Concerning Chance ✔

TWENTY-FOUR

It's morning again and I'm getting ready for school again, no closer to figuring anything out. I wasn't expecting to become the next Sherlock Holmes overnight, but it would've been useful.

Thanks to the bunch of sleeping pills the doctor prescribed me to help me sleep, the night was restful — even if it was a false rest. But with my mum administering them very strictly at 8:30 every night, I can't stay up long and brainstorm about Chance, or Max, for that matter.

She keeps the sleeping pills locked in her bathroom cabinet. I guess she's worried about me taking one too many.

Just as I'm pulling my shoes on, there's a knock at the door. I frown; who could that be?

It's not gonna be Chance, I doubt it's Max or Lilia.

"I'll get it." Mum hurries past me before I can get to my feet — avoiding sudden movements is essential when recovering from a concussion.

Mum unlocks and swings open the door to reveal two serious-looking people dressed in blue and grey.

"Mrs Brewer?" The man on the left checks. My mum nods. He continues, introducing himself and his partner, "I'm Detective Jones and this is Detective Barrow."

"We're part of the CID unit at the Ridgeshire Police Constabulary," the woman, Barrow, explains. "CID stands for—"

"Criminal Investigation Department," I pipe up, ignoring my face beginning to burn as the detectives' beady eyes settle on me. "I — uh... I looked it up a while back."

That's the truth; when the police weren't doing anything about Chance's disappearance, I looked into other alternatives. Yet I'd have to report a crime — like a kidnapping — to get the CID involved. The CID were the real deal; the plainclothes police officers all granted the title of 'detective'.

"May we come in?" Barrow looks back at Mum. It's the words of a question, but the tone of a statement.

"Of course, of course." She lets them in and then bustles off to make tea. She doesn't seem bothered by the fact we need to leave for school in five minutes; I don't complain.

Dad left for work half an hour ago, so I don't even have his effortless charm to act as a buffer between me and the detectives that have shown up far too late to be of any use.

Wordlessly, the detectives and I move into the living room and sit in uncomfortable silence until Mum brings in two steaming mugs of tea.

After a nod from her colleague, Barrow begins, "Do you know why we're here, Rory?"

I nod stiffly. "Why only now?"

"Pardon?"

"Why didn't you come and ask me any questions after Chance disappeared?" I grit my teeth and set my eyebrows in a permanent scowl. "I was the one who reported the fact she was missing — I made a statement at the police station. But you're only coming to ask me questions now when Chance is in a fucking coma and it's too late."

Too little, too late.

Mum reaches her arm out to touch my knee, but I move away from her. I don't need to calm down right now.

"When you reported the missing person," Jones explains slowly as if he's talking to a child, "The uniforms come out and ask questions. They asked Chance's dad, and they were on their way to ask you, as well, but Mr Harn insisted you were just a bystander."

My frown creases deeper into my forehead. I can't bring myself to believe what he tells me — not the fact that Martin Harn defended me or the fact the CID refused to get involved as soon as Chance disappeared. It just seems like they were lazy.