Not All It Seems

It's a dark night in the middle of January. Chilly, with a slight breeze. The moon is dim, a waning crescent, and the stars are bright like fireflies on a summer night. My eyes follow my feet, left...right...left...right...left...right as I walk down the glowing cement pathway to my destination. Left...right...left...right...left...right...stop. My destination, an ordinary place, is a small urban town.

 We like to be blind to the world around us. I walk up the wooden steps and shake the snow off my leather boots. We'd like to think our world is perfect that we are the center of everything. My black-gloved right-hand rests on the middle of the exterior wooden door. No one wants to admit how messed up our world is, but even a world of light contains darkness. I gently push open the door and a burst of light, music, and turkey assaults all my senses.  No one wants to think about the bodies beneath our feet. I step inside and the door automatically swings shut once more.

The place looks like an everyday restaurant and bar with ordinary civilians. There's carpeted floor at the entrance and wood floors at each table section. A woman, perhaps in her early twenties, looks up at me as I enter the joint with a look of boredom on my face. She frowns but it's only visible for less than a millisecond before she puts on her “welcome to Maverick's” employee smile.

“Hello, a table for one?” She asks when I finally walk over to the stand.

I shake my head. Her curly locks of brown hair are tied back in a tight ponytail that reaches the small of her back. The woman is wearing the standard employee outfit: black slacks, black heels, and a light green dress shirt with seven white buttons on the front. She wore a small one-side earphone in her right ear, contributing to her status as a hostess of the restaurant.

 “No, thank you” I answer, clarifying my intentions. “I'm supposed to meet with a Mr. Grant.”

The hostess scans the guest book as I stare at her. Her name tag is pinned on the front right side of her shirt, spelling out the word Carrie in black letters. Her eyes graze across the paper before finally pausing on a certain spot for just a few seconds.

“Yes, right this way,” Carrie says, with a suddenly blank face.

She leads me down several rows of tables before we finally stop at a small table hidden in the corner of the room. A man is waiting for me, sitting on the opposite side, still in police uniform. He looks up and studies me, his face reveals his surprise.

 “Who are you?” He asks, his voice on guard.

I calmly sit down in the seat opposite him and take out my recorder. He continues to stare at me with cold calculating eyes, unsure of what to do next.

“My name is Hannah Fey,” I introduce. “My partner, Harrison, couldn't make it so he asked me to fill in.”

I can already sense his uneasiness, at this unexpected change, before we even order drinks. For confidentiality's sake, I will be using different names for everyone involved. The man at the table before me is Officer Timothy Grant. He recently took on a major case involving a gruesome attack and kidnapping of two middle school children. My partner, Matt Harrison, managed to contact Officer Grant for an interview but the recent case isn't what our company is interested in.

I watch as Officer Grant lifts the drink up to his lips with his left hand. I can already tell that he's raised his guard up, it will be difficult but not entirely impossible to break.

 “Thank you for meeting with us,” I say, starting with the usual procedure. “You do not have to worry about being exposed. Our company ensures that each of our client's identities is protected and anonymous.”

Officer Grant remains guarded as I slide over a thin stack of papers. He touches it, skeptically.

“You must have a lot of questions,” I continue. “The stack of papers in front of you is a confidentiality contract as well as a truth contract.”

“A truth contract?” The experienced police officer remarks, “never heard of it.”

I smile, sensing his curiosity.

“If you read everything that's there, it will explain how our company operates as well as answer your most concerning questions.” I reply, “and after you're done reading it. Please sign your name below.”

I sip my raspberry ice tea as the 58-year-old man began reading over the contracts. His brown hair is cut short and his eyes were the color of a storm. I can tell by the creases around his eyes, that he has been working non-stop on this kidnapping case for days now.

“You have children of your own?” I observe, carefully “I can tell by the worry on your face.”

He pauses from his reading and we make eye contact.

“Yes,” he answers. “I do...and they are both very close in age to the two Barnoff children that went missing.”

Officer Grant continues reading the contracts before signing the papers. He hands them back over to me and I quickly put them in my folder.

 “Shall we begin?” I ask, once his food arrives.

The man nods as he begins to cut into his steak. I reach over to my recorder to begin the interview.

 “May I ask you one question, Miss Fey?” He inquires.

I pause, before turning on the device.

“Go ahead,” I confirm simply.

His eyes seem to wander as if trying to glean any information that he could about me, about my history.

 “What is a college student doing working for a company like this?”

I remain neutral as I answer his question.

“It's to simply find out the truth.” I state, “now...let's begin.”

I start by asking him a few simple questions.

“How long have you been working as a police officer?”

 “Thirty-three years.”

 “What was your original motive for becoming a police officer?”

 “Original motive?” He repeats, catching on to my game.

 “Yes,” I say emotionless. “Your original motive.”

Officer Grant shifts in his seat but it's an unconscious move. He stabs a square piece of steak and shoves it into his mouth. 

“What makes you think my motives have changed?” He counters, trying to catch me off guard.

Defense tactic. I decide to face it head-on.

 “You've seen things.” I begin, “you found out that this world is not like a fairytale with happy ever afters. That day in and day out, the pattern repeats. That no matter what you do or what you prevent, there will always be more.”

The older man continues to study me as he chews his steak. I ignore his attempts to sidestep.

“With all due respect, Officer Grant. This world is a mess. It's broken and is running rampant with chaos. No matter how much you try to fix it, it will always fall apart.” I state, firmly.

His arms move to his side, no longer in the closed position. I've got a foothold. His eyebrows begin to lower, a face of sympathy. I don't understand why people do this.

“It sounds to me like you're talking from experience.” He says, shoving another square steak in his mouth.

I shrug, “and you aren't?”

Our eyes meet for exactly three minutes and ten seconds before he finally gives in.

 “You're right,” he answers. “My original reason for joining the police force was to help others and enforce the law. It's still my motives now but there are days when I ask the question of “why do I even bother?”

“Do you receive any recognition for your efforts, Officer Grant?”

“No, not on a common everyday occurrence.”

 “And how does that make you feel?” I ask, probing further.

 “For me, personally, I feel cheated.”

“That you aren't being recognized?”

Office Grant shakes his head, his eyes revealing a wave of sadness.

“There are so many reports in the news these days.” He exclaims, “news about all policemen being lazy, reckless, and brutal...and everyone is so quick to believe that it is all true. It lowers people's respect and sense of safety around us. They think that we will randomly shoot every suspicious character we come across or turn a blind eye toward crimes being committed right in front of us. When they don't hear the whole story, the truth gets twisted.”

The police officer finishes his steak and moves on to his mashed potatoes.

“I wish that they would understand our position before jumping to conclusions. Besides we, law reinforcements officers, are trained to treat everyone regardless of the circumstances, with dignity and respect. Every move we carry out is calculated with every scenario thought out of within the few minutes that we must enforce the law. We try to avoid using force unless the situation demands it, but that doesn't make us the bad guys.”

I nod, listening to every word he says.

“Yes, there are times when the reports are true but that does not mean that every officer in the entire country is bad. We are so quick to group someone in a category, I'm guilty of this as well. Grouping someone into a category is both a smart and foolish thing to do. It can save lives as well as destroy them. Still, when something happens in the news, you shouldn't always take it at face value. Facts and opinions are being given, but that doesn't mean you can't do your own research and come up with your own conclusion. I just wish some people would give a little more trust and faith into the police officers who are risking their own lives to protect them.”

He finishes his mashed potatoes and then stares at the recorder sitting on the table.

“You guys are involved with the media,” Officer Grant remarks. “Let's face it. You aren't here to hear my story.”

He pauses and then places his silverware on his plate.

 “Are you just here to ask about the case as well?”

I don't say a word as he twiddles with the dime in his right hand. I can sense that he's been worn down by everything that's been going on in his life.

“The case,” he began. “It's going nowhere. We followed some leads, but they were all red herrings. We don't plan to give up any time soon but...the longer these kids are gone...the harder it will be to find them.”

He didn't bother to finish what he was really going to say but I already knew. With each day that passes, the kids’ chances of survival and rescue grow slim. They may never be found or if they are...they'll already be dead.

“Officer Grant,” I address. “thank you for telling me about your recent case but...that's not what we are here to discuss. We want to know...about your story and your opinion as to why so many people turn a blind eye or a cold heart towards crime in the world.”

Officer Grant looks at me a little confused. I'm almost positive he has the notion that our company is just another typical place that benefits from tweaking the truth and enhancing the lies.

“Who are you?” He asks, his eyes wide but his defenses have already weakened.

I glance at my empty glass. I haven't ordered any food in the past hour that we've met.

“It's true that we are involved with the media but not in the way you think. Our company has one goal, it's in the contract that you've signed in front of you. You can decide whether to trust us or not, but we do need your cooperation to move forward with the real interview.”

 “Real interview?” He repeats.

 I smile, faintly.

After the interview, I left officer Grant to his dinner. As we had suspected, there was more to the story than meets the eye. I turn the tape recorder over in my hand before walking back to my car. Like most interviews that our company collects, this one would be kept in our database until it could be published. Another story to be shared with the world, when the time was right.