Walking With The Outcast

Chapter 26 - Lucilia

I laugh deeply, for a brief moment forgetting the pain in my heart, but sober up quickly. "What are we going to do?" I question, my voice barely audible. "We can't help Ace if we can't get his dad locked up, and to get him arrested we need evidence, which Ace won't provide. And then there's the problem of his father being the sheriff." I reiterate, the futility and gravity of the situation pressing on me heavily.

Ethan thinks for a second. "So we need to get our own evidence, and we need to find an officer that can be trusted." He turns the truck toward our school.

"What are you doing?" I shout, straightening up abruptly.

He jerks the wheel, sending us swerving, but he quickly recovers himself and the vehicle. "Lucilia!"

I cringe. "Sorry."

"I'm going to school," he says slowly, as if I was a dimwit.

I shake my head sharply. "No."

"What do you mean 'no'?"

"We have to make a plan to help Ace."

Ethan wears an understanding face. "Yes, but we still have school."

"Not today we don't."

He takes a left, and a stern look is shot at me. "Okay, but only for today. Where to?"

"Second Street cafe."

~~~~~

I slam a notebook onto the table, and Ethan jumps, while the cashier sends me a reproving look. I ignore her. This is more important. Tapping the pen against the table, I try to think of a solution.

After a moment, I say impatiently, "Well, what's the plan?"

Ethan shrugs. "I don't know."

"I thought you did! Or at least it sounded like it earlier," I accuse.

"That was just laying out the facts of what needs to happen. I'd hardly call that a well-thought plan." Ethan leans back, and I slump into my chair.

"So we have nothing," I say sadly.

He rubs his chin. "Just let me think."

Minutes pass, and all I do is watch Ethan's facial expressions go from thoughtful to concerned to irritated and back to thoughtful. Finally he jumps up. "Eureka! I've got it!" He shouts before the cashier glares heavily at him.

I startle, and he sits down. "Sorry," he apologizes, "I've always wanted to do that."

"Not the right time, Ethan. Not the right time."

"Anyway," he draws out the word, "I know what to do."

"Okay, what?"

Ethan leans close to me, peering around to look for eavesdroppers, and starts to tell me his plan. During it, I ask the appropriate questions here and there, debate some of the plan's flaws, and become severely doubtful about his idea's merits. But in the end, it is the only plan we have.

~~~~~

"This is not a good idea," I repeat for the tenth time.

"We already decided that this is what we're going to do," Ethan exclaims frustratedly.

I shove the branches and leaves –and, wait, is that a spider?– away from me and observe the aged, brick building before me. It only has one floor, but knowing the buildings in our town, it probably has a basement, too. The bricks look faded, their red color faded to a rustic brown. The glass double-doors that pose as the entrance are marred with smears and dirt, and I wonder how long ago it was cleaned. It is so dirty that I can just barely make out the indistinguishable figures walking within. What stands out the most to me, though, is none of those things. It is the giant sign stretching over the doorframe that reads "Millstone Police Department".