Welcome to chapter four! We are finally getting into the thick of it… which means I FINALLY have a longer chapter for you! It's about to get dark and twisty up in here. Get ready.
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CRACKS IN HER ARMOR
CHAPTER FOUR: RECIPES FOR DISASTER
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Friday afternoon, 12:15 P.M.
Ingrid exited the interrogation room with Fillmore following behind her. He shut the door and, on cue, they both released a deep breath.
"Wow," Ingrid whispered, leaning back against the door.
"Yeah," was Fillmore's quiet reply as he fell back on the doorframe beside her.
The silence sat thickly between them as the new information settled in. Ingrid's stomach churned, and she gulped down a lump of bile crawling up her throat.
"Whose plan was that again?" she asked, even though they both knew the answer.
Fillmore looked down at her, his eyes dark and sympathetic. "We couldn't have known, mama. She never reported any of that. Nobody did."
"It doesn't make me feel less culpable."
Fillmore sighed, letting that hang in the air before adding, "Jar." Ingrid glared up at him, but he simply shrugged. "You know the rules," he said, pointing to the jar on Tehama's desk with his signature cocky-Fillmore smirk. The original label read "swear jar," but after a long and aggravating stakeout with swapped partners, Anza created a second label with a Post-It: "'Ingrid used a big word nobody knows' jar".
She grumbled while pulling out a crumpled wad of singles from her back pocket. "If this is your attempt to lighten the mood," she pointed at him with a dollar bill, "you're going to hell."
"You're the one lying about Vallejo getting pizza," he retorted as Ingrid crossed the room to put the dollar in the jar, "which was just cruel, considering we both had to skip lunch." Ingrid rolled her eyes at him as they both approached the conference room. "You owe me a meat lover's."
She ignored him, Eden's statement weighing too heavily on her mind. She wouldn't admit it aloud to her partner, but Eden's story hit far-too close to home. Because years and years ago, it had beenher own: an all-too eager boy, an all-too hesitant girl, raging hormones, and social media. It was a recipe for disaster.
A recipe Ingrid was all-too familiar with.
Fillmore raised an eyebrow at her silence but didn't push her. The atmosphere in Interrogation One had grown thick fast. Almost suffocating. He'd heard whispers in the halls about some pictures going around, but he hadn't known what kind. He never saw them, and never thought to look deeper into it. Guilt settled like a rock in his gut as Eden told her tale to him and his partner. Maybe he could've helped her; maybe prevented the whole Fair fiasco from ever happening.
But it was too late now. He couldn't focus on the could'ves and should'ves. Only on justice. He beat Ingrid to the door of the conference room and opened it for her. She slipped inside and found Vallejo, Tehama, and Anton Perez, a sophomore officer Anza had taken under his wing last year.
"Hey, you two," Tehama greeted after gulping down a bite of her lunch. "She confess?"
Fillmore sighed, shutting the door behind them. "And then some." Ingrid rushed over to a vacant chair and sat in it. She folded one leg beneath her and hugged the other close to her chest, not meeting anyone's eyes.
The other officers looked between the two of them curiously, but Vallejo was the first to address it. He lifted his hands and asked, "Either of you gonna enlighten us?"
Fillmore looked down at his partner, who kept her gaze fixed on the array of photos and documents spread out on the table before her. She bit her bottom lip and picked at the frayed fabric of her black jeans and shook her head. She couldn't trust herself to repeat it without her voice cracking.
Fillmore took a deep breath before explaining. "Apparently, Maverick didn't just stand her up last month. After a few weeks of casual dating, she refused to sleep with him, so he leaked a bunch of…" he paused as he searched for the right word, "…personal photos of her. Along with her phone number."
Three jaws hit the floor, and Ingrid's heart jumped into her throat. She gulped it back down.
"How come she never reported it?" Perez asked.
"She didn't think it was safe to," Ingrid chimed in, her skin crawling with every word she muttered. She crossed her arms to keep from shuddering. "Ever since, she's been getting anonymous messages requesting more photos, calling her things like 'whore', 'slut'. Some even threatened her."
Vallejo rubbed a hand over his head and muttered under his breath. "We have to report this to Appleton ASAP. Verbal threats and lewd pictures circulating the school? We might need to involve the police."
Perez nodded. "I'm on it." As he promptly exited the room, the remaining officers stood in silence for a moment.
Ingrid's heart, pounding like a drum, sank into her stomach. Twenty-four hours ago, this was a case of collective sabotage. There was no other reason to believe it was anything more than kids wanting to cause a little mayhem. But it was much deeper now, much worse.
Almost justifiable.
Vallejo cleared his throat. "Did she give up her crew?"
Fillmore nodded. "Sure did. Ingrid was spot on." Ingrid gulped. Not quite, she thought. She was miles off base on Eden's motive. "Eden programed the virus that made the robot malfunction and she hacked into the drone. Sorin has the background in chem and made the alterations to the other projects."
"So, Nathan and Eden were the masterminds," Tehama clarified while Vallejo shuffled some papers, "Hurst was the muscle, and Sorin was the mad scientist."
"Bingo."
"Marvin Hurst is in P.E. with Sanderson," Vallejo said, eyes skimming the sheet in front of him, "Sorin has A.P. Calculus with Cornwall, and Nathan's got free period this hour." He looked up at Fillmore and Ingrid. "Did Eden happen to tell you where he might be?"
"He likes to hit the greenhouse when he's stressed," Fillmore answered. "Helps him clear his head."
Vallejo pointed at Fillmore and Ingrid, who stood up from her seat, with the sheet of paper. "You two go grab him." He then pointed at Karen. "Tehama, you and Anza track down Hurst. I'll send Perez and Gibson after Sorin when he gets back with the principal."
"What about Eden?" Ingrid asked, leaning on the table with her knuckles.
"Appleton and I will talk to her when he gets here," Vallejo reassured her.
But that answer wasn't good enough. "You're not gonna throw the book at her, are you?" she continued, gesturing towards the interrogation rooms. "I think what she's been through is punishment enough."
"I understand that," Vallejo replied with a sympathetic nod, "but you know that's not our call."
Rage simmered in her veins. "Vallejo, that—"
"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it, Third," the Commissioner interrupted sternly before waving them out. "Now, go pick 'em all up."
"You got it, boss," Tehama said, standing up and rushing from the room to grab her partner.
But Ingrid remained firmly planted, her knuckles white against the tabletop. She glowered at their boss, who matched her glare with his own.
"Now, Third," he ordered, all-too used to raising his voice at this particular duo.
Fillmore stepped up behind Ingrid and grabbed her by the arm. She turned and shot him the sharpest glare she could muster and saw the same look in his dark eyes. Anger. Determination. Understanding.
His jaw set, he jerked his head towards the door. "C'mon, Ing," he murmured, and pulled gently at her arm.
She took a deep breath to calm herself before yanking her arm out of his grip and pushing past him. A wary silence fell across the office as she stomped towards the exit, her fury palpable like smoke in the air. She snatched an orange belt from the rack by the exit, then shoved the door to HQ out of her way.
Vengeful tears burned in her eyes as she stormed down the halls of X High School, her combat boots echoing off the linoleum floor. How could people do something so terrible? Ingrid could think of nothing deserving of that kind of vicious treatment. That look on Eden's face as she finally disclosed everything she endured in the last few weeks… the betrayal, the humiliation, the fear… The relief that someone was finally listening, and she didn't have to keep it a secret anymore.
Ingrid shuddered. Photographic memory or not, she would never forget that chilling look.
Her partner fell into step beside her. She unclenched her fists and inhaled sharply – she hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath. She half expected to hear one of his famous, "it's all part of the job, you can't blame yourself" speeches, but Fillmore made no effort to rectify her anger. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, taking in his taught shoulders, his balled fists, his determined glare.
No wonder he didn't bother talking her down: he was just as angry.
"She just wanted it to stop, Fillmore," she blurted, tightening her grip on the orange belt in her fist.
Fillmore sighed. "I know," he muttered his agreement under his breath.
She gulped down the lump forming in her throat. Fillmore had no idea just how much Ingrid understood why Eden did what she did. For Ingrid, it was so long ago, but it still wasn't something she could talk about. She was relieved Eden could, no matter how much hearing it nauseated Ingrid, or how vividly it made her remember. And she knew if Maverick had done it to Eden, he would do it to someone else.
Unless somebody stopped him.
"We gotta take him down," she determined as they approached the exit doors.
Fillmore finally looked down at her and she met his determined eyes with her own. He held up his fist, his orange belt dangling from it. "Damn right, we do."
She bumped her fist against his. Together, they put their belts on and pushed through the doors, heading straight for the greenhouse.
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Friday afternoon, 12:29 P.M.
Fillmore and Ingrid approached the greenhouse. The last botany class ended before lunch, so it should be empty, but they were no less careful. Fillmore swung the door open quietly and took a cautious step inside. He looked around and, seeing no immediate danger, he crept inside and Ingrid followed behind him.
She took in all the greenery around her, the walls lined with hanging baskets full of plants. An oblong table split the entryway in half, creating two paths. Ingrid looked at her partner, who pointed two fingers at his eyes, then directed them to his right. She nodded and did the same, except pointing to her left. Ingrid stepped forward, keeping her eyes peeled for any sudden movements.
The entryway was narrow but opened up wide once one passed the threshold. Aisles and aisles of shelves and troughs loaded with exotic and local flora awaited them. Taking in her surroundings, Ingrid forgot how huge this place was. She approached the bend, preparing to veer left before a sound caught her attention. She trained her ear, focusing on the noise, when she noticed Fillmore about to call out.
Ingrid exhaled with a sharp hiss, effectively stopping him from doing so. He raised an eyebrow at her over the table of blooming magnolias, prompting her to tap her ear and point in the direction of the noise. Fillmore stood still, opting to wait for her signal before he took another step.
She listened carefully. Although she was too far away to single out specific words, she could hear multiple distinct voices. Three to be exact. They must all be here.
Three to two? She didn't like those odds.
She looked over at her partner and held up three fingers. He jerked his head back towards the entrance. Wait for back up? he mouthed, to which she nodded. They both backed up but Ingrid kicked an unsuspecting flowerpot sitting on the ground. The ceramic pot clattered against the concrete floor, the sound echoing off the glass walls. She cringed as it reached her ears, like nails on a chalkboard.
Fillmore swore under his breath as she mouthed an apology. "Nathan Bridges," he shouted. "Safety Patrol. If you're in here, come on out! We just wanna talk!"
Ingrid scoffed, taking a cautious step forward. "Yeah," she mocked quietly, "they always fall for that."
Fillmore rolled his eyes at her as they advanced together, step by step. After all these years, they always fell effortlessly in sync during a chase. For the most part, that is. Ingrid heard footsteps rapidly approaching and she froze, but Fillmore didn't.
"Fillmore, wait—"
But her warning came too late. He rounded the corner and was thrown full force to the floor. She tried to rush to his aid as he tussled with the attacker on the floor, but felt strong arms grab her from behind. She threw her head back, aiming for the assailant's nose. She felt it make contact with the back of her skill but to her disappointment, he only clung tighter.
"You're gonna pay for that, belt," he spat in her ear and lifted her up off the ground, feet dangling in the air.
"Let go of me!" she barked, wildly kicking her feet. She hoped her steel toes would come in contact with something she could push off of, or someone's face. Whichever she could hit first, but her flailing feet only met air.
Meanwhile, Fillmore struggled to gain control of the perp on the ground. Both of them had landed a few successful punches, but neither surrendered control. Fillmore grabbed the boy by the collar and rolled until the momentum landed him on top. Before the perp could react, Fillmore wound his fist back to land another blow but the other perp shouting caught his attention.
Nathan Bridges had gotten to Ingrid. He had one arm around her stomach holding her up from the ground, and the other clamped around her neck. Fillmore froze.
"You make one wrong move and she pays," he snarled, blood pouring from his nose and onto Ingrid's shoulder. Fillmore's eyes narrowed at the perp, his blood boiling as he watched his partner struggle in the perp's massive grip.
But, despite the murderous anger raging through his veins, he lowered his fist and got up from the floor. Stars appeared at the corner of Ingrid's eyes as the perp's grip on her tightened, and she let out a strangled gasp, which only fueled his fury. "Let her go," Fillmore growled through gritted teeth. "Like I said, we just wanna talk."
Marvin Hurst pulled himself up and spat at the floor. "I don't think so," he replied, before swinging something at Fillmore's head and everything went dark.
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OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO… are they gonna make it out alive?!
(of course they are, they're the main characters. I have to torture them first.)
totally just kidding… kind of.
see ya next chapter,
ellameno