A/N: this story is pouring out of me so here is another chapter already! Enjoy.
Later that night, I lay in bed with my eyes wide open. I turned over and glared at the clock. Two forty-two am and my thoughts were racing at full speed. I can't get my mind off the strange, eerie police box sitting in my garage. Where did it really come from? Why are the windows and signs lit like that? How? According to Paul, they were lit when he found it. And what is with that weird telephone hatch?
I heard a faint thud that sounded like it came from the other side of the house. Mike must be up too, I thought. I heard it again. Wait. Was that coming from the garage? I sat bolt upright. There was a rapid knock that startled me causing my heart to leap into my throat. "Brian!" A muffled, familiar voice hissed. I jumped to my feet and flung open my bedroom door to see Mike standing there with a finger pressed to his lips.
"I think someone is breaking into the garage," he whispered and motioned for me to follow him.
As we crept down the hall toward the door that led to the garage, my thoughts were on the police box. Why would anyone want to steal it? When Mike and I reached the door, he paused and pulled a pair of binoculars over his eyes. Night vision, I realized and rolled my eyes. Him and his spy junk. We heard a brief rustling sound on the other side of the door. There was definitely someone in the garage. Mike put his hand on the doorknob and held up his other hand to count down from three with his fingers. I broke out into a sweat from the tension and then I realized that I didn't have night vision goggles or a flashlight. Or anything. I was about to protest what Mike was about to do, but it was too late.
He jumped forward as the door flew open before him and he screamed, "Hold it right there!"
I followed close behind him and quickly took in the scene. The garage door was rolled open and parked in the driveway was a plain black moving truck with its loading door open. Inside was my police box, its soft light reflecting off the aluminum walls of the truck. A hooded figure clad in black was holding the loading door's pull rope turned and glared at us. At least I imagined it was a glare. The person's face was completely shrouded in shadow; I couldn't tell for sure.
"Hey!" I yelled, "That's my police box!"
I started to run toward the figure that yanked the loading door closed with a loud bang and dashed around to the cab. The truck started up and screeched out of my driveway as I ran after it for some reason that seemed like the right thing to do at the time. I reached the sidewalk and stopped to watch the truck disappear down the street.
Mike came up beside me and looked down the street with me, "Wow! That was crazy, wasn't it? I mean, who would break into someone's house in the middle of the night to steal that thing?"
"Well," I looked him in the eye with all the seriousness I could muster, "I'm going to find out. I have the license plate number right here." I tapped the side of my head with a finger.
My friend grinned, "I always knew that photographic memory of yours would come in handy some day."
"It got us through college, didn't it?"
The first thing I did in the morning was call in to work. I told them what happened last night and that I needed to take care of things. My boss feigned sympathy, but I didn't care as long as I had the day off. I sat down at my computer and logged into Facebook. I reposted the pics of my police box, told the social world what happened and asked that if anyone sees it, to contact me. Of course, all I got for that effort was a bunch of 'oh noes' and 'I'm sorry!' from the friend list.
I got dressed and headed straight for the police station without stopping for my usual caffeinated beverage. Mike could not take time off work, so I was alone. After spending two hours at the station, I felt like I completely wasted my time. I filled out a report and told the officer every little detail I knew. All I got for that effort was an 'I'll look into it'. Was a guy in a suit, ascot and derby hat really that hard to take seriously?
I was depressed and I must have shown it as I stood on the sidewalk outside the police station judging by the glances from the passersby. I didn't know what else to do. What else was there? I pondered that question as I started down the street toward a Starbucks. I shoved my hand in my pocket, pulled out my phone and dialed a number.
"Hi, Paul," I spoke into the phone, "Yeah, you are not going to believe what happened last night? Oh, you saw my Facebook post? Yeah, crazy, huh? Anyway, if you hear anything, call me." I paused to let him speak and when I looked up, I saw a black moving truck stopped at the light a block away. I couldn't believe it and broke into a sprint.
It was the same truck, I was sure of it. The plate number was different, but that long paint scratch on the back door was exactly the same. I was almost there when the light turned green and the truck slowly pulled away. "No!" I shouted in frustration and looked around frantically ignoring the strange glances from the people on the street.
A Zipcar. I sprinted for the car and fought to open the app on my phone. I skidded to a stop next to the driver door, "Come on. Come on!" I fussed at my phone. Finally, the car door clicked and I quickly got in. Thank god for Zipcar. I threw the car in gear, whipped it around and ended up about two blocks behind the black truck. For once, I was thankful for slow drivers that happened to be in front of my target. I considered catching up to the truck, but thought better of it and kept my distance. The truck took me all through downtown without any stops. It didn't matter. I would follow that truck for as long as it took for me to my police box back.
The truck then headed south past the stadiums, through the International District and into the industrial part of the city. The truck stayed on First Street. Hey, Starbucks Corporate, I thought amusingly. The truck continued past the large office building and for a moment I was disappointed. There was no police-box-stealing conspiracy at the coffee capital of the world. Bummer. Mike would have loved that.
Finally the truck turned right down a side street. I started to get nervous as I continued my pursuit. There weren't any other cars on this street, would they notice me? My grip on the steering wheel tightened involuntarily, but I had to keep going even thought it went against my better judgment. The truck slowed and pulled up to the gated entrance leading into a cluster of smaller warehouse buildings. The gate opened automatically. I kept on driving and kept my eyes forward hoping it would fool the truck driver if he, or she, happened to be watching.
Once past, I decided to get out of there as fast as possible. I was covered in sweat from frayed nerves and now I desperately needed coffee.
"Did you tell the police?" Mike asked me sternly after I finished telling him about the truck when he came home from work.
"Of course I did," I crunched my eyebrows at him, "They didn't seem to believe me."
"How could they not believe you?"
"I don't know! They just didn't, ok?" I held a hand to my forehead as if it might help me think.
"Then there's only one thing we can do."
I looked at my best friend and recognized that face, that mischievous grin. It was the same one I saw on him that time we filled the fountain at the park with so much soap, there was mountain of suds some twenty feet high that lasted for weeks. "What?" I asked carefully.
"We go over there and…"
"Knock on their door?" I interrupted, "Are you crazy?"
"No, you ninny," he laughed, "we sneak up to a window and see what's inside."
"No, Mike. No."
"Hell, we might even have to break in," he continued, ignoring my protest.
"Break in?"
"Hey, Brian, this is your stupid police box that you just had to have, so do you want to find out if it's in there or not?"
I pursed my lips as I glared at him.
"Look," he said in that voice that I knew was meant to convince me to go along with his crazy idea, "All we need is pictures, right? To show the police? Then you can get your cabinet back."
"And how do we explain how we got those pictures, huh? It's called breaking and entering, Mike. I don't want to get arrested."
"Okay, okay. I was only joking about breaking in, but we do need to get to a window."
He looked at me expectantly and when I answered with a deep frown of disapproval, he went on, "Alright. If you're not going, then I still will."
I shot him an incredulous glare and I knew that I fell into his dumb little trap. Again. God, I hated him sometimes.
"Alright. I'll go," I said in defeat.
He laughed, "Ooo, this is going to fun! You just wait, Brian."
I sighed deeply as I watched Mike dash off into his room, probably to collect his 'high tech spy equipment'. What are best friends for?
A/N: Please be kind and review, thanks! :)