-julia-
I wait until my mother leaves for work. Her departure time varies every day depending on what meetings she has, so it's difficult to guess when she's actually going to leave the house.
She leaves around eleven.
I leave Carlotta and Rosalina in my room, mumbling something about going to look for lunch. Hopefully they don't' try to follow me and find the kitchen empty. I don't know if they hear me. Rosalina is too busy shouting into her phone as she looks for a new model. Carlotta glances up from her phone, where she's probably reading swimmer stats and researching videos of her favorite team.
I sneak down the stairs to my mother's office. I beg the entire way that it isn't locked. No one ever goes into her office when she isn't there, so why would she have the need to lock it. Everyone is too afraid of her to ever consider breaking into her office.
It's time I stop that trend.
I try to turn the handle and curse. It's locked. My mother is too paranoid. Of course she is.
I pull Rosalina's bright pink bobby pin out of my hair and try to remember the countless videos I have watched on this. I like to pretend that I some genius spy, when really I'm just a foolish girl who tries to pretend to know how to do things.
I jam my bobby pin and jiggle it like I know what I'm doing. I think of the pins in the lock and how you have to move certain ones, but I don't remember how you know what pins to move.
The longer I stand there wiggling the pin in the lock, the more desperate I become. What if a staff member walks down the hall? They would surely know to report this to my mother, Even if they didn't directly report it, the house would be buzzing with the gossip of it. My mother would find out sooner or later.
Footsteps patter down the stairs. A cleaning maid? One of the kitchen staff coming to see what we would like for lunch?
I try to yank the bobby pin out of the lock so that I can hide. Instead, it becomes caught. I can't just leave it. A bright pink bobby pin would certainly catch the attention of anyone in the staff. It wouldn't take long for them to pin in back on me. The bright pink bobby pin match my hair color perfectly.
I stand in front of the door and try to pull it out. What if the bobby pin breaks inside of the lock? My mother will certainly know when she tries to unlock her door later.
The person steps off the staircase and turn down this hall. My silent begging that they go the other way falls flat.
They turn the corner and I sigh a breath of relief.
Carlotta.
"What are you doing? I thought you were going to get us lunch," Carlotta says.
For a second I consider lying, but she's my best friend. I have to tell her. "I'm trying to break into my mom's office. There's something that I need to see."
She peers at me, "Your future as a politician is really stressing you out, isn't it?"
I consider correcting her and telling her that it's only a small part of a very terrifying mess. But I just nod. It's too complicated to explain while whispering in the hall.
She peers at the bobby pin jammed into the lock, "Were you trying to unlock this?"
"Yeah, I thought I know how, but it turns out that I don't."
"I can do it, I think." She twists and turns the bobby lock. Within five seconds, she swings the door open and whisks the bright pink bobby pin back into my hair.
"How did you...?"
She shrugs, "I do think about things other than swimming. Sometimes my cousin and I would play spies when we were younger. This was one of the skills she taught me. I will never stop thanking her for that."
I grin, despite my pounding heart, and hurry into the office before any of the staff wander down the hall. I silently thank my mother for not putting her office down one of the main hallway.
Carlotta says, "So what are we looking for, exactly?"
"Something on her computer. There's a certain video I'm looking for."
I boot up her computer, begging that she left the window with all the jail videos open. Of course, she didn't. She refuses to make anything easy for anyone.
There's a password. Luckily I watched her enter it the other day. She didn't take any care to try to hide it from me. She'd never suspect that her daughter would go against her.
I search through her files as quickly as I can. What if the videos aren't downloaded on her computer? What if she accessed them online?
Carlotta asks, "What is this video about?"
"There's a man in prison. He's dangerous. She told me that he escaped today. I need to be careful because he might try to attack me. But something just seems off. I think my mother needed an excuse. Actually, I think that she was embarrassed. Someone escaped a jail in her country. She didn't want to show me the video. I want to see it, so that i know what I'm dealing with. The man is a criminal, but I'm not sure how ruthless he is."
"What'd he do? Kill someone?"
"No, he gambles. And throws obnoxious parties and was very disrespectful to my mother and..."
Carlotta twists up her mouth, "I'm sorry, Julia, but those don't really sound like crimes. Sure those are all things that are frowned upon and most decent people wouldn't do them, but...are they illegal?"
I find myself nodding, "You're right. He hasn't done anything yet. But his father was a horrible man. A fraud. He cheated the government out of millions of dollars. The government took all his money and it still wasn't enough to pay back his debt. They killed him. Now his son is still paying off his debts and doesn't have a position on the Assembly. You could say that he's more than bitter."
"I hate to go against your mother, but being bitter isn't exactly illegal either."
I nod as I sift through the hundreds of files downloaded on her computer. There are no obvious names, like 'Jail Videos' or 'Alan Tinsley Files'. Instead, they are labeled with a cryptic combination of letter and numbers. I have no hope unless I go through every single one. I have no idea how long that will take, but I know my mother will be back pretty soon. She's almost always home by one for lunch. I want to be safely back in my room before she's even close to returning.
Carlotta takes the keyboard from me. "Let me show you something."
She begins typing in some coding and clicks on a box on the window.
I narrow my eyes, "Did your cousin teach you that too?"
She laughs, "That summer camp I went to last year? The swimming one? I bunked with a computer whiz. She teached me a ton of basic coding. I've done some stuff online and watched more videos. I'm trying to get better at it."
"That's amazing." She curtsies dramatically and turns her attention back to the computer. "So this coding brings up any files that have been looked at recently. Do you see any that you want to watch?"
There's a string of videos. Most of them are too short to be Alan Tinsley's escape. Maybe it's a view from a bunch of different cameras. If you string them together, you will get his whole escape.
My mother said that he clipped the camera wires so that they couldn't track his progress. But, on my online schooling, we went on a virtual fieldtrip of the city jail. The same on that Alan Tinsley is in. I distinctly remember the high tech wireless cameras that dominated the walls.
Carlotta asks, "Where do you want to start?"
I point at the video at the top, "Why not at the beginning?"
Carlotta goes to click on the video and then stops, "This has been watched 37 times. Whatever this is, your mother must think it is very entertaining."
I swallow hard. Do I want to see this?
Carlotta clicks on the video before I can back out.
The camera shows a dark screen. Then suddenly a light flips on and it reveals a small bare room. White walls, wood flooring. No furniture. It couldn't be bigger than five paces.
Carlotta murmurs, "What is this?"
Two guards drag someone in. Even before I see his face, I know who is is. Alan Tinsley He's pleading and begging and talking about his daughter, his poor, innocent, and sweet daughter. There are tears running down his cheek. He tries to fight against the guards but they pin him against the wall.
He shouts, "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's get this over with, shall we? I hate suspense."
"You are waiting for me." The camera shows someone else walking into the room and my blood chills.
My mother.
No. Not my mother.
My mother doesn't. My mother isn't.
She cocks a small pistol at him. "Any last words?"
The man stares silently back, his last attempt at rebellion.
My mother shoots him.
Blood spurts across the room. It splatters the calm white walls. It paints the guards. A few droplets splatter my mother, one directly below her eye. She wipes it with the corner of her sleeve.
"Clean up this mess. Dispose of the body. I will go tell his daughter. Remember the story. Speak of this and you will be in the same position as this man."
My mother calmly slides the gun back into it's holster and strides out of the room.