Watched (ONC 2021)

Chapter 5 - The Game

Image by Guillaume Techer from Unsplash

***

As we unloaded soccer equipment from the hatchback, Mike pointed to an old leather journal I had forgotten I'd tossed in the back seat.

"Took a souvenir with you?" He grinned like he'd caught me skipping a workout.

"I'll return it tomorrow."

"Another excuse to check out Officer Biceps?" Mike teased.

Hours after our interview, I hadn't shaken the feeling that Potts knew more than he hinted at, but it beat an accusation. I wanted to put this whole morning behind me to focus on my husband and my job. Hopefully, they'd catch the perpetrator, so the town would stay safe. 

"I was glad he interviewed us and not one of the trolls. I'll give the book back."

Mike glanced at the cover. "I doubt 'Flavours of Corbeau Woods' will break their case."

I cocked my head. "Come again?"

"It must be a cookbook." He nudged it toward me with a bag of equipment.

From the outside, the leather cover was identical to the journal down to the scuff mark on the bottom left corner except the spine included the title of the cookbook in golden letters. I flipped through the pages filled with recipes for meat pie, cabbage rolls, and pea soup, but no sign of her intimate thoughts. Just the occasional note about a substitution or recipe quality. I kept searching only to find more meals and the town's famous pumpkin pie. 

I set the book down with a sigh. Thankfully, I'd kept my mouth shut at the station because I'd clearly hallucinated the journal's contents and the stone platform.

Mike stepped closer as a gust of wind roared. "Do you want to talk about what happened earlier?"

I needed to bury this to return to my normal life. Nothing good came of dwelling on imagined realities. "After seeing Mrs. Crawford, I got spooked, and my mind played tricks on me. That's all."

He rested his palms on my shoulders. "Are you sure? I've never seen you that unsettled."

After I pulled his hands down, I encased them in mine. "I'm positive. Superstitions get to me sometimes too, but I'm fine. I promise."

I breathed deeply. This was a stress-induced hallucination. Like when I was a kid. My father and aunt had been adamant about it. I couldn't be lured in by voices as my mother had.

But a quiet voice whispered I'd found the book before I learned of Mrs. Crawford's fate. Could I blame my panicked mind if the feeling hadn't even set in when I read her journal?

There had to be a different explanation. Perhaps she'd written both, and I'd stumbled upon the irrational rant pages or the creepiness of the house made me read something different. Or I'd put the journal down and switched it with another without noticing. I ignored my unease to settle into my pregame headspace. The murder had been real and needed to be solved to keep everyone safe, but the rest wasn't worth dwelling on.

I ran drills with the kids who'd showed up on time. They hustled like players in the final half of a game when we were short players and getting crushed, but our game hadn't started.

I blew my whistle and motioned them in. "Meet me on the benches."

With everyone gathered and the late arrivals putting on their cleats and shin guards, we were missing a few people. Pott's athletically gifted nephew, Vince, ran to check his phone while the others caught their breath.

"What's happening today? We need to channel the fire we had last game when we took down the eagles. You can do this!"

"Sorry coach," the teens muttered between drinks of water.