcase. I was scared of my own dandruff, the way it dropped as I ruffled my hair while reading a book. It was like snowflakes that tainted my reading. I especially hated it when I did it on a library book " the thought of the next reader turning to Page 246 and noticing whites flakes covering the letters. The pillow was one idea. There had to be a better one, though. That was when Jade exited her room. How come she got a room all to herself. “It’s because she’s a girl,’ said Will once, ‘and girls need more privacy.” I disagreed, but then again, I wouldn’t want to share a room with Jade. “Why can’t I have my own room?” I asked Dad one day. “Because there’s not enough space.” “Why don’t we buy a bigger house?” Dad laughed, his belly bouncing up and down like a basketball “Or build a granny flat?” Mum entered the room at that point. “You know how practical your father is.” “I could build one.” “I’m sure you could, honey. Anyway, there’d be no room in the backyard for your cricket games, Kingsley.” The cricket book! Dad and I were in the middle of compiling an A4 folder of all Will’s and my stats for the cricket season. Were there enough sleeves to stuff the Pet Disappearances file contents in? I ran into the lounge room. It was sure to be there, right where we left it…it wasn’t. I casually went into the kitchen. Mum was pulling out some baked biscuits from the oven. “For your father,” she said, knowing I would ask to have one while it was hot like a brand new newspaper. “Mum, where’s the cricket stats folder?” “I put it away in your room. Next to your Bradman book.” “Thanks.” I was sure Will had finished dressing but knocked. No answer. A voice came from the bathroom. It was Will singing his favourite song from 5 Seconds of Summer. I had about 1 minute and 45 seconds until the song finished. Racing inside, I closed the door and carefully retrieved the file. Then I stole across to the shelf and pulled out the folder. 1 minute 20. The folder had 12 sleeves remaining. I double checked to make sure the contents of the file were A4 or smaller. They were, mostly notepad-size. I quickly, yet methodically, placed the contents inside the first sleeves. 45 seconds. Daring not to look at the contents, I continued to stuff them in the sleeves. I worried I’d smudge the writing with my moist fingertips. The corners were the best place to grab. 10 seconds. The last of the notes were put in the sleeves. I quickly stuffed the manilla folder inside the pillowcase and closed the black folder as Will opened the door. “Nice singing,” I said, hoping my voice was cool enough to leave him unsuspecting of my crime. “Shut up.” “I’ll tell Mum you told me to shut up.” “Oh get over it.” “That’s not nice.” “Who cares?” “You’re mean!” “So what?” “Arr!” I stormed out the room. Will always wanted the last part of the conversation. I imagined him staring at my boiling neck, smirking like a lawyer who’s just got his client off. Jade was in the hallway, fingering her hair. “What’s going on?” “Will’s so lame.” “What did he do?” “Nothing.” And that was it. He’d done nothing. But I’d been vulnerable, like a Gallipoli soldier in no man’s land. I’d nearly been caught by the sniper. I tucked the folder under my arm and went outside. The car was unlocked. I sat in the front. Usually Will sat there if Mum or Dad were away. Today, I wasn’t going to let that happen. The front seat is mine. © 2020 Steve Clark |
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Added on April 30, 2020 Last Updated on April 30, 2020 AuthorSteve ClarkAdelaide, South Australia, AustraliaAboutA free spirited educator who dabbles in the art of writing novels and articles. more..Writing
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