Please enjoy chapter one of my newest book, Alex Dotson: Secrets of a Small Town.
CHAPTER ONE
Number One
“Dotson. High School. Now.”
I lookup midsentence to see my editor-in-chief, Joseph, standing in my doorway, impatiently tapping his foot. The rubber soles of his loafers clap against the tile outside my office rhythmically, indicating not only his eagerness to use his power but also his dire need for new shoes. His tapping, however, has the opposite effect – instead of exemplifying his power, the tattered soles make each tap sound like the squeak of a rubber duck in a bathtub… I start to laugh but quickly think better of it and, instead, think about his shoes rather than about what he said. Have you ever broken a shoe? The feeling you get is utter helplessness… even Joseph has to know that. Although his fashion sense is criminal, it’s not a crime I am interested in covering. In fact, right now, his shoes are the least of my worries. His interruptions always come at the worst times – when the words are flowing from my pen, creating what I believe has the potential to win the next Pulitzer.
“For what?” I ask, half annoyed. Joseph has had me covering local beats lately because I became “too involved” in my last story. Someone like Joseph has a difficult time getting attached to anything. But, for me, if you are passionate about justice, it is difficult to separate your emotions from a story. Although this never affects my writing, it has apparently affected his opinion of me. So for the past month, I have had the distinct pleasure of having been demoted to cover local beats, an agonizing position to be in when you have won a local Emmy. Imagine covering small-town stories – for instance, about a cat stuck in a tree or BBQ cook-off headlines – and you’ll understand why I am losing my mind.
“Girl missing; family hasn’t seen her since this morning,” he replies. His responses are always choppy, and it often makes me question why someone with his grammar was put in this position in the first place.
“I understand South Bend is a small town, but based on every episode of SVU that I have watched, I think it has to be 24 hours until they can file a missing person’s report no matter who you are.” My tone is sarcastic, but evidently, he does not appreciate my wit. I often make smartass remarks but his sense of humor is drab, so it doesn’t surprise me that he fails to appreciate my humor.
“I’m surprised you’re complaining. I figured you would wanna get back to crime?” His Boston accent makes the wanna sound like that of a 40’s mobster’s. I have to look down at my feet to avoid laughing.
“No complaints here. I’m on it,” I say, still looking down at my knee-high boots, silently thankful that I decided to wear them today. These are going to be put to good use, especially if I am going to be standing outside in the rain, waiting for information about this “missing girl”.
I arrive at South Bend High School to a chaos I have become familiar with. Sirens echo through the fog and police lights reflect off the tall slender windows. It has been eight years since I left the halls of South Bend High School, but unlike me, the school has not changed one bit; it even looked the same. South Bend is not accustomed to situations that involve a missing person. It’s hard to go missing in a town of 1,500 where everyone knows each other and where your neighbor is eager to tell everyone what they saw, making crime virtually nonexistent. I never thought I would justify it, but in a way, small-town gossip keeps us safe, because someone is always willing to tell.
As I approach the school, I see parents doing their best to get closer to the school, while a young police officer, with no South Bend recognition, does his best to keep them back. Poor guy.
I laugh to myself as he attempts to control the situation, knowing full well that he doesn’t stand a chance. The new guy has no idea that small-town moms cannot be stopped when it comes to the latest gossip and, unfortunately, a case with amissing girl qualifies as gossip. Everyone here wants the story, including me. The only difference between all the bystanders and me is that I get paid to tell the story. They, on the other hand, have no reason to be here.
“Hey, Alex!” I hear someone call out as I approach the yellow tape. “Nice to have you back.” I look up to see our Police Chief, Kevin Harris, on the other side of the tape. He is tall and slender with facial scruff that makes him look like a Sheriff in an old Western film, a look appropriate for a local small-town Police Chief. The yellow tape between us serves as the Berlin Wall of South Bend at the moment, preventing either party from crossing to the other side. Although I do not dare cross it, I know communication over itis still acceptable.
“Nice to be back,” I say, thinking to myself, if he only knew how nice it really was. “You know I have to give my chief some newsworthy insight. Any way you can help me with this?” I smile, hoping that our friendship will make him give me an edge over the competition.
“I’ll tell you what I have told everyone else.”
I sigh as he says this. I hate being characterized in the category of everyone else. He continues, “Samantha Lynn Blake is a Senior at South BendHigh. She is the head cheerleader, a smart girl, and everyone seems to like her.” Harris continues, “You know it’s kind of crazy. She sounds a lot like how you were 10 years ago.”
I know he is trying to steer me away from the topic because he does not want to slip to the press, even if it is just me.
“What do–” I’m interrupted by a couple evidently seething with anger.
“Our daughter is missing and you are talking to the press?” The man asks. Crap. This is the part of my job that hits the hardest – meeting the parents of the victim. They humanize the reality of what is going on.
Now, I think, is a good time to break the tension. Chief owes me. I interrupt, “Hi, I am Alex Dotson. I work for the South Bend Examiner, and I was just looking for anything we can use to help find the missing girl.”
“The missing girl is my daughter,” begins the girl’s father, stressing on the word “missing”. “She isn’t just a missing girl; she is my only child. If you want something to print, write up a story about how the Police Chief has been here for over an hour and can’t even tell me if my daughter showed up for school today.”
This is always the hardest part for the families. There are stages a parent goes through when their child is missing: 1) panic, which her mother is clearly experiencing now; while her father went straight to number two: 2) anger; 3) eagerness; 4) depression; 5) blame; and, lastly, the stage I hate the most: 6) hopelessness.
I have covered a few missing person cases and I have watched as those closest to the person missing proceed through those six stages over time. Stages one through three tend to happen within the first day, a day packed with emotions that one has never felt before. It is a helpless feeling that is beyond one’s comprehension, but in my experience, every family or loved one seemed to react the same way.
“I’m sorry for upsetting you.” I apologize in an effort to lighten his anger; however, I couldn’t blame the girl’s father for his irritation.
I turn to leave for my car, feeling like a nuisance when I hear an officer yell to Harris. “I found something.”
The feeling of failure that was sinking in quickly leaves my mind when I see Officer Chad Johnson emerge from the field house behind the school, pointing at something on the ground. Before I even a chance to retreat, I’m back in the story.
One of the perks of being from the press in a small-town, which mostly consists only of me, is front row access. I watch as Harris walks over and inspects an object on the ground. However, the Berlin Wall of yellow tape prevents me from seeing what they are pointing at… Even standing on my tiptoes does not give me a decent view.
The crowd seems to have grown larger since I first arrived, but we all watch silently… waiting…Samantha Blake’s parents reemerge from the front door of the school with Principal Stockton and notice our intent gaze at the officers. They look towards the officers, and their eyes beam with hope when they realize that the officers could have found something. They both run to the object. However, when they see what the officers found, their faces, once so full of hope, now appear worried.
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