Colton's First Reader

“Unit 341, signing off.”

      Station responded, but it wasn’t much more than a scratch on his ear. The green line train wasn’t far off but instead of standing to get ready like the rest of the late-night riders, Parks opened the same email he’d looked at a dozen times already.

      There was some other basic information like his date of birth, address, and social security number. None of which mattered, what mattered to him was toward the bottom of the email. He slowly scrolled toward it.

      Final Test Score: 43%

      It infuriated Parks there wasn’t any way to review what he’d gotten wrong on the Detective Exam. How am I supposed to know what to work on if they don’t- the thought stopped like a concrete barrier stops an out-of-control vehicle. A new voice, one much harsher started to speak. It doesn’t matter. Because you should have known it already. It doesn’t matter, because you failed it. There was an ensuing internal beratement that felt like he was sinking. Like being buried alive under layers of wet heavy dirt that he could feel every thud.

      Staring at the 43%, he couldn’t help but stick to the fact this wasn’t his first fail. The first was the best, whatever that meant, 60%. The second was a bit harder to swallow given he was so confident of his abilities he walked in and out of the room with zero thoughts of failure, it was like being crushed by a steam roller, 52%. His third failure brought barely any surface reaction from him. That feeling of being buried alive was new but in a way comforting as opposed to the alternative of screaming, bashing, and destroying anything he could around him. Detectives don’t act that way, Cops shouldn’t act that way, he told himself.

      As the green line pulled into the station, he barely even noticed it. Nor did he notice the few passengers stepping on and the even fewer departing. He didn’t notice the doors shut, then chime, but he did hear the automated voice speak to the now deserted platform around him.

      “This train is headed for Jons Station,”-

      “Oh, sonunva”-

      He got up fast, jogged toward the already moving train, and knew at that minute that he’d lost the chance long before he ever got up. He yelled ahead; his open palm smacked the side of the chromed metal. The back attendant illuminated by the fluorescent bulb above her was staring down at her phone as it pulled off into the night.

      He wanted to yell, to roar but instead, he just huffed out a furious breath. Didn’t pay attention again, shocker, the voice said. Maybe if you weren’t so lost in your head all the time, you’d accomplish something. He could feel it boiling up in him. He looked around the empty platform like a predator as if he was looking for the person speaking, but instead, his eyes fell on a poster for a makeup ad behind the bench. It felt like he didn’t have any control when his hand pulled the flashlight from his duty belt and with a grunt, he whipped it at the ad. It wasn’t so much a shatter as a solid crack. A spider web pattern stretched across the pouting model and the flashlight rolled on the platform. Till it fell where the tracks were.

      He paused, then chuckled when he heard the clunk echo to no one but him and could swear he heard it brake too. After he gave a few moments to calm down and check for witness’s he slowly walked over to the edge of the platform. The flashlight fell in between the tracks and thankfully not down into where the wires ran.

But his eyes weren’t initially drawn to the flashlight. About a foot away from his light, which had somehow turned on in the tumble, the beam shined on the red leather cover of a small diary. Hopping down he grabbed both that and the flashlight, which had a brand-new white scuff. He rolled it over once, then flipped to the first page.

      This diary belongs to, was written inside. Followed in less neat handwriting it said, Colton. It looked like a child’s writing; the letters were all different sizes and he barely kept it on the dotted line. He climbed off the tracks and took a seat by the model who had a crack from chin to forehead.

      “Sorry,” he muttered as he turned and flipped to the next page of the diary. It wasn’t a very long entry, which Parks was glad about as he wasn’t trying to snoop into the mind of a young boy. He was just curious if there was something that resembled an address or phone number.

October 10th, 

      I don’t really know what I’m supposed to write in this thing. I was in Staples with my grandmom getting school supplies when I bought it today. She said I’d have to pay her back for it cause wasn’t on the list of things I needed. I didn’t really care I have money, but she did say she was gonna tell my dad I got it too. 

      He flipped ahead, it wasn’t a very large diary and it didn’t seem like it was that old.

October 20th, 

      I made a friend today at school, his name is Justin and he just moved here about a month ago. We ended up walking the same way home and even stopped at Sasha’s Slices on the way back, he had some money and I was starving because I didn’t have lunch that day.

      He closed the journal and tapped it against his leg as he deducted two options. He could google Sasha’s Slices and ask about a Colton. An iffy choice mainly because it was pushing 6 o’clock and the sun was nearly gone. So, the chances of them being open were slim. Or he could go home, the next train wasn’t far off. But something about the fresh thrill of investigating of any kind drew him. It was like it could be practice for what he wanted to do. Or maybe it was just time to pretend, to act like he was doing something more important than it was. He didn’t really want to give it that much thought. But what he did know was that the idea of taking a late-night walk to return a diary was far more enticing than a depressing ride on the green line to an alcohol-fueled sulk at home. It took him about five seconds before he pulled his phone out and googled Sasha’s Slices. Let’s just see, he thought.

      Immediately it seemed like something was pushing him along, the first thing that popped up was, Sasha’s Slices and Pies, 1.2 miles away.

Looking inside he saw no lights on. A red checkered floor, two sets of tables and seats, and the pizza oven were all wrapped in darkness.

He sighed and scratched his chin. He expected this result but still, that seemed like a premature end to the night. What else am I gonna do?

 Sitting down on the steps he was in no hurry to quit. He looked at the dairy, clicked his tongue, and flipped open another page.

      Sorry Colton, I promise none of it can be used against you in a court of law, he thought.

      He figured he’d give it a few entries, he didn’t wanna get too in the weeds here. But it wasn’t that late, and he had to admit he felt in the same vein as being a detective finally.

      November 26th,

      Dad got really mad at Cyndy today. I don’t know what happened because she was laughing in the kitchen during breakfast as I was getting ready to go to school. Something smashed, and Dad yelled. That way that hurts my ears and makes Bongo put his tail between his legs. I guessed Cyndy knocked her plate off her high chair because it was shattered on the ground. I get that she can’t do that, but I don’t think it’s fair to hit her for it. She’s just a kid. When I said something though, he just punched me.

      A weight fell on Park's chest suddenly. It was a slow process but got heavier the more he read. His breaths became more methodical, a calming pattern as the sounds of the city were drowned out. He flipped to the next entry, not thinking very much about Colton’s privacy now. He hoped he’d be forgiven for it, but if he wasn’t…well, I can live with that.

      December 4th,

      All the other kids in school are talking about Christmas coming up. Justin was talking about Haannaka? I think that’s how you spell it. But when I asked Dad what that was, he told me to say away from that kid, that he was a big-nosed money-grabbing Jew, and that if he caught me hanging out with him there would be consequences for both me and Cyndy. Which sucks cause Justin just got a new gaming computer we really liked playing on. Space Marine 2 just came out!

      In a second-minded motion, Parks pulled out his phone again remembering that before Colton said they’d stopped here on the way home from school. He googled elementary schools near me. Only one was close to Sasha’s Slices. It’s not enough. He flicked through the diary looking for some kind of clue. What he read was only more confessions of what he without a doubt knew to be an abused child. His head felt like it was being crushed on both sides to look over it all in search of some clue as to where the boy lived. He thought he could of course just take it to the station. But none of this was admissible in a court, what was he supposed to say? Yea, I found this little kid's diary and I wanted to get it back to him so I read the whole thing, and turns out he’s getting beat. If anything, it’d raise more eyebrows at him than it would get this boy the help he needed.

      February 12th, 

      Dad took me to the hospital again today. He was yelling that way again that hurts my ears. I didn’t hear much because they were ringing for almost the whole drive anyway and my head was bleeding. My arms in a cast now that actually looks pretty cool. They asked how it happened but I just said I fell. Dad seemed nicer on the way home and stopped at Paul’s near our house and got me a Bomb Pop and himself a beer. I don’t think he’s making dinner so I guess I gotta go figure out what to make Cyndy, but my arm still really hurts…

      It kept going but Parks closed it and went back to his phone. Convenience Store near me got a couple of options but it was obvious which one was the ticket. Paul’s General Store, was another mile away, open 6 to 8.

He walked fast, his focus diamond sharp as he entered the store where an older woman was behind the counter reading.

      “Excuse me?”

      She straightened at the sight of the officer; her hand closed the book.

      “How are you doing tonight?” she asked.

      “Wondering if you can help me? We’re trying to track down a kid who might have been a witness to a crime.”

      Her face looked immediately concerned.

      “What happened? A murder?”

      “No, an assault actually, the detectives running the case think he might live around here.”

      “Well, whatever I can do.”

      “Do you know a kid named Colton who lives around here? Elementary school age, has a little sister named Cyndy, and lives with his dad?”

      After he’d said the name, the women’s expression became more relaxed, and her shoulders slouched again.

      “Dad’s name Randy?” she asked, but it wasn’t concern. It sounded very nonchalant and unsurprised.

      Parks pulled his pen and pad of paper from his vest pocket.

      “I’m not sure, Why? You know him?” he asked clicking the pen.

      The woman didn’t talk right away, she crossed her arms and sighed looking down at nothing.

      “Just about everyone on this street knows Randy.”

      “Last name?”

      “Sorry, Devinson. Randy Devinson and Colton Devinson.”

      He scribbled the names.

      “Alright, where do they live?”

      Luckily it wasn’t far away.

After knocking he heard a voice on the other side, it was muffled but he could tell frustrated. He knocked one more time.

      “Get the fucking door already!” the voice yelled.

      He heard it clear as day. Along with a dog barking.

      A few seconds later the door crept open to reveal nothing. Parks heard a TV blaring somewhere inside and the barking was louder.

      “Hello?” a small voice asked him.

Parks looked down.

      At waist level, there was a small child’s face, his skin pale and his hair a wet brown that looked like he’d just taken a shower. The weight was slowly lifting.

      “Hi, is this the Devinson residence?”

      The boy nodded at him, and from farther in as the dog continued to bark, Parks heard someone yell.

      “Who is it!?”

      Bark!

      “Fuckin shut up!”

      The kid’s fingers tensed against the door; he looked over his shoulder.

      “Are you Colton?”   

“Yea…”

      Parks smiled and brought the diary around from his back. Colton’s whole expression changed, his eyes went wide and he opened the door a bit more.

      “This yours?”

      “Yea!” he said excitedly, “How’d you find it?”

      “You must have dropped it on the subway earlier today; It was laying down on the tracks.”

       Colton reached for it, but suddenly footsteps thumped up the hall behind him. Colton tensed up and looked over his shoulder with scared eyes and tight shoulders.

      “Fuck, is it?”

      The door flung open to Colton’s father. At first, he’d seemed almost ready for a fight, until he saw the Kevlar vest and star badge of Parks uniform. His Adam's apple bounced and his eyes got wider.

      “Oh…hello there Officer,”

      Parks straightened.

Colton was standing at his dad’s side looking at the ground.

      “Evening sir, how you doing tonight?

      “I’m ok, is there a problem?”

      Parks shook his head.

      “No problem at all. I’m just bringing back your son's writing journal here.”

      He held up the book.

      The dad looked at it, then slowly started to nod.

      “Well, I’ll be damned.”

      “I was just telling your son here that he must have dropped it at the train station, found it down on the tracks believe it or not.”

      The dad made a quick gesture where he snapped his fingers and pointed at Parks.

      “Makes sense too, we were coming back from the hospital.”

      “I broke my finger,” Colton said.

      Park's heart started to thump. His fury sat behind a thin plate of glass that was just about ready to crack and let it through. There’s a gun on your hip ya know? The voice from the train station reminded him.

Colton’s middle finger was in a small red-wrapped cast, a few doodles of flames were in sharpy on it.

      There was a short silence, one where that voice made other suggestions. Ones that make a person go to a dark place in their mind. Where the lines between too far and the right thing get blurred, and being a detective seemed trivial and pointless.

Detectives don’t act like that, cops shouldn’t act like that, he thought. It was hard to pull himself out, like digging up through all that wet dirt to just hold out the diary to Colton, and wear a humble face.

      “Well, here ya go.”

      Colton took it slowly.

      “What do you say, boy?”

      “Thanks.”

      Parks nodded. 

“You’ve got some good stories in there. You like writing?”

      Colton hugged the diary.

      “Yea…”

      “Well, you’re pretty good at it, should keep going with it. Maybe show it to your teachers at school.”

      His eyes looked up at Parks then, he seemed confused as to why he’d do that.

      “I’m sure they’d be very interested to see it.”

      Parks then looked at the dad.

      “Winning some competitions can make quite a bit of money honestly.”

      The dad looked down at Colton with a snake’s smile.

      “Well, you better show them then!”

      Parks chuckled with the dad for a moment, which felt like drinking blood with the devil and pretending it was wine.

      “See, even your dad agrees. Get a lot of people’s attention and something is bound to come of it, right?”

      He gave Colton a longer look then, his eyes trusting. There was a moment just before he spoke where he thought he got it. Colton looked surprised, swallowed nervously, then nodded. “Right.”

      Parks sighed and then looked at his watch.

      “Well, sorry to keep you both up and bother the dog.”

      “Oh, not a problem. Thanks for finding it.”

      He waved and looked at Colton again.

      “You two have a good night now.”

      “You as well,”

      “Good night,” Colton said in a soft voice.

      Then the door shut, bongos barking was muffled and the quiet of the street returned.

      Parks stopped by the fence and looked back at the house. He watched the windows and listened. He didn’t want to leave, he wanted to kick down that door arrest the dad and get Colton somewhere safer. Or we could just- no! he thought. I can’t do that, I can’t. But he had laid a path for him, and if the teachers weren’t enough there was another option.

When Colton later sat to write about the officer who reunited him with his diary he’d flip to a new blank page, and find a card that had Park's name, phone number, and a small note.

      May 1st,

I know some detectives that would like your stories too, should use Justin’s house phone. Don’t be afraid.