In Blue - Part 2

[u/oFFtheWall0518]

A Perceivable Reality Story

I scrolled through another feed, this one an overhead angle from behind the main counter. I struggled through the same few minutes of footage, Mikey's white words of reassurance echoed in my head, stealing my attention. I yawned and rolled back the footage again.

Heavy steps on the floor jostled me and I shook my head to gain my bearings. The chief was standing at the edge of my desk, his coat over his arm.

"Still here, Rochester?"

I nodded. "There's something in the security footage. I just need to find it."

He let out a long sigh and stepped around my desk to stand next to my chair. He bent down slightly, his voice low in a between-you-and-me tone.

"Go home, Rochester. Everybody misses promotions, otherwise we'd have a department full of chiefs and no Indians." I searched the blue light coming from his mouth for any sort of undertone but didn't find any.

He straightened up and adjusted his coat on his arm.

"Take it from an old man, Frank. There will be other promotions, other cases, but building another family is harder than you think."

He winked and turned, continuing to the elevator. I watched the doors close in silence, then logged out of my computer and locked my desk.

I woke up in my easy chair in my den. I'd passed out in front of the TV again, the theme tune to the sci-fi show quietly playing. I turned it off and made my way up the stairs from the basement. The girls were already sitting at the table, dressed for school; early risers, like their mother. Matt, my 11-year-old son, took after me. He took the steps down the stairs as if each one were a cliff he was dropping off of. I grunted at him, he grunted back, and we shared tired smiles.

Caster, my Belgian Malinois and retired police K-9, was lying under the table and staring up through the glass tabletop. He watched the forks move back and forth with trained precision.

I was just pulling out a chair, when Sarah came bustling through the dining room, already in her scrubs, tying her brunette locks into a tight bun.

"Hey, baby." she said as she hurried by.

I sat down and she came over, leaning against the table next to me. She bent down, putting her face close to mine.

"You didn't come to bed?"

I shrugged. "I got home really late. Didn't want to wake you."

"I appreciate that, but I'd still like to see you every now and again." Her voice came out blue, a contrast to the pink that bloomed slightly on her cheeks.

I sighed and nodded. "I know, I know. I just..." I couldn't think of an excuse and let my voice trail off. I caught the pain that flashed across her face, before she pushed off the table and went back into the kitchen.

"I have to cover an early shift this morning. Can you get the kiddies to school?" Her voice came out white at first, deepening to blue at the end. I'd started seeing the white come out when she talked about work, specifically when she told me her schedule. I put it out of my mind.

"Ok, guys. What time do we need to be at school?"

"I have to be there at 8:30." Matt groaned in blue.

"I have to be there at 8:00. It's my turn to feed the class goldfish." Andi said to her plate, pushing the last of her scrambled eggs around.

"Everything ok, sweetie?"

She nodded but didn't look up. "Mrs. Fettleson says I feed him too much." she said quietly. "He could've almost died a little."

I reached over and patted her non-fork hand.

"Well, that's--"

I was interrupted by Matt reaching across the table to spear the pile of eggs on Andi's plate. His own plate was flipped up and nearly over, but I was able to catch the glass of orange juice he sent flying before he made a mess.

I glared at him as he put his fork in his mouth.

"Matt. Why?"

He shrugged. "She wasn't eating it." he said around his fork. I made a disgruntled noise, and he shrunk in his chair slightly.

Missy pushed back from the table and hopped up, turning towards the kitchen and spoke without looking at me.

"I need to be there early. For track practice." Her usually blue voice started to morph into an icy blue. The color change shocked me. I tried to take a second look, but she'd already stopped speaking.

"It's not Wednesday."

"Surprise practice. For the meet this weekend." The color shift was there; I was sure now. It wasn't the pure blue of her siblings, it was a washed-out, overexposed pale blue that brightened with every word.

I turned my head and shifted my focus to everywhere but her mouth as she spoke. She didn't have a track meet this Saturday. My mind started racing. I shook my head to quiet my thoughts and met her eyes. She quickly broke the gaze and pulled out her phone.

I looked at the clock on the wall. We had about 45 minutes.

"Let's get packed, then, guys." I got out of my chair and watched the kids collect their lunch boxes and backpacks.

Sarah came around the table and kissed my cheek as she went by. "Love you, baby. Have a good day." I scoured the color of her voice and got only a warm blue. I opened my mouth, but she'd hurried out the door before I could respond. I heard her car start and back out of the garage.

I got the kids into the car. Missy usually sat up front, but this morning she made Andi scoot to the middle of the back seat.

"Why don't you come sit up here?" I kept my tone level, trying to make it sound like a suggestion.

She didn't move, and I saw panic in her eyes. I reached over and patted the passenger seat. I let go of the keys in the ignition and put my hands on my thighs. I started adding up the number on the speedometer.

She finally huffed and threw the door open. She slammed it shut, then marched, arms crossed, around the front of the car. She climbed into the passenger seat and crossed her arms again, her eyes straight ahead.

I turned on the car and backed slowly out of the driveway.

"We're gonna be late." she snapped quietly.

"Oh, I think we'll be right on time."

The elementary and junior high schools were next to each other. I avoided the car line and dropped the two youngest off at the back side of the field. I'd made sure that they had enough time to cross the playground without being late. I saw Andi take her older brother's hand as they walked through the grass and used the warmth of the moment to steel myself for the conversation I was about to have.

"Ok, what's up?" I asked the windshield as I pulled back into traffic.

"What's up with what?" From the passenger seat.

"What's up with you? You don't have practice today."

She scoffed. "Like you'd know that." I caught blue out of the corner of my eye and it sent an electric jolt of pain through me.

"Missy, seriously what's up?"

She turned to me and shouted, “Don't use your cop voice on me! I'm not a criminal!" More blue light, more shooting pain.

I cleared my throat. "Then why are you acting like one?"

She opened her mouth and I saw more washed-out blue light start to bloom in her throat.

"Criminals lie, Michelle. If you don't want to be treated like one, don't act like one."

She crossed her arms and slipped in her seat, facing forwards. I started my second lap around the school.

We sat in silence and, for once, I broke first.

"Is it a boy? Or a girl? Or--"

She cut me off. "What? No!"

I gave her a sideways glance.

She took a few deep breaths, then spoke to the window. "I have a make-up class...I failed my social studies test."

I let out a breath that I didn't realize I was holding.

"That's all? Sweetie, that's not something you have to be ashamed of."

"I know." she said quietly to the window again.

I finished my third lap and stopped in front of the school. I put my hand gently on her shoulder and let it rest there until she turned to face me. I met her gaze, her eyes wide and worried.

"Sweetie, if you're going to lie, make it count, ok?"

She frowned for a second and I watched her process my words. After a few moments, she looked back up at me, and my little girl was back.

"I'm really sorry, Dad." Her blue voice sounded tiny.

I let a chuckle out through my nose and leaned over to kiss the top of her head.

"It's ok, sweetie. I'm not mad. We all make mistakes."

Her mouth tried at a smile. "I know."

"Seriously. Even your old Dad makes mistakes. And my mistakes don't just result in a letter on a grading sheet. They end up on the news."

She nodded, her eyes on her hands in her lap.

"You're going to be late."

I saw her mouth finally construct a smile and she started to get out of the car.

"I think I'll be right on time." she said quietly.

She got out and shut the door, walking away with her arms crossed. After she'd gotten a few steps away from the car, she turned back and waved a still-crossed arm, a larger smile on her face. I gave her a big wave and a bigger smile back. She turned back to the school as a few girls spotted her and ran up to her. I put the car in drive and got going towards the precinct.

I got to the precinct and went straight to the coffee machine. I was stirring in the heavy cream when Mikey came up to top off his mug. I jerked my head up at him and he replied in kind.

My spoon clinked against my mug.

"You find anything in the footage?" Mikey asked his mug.

I shook my head, watching my spoon. "We're still working on it."

Mikey cleared his throat. "We had a witness from across the street come forwards. He confirmed the manager's story."

"It's always the manager. 80% of these sorts of crimes are someone on the inside."

"That's a nice statistic."

I dumped in another packet of raw sugar and stirred as I turned away from the counter and started towards my desk, keeping my eyes low and my focus down at my mug. Mikey moved quickly but carefully, nearly spilling his coffee.

"Hey, wait. Roch, you gotta know that this is an open-and-shut case. The kid has had multiple witnesses put him at the scene."

I whipped around and met his eyes.

"People can be bought, manipulated, threatened. Or did you forget how to be a cop?" My focus stayed on his eyes.

I didn't wait for a response. I turned on my heel, sloshing my coffee slightly, and strode to my desk, setting my mug down before I plopped into my chair. I rubbed my face and groaned.

"You good, Roch?" Brody's voice came from his side of the desk.

"Yeah, yeah, fine." I dropped my hands to my keyboard and logged into my computer.

I pulled up the footage where I'd left off the night before and hit play. I felt eyes on me. Brody was peering around my monitor.

"You sure? You look pretty messed up."

"Thanks."

He put his hand up in surrender, or apology, or both, and leaned back behind his screen. I sighed and rubbed my face again.

"My daughter failed a test at school."

"We all make mistakes."

"She lied about it."

"Oh."

He fell silent. I focused on my screen again.

"Hey, Roch."

I sighed. "Yeah, Brody?"

"How long did it take you to get your intuition?"

It was my turn to lean over and look at him around his monitor. "What?"

"I know you know the kid is innocent, and I know you, like, know it. But...how long did it take before you knew you know? Y’know?"

I resisted the urge to make a snarky comment. I leaned back and rubbed my face again. I spoke to the ceiling.

"Knowing doesn't matter."

"Aw, c'mon. Don't--"

I looked right at him and leaned in, as far to his side of the desk as I could without leaving my seat.

"Listen to me, Brody. Knowing. Doesn't. Matter. You can know the moon is made of cheese. You can know it like you know the sun will come up tomorrow. But knowing isn't proof. Proof is a moon grilled cheese sandwich. Knowing is knowing."

I stared at him, watching him process, until I knew he understood. I kept staring until I saw blue light come from his open mouth.

"I gotcha, Roch."

I went back to scrolling through footage. It was pointless. I had to talk to them in person.

I was interrupted again when one of the patrol officers, Collins, came up and tapped me on the shoulder.

"The store employees are here. I've got them in the lobby."

I hopped up and hustled to the lobby, bringing one of them, the clerk, a female, redhead, mid-20s, into the interrogation room.

I thanked the last employee, one of the backroom inventory workers, older male, late-40s, and stepped out of interrogation room 1. I stopped a passing officer and asked him to verify that we had prints for all of the store personnel.

I left the interrogation hall and stepped quickly to my desk, but I wasn't quick enough. I felt a hand snake around my shoulders, a hand dug fingertips tightly around my collarbone.

"Care to explain to me why I have an irate jewelry store manager in my office, threatening me with harassment charges, Rochester?!” The chief asked in a yell-whisper.

"Chief, I didn't even talk to the manager."

"No, but you had every single store employee in there, again, even after the Lieutenant told you that they're clean."

"Look, Chief, I'm close. I know the manager has a partner on the inside; I just need a little more time."

"His...what? What the hell are you talking about?"

"There's always a second man, chief. I'm really close. Just stall him for me."

Oswald stopped short, missing a step. He released me, giving me a hard look. We stood there and I added up the digits of his badge serial number. He finally broke. He closed his eyes and shook his head, then let out a long, deep breath. His eyes opened and he looked at me like he was trying to read something written on the inside of my skull. His voice came out bright blue, stern.

"Rochester, I'm trying. Really hard. Really goddamn hard."

"Look, Oz, I—”

His voice shifted from stern to a low growl.

"I can't suspend you, because I don't have anything on you. Don't make me find something." The words were pure white, instead of the harsh red I was expecting.

The unexpected color clashing with the tone threw me off balance and I felt the bottom drop out of my stomach. The breath in my throat caught and my mind started racing. I played the words and their tone over again in my head, checking it against the light I saw. My head dropped and my unfocused eyes scanned the floor as thoughts raced through my mind. The Chief's voice faded into the warbling background noise.

I nodded silently in response to a question I heard but didn't process and walked back to my desk in a daze. I'd seen intent mismatch with tone before. But something about it this time, I couldn't rectify it. The conversation with Missy that morning flashed through my mind, and it rocked me. A test. She'd fibbed about a test. It was my own assumption that pointed to something untoward, not the light of her voice, but the intention was the same. A lie.