Page 6 of When You're Broken
Finn’s ears pricked at the mention of a break-in.It matched what they feared—Wendell or an associate might’ve forced entry, scouring for any trace of Amelia and Brendan’s earliest records.“Can you tell us about it?Did you see him again?Or notice anything missing?”
Peterson cocked his head, a nervous tic at his jaw.“I didn’t see his face during the break-in.Our security is minimal.This place doesn’t have the funds for advanced alarms, so we rely on old locks and some cameras that rarely function.By the time I discovered something amiss, it was too late.A lock was broken on the basement door, and we think some of our archives were rifled through.Is he dangerous?”
“If it’s Wendell Reed, then yes,” Finn answered, bluntly.
Amelia surveyed the corridor behind him, as though expecting to spot the leftover chaos.“Are those archives still down in the basement?”
He hesitated.“Yes.It’s not the ideal place, humidity and all, but it’s the only area we can spare for old paperwork.Look, if you want me to show you—”
“We do,” Amelia said, stepping forward.“We believe that’s how a dangerous criminal discovered information about my brother, and we’re trying to trace his steps.”
Peterson’s mouth twitched.“Your brother?”
Finn offered a quick nod.“Yes, he and Amelia were once under the care of Wainwright, and we suspect the intruder sought details on their personal history.”He studied Peterson’s reaction carefully.
Something like recognition flitted across the man’s face, but it vanished so quickly that Finn couldn’t be certain.Peterson pressed his lips together.“Then I’ll do whatever I can to help.Follow me.”
He led them through the short corridor.The floors were polished linoleum, scuffed in places as though kids once dragged chairs across them.Yet Finn saw no children, no staff.The hush felt unnatural for an operating children's home.Faint footsteps overhead hinted that perhaps someone occupied the upper floors, but no voices or laughter carried down.Something about it gave him a prickle of unease.
“How many kids do you currently have here?”Amelia asked quietly.
“Not as many as we used to,” Peterson replied, not looking back.“Some are still in the building being supervised by our carers, but many are away on a field trip with Jenny Lange, our head care-worker.That’s why it seems so dead right now.”
Finn heard Amelia murmur an acknowledgment, but from her stiff posture, he guessed she found the children's home’s emptiness unsettling.A stale odor lingered as they walked, a mix of disinfectant and mildew.At the end of the corridor, a heavy fire door stood.Peterson unlocked it with a rattling key and pushed it open, revealing a descending staircase with metal rails.The overhead bulb flickered once as if protesting.
He gestured them down."Basement's this way.The break-in was discovered at the bottom, near the file cabinets."He hesitated, then managed a tight smile that didn't reach his eyes."Sorry, it's not well lit."
Amelia started down, Finn on her heels, with Peterson trailing behind.The steps were concrete and somewhat narrow, forcing them into single file.The cold air thickened with each step, and Finn’s footfalls echoed as if in a bunker.He found himself peering over his shoulder at intervals, noticing how Peterson walked with a measured pace, arms stiff at his sides.
A door at the bottom led into a corridor with walls of raw cement.Overhead pipes ran the length of the ceiling, clanking softly.The corridor branched right, with a sign reading ARCHIVE.A padlock hung from the door handle, but it was unlatched.Peterson slid it aside and pushed the door open.
Inside, overhead lights buzzed.Dozens of metal file cabinets lined the walls, interspersed with cardboard boxes stacked in corners.A few shelves held old binders, some labeled by year, others unlabeled.The smell of dusty paper hung in the air, distinct and heavy.
Finn watched Peterson with a subtle wariness.The man’s posture looked forcibly casual now.Something about the stiff set of his shoulders struck Finn as off.“When the break-in happened, what did the police say?”he prompted.
“Eh… Not much, usual kind of fluff, not much to be done, really.”
Finn felt the answer was odd, and the man’s nonchalant behavior around such a break-in, when children lived in the building, was concerning.Finn wondered if he should be manager of such a place.
Peterson nodded, stepping further into the room.Amelia followed, scanning boxes.She ran her hand lightly over one battered cabinet, as though half hoping a sudden memory might jolt free.Finn hung back near the threshold, letting them explore but not letting Peterson out of his sight.
“Yes,” Peterson said, voice echoing off the cement.“We found a few boxes pulled out, some files scattered across the floor.We tried to do inventory, but the place was a mess, and we aren’t sure if anything vital was taken.”He turned slowly to face Finn.“I suspect you think that man—this Wendell person—was behind it.”
“It’s likely,” Finn replied.“He’s done a lot to hide his tracks.Breaking into a children's home for old documents wouldn’t be out of character.”He paused, something about Peterson’s eyes making him uneasy.The manager’s gaze looked too sharp, too aware.
Amelia picked through a stack of files with care, reading half-faded labels.“When exactly did this happen?”she asked.
Peterson stepped closer to her.“A matter of days.I filed a police report, but they didn’t find anything conclusive.With no CCTV, there wasn’t much to go on.”He gave a shrug that struck Finn as forced.
A hush settled.Finn’s chest tightened with a sudden rush of instinctive alarm.The air seemed heavier, and he realized he didn’t like the manager’s positioning—between them and the exit.He saw that Amelia had drifted deeper among the cabinets, partially out of view.The tension in his neck flared.Something is wrong here.He’s too calm.And no staff in sight…
He tried not to make any sudden movement.“Amelia,” he called softly.“Maybe we should see if the break-in damaged some lock or left evidence.”
She glanced over, nodded, about to step back toward him.That was when Peterson acted.In a single swift motion, he pulled a small black handgun from beneath his shirt, the muzzle swinging up to point directly at Finn’s chest.
Finn’s breath caught.For a fraction of a second, disbelief paralyzed him.He glimpsed Peterson’s face twisting with something akin to desperation or rage.Amelia froze, eyes wide, her hand instinctively hovering near her hip—too far from her sidearm to draw it in time.
“You had to come here,” Peterson said, voice scraping the silent basement.“I knew it.Now you’re going to do exactly as I say.”His eyes darted from Finn to Amelia.They burned with a fervor that suggested more than fear—maybe a fanatic loyalty to someone else, or a twisted sense of duty.
