one day, two crimes

After a pretty terrible day at school, I slowly walk back home, contemplating my game plan for contacting two hundred-something pharmacies.

I'm the type of person who loves working smarter and not harder, and according to that, manually calling each location sounds like a pain in the ass. I could always ask Jess, but the doctor's appointment is fixed for today.

I don't feel completely comfortable asking anyone, particularly after today's dramatic turn of events. I slouch, disappointed in my progress. It's been two days, and I still haven't had growth in my investigation. Besides, my plan has earth-sized holes in them.

If I do supposedly manage to call all the pharmacies, what would I enquire? "Did anyone perhaps buy chloroform from you?" Not only does that sound suspicious as hell, I think there are laws in place that do not allow employees to give out that information. Surely there must be a different, easier, and much more effective way?

I could hold a party kind of thing, except it's not a party but maybe a fundraiser? I could set up a murder-themed fundraiser, and provide refreshments, not alone of course. We have this annual event at school where we have to raise money for our school's extracurriculars. Most of the money ends up getting contributed to the football team, but the event is usually fun.

But there's a catch. I need to run for the council elections. Voting ends in two days, and there's no way am I going to gather enough votes to win it. I mean, yeah it's worth a shot, but running for it would mean that I'd have to divert my focus onto elections over my investigation. That could lead to a delay, something I do not want.

Is it worth the gamble? I ponder this, as I walk home. I will have to cut on the partying, especially now that I know someone is particularly targeting me and Jess. Mainly me, but I don't want to delve into that. I reach home, hurrying up the stairs. I rummage for the list I had made the previous night, wondering what should be my next move. [my first move*]

If I supposedly do get elected, the amount of lies that I'd have to make up for the teacher committee to agree with it is enough to make me faint. I'm not great at making up things okay, that's Jess's forte. I can lie beautifully to my parents because I'm aware of how they'd react, however, I barely know the teachers in our school. Given the small chance that I do manage to pull this off, my parents would murder me if I told them I'm taking an initiative on holding a fundraiser.[something to do with me being a girl, don't ask me]

On second thought, I'm going to scrap this plan. The chances are so low that I'd manage to pull all this off, it's almost laughable. I'm going to do it myself. I open the telephone directory, sighing the second I lay my eyes on the rows and rows of numbers.

Come on Lena, you should do at least this much for your best and only friend. She went through so much for you, it's only fair if you work hard to find her assaulter. I decide to go out, to the payphone booth near the library. I have a little change, leftover from the money Elijah lent me. I didn't spend the money entirely, and thankfully, the cafeteria lady gave the change in coins. I have about enough to last maybe ten calls? Or more?

I'm not particularly sure, but I head out, deciding to cycle there. It's too far to walk back and forth while completing the calls before Mother returns. I drag the cycle out the garage, the setting sun casting an orange glow upon the green metal. I swing my leg over, and begin pedaling slowly at first, and picking up speed as the landscape slopes upwards.

The wind air blows through my face, feeling sort of free, after a stressful week. I should do this more often, I think. The coins jangle in my pocket, as I huff up the hill. I'm not the best at cardio okay? I lean my cycle on the wall of the booth and look around. Not a soul in sight. Oliver always attracted a lot of women to the library, and now that he's gone, the visitors have dwindled to a few regulars. I sigh. Valentine is opening the library back up on Monday. I hope we gain more customers, especially when Oliver entrusted this to us. Our subsidy is already really low, and a dip in the customers would mean we'd have to close the library up, something which the three of us don't want.

I sigh and get the directory wrapped tightly with wire, around the passenger seat in the bicycle. I lug the huge book into the booth, struggling to keep the "pharmaceuticals and medicine" page open. I put the first coin in, a lady's monotonous voice urging me to dial in the number. I do so, and so begins my search for a needle in a haystack.

*****************************

I exhaust my stock of coins, none of the fifteen numbers I called, giving away information of value. I am tired of being polite, asking the receptionist whether they stock chloroform and if there's anyone who purchased it recently. As I had guessed, some regulations prevent them from disclosing the information, putting me in an embarrassing situation. I end up looking like a creep and had to disconnect the line. Now imagine this torture ten times over.

I get frustrated, worried that I'd never been able to find that man and make him pay. Tears begin pouring down my cheeks, and onto my t-shirt, as I realize that calling pharmacies is the least effective idea on trying to find that oh so terrible man. I take my frustration out by kicking the booth, anger being the foremost thing on my mind. The booth shudders with each kick, the roof rattling with the vibration. As the strength of my kicks increases, the roof clatters down in the claustrophobic booth. Getting out of my rage-filled daze, I realize what I had just done.

Shit.

I rush out of the booth, grabbing my bicycle. I need to get away before anyone sees what I had done. I surely can't get into trouble, especially for vandalism. Mother would murder me. I look around anxiously, and at a first glance, I see no one around. Maybe I am thankful that people stopped visiting the library.

I get on my bike and look up, only to see Elijah walking casually, his hand playing with a key ring. Oh for the love of God, not him again. I begin pedaling, gravity taking me downhill. I just hope he didn't witness my anger outburst/ vandalism in the booth. I ride past him, and he never notices me, his eyes straight forward. That was weird. In a street where there's barely anyone, you'd notice a person riding a bike past you.

I get it now. He wants to ignore me. Fine. So be it.

I ride back home, only to hear sounds within my house. My blood runs cold. I had completely forgotten about Mother, in my worry about the pharmacies. Surely she didn't notice I was not home? Yeah right, Lena, keep dreaming.

I will have to use the roof, the front door is a no-brainer right now. She wouldn't know. She would've been busy handling whoever she's talking to right now. I beg she doesn't know. I scramble up the metal pipe, my shirt getting caught on a nail. Shit, this nail was never loose before. I untangle it quickly, my shirt gaining a hole in the progress, and tighten the nail. I can't risk falling from this height.

I swing my leg over my bedroom window and sigh in relief. That was very unexpected. I change quickly, burying my torn t-shirt under a pile of unwashed laundry. I walk downstairs, wanting to make sure that Mother doesn't know. Anxiety wrings my stomach, as I go to the kitchen in the pretense of wanting water.

I see her talking to Mrs. Douglas, from her church group. I smile at them and ask them the regular "How do you do?" "I'm fine, thank you." Mother's smile never wavers once, and that sounds convincing enough to believe that she doesn't know.

I grab a glass of water and walk up the stairs, relieved. I go settle on my bed, the terrible man occupying my mind. What is his motive and why Jess and not me? There are so many questions and very few answers. I know a ton of men with beards. That couldn't possibly be a clue. I think about the CC something that Father told me about. Something to do with videos on the street, wait. There is an ATM on our street. Surely those CC things must be there! We can figure out who or at least the car that the man used to take Jess.

But how do I get my hands on the tape? I could get my hands on it, but the problem is I don't know where they store the reels. Maybe at the bank headquarters? But that just seems so unlikely. Or at storage nearby? I ponder, pacing the floor of my room. I should ask the daily watchman, Jones or John, who sits in front of the ATM. If I do manage to sweet talk him, I could easily get my hands on the tape. Of course, I'd have to consider the chances that I could fail and might end up with nothing, but this is worth a shot. Especially when it's not as hard as calling hundreds of pharmacies.

I contemplate making cookies, to win the watchman over, but my baking skills aren't particularly top-notch. That's when Mother bursts into my room, a stern expression on her face. My heart drops to my stomach, worried again, that Upon looking at me pacing the room anxiously, she doesn't bother to ask what's going on. Instead, she launches on a spiel about how girls shouldn't be worried, or their faces will wrinkle quicker. I barely listen to her, my head still working out a plan for tonight.

That terrible man better watches out because I am so getting my hands on that tape.

*****************************

I wake up in a cold sweat, the clock showing five minutes to midnight.

The dreams about the bearded man have become a daily occurrence, my sleep tormented by the horrible things Jess had to go through for me. I know it's silly for me to feel guilty about something that isn't under my control, but it is painful to see your best friend go through so much abuse and trauma because YOU chose to interact with some male.

My guilt gets interrupted by the minute hand ticking to twelve, indicating that it was time to go. I use the roof this time, having nothing to carry around. I shiver in the cool September air, my nose going cold within minutes. I sprint in the cold night, the fresh air better than any alarm clock. I breathe in deeply, as I sprint to the bank, my eyes wide and alert.

As soon as I spot the watchman sitting there, eyes half-closed, almost on the verge of dozing off. His neck rests on the collar of a black jacket, his neck lolling back and forth. I approach him slowly, worried about how I can make a good first impression. I mean what can I possibly do to make someone, especially a watchman guarding an ATM, feel good about a girl approaching him at midnight?

Maybe I should let him doze off and sneak into the ATM. On second thought that seems like typical robber behavior and that's a term that I don't want to associate myself with. I approach him cautiously, and upon a closer look, he's deep asleep. He doesn't seem to wake up even after waving my hand over his face I feel bad for the poor old man, dozing off in a chair in the cold night. I am grateful that I don't have to go through the trouble of being nice to the man and sweet-talking him into letting me in.

Now the only problem is getting in and out without the old man realizing or waking up. I can do this, I have to. I take in a deep breath and lean down, trying to figure out where the man had hidden the keys. He snorts in his sleep, scaring the shit out of me. I calm myself and resume my search, patting all his pockets. I'd be done if the keys are in his back pocket. I cross my fingers, praying to all forms of energy, hoping that I'd be able to find the keys. Cold metal strikes my hand when I realize it had been around his neck all this while.

The metal glints in the weak moonlight, as I struggle to steady his lolling head. He begins snoring slowly, his breath even and low. My heart beats faster than it had ever, feeling almost like I could die from it. I pull the thread over his head, the keys clinking together. I have not felt this frightened in my whole life. Perhaps except the time, I had to go on a roller coaster, but that's a story for another time.

I look at the weak fluorescent light from within the ATM, nervousness taking over every limb in my body. Sure I sneak out daily, but breaking is not in the same league as that. Besides, I'd be committing two crimes in a day, and that's a high score. I chuckle, my voice sounding high-pitched and nasally. [I tend to laugh in inappropriate situations get used to it]

I insert the keys, checking whether any of the keys would give the desired click. On my last try, the door does give away, and I walk in, legs feeling like jelly. I don't understand why they kept a lit ATM locked. Maybe Mr. Jones/John had been so tired he messed up? I walk around the small cubicle-like area, the machine cold under my fingers. The CCTV [yes that's the name] machine sits perched outside the entrance, above Mr. Watchman's head.

The camera is positioned in such a manner that everything happening from across the ATM, that is, Jess's house and a couple of others, are visible. I try locating a possible place where they could store old tapes, but none of them seem likely. Surely there must be someone who replaces the tapes daily. I look around, and behind the ATM, there's a small trace of a door. I push it, and it gives away, opening a shelf full of tapes.

I rummage through the tapes, finding around ten to fifteen of them. Markers were used to mention the date of the tapes. I remember vividly that the date is the 10th of September, so I choose the tape numbered 109. I get the tape and shut the shelf. However the shelf was shut with a magnet, and with the force that I had closed it, the magnet snaps loudly.

The watchman wakes up now, and looks at me with terror in his eyes, contemplating whether he'd end up losing his job over this. At that moment, I was sure that I had messed up big time. Unlike typical robbery films, I didn't wear a mask, and neither did I bother to change out of my pajamas.

He barges in and begins yelling at me, a strong German accent echoing within the cubicle. I look at him, shoving my hands into my pocket, and suddenly an idea strikes me.

"Excuse me, Mr. Watchman, Father sent me here to withdraw some cash for my birthday tomorrow. He said that he'd be leaving town tonight so he handed me his card before he left. Here.", I show him my dad's old credit card that I used as bookmarks. Somehow they had found a way into my pajama pockets. I am not complaining though.

He looks at me with an "OH" expression, and I revel at the success of my plan. "Sorry, missy, I didn't get enough sleep the past week.", he says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. His crooked grin made me feel bad for the poor man, regretting that I had just stolen the keys from him. Wait for the keys!

I look at the door handle, and to my relief the keys hang from the keyhole, swinging in the wind. Mr. Jones/ John would assume that he had left the keys hanging at the door, and that's how I managed to get in. I sigh inwardly, with the man a good night, and walk back home.

Now I need to sneak the VCR from Father's study. Better if I do it at once, considering how I had already wasted the evening in the unproductive and pointless investigation. I hurry home, the pipe beside the roof, being my entry route. I scramble up the pipe, and there comes another obstacle. The nail that had earlier caught my t-shirt caught onto the film roll, the tape tearing slightly. I curse softly and somehow manage to untangle it from the nail without damaging it.

The problem now is that this pipe can no longer be used as a route for my nightly escapades. Sure I can tighten the nail for now, and manage to reach my room, but in the future, I don't want to risk falling from this height. I hurry up the pipe and safely reach my room, my hands holding on tightly to the torn tape. I pray hard that none of the important frames got damaged. This is my only hope to avenge Jess.

I hurry downstairs, ensuring not to step on any creaky stairs, my heartbeat loud in my ears. I reach Father's study and turn the knob to.. nothing.

Shit.

Father never locks his study. But why did he do so today? And more importantly, how can I get my hands on the keys? Frustration boils in me. I'm so close yet so far.

My brain comes up with only one possible solution and that's the hairpin method. There's no way in hell, am I going to try stealing the keys from their dresser. Both my parents being light sleepers, are the most alert people you'd meet. My hand slips to my head, to retrieve a hairpin. My sweaty hands tremble as I bring the pin to the lock, having no idea how to use the pin. I push the pin and twist, my wet hands not helping me do much.

"Argh.", I exclaim in frustration, the pin being of absolutely no help. I wipe my hands on the pajamas and try again, my pulse rate steadying. I calmly insert the key, this time the pin going in further, and I twist.

It clicks. Joy bubbles in my stomach, and before I could open the door to the study, a voice interrupts me.

"Lena, what are you doing next to my study?" he asks confused, a hint of anger in his voice.

My mind blanks out, blood running cold.

Oh, this one is going to be hard to get out of.