From A To Z

Chapter 11

The Sheriff's department stretched over an entire block on the edge of downtown. It was a narrow single-story building with tinted windows, a flat roof, and more parking space than square footage.

The facade was the sort of grey that didn't go well with anything. The tattered flag fluttering on the flagpole out front had seen more winters than me. Were it not for the massive Bruler County Sheriff sign affixed above the main entrance, the building could have passed for a bank or a library.

Deputy Johnson pulled up in one of the reserved spots flanking the double door. He killed the engine and keyed a few words into the terminal, which was mounted onto the dashboard. The computer beeped in response.

Eager to be let out, Victor and I watched wearily, foreheads pressed against the partition, breaths fogging the plexiglass, but he took his time.

Being cooped up in the back of a cruiser was nothing like catching a ride in a friend's car. There was no goofing around or singing with the radio, no fidgeting with the AC or rolling down the windows.

The bars on the back doors were a constant reminder that we were trapped. The hard plastic seats were uncomfortable, the space cramped. The crown of Victor's head was literally rubbing against the ceiling. Not being able to get out made it impossible to think of anything else.

Eventually, the deputy unclipped his seatbelt, put on his hat, and stepped outside. He opened the door for us and we scrambled out.

Victor stretched and bounced on his tippy toes a few times to get the blood pumping. I spread my arms, savoring the feel of the afternoon breeze on my skin.

"Let's go," said Deputy Johnson now suddenly in a rush.

As he led us into the station, I caught a glimpse of myself in one of the windows and flinched.

My face was grimy, my hair a mess. Dragged through a bush backward, my mom would have said, if she saw me.

The toothy woman behind the reception looked familiar. Not the mother of a friend, not a neighbor either, but I was pretty sure I've seen her before. I knew it would come to me. This was one of the hallmarks of the Bruler experience - you knew who people were even if you didn't know their names. But of course, she was on the organizing committee for the Bigfoot parade.

Each year on the third Saturday in September, people from near and far descended on Bruler to watch grownups strut down Main Street dressed in furry outfits. There were food stands and craft sales, horseshoe throwing and tug-of-war competitions.

In Sienna's words, Bigfoot day was the most fun you could have in Bruler with your clothes on.

Busy barking into the phone, the woman nodded at the deputy and stared at us as if we had just stepped out of a WANTED poster.

Some people were born looking judgemental but there was more to her scowl. She had been trained to intimidate; appearing fearsome was part of her job description.

I felt her eyes on my back as we walked past her, single file, and down a carpeted corridor adorned with portraits of past sheriffs.

Deputy Johnson installed us in a windowless room and went to call my mom. I was glad to let him run interference. At this point, nothing I could say to her would make a difference. No explanation would suffice.

While we were riding into town my phone had started convulsing with messages. Some were from schoolmates wanting to know if it was true that we had found Sienna but most were from my mom. I was in no state to chat nor could I come up with the right words to text her, so I had put my phone on mute and shoved it deep down my back pocket.