Page 55 of Falling For Alaska

“Come on, Parkson. No time to waste,” he says, running a hand through his hair and bending to see his reflection on the black screen. I stand too, a ball of nerves in my stomach as I turn to my Captain, the question about to pop out.

“Parkson, I had Captain Raines on the line about two hours ago. He’s thrilled about your work, as I am. He offered to get you back there within a month,” he declares bluntly, before I even get the opportunity to ask if I could stay. “Keep me updated,” he grunts, rushing back to his office. In a month. The air leaves my lungs. Damn it. I’ll ask him tomorrow. It’s not like anything could change in one night. I make my way out of the station and join Jared in our patrol car.

“Tamison’s Bar?” he asks, revving the engine.

“Sure.” We begin driving toward the center of Lakeside, heading to the local Irish pub.

“By the way,” Jared says casually, focused on the road, “I thought about your misplaced tape again. We had a guy here who got transferred to another station, used to take care of the archives. He was a lazy ass and would often misspell things. It happened a few times. Anyways, now that I think about it, maybe your W was actually an M. Just saying.” He shrugs, like what he just said didn’t shatter my world into an effervescence of uncertainty.

Perhaps your W was actually an M.

I freeze, my blood stopping its course. The initials on the tape might have been mistaken. The name, or place, that was supposed to be W.J. was, maybe, in fact, M.J.

My stomach drops.

It wasn’t written W.J.E.L.C.

One simple mistake changed everything. I knew it in my gut, I had seen those letters somewhere.

M.J.E.L.C as is Matthew Jenkins Evidence from Lakeside County.

Suddenly, it all makes sense. The damp fabric photograph. The piano teacher’s reaction ‘cause of course he’d taught him at some point. Matthew’s a pianist, she said it multiple times. He must have learned with him. The old man knew. There's also the way Alaska talks about her brother, and yet I’ve never seen the guy anywhere. In a town smaller than my pocket. The truth hits me like a ton of bricks. Alaska’s sweet face flashes in my mind.

“Jared,” I ask, my voice shaking, “c-can you turn back and d-drop me off at the st-st-station?”

“What?” Jared shouts above the pop music he’s been singing along to. “Why?”

“I forgot something,” I say, on autopilot. Both palms resting on my thighs.

“Kay,” he grumbles, turning around and dropping me off at the parking lot.

“Don’t wait f-for me,” I shoot at the open window as I close the door.

“You’re dumping me? Thought we were gonna celebrate.”

“I… I forgot I had to do something. We’ll celebrate another day.” I turn, leaving him with both brows raised and his head shaking.

“Whatever,” he mutters. I head back to the office, but I don’t stop at my desk. I head straight to the archives, retrieve the misplaced tape, and bring it back to my desk to view it on my computer. I wipe the dust from the plastic case, insert it into the tape player, a much more modern version than the one in the archive room. And this time, it works. I shut the door, put my headphones on and watch the worst thing I’ve ever seen.

My chest tightens when a sixteen-year-old Alaska appears on screen, seated in our interrogation room. Ghostlike. Barely alive. Her knuckles are still smeared with blood, fresh stitches across her skin. She’s hunched, sitting as if she could fold into herself and vanish into dust. A voice speaks off camera, making her shoulders jerk.

“Alaska. Alaska Jenkins,” she says with a broken voice. Time passes and I keep watching as the woman I fell in love with gets drowned in questions and accusations. The cop in front of her twists her words, makes her say things she doesn’t mean, or doesn’t even register. There’s no spark in her cobalt pools I’ve grown so used to. No blood pulsing under her skin. Nothing remotely close to a functioning human being. She’s in shock. That much is obvious. Her shattered voice cuts through the blur of the footage. I can’t look away. She’s the embodiment of fragility, and it makes me sick to my stomach. How did she end up like this? Why is no one helping her?

No doubt the interrogator is forcing answers out of her. Whatever she’s done, she isn’t fully responsible. She’s too young and too lost to have committed the unthinkable. All I see is a wounded animal, backed into a corner. I shut my eyes as the video ends, and then I do the one thing I should have done in the first place.

I could look up his name in our police database. It’d be a formality if only her white scars didn't haunt me.

No.

Doing it now would be a betrayal. She deserves to tell me first. So I do what I should’ve done months ago. I turn off my computer, take the tape, the photograph, and head straight out to the parking lot, ignoring the stares of my colleagues.

The drive takes longer than usual, every mile stretched to hell. By the time I park in front of her place, my pulse is hammering in my ears, just like the day my mom told us about my father’s heart attack. Her house is dark, except for the faint glow from the living room window. I check my watch. 6:30. She’s home. I step out of the car, my breath misting in the cold air. Every part of me wants to rush inside, demand answers, make sense of the last few months. But I force myself to slow down. If I come at her wrong, she’ll shut down.

That’s how well I know my girl.

Wood creaks beneath my foot. C’mon, maybe you’re just wrong. Cold air escapes me in white smoke. Alaska didn’t do it. I know it in my bones. My reason and my heart battle behind me, each tugging on a shoulder. When I knock, the veins in my hands swell with fear. At first, I hear nothing. Then, soft, hesitant footsteps come toward me. The door cracks open. She's bathed in the dim light, wearing a short wool grey dress. Her hair is loose. Surprise etched on her face.

She blinks. “Jack? I…I didn’t know you’d come here.” Her body goes still, her attention snagging on something behind me. When her eyes return, they’re shining like she’s just seen a ghost. I’m heaving as I wonder what has been going on for months now.