A Smile to Hide (CYOA/WWYFF)

Chapter 8

    Despite your lungs burning you try your best not to stop running.  It's adamant that you reach the police station and tell your father what you found.  You have proof that Father Gordon isn't as pure as he claims, and he tried to strangle you to death.  The bruises would make a slam-dunk assault case.  There's absolutely nothing for you to be afraid of anymore.  Father Gordon will go to jail and never have a position of priesthood again.  Just thinking about it makes you want to smile, but your lungs are hurting too much for that.

   You storm into the police station and ask the nearest officer for your father, Chief of Detective Bradley Upshaw, and that you wouldn't talk to anyone but him.  The detective immediately starts calling your father on the radio as soon as you asked, specifically because you are his daughter, and you make sure to hide the brush and braid out of sight.  "Your father should be coming in soon, Kimberly," the detective states.

    "Thank you," you reply.

     Before the detective can say anything else, a hand lands on your shoulder from behind, startling you.  You turn around and recognize your father's partner, Russell.  "Kimmy?  What are you doing here?"

    "I just need to talk to dad."

    "Come on.  I'll take you to your father's office."  He nods to the detective you had talked to and allowed Russell to escort you to your father's office.  The chair you sit in doesn't bring good memories since it's usually where your father would ground you or threaten to put you into the henhouse for a few hours with the creepy drunkards.  Still, this time, there is a good reason for you to be sitting in the chair.

    "Would you like some water?"  Russell asks you.

    "Yes, please."  Water sounds like heaven for your parched throat.

    He walks behind you and you hear him fill a paper cup of water while you look around the office some more.  It's a familiar place to you—the smell of lemon Pine-Sol, the awards hung on the wall along with framed newspaper clippings of his achievement, his desk with folders of cases stacked neatly, his boxy computer, and of course the framed photograph of you, mom, and him posing on his desk.  The room was obsessively neat, and yet the house is a mess—particularly the bedroom area.  Your mom is the one who frequently cleans the bedroom.

    You thank Russell when he hands you the Dixie paper cup and drink up.

    "So what's happening?"

    "Just need to talk to Dad, Detective Russell."

    He sits on the corner of your dad's desk, something you know your dad would hate, and says, "Maybe I can help?"

    You think about it, but decide to decline.  Even though you've known Russell since you were in kindergarten, your father should be the first to know.  "Sorry, this is father-daughter important.  No offense."

    He raises his hand up in defense and laughs.  "Alright, alright."  He looks up over you out of the indoor window and hears his phone ring.  "I'll be right back."  True to his word, right as you were refilling your cup for a second helping of water, you hear the door close.  You look up, and, indeed it's Russell, but you instantly notice something is not the same.  The usual joshing Russell has a deadly serious facial expression that creates a chill.  He charges at you, making you drop the cup and try to run, but he catches you.  Russell wraps his arm around your neck, preventing you from screaming, and puts his hand on your head.  With a sudden lurch, all you're able to register is hearing a sickening CRACK!