Page 23 of Secrets in Salem: Part One

My mouth pulls up in a small smile. He didn’t hear me because he’s practically buried under my bed. I take another step close and pitifully tease, "I already left the bathroom. You don't need to shout."

If the situation wasn't so dire, I'd have laughed at the way he jumps and scatters the pictures in his hands back onto the floor. As it is, I can only manage a smile before it drops and Bishop hurries to his feet.

When he turns around and notices me standing in nothing but a towel, he clears his throat and averts his eyes, a pretty shade of red tinging the apples of his cheeks. "Sorry. I had no idea you were there."

"It's fine," I tell him, shrugging a bare shoulder. "I did call out that I was done and announced I was leaving the bathroom, but I realized too late that you didn't hear me."

Bishop nods quickly, his eyes trained on the door where the hole in the wood still remains from the knife. He tilts his head and suddenly looks distracted. Mumbling, but not really paying attention, he says, "Sorry about that. What's that mark in your door?"

I blanch. Do I tell him, or do I keep that little tidbit to myself? After all, I don't know this man or the one downstairs, so is it really wise to reveal much of anything? Especially when it's weird and totally creepy.

Deciding to keep the reason I have a knife-sized slit in my door to myself, I tell him, "Uh, it's been there a while. It's nothing. Do you mind..."

Letting my sentence trail off, I gesture to my towel and offer him an awkward smile. He understands completely, nodding and saying, "Oh, yeah. Sorry. I'll be on the other side of the door."

He only hesitates a fraction before finally leaving the room and gently shutting the door behind him. Not wasting any time, I hurry to dress. I find a pair of black sleep shorts and a dark purple t-shirt, quickly shoving them on before finding a pair of black fuzzy socks that I slip onto my feet.

I'm towel drying my hair when there's a knock at the door and a smooth voice speaks behind it. "Willow? Police are here. Are you done?"

I throw the towel into the bathroom on my way to open the door and come face to chin with Aleric. We both take a step back, him looking a little more alarmed than I likely do. I see his nostrils flare a second before he shakes his head and takes another step back, almost bumping into Bishop.

"Will you be okay talking to the police? It's fine if you're not," Bishop says over Aleric's shoulder.

Shaking my head, I cross my arms and assure them both, "It's fine. I'll talk to them."

They both nod and let me head down the stairs first. Arms banded around my waist, I take each step slowly, dreading the sight of my trashed home. My dread is warranted. It's just as bad as it was before, though it does look like some of the mess has been swept to the side to leave a clear space to walk through. Did Aleric do that? He must have. He was the only one down here while I showered.

As soon as I reach the living room, I'm greeted by two police officers and appreciation of Aleric’s thoughtfulness slips from my mind like a slow moving fog. I hold back a groan when one of them happens to be Brad Keogh. The man is only a year older than me, but his father is the chief of police and got him a job at the station the moment he graduated high school. Brad is in the same league as all the bullies and assholes in this town. He used to be the high school's quarterback, worshipped by the student body and adored by teachers. What none of them knew was how much of a fucking slime the dick really is. He doesn't like the answer no,alwaysgets what he wants, and doesn't understand boundaries. And I stupidly forgot that he worked as an officer of the law.Shit.

"Hey, Low. How're you doing?" Officer Mac asks. His whitened moustache is overgrown, but his friendly smile is easy to see in his eyes.

I ignore the creepy look Brad sends me and focus on Mac, the sixty-three-year-old, soon to be retired, officer that I've known since I came to live in Salem. He helped me adjust when I was brought here with Mom. He took care of me, helped with my adoption, and called in through the years to check on me. He's the closest thing to a grandfather I've ever had.

"Been better, Mac. How're you? How's Annie?" I ask, moving into the kitchen. Annie is Mac's wife and the sweetest woman I've had the pleasure of knowing. The sound of footsteps follows, so I know the two officers are trailing me.

"She's doing great. Recovering real good after the operation. Her leg is growing strong. She'll be glad to stop using the crutches she's been stuck with. I'll be glad too, between you and me. Woman uses those things as a weapon when I piss her off. You should come by soon, honey. We both miss you," Mac tells me, his voice taking on a soft tinge as he talks about his wife. The pair have been married for a long while. Nearing forty years and still blissfully in love. They're what many would call 'relationship goals.'

"I'll do that. Let me know when you're both free, and I'll stop by with a homemade cherry pie." As we talk, I’m searching the cupboards for a mug that isn't broken. I get lucky and find the one I had from my birthday a few years back and go about making a cup of coffee for Mac. "I'd offer you a seat, but as you can see, my house isn't exactly hospitable right now."

"I'm real sorry, honey. Can you tell us what happened?" Mac asks, coming to lean against the kitchen counter while I make his coffee: black with two sugars.

I carefully shrug, pouring hot water into his mug, and answer, "I really can't tell you much. I came home, and the house was a complete mess. Mom isn't here either, and she didn't tell me she was leaving before I got home. In fact, she told me she would be here. I'm worried."

Mac nods, and just as he opens his mouth, Brad cuts in with a slight sneer. "Fraya is flighty on the best of days. I'm sure she's fine."

My eyes dart to his pale green ones, narrowing my own when he sends me a greasy smirk. Taming my temper, I grit out, "She wouldn't leave without at least telling me first. She wouldn't up and go with no warning."

Brad shrugs, but Mac draws my attention back to him. "Can you start from the beginning, Low? Tell us what happened from the time you woke up until the time you came home."

Sliding his coffee mug toward him, I do as I'm told. "I went to the café to meet Adam to do some research, but he couldn't make it. I stayed for a little while talking to someone I met on the way to the café, did some research, and left. I went to the library, did more research, and then went to the store to pick up snacks for Max and Molly. We're having pizza night tomorrow. When I left the store, the storm started, and I got caught in the rain."

I nod toward Bishop and Aleric who are standing silently near the archway of the kitchen. "Bishop and Aleric were kind enough to give me a lift home. I knew something was wrong as soon as I ran up the path because the door was hanging on its hinges. When I stepped into the house, I couldn't find Mom. The place was destroyed except for my bedroom. That was covered in weird photos."

Mac nods, writing everything on a small notepad. I have no idea when he pulled it out, but he's jotting everything down furiously, though I don't know what I've given him that could warrant writing down. What do I know though? I'm an artist, not a police officer.

We go through more questions, like if I know anyone who would do something like this, or if I was absolutely sure my mother wouldn’t sporadically up and leave to go somewhere if it was important.

"Frayaalwaystells me where she goes. You know what she's like, Mac. She doesn't let me sneeze without knowing about it first. As for anyone who would do this..." My sentence trails off because one name does come to mind. Avril Perry. "At the café I had a run-in with Avril. She was as pleasant as always and made some vague threat after I didn't back down when she was spewing her nastiness about Adam."

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