The cobalt blue walls press in around us. Tears form, but I can't even think about why. I can't begin to comprehend his words.
"Casey," he says gently. "We will find your friend. We know what area the kil--kidnapper is in now. I think he will stick around for one more."
"But when?" I ask desperately. "It was a month between Rick and Benny, and now Daniel was taken just a day after Benny's disappearance. And where are Benny and Rick? Their birthdays have already happened."
He sucks in his ghoulish cheeks, bloodshot eyes wandering off into the distance. "Let me handle that."
"Just tell me," I whisper, unable to manage a stronger voice. Almost begging. "Please."
He rubs one of his exhausted eyes. "I..."
"Please. I need to know the reality of it."
He sighs, nodding despite himself. "I think we have two bodies to search for."
I slump back in the chair, imagining my classmates with cold, dead eyes. I've never seen a real dead person, even the funerals I've been to were all closed casket. I can't say I'm looking forward to that day. I lean forward again. "I want to help."
"You are a civilian, not to mention a child."
"I'm sixteen. I have motive for this case to be solved, you can kick me out whenever if I get too emotional, and I'm not at risk of being a victim." I glance down. "I'm too much of a girl, and, besides, my birthday is in June."
He sighs again, pushing the air heavily out of his lungs. "This is a job shadow because you are an aspiring detective, got it?"
My eyes flick up to his, and a small smile jumps onto my lips but quickly falls flat once more. "Thank you."
"Get out of here. I'll call you when I find something. I'm also going to send a team to your area to look for those boys."
Bodies is what he really means.
"Shouldn't I come back tomorrow? Since this is a job shadow?" I emphasize the last two words with a pointed look at him.
He meets my look with understanding in his dark, relaxed brows. His eyes linger on me, narrowing as a thought strikes him. "Actually, I think it's time I take a trip west to Belleridge."
I help him gather and carry all the folders he thinks he might need to consult related to the case. On our way out the door, before we even get to Officer Benson again, a group of people wearing either suits or blue jackets with the letters FBI printed in gold over their right clavicle file out of the chief's office.
"Hussler," a squatty, dark-skinned man calls from among the procession. I assume he is the chief of police. "Agent Baxter would like to speak with you."
Hussler's face looks mildly irritated, and underneath, I think, he may just be murderous. Through his teeth he replies, "Sir, I was just leaving for Belleridge."
"Is it for the case?" the chief asks in a condescending way that tells me he already knows the answer but wants Hussler to admit it.
"Yes, sir. It is."
"Have we not established that your case is Agent Baxter's case?"
Hussler's expression gradually sobers and his voice loses its confidence. "Yes, sir. We have." The chief peers around Hussler's lanky frame to look at me. "And who is she?"
A pale-skinned man with black hair gelled back and a perfectly clean-shaven, oval jaw looks at me over the top of the chief's head. He nods to himself, as if agreeing with his own thoughts. "That would be a witness."
The chief's yellowed eyes widen. "Hussler, I need to speak to you in my office." He turns around and peers up at the agent behind him in a prim suit with a bright orange tie. "My apologies, Agent, Detective Hussler is still getting accustomed to working with the Bureau."
The pale man dips his head and holds up a dismissive hand. "No apologies necessary. I understand the power struggle at times." Now directly addressing the detective, he asks, "Might I implore to interview your witness?"
Hussler's square jaw clenches, the stubble around his goatee popping out. "Of course." The words shoot out through his teeth, sounding harsh and not at all permissive.
Hussler leaves me with a third of his folders to join the chief in his office while Agent Baxter steps over to me.
He extends a hand. "Hello, I am Agent Jasper Baxter."
"Casey Casperly," I reply quietly.
"May I ask you a few questions about what you witnessed?"
Although I feel sort of partial to the detective after his openness with the case to me, I can't help but rejoice at the fact that the FBI is involved.
Baxter sweeps across the office to sit elsewhere than Hussler's desk.
"For starters, tell me what you saw."
"Nothing. I fell and hit my head. I couldn't see and was soon unconscious, but I do recall hearing something." Baxter leans forward towards me, hanging onto my every word. "My friend said something to someone--asked if he was part of the search party. I could hear the footsteps; they were heavy like work boots. Or, at least, they suctioned loudly in the mud."
"He?"
"Yes. Daniel addressed the other person as 'sir'. He said, 'Sir, are you okay?' That part I remember perfectly. He also said something about the man bleeding."
"So he's injured?"
I shake my head. "No, not necessarily. Detective Hussler thinks it could have been someone else's blood. But..." I pause. "There was something else." I had forgotten the last word Daniel had said, the way he said it. Recognition was clear in his voice. I deliberate for a moment, collecting my words. "He...sounded like he recognized the man."
The detective's bright blue eyes search my face. "Did he say a name?"
I shake my head, overwhelmed by the piercing of his eyes.
He rests a large hand on my arm, squeezing gently with his long fingers, comfortingly. "This is essential. I need you to tell me exactly what he said."
I feel emotion build up, ready to burst at any moment. "He just said wait," I say, salty tears burning in my eyes.
It's my fault. If Daniel isn't found before... It'll be because I didn't hold on long enough; didn't hear everything I should have that could have stopped it all only moments after it started. No, I couldn't have saved Benny or Rick or the other four boys that I know to be dead, but I would at least still have my best friend safely by my side.
Agent Baxter's hand moves to my shoulder, and he rubs my shoulder blade in small circles, the way my mother always did when I was upset.
"Casey, look at me," he says. I feel as though he's going to yell at me, to tell me I did everything wrong. But his voice is calm and quiet. It rumbles as nothing more than a breath. The calm before the storm? He continues even though I refuse to meet his eyes. "It's not your fault. You said you went unconscious, and judging by your leg, it was a pretty bad fall. There's nothing you could have done to stop it. Just be glad you're here to tell us what you heard instead of being in the same position as your friend--or worse."
I sniffle and nod, knowing words will fail me should I attempt to speak.
"Let's get Detective Hussler and take a trip to Belleridge, shall we?"
I nod again. "He..." the word shakes and I have to stop. I try again, "He said Daniel only has four days. Because his seventeenth birthday is in four days."
I can see the agent's teeth chewing on the inside of his cheek. He stands. "Well then, we don't have any time to waste." He glides over to the waffle-windowed door with a slide curtain concealing the room from the inside and knocks. Without waiting for someone to open the door, he turns the brass handle and walks in. A moment later, he steps out again with Hussler.
"Miss Casperly," he says with a head nod to the hallway leading back to the entrance.
"Let's catch ourselves a bad guy," Agent Baxter says, extracting a pair of blacked-out sunglasses from his pocket.
I sniff away the remains of my momentary breakdown. "You're kidding, right? You don't actually have sunglasses like that?"
Baxter winks at me. "I like to follow the jokes."
We walk out, the three of us: one hobbling, one marching, and one floating.
Lila puts a hand over the microphone of her headset. "Dear, Mr. Benson had to head back. He wanted to wait for you, but I said you were in good hands. It sounded serious."
I look at the two men at my sides. "How soon were you guys planning on coming to Belleridge?"
"I can drop you off at home," Baxter replies. "I was hoping to look at the area as soon as possible. And I would love to talk to some of your local officers. Officer Benson is who drove you here?"
"Yes."
"I wish he could have stuck around a bit longer..."
Baxter drives a black SUV provided by the FBI. It takes several tries before I make it to the elevated front seat with the deadweight of my cast. I huff a breath when I finally land well enough on the seat to heave the rest of the way in.
"You good?" Baxter asks.
I nod, clicking my seatbelt in place.
The sky grows crimson as the sun sinks lower, drowning under the horizon.
"It looks like blood spilled across the sky," I say, voicing my thoughts without actually thinking.
"Well," the agent says in a rumbling bass tone, "let's hope it's not a bad omen."