I can’t sleep. The adrenaline pumping through my veins is still going strong since the first call I received from Chase.
The last time I lost sleep was the night before I gave Chase my V-card. But that was more from excitement and anticipation, not tortuous distress. I miss him. I miss his jacket. The combination of its warmth and Chase’s scent is the exact medicine I need to calm down. If only I still have it. The selfish and quirky girl in me wish I’d stolen a couple T-shirts from him, so I can fool myself into thinking he’s right here by my side, to tell me everything will be okay. But no, Chase is still in jail and about to face rape charge. I’ve become a porn star and may even be pregnant. If I didn’t catch the last metro train to get home by 12 o’clock last night, I too would’ve been arrested for breaking the midnight curfew law.
In 12 short hours, my perfect world has been turned upside down, and there’s no one to talk to except Daniel, who’s not even here. Mom would listen to me without judging, but she thinks I just had a nice dinner at Debbie’s house. How can I telling her the real reason I come home late when she’s so relieved by this overdue outing after my two weeks of hibernation? The guilt is still there, but in the grand scheme of things, lying is only a small sin, not a misdemeanor or felony punishable by imprisonment.
After apologizing to mom, I go back to my room and fall straight into bed, not even bothering to change. A relaxing bath or some rest is in order to clear my mind, yet all I can manage is to shut my eyes. My brain, however, refuses to reboot as all sorts of scenario run through my head like a never-ending TV crime show.
Argh, this is not working! Peeling myself out of the bed, I grab my phone and start searching for answers online. There’s got to be something I can do to get Chase, no, to get us both out of this mess.
Hundreds of search pages later, I pretty much get all the statues, penalties, and defenses related to sexual offense and drug possession down. From what I understand, getting off a criminal charge is a lot like beating the last opponent in the final round of the bake-off next month. I need an award-worthy recipe and quality ingredients to win the hearts of the judges with my best cookie. Although the odds are against us right now, we CAN dismiss these charges with a good attorney and solid evidence if we play our cards right. Twirling my hair in concentration, I put on my pastry chef hat and tackle each problem like I am preparing for the bake-off.
First off, no lawyer is cheap, so our top priority is to gain access to the six-figure bank account that Chase’s never mentioned to me. Well, not that he’s supposed to. I’ve always been very curious about what he lives on after his parents died three years ago, but since he never tells me anything about them, it doesn’t sound like a good idea to touch a sensitive subject like this. Whatever the unknown source of the funds may be, money is a crucial factor in winning this game. Although the chance of finding a debit card in his room with the PIN written on the back is slim to none, I don’t think there’s a better place to look for clues than his house.
As for the child porn charge, my testimony alone is apparently not sufficient. The key is to prove I am not the unidentified naked girl in the tape. That is not important at this point. While the idea of Chase keeping a girl as his sex slave is ridiculous, there’s no harm in proving her absence either.
My heartbeat speeds up as I anxiously reach for the key to Chase’s house in my purse. He gave that to me a month after we started dating, like an open invitation to come to him anytime. As I hold up the keychain, it jingles with the other keys to my most valued possession, like it’s assuring me I am on the right track. Tomorrow, I’ll go find out once mom and dad leaves the house for the bakery at 4:30. Pressing the key tightly to my chest, I watch the numbers on the digital clock jump until exhaustion finally takes over.
The next thing I know, a strip of warm, wet sandpaper is scrubbing my face tenderly like a facial treatment. Emerald eyes meet mine as I open my eyes and gently push him away.
“Morning, Puffy.” I say after a wide yawn, still too tired to get up.
“Meow.” he replies softly before moving on to lick my other cheek, revealing four digital numbers on the clock next to him. 05:02.
Crap, how did this happen? Jumping to my feet, I dash to the bathroom and finish the morning routine in record time. Perching on the nightstand, Puffy watches me with his almond-shaped eyes, seemingly unimpressed by my speed. “I bet it’ll take you another half an hour in the closet before you can walk out of the door,” he tells me telepathically as he shakes his whiskers. I smirk, and walk right out of my room, wearing the same outfit I didn’t take off last night.
While waiting for the bus to arrive, I call to check on Chase. He doesn’t answer. That’s no surprise. Daniel doesn’t pick up either. He’d better be busy talking to the lawyer he mentions to arrange for Chase’s release, not making out with his boyfriend Marcus! He seems like the typical type of guys Daniel dates, and the way he looks at me like seeing a ghost doesn’t really bother me. The idea of him leaking the story to anyone besides the three of us, however, is unsettling.
Pushing the annoying thoughts to the back of my mind, I hop on the waiting bus and ask the driver to call my stop before grabbing a seat closest to the door. 15 minutes is all it should take to get there, if I don't get off at the wrong stop like I did yesterday on the way to the police station. One minute saved is one minute earned in the limited time I have to win this scavenger hunt.
The lonely bus ride ends too soon. Before I finish giving myself a pep talk, I am dropped off at the bus stop only one block away from the famous Painted Ladies. As I round the corner, the tall fig tree in front of the three-storied Victorian-style house waves at me like always, but for the first time, I wonder if it’s an invitation or a “stay-the-hell-away” warning.
No, Abby, this is not trespassing or unlawful entry, and certainly not betrayal of his trust. I assure myself as I unlatch the small gate leading to the in law apartment where Chase lives. A morning chill brings a sudden surge of apprehension shivering through my body as the key turns in the lock. I crack the front door open and take a peep inside. The tiny entryway is gloomy and eerily quiet, like there might be a sleeping dragon locked up somewhere. Okay, this is not a fantasy book story. Just breathe, Abby, breathe. Pretend it’s just a regular visit, or he sends you to get something for him. Yeah, that’s exactly what it is. Crossing the threshold with my heart in my throat, I tiptoe inside like a ninja on her first mission, closing the door behind me with great care.
Chase’s bedroom is at the far back of the apartment, and of course, it’s just as dark as the rest of the place. He makes sure all the curtains are drawn to acomondate my photophobia. Sliding the dimmer switch on to the lowest light level, I give the 12 by 12 space a quick scan before diving into the bedside dresser where every normal person keeps the most important stuff.
A brown paper emerges as I open the first drawer. I peep inside. What the...When did he buy this big box of condom? In extra large? I bite my lip to stifle a laugh. Did he actually measure himself, or is he just being a stupid egomaniac? I’ve only seen and interacted with one penis so far, but if it were his true size, I am not sure whether I should feel worried or lucky.
Shaking my head in amusement, I put the box back into the paper bag before rummaging through the rest of the drawer. There’s a chocolate chip cookie enveloped in a square cellophane cookie bag, adorned by a poker dot pattern card on the back and a twine bow tie over the clear plastic. I sniff the empty cookie wrapper, and sigh. They are the normal ones I make before my “Operation weed brownie recipe” project. If only I knew weed could caused him so much trouble, I would’ve never considered entering that contest, not that I actually had something to do with this whole mess, of course.
Stay focused, Abby! You are on a mission here!
My heart starts pounding as I open the second drawer. A row of hanging folders appears, each one neatly labeled with clear plastic tabs. MONEY, SCHOOL, MEDICAL, CAR, HOUSE, MEMORIES.
Bingo, this is what I’ve been looking for! A small voice in my head murmurs something about invasion of privacy, but an overpowering voice urges me on.
You are his girlfriend. That gives you certain rights, including snooping around and touching his money. You are trying to save him, to save both of you. It’s not like you are going to use it for revenge if you two break up later.
Argh! Why the hell am I thinking about breaking up with him now? Focus, Abby! You are going to have a nervous breakdown if you don’t calm down and focus! Taking a deep breath, I slide open the first folder labeled “MONEY”. A familiar white envelope addressed to “Kevin Louie” catches me off guard. It’s the missing hospital bill mailed to dad, the one I hid from him but lost somewhere. The itemized service and charge confirm it’s for the emergency hospital visit, but now both the payment portion and the return envelope are gone.
He paid for it. That’s why I didn’t get a second bill while I was struggling to come up with the money. My, oh my, I can’t believe he actually stole the bill and paid it without telling me! Shocked doesn’t even begin to cover the millions of emotions filling up my chest. I stare at the bill, momentarily dazed, until I hear the lock to the front door turns with a click.
Someone is entering the house.
Without a second thought, I softly push the drawer close before rolling over to the other side of the bed where I hide in the gap between the mattress and the wall, draping the window curtains over my body for good measure.
“Don’t bother to take off your shoes, Marcus. The clean freak vacuums this place like three times a week.” Daniel’s voice echoes down the hall through the half-opened bedroom door.
“Are you sure he has enough money to pay this lawyer?” Asks the othe voice.
“Mm-hmm. He’s loaded, has a six-figure bank account. Too bad he’s a financial dumb ass. He won’t even notice if half of his money is gone.” Daniel confirms with a dry laugh.
“Okay, but ten grand of cash in his closet? You have to be kidding me!”
“Shit if I know. He told me it’s in a blue shoebox. Let’s find out.”
The conversation sounds louder as their footsteps on the floor start to send vibration to my hands and knees. Holding my breath, I pray they won’t look around the bed. From under it though, I can see them disappearing into the closet. For a while, the only noice in the bedroom is some light movements from the short distance. A couple of minutes later, they come out of the closet - literally this time - apparently gotten the money they came for.
“Are you sure this will work?” Marcus sounds more uncomfortable than I was earlier.
Daniel scoffs. “He used to sign the attendance sheet with my signatures when I skipped Calculus in high school. I think he was asking me to forge his signature on his check when he called me from the jail. And don’t worry, his signature is fucking easy to forge.”
“Okay then. Let’s just take his checkbook and get outta here. The lawyer wants to see cash before she starts any work.”
“No rush. Bank doesn’t open until 9 anyway.” Daniel replies assuringly, and they both leave shortly after,
To make sure they are gone, I wait for a full minute before crawling out of the gap. Out of curiosity, I walk into the closet to see for myself. A shoebox sits in the middle of the closet, accompanied by its blue lid nearby. Inside lays another checkbook on top of some documents. Looks like they only took one book. I take it out along with the rest of the contents before laying my eyes on the first document underneath the checkbook. It’s a business letter. At the bottom of it prints a name with a title that hits me like a thunder.
Debbie Fisher, Manager, TLC Services.
Debbie Fisher, Chase’s mother. TLC Services, a bankrupt nonprofit I’ve been investigating for months. What business does Chase’s mother have to do with TLC? Frantically I flip through the documents that opens up millions of questions like a Pandora’s box.
I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting there reading, but eventually I decide it’s too much information to digest and not possible to get all my question answered without more research. Not wanting Chase to notice my discovery, I settle for taking photos of all the documents with my phone, putting the papers and checkbook back to their original location, and leave the house.
I need to see Chase. Immediately.
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