Coalescence ➳ H.S.

Three: Friendly Foes

Harry's POV

I've been sitting on this damn couch for nearly four hours.

I was never the type to sleep in past noon—I thought it to be a reflection of where my priorities were in life. Sperling, however, was a different case. I'm not quite sure what I expected when I initially observed her character at the bank yesterday. Upon searching Officer Sperling—first name, Clarine—up on the internet at the library, a plethora of pictures from what I assumed to be a bachelorette party popped up, and several pictures conveniently showed and a couple of friends outside of her house, which I recognized to be outside one of the stations south of Portland. Clearly she didn't bother removing herself from social media like most officers would have.

To my surprise (or lack thereof—I couldn't tell if it was situational irony or the product of foreshadowing), once I made my way there, the door was unlocked. I was starting to lose faith in the citizens of Oregon—it began with the prison, and now my doubts were making their way to the police force. Officer Sperling was clumsy and forgetful—that much I knew to be true, evidently.

I realized that she probably would've come home late, so I decided to roam for a bit. The inside of her home was, simply put, boring. I reckoned she was a minimalist that hated bright colours, because the only thing with colour in her home was the fruit on her kitchen counter. I helped myself to an apple before exploring the rest of the house.

The books on her shelves were mostly classics and compilations of poetry from the Victorian ages. She also had an essay by Virginia Woolf. I guess she wasn't as stupid as I thought she'd be, but she still didn't have my favour. Other than that she had quite a few fashion magazines strewn about, and I was determined to find out why.

After peering into the powder room, I headed up the stairs to find four doors. Starting with the one closest to me on my left, I pushed it open and stood before the master suite. The bed sheets weren't made, and a skimpy pajama set had been tossed onto an armchair by the window. I immediately assumed that she had someone over the night prior, though I felt pity for anybody who had to sleep with that woman—Bria was always someone who liked to keep herself orderly, and I admired that very much.

The second bedroom was a complete change from her own. Racks upon racks of clothes were hung up, waiting to be worn. I didn't even think it was possible to own so many articles of clothing. Oddly enough, they were all arranged by colour too. It suddenly occurred to me why she had so many fashion magazines on her dining table. In all honestly, I would've taken Sperling as someone who worked in retail, or a cupcake maker, or perhaps a character on a children's TV show. She didn't look like someone who would be on the police force, with her wispy, blonde hair, stylish front bangs, and a perfect flick in her eyeliner. She was petite with nearly no muscle mass on her upper body (all of her meat was on the bones of her legs)—why was she even an officer?

The third door led me to the bathroom, which wasn't all that exciting. She used expensive shampoo and was a fan of bath salts. The tiling that had been done on the shower wall was satisfactory. I didn't like the smell of the air freshener she left open on the counter top.

However, it was the fourth door that had me hold my breath a little. It was something I hadn't expected to see, especially not in her house.

Behind the door was a child's room, decorated with pink walls, a bed shaped like a pea pod (painted green and everything), and little drawings stuck up on the walls with tape. Automatically, I wondered if she had a child of her own. I really wished I had spent more time finding out more about her, because everything was hitting me at an ungodly rate. I was unlike Bria—I couldn't con people who had children that I knew of, and I definitely couldn't get Officer Sperling involved if it put her daughter in danger.