𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐄 || j. daniel atlas

𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍

THREE MONTHS LATER

Alena stood outside the police station, questioning what she was about to do for the sixteenth time in the last hour. Though she knew they weren't the smartest, it was one thing to twist the mind of a bouncer or security guard; it was quite another to attempt to swindle law enforcement.

Contorting her face into an anxious expression, eyebrows deeply furrowed, fingers tugging at her clothes, Alena hurried up the station steps. She pushed through doors and skittered over to the reception desk.

"I need to speak with a police officer, it's urgent," she said to the woman behind the desk.

"Have you come to report a crime, ma'am?" the officer asked.

Alena shook her head frantically. "No, I need help."

"It's okay, ma'am." She stood, gesturing to a door to her left. "There is a waiting area just through there. If you'll take a seat, take a moment to calm down, and one of the officers will be with you shortly."

"Thank you." Alena smiled weakly. She walked with a slow, trembling gait. Over her shoulder, she heard the officer pick up the phone.

"I'm sending a woman through to you now. She's in a lot of distress." Pause. "She didn't say, just that she needed help. Give her to one of the new ones."

One of the new ones? Alena smiled inwardly. This might be a lot easier than she'd initially thought.

Alena sat down on a squeaky vinyl chair. She set her handbag on her lap and began wringing out her hands. Looking around the room, making eye contact with anyone who glanced her way, she adjusted her rings and took out her phone.

Merritt had called her several times since the show at 5Pointz. She had declined the first call, then let the others ring out. Alena thought he would give up after a few weeks, but he still called her at the same time each week, so she never had an excuse to miss it.

Even after selling her apartment in Los Angeles and moving in with Raquelle, Alena still found herself waiting for that familiar ringtone each Friday evening. Having a roommate, a friend so close by, had done her a great deal of good. But she still felt that same small void of loneliness that Merritt had left behind when he had cut her off over a year ago.

And now he was contacting her. Whether it was closure or reconnection Alena would find, she wasn't yet sure. Whatever it was, she was going to do it her way this time.

An officer in his late twenties stood from his desk and approached Alena with the caution of an experienced deer hunter. She pretended not to notice him until he addressed her in a gentle tone.

"Ma'am, what is it that I can help you with?"

Alena looked up at him with wide eyes. "Sir, I need you to do something for me. I don't know whether it's allowed, but I don't know what else to do!"

"Calm down, ma'am," said the officer, kindly. "Why don't you come over to my desk and I'll get you some water."

Alena nodded. She clutched her bag and phone close to her chest as she made her way across the room. Accepting the little, plastic cup from the officer and drinking deeply, she slowed her breathing and went for an air of forced composure.

"Now," said the officer, whose name, the desk informed her, was Gregory Shannon. "What is it that I can do for you?"

"I need you to track a phone number for me," Alena said in a hushed tone. At Gregory's expression, she quickly added, "I don't know if you're allowed to do that. I just need to know where someone is. I mean, phones have GPS, right? So you can just track that, can't you?"

"What's your name, ma'am?"

"Alena."

"Well, Alena, you're right on both accounts. We can track a phone's GPS but we aren't strictly supposed to."

Alena bit her lip and dropped her gaze to the ground. "It's my ex. He keeps calling me."

"You are entitled to report him for harassment. We could send an officer around to his place, as a warning."

"That's the thing; I don't know where he is. And I wouldn't want to waste police time. I want to sort this out myself, to cut him off to real this time, face to face." Alena glanced over the officer's desk, spotting a picture of him with a woman and a toddler. "We have a little girl, you see. We still need to sort out custody with the court. I just don't want him near her, not until the court has given him the green light."

"Where is your daughter now?"

"We're staying with a friend. She's safe...for now."

Gregory nodded slowly. Alena could almost see the switches of his mind flipping. She scratched the back of her phone and sipped at the rest of the water.

"Alright," Gregory conceded. "Give me the number."

Alena gave him her most genuine smile of gratitude. "Of course. Thank you, officer." She unlocked her phone and showed him Merritt's contact, which she had renamed 'James Davidson' for the purposes of this exercise.

Gregory tapped the number into his keyboard and waited. "Okay, Alena. The phone is turned on."

"Do you need me to call him?" Alena said shakily, even though she knew the officer didn't.

"No, ma'am. The phone is currently located in an apartment building in the city." Gregory pulled a Post-It note from a stack on his desk and wrote down an address. "Here. But please, if you think it's too dangerous to go alone, you can call back here and ask for me personally."

"Thank you, Officer Shannon." Alena got to her feet.

"Is there anything else I can do for you, Alena?"

She slipped her phone back into her bag, hitched the long strap onto her shoulder, and relaxed her posture. She smiled, a real smile this time. "No, thank you, Officer. You have been most helpful." Alena strode out of the police station, flipped open her sunglasses and turned her face up to the sun.