9 the situation worsens

13th September 1970

Sunday

I wake up, the man from the van the only thing on my mind.

The van which delivers the cash to the ATM arrives at around quarter past three in the afternoon. If I do manage to find him, then I can figure out who takes care of the footage. It's too far fetched, in my opinion, but it's worth a shot.

The watchman, Mr. Jones/John would be a better bet in finding the CCTV tape switcher, but I don't think my cover story would work with him. Besides, I feel terrible lying to that sweet old man.

I sigh, looking at the mess in my room. I spent last night coming up with a speech, hundreds of crunched up paper balls littering the floor of my room. This is going to take a millennium to clean. I pick the papers up, collecting them in a trash can, thinking about my finished speech. It sounds okay, I guess, but the delivery is what matters.

I don't know how to act all confident, and sound inspiring at the same time. And I need to win this election, especially because the ATM cash delivery idea is very weak, the chances of the plan succeeding being low. I think the best bet right now, is to try out all the possible methods, even if it's time-consuming. I can't lose this easily.

I go downstairs, my parents both outside, for god knows what reason. I turn on the record player, one which contains all my parent's favorites. I mean they do have a good music taste, except they never let me listen to it. I put on 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘍𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘉𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘴 by 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘋𝘰𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘦 𝘉𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴, dancing to the music wackily. I make myself some breakfast, putting aside the ominous feeling that something is about to go very wrong, real soon.

I wiggle my hips, handshaking to the beat of the music. I'm not the best dancer, but it feels so good to let loose once in a while. I enjoy the loud music, dancing to my heart's desire. I glance at the clock after a bit, the clock showing half-past two. Damn, my breakfast wasn't breakfasting.

I get ready, mentally preparing what I should say to the man in the van. I need this to work. I put on a smart outfit, making me look at least twenty-one. Great, I do look like an adult.

Phase one: getting ready. Check.

Next, preparing my dialogues, ensuring it works without any mistake.

Oh, this is going to be one smooth performance.

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

After an hour of waiting, under the blazing afternoon sun, the ATM van makes an appearance.

Tired from standing all day, it felt like I had won the lottery when I saw the van approaching. I rush to the van's driver seat, waving like a maniac. I hoped that he would stop the wan upon seeing my antics, but he did not and kept driving. I sigh, disappointed that I have to move to plan B.

I jump in front of the van, knowing well that he'd stop upon seeing me. Thankfully he does, not running me over. I breathe in relief, while he begins cursing me out.

"Woman, are you out of your mind? Get out of the way before I run you over.", he yells.

"I'm so sorry, sir, but I need your help.", I say, putting on a desperate lost woman act.

"Madam, I don't know what help you need right now, but I have work to do.", he says, revving the engine.

"No, no, I promise, it won't take a lot of time.", I say, putting my hand on the window.

"Okay, fine missy.", he says and rolls the windows down.

"I need to know who changes the tapes of that CCTV.", I ask, pointing towards the ATM.

"Ma'am that's not my area of expertise, I just work here.", he says, getting ready to leave.

"I know, I know, but you must surely know. I live in that house.", I say pointing towards the house beside Jess's. "We got burgled on the tenth this month, and the police asked us for clear cut evidence.", I say, shaking, all pretense of course.

"Ma'am as I said I don't..", he says, before I cut him off.

"Sir, I beg of you. Please ask the watchman and let me know.", I say, pleading.

"Madam, ask him yourself, I am busy.", he says, trying to roll his windows back up.

"Kind sir, please help me out. The watchman said that he can't help me without a formal complaint, and the police refuse to file a case without any evidence.", I say, begging.

"Sir I have a two-year-old toddler, she'll die hungry without your help. Please help us.", I say, begging him.

Concern visible in his eyes, he looks at me.

"You have a child?", he asks questioningly.

"Yes sir.", I say, sniffing.

"Oh.", he says, feeling bad for me.

Good. My plan is working. I begin crying, sobbing in the street, unbothered about the stares that I start getting.

"Madam, please calm down.", he says panicking. "I'll see what I can do.", he sighs.

"Thank you so much, kind sir, I promise you'll get a place in heaven.", I say, wiping my nonexistent tears.

He goes into the ATM, asking me to wait for him there. I wave at him, ensuring that I look grateful. As soon as he turns his back away from me, I do a little happy dance, grateful that my plan, one with huge loopholes, actually worked. I mean, am I to be blamed if he is that gullible?

Of course, I wait for him patiently, praying that he returns with some good news. I fidget with my fingers, anxiety beginning to form in the pit of my stomach.

He comes back, an expressionless face glancing at me. I don't know what to expect. He hands me a piece of paper, a name and address on it.

"Here you go, madam. All the best.", he says, nodding firmly and walks away.

I thank him and watch him drive off. I jump in happiness, so proud that my lame plan had worked. It worked so well, that I might not even have to resort to the election plan. If the address is correct, I wouldn't have to put any energy into the speech or the election. I had sent the letter off, but that won't matter if I don't show up to say the speech.

I glance at the address, it being an hour's drive from here. It's not going to be easy going to and from the place, considering how I don't own a car. On cycle, it would probably take twice the time, making it impossible to be back before my curfew. I sigh. Here comes another obstacle.

I could always borrow Jess's car, but I don't have a driver's license. Besides I promised her that I won't pull off any more illegal stunts. I sigh, confused with what I can do with the given information.

I walk back home, wondering what to do. They must be back by now. My parents, I mean. Surely they must worry about where I went? I slouch, feeling cornered, that even if my investigation has progressed this much, I am still unable to move forward. I sigh and walk into my home. To my surprise, the house remains empty. I look around, wondering whether they had left me a note or not.

Panic manifests in my mind, worried if something had happened to them. Albeit them being terrible parents, they're still my blood after all. Father usually leaves messages for me, even if Mother insists I don't need them. I look for that one note, hoping, praying that they're okay.

I look everywhere, under the couch, on the granite slab, checking the dining table, even Father's study, but I find nothing, not even a speck of dust. I look around, wondering if there are any signs of struggle, but of course, I don't find anything.

That's when I realize they had mentioned lunch at the Jacob's yesterday. Something to do with Father's promotion. I smack my head, disappointed that I let my paranoia get the better of me.

But they did tell me that they'd take me along with them. What am I supposed to do now? Should I just assume they left me and went because Mother said that I am a "disgrace" or they're in danger? Parents are just... I sigh heavily.

I find the telephone directory, search hurriedly for Jacob's number. I find around twenty Jacob's and I sigh yet again. How am I to know which one they went to?

Argh, there's only one way to find out.

I call each one of them, asking whether they know a Mr. and Mrs. Whitaker. All of them reply negatively, asking me if I was a scammer of sorts. One last family responded that they indeed do know a Mr. and Mrs. Whitaker, except they never showed up for today's lunch. I thank them, and cut the phone, my blood running cold. What had happened to them?

I rush out, sprinting to the superintendent's office, praying that they take me seriously this time. I rush in, hair bedraggled, panting.

"Officer, my parents are missing.", I scream, panic-stricken.

"Pfft, aren't you that kid from last time, saying that her best friend was missing? And then never came back again? Stop wasting our time with your silly girl pranks, and go study.", he says, laughing in my face.

"What? No! I'm serious, my parents have been missing since morning.", I yell, desperate for them to believe me.

"Sure, kid. We weren't born yesterday you know? We don't fall for the same prank twice.", he says laughing along with the man sitting beside his table.

His guffaws make my blood boil, and I storm out, knowing that the police is not going to help me anymore. This story ended up like the story of the boy who yelled sheep. I walk outside, pacing in anxiety, my teeth nibbling on my fingers. I begin laughing at the situation, slightly maniacally, finding it so hilarious that the people who were supposed to help citizens just ignore us, refusing to even give it a second thought.

It is partly my mistake too, I think. I understand why they full-heartedly believed that I was a prankster, making a fool out of law enforcement. Regardless, it was very irresponsible of them to ignore me, insult me, and laugh at me, when I was completely and serious. Is that the quality of professionalism that they're taught these days? I sigh, maybe for the hundredth time today, knowing I can't do anything in this situation.

Why is the universe pulling all the negative cards for me? This is the tenth obstacle I've faced in like three days. Have some mercy man.

I walk home, worried about what I'm going to do next. I should maybe ask the Smiths for help, but I don't want to trouble them. I reach home, and upon seeing the empty house, the reality of the situation hits me, hard. I start sobbing uncontrollably, worry, anger, and frustration being amongst the thousand emotions I'm feeling right now. I choke on air, coughing to ensure my lungs get the required oxygen to keep me alive.

I need help. I don't care if I'm being a pain in the ass to the Smiths. For the first time, in my whole life, I felt absolutely and utterly hopeless.

Not just Jess, but my parents too.

This person who's the puppeteer of this entire drama, almost definitely related to Jess's assaulter, is doing this because he wants to see me get tortured. Not killed, not physically abused, but emotionally tortured. And they're doing a really good job with it, blocking my every possible move in trying to find their identity. So I should just let them take away everything I care about, one by one, without doing anything?

Dream on, Mr. Puppeteer, I am not going to let you keep getting your way. I wipe my tears and gather my thoughts and emotions. I wash my face, the cold water helping my headache subside. I sprint to the Smiths' house, knocking on their door furiously.

I knock and knock, but to no avail. It seemed as if there wasn't a soul in sight. I mean, it was Sunday evening so they must've gone somewhere, but something kept irking me. I decided to give them the benefit of doubt, believing that this picture-perfect family that treats me as their own could never do something to possibly hurt me.

I go home, the cold evening air making me shiver in the dress. I go home, the empty house echoing with each footstep. I sit in a corner, waiting and waiting, praying that they'd come home safe. That they had just gone to meet someone, and they got stuck due to traffic.

I watch the hour hand tick to eight, then nine, then eleven. My stomach grumbles, hunger being the last thing on my mind. I need them to come back. I just simply need them.

I run outside, checking whether the Smiths' had returned. Their lights were on the inside, so surely they're back? I knock on the door thrice, the sound ringing sharply in the cold air.

No reply.

I look at the house appalled. I thought they were nice people. I considered them almost family. Not them too. I begin crying, right there, on the street. I feel so lost. I never realized how helpless I'd feel without my parents.

I walk home, dejected and slouching, tear tracks forming paths on my face. I open the door, and to my surprise, I find both my parents unconscious on the floor. Their faces bruised, cuts on their arms and face, hair matted and knotty. The first thing I do is check their pulse, checking both their wrists and necks. I almost clap in relief, when I hear the rhythmic beating of their hearts.

They are alive! They haven't died yet. They're still with me.

Those terrible bastards couldn't even be bothered to untie the ropes binding their hands and legs. Anger boils within me. I cut away the ropes, and ensure they are comfortable on the couch. I wanted to carry them upstairs, but they were a little too heavy for me to carry. I cover them with blankets, keeping glasses of water within reach. I'll ensure that this case is reported.

Whoever thinks that they're getting away with this, they are so wrong.

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

14th September 1970

Monday

The silence following the storm is deafening.

I wake up to a painfully quiet house. I swear I could hear the sound of a pin if it gets dropped. I tiptoe downstairs, worried that the drugs had not worn out yet. If so I would have to call the doctor.

I look at both my parents, sitting on the couch, sipping tea. [or coffee I'm not sure] They don't meet the eyes of each other, their faces lacking any sign of emotion. I look at them, wondering whether they had gotten possessed by a demon or something.

I walk towards them, and still, they refuse to lift their heads. As I reach the couch, I open my mouth to introduce my presence, assuming that they just had not noticed me walk in.

"Mo-", I say when Father interrupts me.

"Lena, you aren't going to that school anymore. I've got you a place in that school across town. You start there next week.", he says, completely monotonous.

"But why-", I begin before he cuts me off again.

"No questions, Lena. Did you happen to go to the police?", he asks.

"Yeah but-", I say before he cuts me off. Again.

"Only answer my questions. How much did you tell them?', he asks. I know Father well enough to know that the throbbing on his forehead means that he is scared shitless.

"Not much. They wouldn't listen to me anyway.", I say.

"Good, good.", he says, his tone indicating that this conversation ends here.

I look at him confused, a thousand questions running through my head. The mother remains surprisingly super silent. Usually, she's the one who orders the house around. And what's with the school switch? I always thought they liked my school. They are close friends with most of my teachers too. So where's the issue? And why after this whole incident did they suddenly change their mind?

This means that whoever did this to them, they're the root cause. I believe that's why Jess's family is acting all cold towards me. Gosh, this makes so much sense to not be true.

I am not changing schools. Not ever. It's a beautiful school, and this is my last year. I can't mess up my college application. I need to go to college to escape from this shit hole. I need a plan. Planning is what I'm good at. I need to get this mess of a life organized. I can't keep letting them get away with this. This meaning, messing up my life. Every aspect of it. Every aspect that I care about. It's not fair. What did I do so wrong to make every living day of mine feel like a prelude to my stay in hell? Why? Is it so wrong to associate me with a boy? Is all this over a fucking boy? It can't be. It's way too petty to be.

I get frustrated, sad that I won't be able to do anything about this whole problem. I lay my head on my arms, just tired. I'm tired of feeling so much. Tired of feeling angry, sick, frustrated, sad. Why do I have to feel them when I'm never happy? "Life has its ups and downs." Where're the ups? I open my eyes, a lone tear falling down my face.

It's okay. If whoever orchestrating this entire shit show can blow me off my feet, it's only because they caught me unguarded. However, now? I'm completely aware. I need to be wary of each and everyone, including Jess. However much this hurts, I need to do it. Because if I don't, my entire life is at stake. Call me selfish, call me whatever you want, all I care about is my exit ticket out of this place. Hurting everything I care about surely hurts, but why should I fight for people that barely can reciprocate my love? I loved my parents as a child, but right now? Taking a decision completely disregarding my opinion? No. Just no. I can't take this bull crap anymore. I'm done.

I get up from my bed, my feet stumbling over a crumpled paper. I pick it up and realize that it's one of the trial versions of my speech. What's the use of a speech when you aren't even going to that school anymore?

That's when it hits me. The election. The election means a free qualification to our school's financial aid program. If I manage to qualify for it, I can surely pay my school tuition single-handedly. I know I can. But it is far-fetched, even while comparing it to the standards of my regular plan-making.

But I know that my parents can't refuse it, especially if I pay for it with MY hard-earned money. Well for that I need to get elected. No one even knows that I'm standing for the election. Isn't that kind the first line of the 101 things that you don't do before an election?

But I'm going to try. I know that I lack all the basic requirements to be a good leader, but everything is worth a shot. Far fetched or impossible, we'll decide that after we give our best.

I need to sneak out right now for me to be on time for the speech. The roof is my only option.

Shit. I forgot about the loose pipe. I can't risk falling from that height. I'd break my bones for sure! But the back door is impossible to access, especially when I can smell Mother's pancakes from up here.

It's impossible.

She'd come up to call me for breakfast, find out I snuck out, they would come to pick me up from school. All this takes place before the elections, within ten minutes. And don't get me started on the repercussions of my actions. They'd probably never let me out again. I pace the room anxiously, fidgeting with my fingers.

Okay, I make her believe I'm asleep. I can easily make a lumpy sleeping figure with some clothes and pillows. It's believable because I slept late yesterday night, after tucking them both in. Secondly, it makes sense for me to be sad, depressed, and cry in bed after receiving the shocking news of moving to a completely different school, and that too, on such short notice.

I have a great feeling about this one.