Olympus Drive Book 1: Everything is Fine

Chapter 8

Detective Stamos

Getting the kids out of the house takes nearly two hours. The little one completely escapes custody three times, and finally CPS allows Basil to handle him and prevent him from going missing into various closets and cupboards. That works well but CPS is sullen about that not being a permanent solution.

The house is full of papers and books, all filled with unintelligible scribble, as well as fairly competent kid's schooling things.

As it turns out they not only can ID the van, they have pictures of Rhea and the van, and themselves. Polaroids one of the kids took.

"Not allowed to have photos huh?" I ask, "Don't believe in electronics or whatever?"

"You can't take those. Those are Raven's," Della says, fiercely.

"If the Titans took her, he might be able to help," Basil reasons.

"I'll give them back to her," I say, finding a camera with film as well.

"If you like electronics the neighbors gave us a PS2 three years ago because they thought our dad wasn't giving us presents for a pseudo-religious holiday with pagan roots," I've grown to like Luke over the past two hours. He strikes me as a nice kid who tries to do as he's told but gets into trouble by accident.

"We'll look at that too," I say, looking at the pictures, which are strung up on a piece of wire over the girl's bed. Other than all the stuff looking second hand the kid's room are neat enough, the girls have flowered quilts, and a variety of toys and dolls and things, even make up and art stuff. The boys have a few suspicious weapons. Basil's room is the least personal. That troubles me.

The pictures I find are mostly of fire, I have no idea why. Like the fire in the hearth. And the stove. And a fire outside. 

"How old is Raven?" I ask.

"Seven," Basil says, "About. She's been here five years, I don't think she was past two when we found her."

"She thought she was two," Della says, shrugging.

"Okay," that explains it seven year olds are weird. There are dozens of fire pictures, and then a few of the other kids. They're all smiling, wading in a pond. "There a pond out back?"

"Yeah, it's mine," Luke again; he's amusing.

"Okay, I need to take these," there's one of the two missing girls, taking the picture of themselves, sticking their tongues out. there is also one of Bradley Rhea, looking a bit worse for the wear than his driver's license photo. There's also one of Basil doing something by the van, flipping the photographer off. But it shows the license plate.

"You have to give them back," Della says.

"I will, I promise," I say, putting them in an evidence bag, "Come on, let's go through your rooms one more time. make sure there's nothing you need for the next few days."

That goes as expected. CPS keeps trying to pack up their clothes. Local uniforms stop them. All the kids cry, all of them. Basil's room has nothing in it except clothes and his bed and a lipstick red heart on the wall. The lipstick matches a tube in Helen's room. Was he sleeping with her? If so that seemed consensual giving how many times Helen carved BH and HB into her bedframe.

The little one cries a lot and while Basil is crying he nearly loses him AGAIN, which is frightening the CPS workers who are used to dealing with children. Luke asks repeatedly how much experience I have and if I can find their dad and can Basil help that's kind of important Basil should help. I assure him Basil and I are going to talk. A lot. He knows more than he's telling still. And his Rhea's notebooks, which are everywhere in this house, on every table, in innumerable bookshelves, are full of scribble rubbish. It's a code. I'd lay money that at least Basil knows the code.