The day after her date with Marianna, Alna wasted as little time as possible before she sat down in front of her laptop and turned it on. That didn’t mean she always considered spending time with her family wasteful, but as of last night, Alna had been eager to finally sit down and do some research. Something about the crash site she’d observed yesterday seemed off somehow, and Alna had to look into it.
Tapping her fingers against her desk, Alna waited for the screen to load before entering her password, a long one that comprised both lower and uppercase letters, some random symbols, and numbers. One could never be too careful when trying to keep certain information hidden.
Once logged in, Alna hacked into the Brigate Police Department’s files and relaxed against the backrest of her chair as she began to browse through them.
Evidence at the crime scene suggests that the victim suffered multiple stab wounds—
Alna scrolled past that, already knowing it wasn’t what she was looking for.
Marie Velton: Missing since—
Alna scrolled past that, too, and kept scrolling, occasionally exiting out and searching through more files. The speed at which she sifted through the files might have been too quick for some people, but Alna’s brain worked faster than the average person’s, as she’d been shown throughout her life. This meant that she only had to scan a few sentences here and there before establishing it wasn’t what she was looking for, and moving on.
An impatient sigh escaped past Alna’s pale lips as she continued her perusing. On a more normal day, she would have been content to search through the police files at her leisure, looking for something they appeared to be having difficulty with––something Alna could help with. But today was not one of those days, and Alna wanted nothing more than to find out what they thought about last night’s crash. She hoped they hadn’t procrastinated; otherwise, she’d have a lot less to work with.
Alna heard footsteps descending the stairs. She quickly pulled up the internet and typed “World War One.” She pulled up the first essay she saw and scrolled down a bit.
A knock sounded on Alna’s bedroom door twice before Dad opened it. Alna twisted around in her seat to face him.
“Hey,” Dad greeted her with a smile as he opened the door and walked inside. “What are you doing?”
“Reading an essay,” Alna replied, gesturing to the computer screen. Dad, looking neat and professional in his black dress shirt and equally black slacks, peered past her shoulder.
“World War One, huh?” he observed. “Seems a bit depressing.”
Alna shrugged. “There isn’t much recorded history that is lighthearted and fun.”
“True.” Dad shifted his jacket from one hand to the other. “Any plans for the day?”
“Reading,” Alna said. Her fingers tapped against her jean-clad leg twice before she quelled the movement. “I might go to the library later.”
“Sounds great,” Dad commented. “Do you think you’ll see that Marianna girl?”
Alna’s eyes flashed with amusement. “Seeing as our first date took place yesterday, I doubt it. I wouldn’t want to crowd her.” Not to mention that, if things went the way she wanted them to, Alna would be busy today.
“Right,” Dad said. His smile was almost sheepish. Mom most definitely would have thought he looked cute, Alna mused to herself. “Wouldn’t want that,” he continued. “Anyway, before I get going, I wanted to let you know that Evan and Colton are planning to go to a friend’s house today after school.”
Alna already knew—her brothers and parents had been discussing it over breakfast—but she refrained from pointing this out and settled for saying, “All right. I hope work is pleasant for you.”
“Do you need any money for a cab?” Dad asked, hand drifting toward his back pocket.
“No, I should be fine, but thank you.”
“No problem,” Dad replied, his voice warm.
Taking a couple of steps forward, Dad braced a hand on the back on Alna’s chair as he leaned down to give her a quick peck on the forehead. “Have a good day,” he said.
Alna gave him a quick smile, seeing no real reason to wish her father a good day twice.
She waited until she heard her father’s footsteps on the top floor, before she turned back to her laptop, her back sore from having been in an unnatural position. Exiting out of the internet, Alna reopened the police files and began to search through them once more as she heard the front door close. She came across some files about a robbery in some gift shop—no fatalities, but some idiot stole the money in a devil mask. If the police couldn’t deal with something that simple, then she’d feel a lot less safe in this city.
It wasn’t until at least a half an hour later that Alna’s relentless searching paid off, and a brief file on the accident she’d seen appeared. Leaning closer to the bright screen, Alna read with interest.
Jed Conlan, 26-year-old white male.
Suspected cause of death: vehicle collision.
Victim is suspected to have suffered from a severe blow to the head, resulting in internal bleeding—death instantaneous. Broken windshield resulted in some lacerations on the body.
The file continued to list the details from the accident, the entire thing taking up little more than half a page. Once she had all the details implanted in her brain, Alna searched some more and came across an interview the police had conducted with the second victim, Celine Wilks. Unfortunately, there didn’t appear to be any video footage of the interview available, which Alna found disappointing; being able to assess Wilks’s reactions would have given her an advantage. But considering the interview had taken place in a hospital, she supposed it made sense that police hadn’t taken a video; they had to respect the patients’ privacy, after all. This did not, however, stop Alna from reading the interview.
Wilks: I was driving to the grocery store, you know, and suddenly the vehicle in front of me went berserk. It was zigzagging randomly like the driver was drunk or something. Then it sort of did a three-sixty and slammed against a lamppost. I barely had time to hit the brakes before I hit it from behind.
The interview made the entire accident seem straightforward: another drunk driver getting themselves killed. Given it was such a common occurrence, with a driver dying every fifty-two minutes, Alna half wondered why the press even bothered to write up articles about driving accidents anymore. And as Alna sat back once more, arms crossed, it occurred to her that this could be a simple accident. It exhibited some of the signs…
But no, Alna thought with sudden vehemence, she couldn’t leave it at that. The entire reason she started this illegal process a little less than two years ago had been to stave off the boredom that always seemed to linger around the corner; to give her something to do until she turned eighteen and went to college, as she’d agreed with her parents. If she gave up on this case with such ease, then she might as well go back to her boredom.
Sitting up straighter, Alna stretched, her mind beginning to speed up with renewed determination. Various plans on how to get into Wilks’ hospital room flashed through her mind. Dressing up as a nurse or doctor was out of the question—the chances of her being able to find a realistic-looking outfit before Wilks was discharged from the hospital were slim to none. Not to mention that, given her age, there was no way she could even pass off as a doctor. Masquerading as a hospital employee would also be a cliché, too, and Alna was fairly certain she was above that.
She could try to make an appointment, she pondered. But no, there were too many ways that could go wrong. Her mother worked at this hospital and knew many of the employees there. Whoever was working at the front desk may know Mom and thus, recognize Alna over the phone. If they then talked to Mom, her cover would be forfeit. Next idea.
Perhaps she could go into the emergency room. That seemed plausible, she mused, as long as she left before a doctor called on her. It could work. She’d hold on to that idea.
Or she could walk in and act like she knew what she was doing and where she was going. Wilks’s injuries were not all that serious, so it seemed likely she would be allowed visitors. From what the police reports asserted, Wilks had suffered from a minor concussion and a sprained wrist; the doctors were keeping her there to make sure she was recovering properly. The fact that the interview had taken place so soon after the crash was evidence that Wilks was not harmed too extensively. Alna didn’t doubt she’d need therapy, though.
Alna could also pretend to be a journalist, she pondered. Yes, that seemed like a good option.
Method decided, Alna started to tap away at her computer, tending to the preparations for her scheme.
Even as more details started to formulate in her mind, Alna felt the vague weight of apprehension settle in her stomach. Because Wallstone Hospital was the very place her mother worked at.
She hoped the staff wouldn’t get too suspicious. That would make things more complicated than they needed to be.
***
The wig Alna was wearing was tacky and looked horrid. It was the colour of light mud, with bangs that made Alna’s forehead itch. On more than one occasion, Alna had caught herself lifting her hand, intent on easing the annoyance. She would drop her hand, gritting her teeth to steel her resolve. Relieving the itch would only wear away at her makeup and leave red marks behind. Neither of which would help her current mission.
The makeup, too, made Alna uncomfortable. She felt as if it had been baked on, making Alna’s face feel dry. This very well could have been because Alna rarely bothered to wear makeup. Or because of its cheap quality. What else could one expect from dollar store products?
Discomfort aside, the wig and makeup would help her remain anonymous. She had to focus on that.
Alna stepped into Wallstone Hospital, the automatic doors opening to allow her entrance. Like with most hospitals, it was white in almost every aspect. White walls, floors, and ceiling. Some people had taken the time to add some decorations, thus preventing too much monotony. To Alna’s right was a row of red-cushioned chairs, the shade of red reminding her of red velvet cakes. On the wall above those chairs hung a painting of a waterfall with a red and orange sunset.
There was nothing about this hospital that made it significantly different from others. It didn’t have any gift shops near its main entrance, but further in the building itself. Even the information desk that Alna was approaching was rather generic: a simple, rounded desk, with the word “Information” on in front in large, plastic letters. There was a pot of flowers on top, but that was the only thing that added character to the information desk.
Alna’s eyes darted around the room, assessing, making sure there was no one around that would recognize her. Seeing no one closely associated with her, Alna patiently waited for the man in front of her to finish his business, pushing the annoying brown bangs back. When the man walked off, obviously unhappy to be here, Alna took a step forward.
“Hello,” Alna greeted, pasting a polite smile on her face as she brought forward all of her acting skills.
“Hello,” the nurse replied, giving her own polite but tired smile. She was a Scottish woman who looked to be in her forties, with her flaming red hair cut into a bob. “May I help with something? Do you have an appointment?”
“No,” Alna said, “I don’t have an appointment, per se, but I could use some help.” She gave the nurse a look meant to be a mixture between embarrassed and shy. “See, I work for the Wallstone News Department, and my boss heard about the accident that happened yesterday. He wanted me to interview Ms. Celine Wilks?” she finished, adding a questioning edge to her last sentence.
The nurse—Sharon Kelly, according to her name tag—looked her up and down sceptically. “You’re a journalist?”
“I am,” Alna pretended to confirm with a nod of her head. “It’s kind of like this training-on-the-job thing so that I’m ready to work full-time once I’m out of high school.” She added a shrug at the end—people seemed to do that sometimes when explaining something.
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Still unconvinced, the nurse inquired how Alna had heard about the accident on such short notice.
“Word about that kind of thing gets around,” Alna explained with another shrug of her shoulders. “People told their friends, who told one of my coworkers, who told my boss, who asked me to look into it.” Mentally, Alna winced at her last sentence. It sounded so immature and unnecessarily long. Then again, people did use such brash wording at times.
“I’m sorry, I’ll need to see some credentials,” the receptionist informed her.
“Sure,” Alna agreed. She set her laptop bag on the ground and opened her purse. She pulled out a fake name tag she’d come up with, handing it over. It had taken a good hour to create.
Once Nurse Kelly had scrutinized Alna’s fake ID, she handed the card back to the teen and told her she’d have someone ask Ms. Wilks if she was up to having visitors. At that, Alna assured her that the interview didn’t have to take place today—which was true, but Alna preferred to meet Wilks as soon as possible.
As Alna waited for someone to inform her of Wilks’s decision, she sat down in a red-cushioned chair two seats away from a middle-aged woman. Picking up a magazine, Alna pretended to look interested in the celebrities it displayed and their various hairstyles and personal drama, all the while scanning her surroundings. Still no sign of her mother or someone that might recognize her through the makeup. Good. She moved her eyes back to the magazine, shifting her eyes left to right in a pretense of reading, glancing up every once in a while.
A few minutes later, Nurse Kelly called Alna back up to the desk.
“Ms. Wilks has agreed to see you,” she said in a clipped, professional voice. “She is located on floor two, room twenty-seven. Do you need someone to show you the way?”
Alna suppressed an excited smile and forced her expression into one of politeness.
“No, thank you. I should be able to find it myself. But I appreciate your help,” Alna assured her. She moved aside so that a man standing behind her could speak with the nurse and went in search of the elevator. Considering Alna had been to this hospital before, finding the elevator took no effort at all, and soon Alna was riding up to the second floor—and did they still use air freshener in here? It seemed pointless to Alna. There would always be a sick sensation in the air, no matter how people tried to hide it.
Leaning her shoulder against the wall, Alna waited with no small amount of impatience for the elevator to reach the correct floor. A sidelong glance at her temporary companion revealed that the middle-aged man was one of the hospital’s many patients, here because of leukemia. He was displaying a good portion of the signs: feverish, exhaustion, and various bruises and red spots on his arms.
Face falling into a frown of vague sympathy, Alna considered offering to escort the man to wherever he was going.
No, Alna decided. She was taking a big enough risk as it was. Taking a detour from her task would push her luck.
Alna pushed herself off the wall when the elevator reached her destination, and cast the man a slight smile, offering an “I hope you recover sufficiently” before exiting the box. When she stepped out into the stark white of the hallway, Alna glanced left and right, checking for familiar faces and orienting herself. Nurses, doctors, and patients made their way through the hallways, one nurse in ballet flats brushing past Alna as she stared at a clipboard.
As Alna walked along, she spotted a small round table with a vase of fake flowers in it—an obvious attempt to make this clinical place seem more welcoming. There were some paintings on the walls as well, depicting scenes meant to calm and relax. One showed an ocean with dolphins hovering above it, having shot out of the water. Another seemed to display two flames twining around each other to form the yin and yang symbol.
Passing by the paintings, Alna stopped in front of the door that led to Wilks’s room. She lowered her laptop bag to the floor and rapped three times.
“Come in,” called a muffled, feminine voice. Alna adjusted the strap of her purse so it was resting on her shoulder, before picking up her laptop and doing just that. Private room, Alna noted when she stepped inside. She must have some money on her.
The woman on the bed turned the television off as soon as Alna entered. Wilks was thin, barring her slightly protruding stomach. She had chin-length dirty blonde hair, darker than Marianna’s, with some purple streaks in it, and piercings in her earlobes, currently lacking any earrings. Above her left brow was a butterfly bandage, accompanied by some mild cuts on her face. A cast encased her left arm.
“You’re the journalist, right?” Wilks inquired. Her eyes had slight bags under them. That, and the faint wrinkles in her forehead indicated the immense stress she was feeling.
“I am,” Alna confirmed with a nod. “Ilene Dyson.” She offered her hand. Admittedly, Alna had a bit of fun coming up with her code name, but, as long as she played her cards right, she doubted it would hurt anything.
“Celine Wilks,” the young woman introduced herself, holding out her right hand for Alna to shake. Her smile was tentative and unsure. “Sit down, if you’d like,” Wilks added, nodding her head to a chair next to the bed.
“Thank you.” Alna lowered herself onto the chair and set down her bags. She grabbed a notebook and pen from her purse to keep up appearances. When Alna looked back up, Wilks was peering at her with a puzzled frown. Realizing she’d been caught staring, Wilks’s expression turned abashed.
“Sorry,” she apologized. “It’s just that—you look kind of young to be a journalist.”
Even though Alna would have preferred to get to the interview as soon as possible, she forced herself to be patient. “I hear that often.”
This was the most difficult part of acting for Alna—the talking. For the life of her, Alna could not seem to stop slipping into her old-fashioned style of speech, even if she’d been planning to talk like an average teenager. Doing so seemed to take too much concentration, and Alna wondered if it was even worth the effort.
After repeating the story she’d given Nurse Kelly, and giving Wilks a moment to process it, Alna inquired if they could begin the interview.
“Oh, right, sure,” Wilks said, leaning against her white pillows. She gave her good hand wave as a signal to proceed. “Have at it.”
“Thank you,” Alna began, opening her dollar store notebook and clicking her pen. Positioning it over the lined paper, she asked, “Can you try to explain to me the events that occurred last evening?”
“Um,” Wilks said, rubbing her head. “So, I was driving to a grocery store to pick some stuff up. Then literally out of nowhere this car started going fu—totally crazy. It zigzagged back and forth and then crashed into a lamppost. Driver must’ve been drunk.”
Yes, yes, I know that already, Alna thought. Although part of her appreciated Wilks’s effort not to cuss in front of her (excessive swearing got on her nerves), Alna couldn’t help the annoyance that rose at the lack of detail. She’d come here hoping to get more information than the police reports offered, and so far, it looked like her trip may have been purposeless.
After scribbling down Wilks’s words, Alna looked back up. “Is there anything else you remember? Anything at all?”
Wilks sighed and pressed the heel of her hand into her forehead. “I think I saw someone sort of…watching the accident,” she replied, voice tinged with uncertainty. Doubting the credibility of her own words, Alna observed.
However, despite Wilks’s dubious nature, her words perked Alna’s interest, and she sat up straighter. “Can you identify whether this person was male or female?”
Alna’s question only seemed to aggravate the patient, as she started rubbing at her forehead with more force. She could barely find it in herself to care; Alna needed this information.
“I don’t know. They might have been wearing black clothes. I don’t fucking know!”
Realizing that damage repair had to be done—or risk being told to get out—Alna nodded her head to a “get well soon” card sitting on the table next to Wilks’s bed. Going by the childish print of a purple flower on the front, Alna assumed it was from a parent. “Nice card.”
Lifting her head, Wilks glanced toward the card and smiled. “Thanks. It’s from my mom; I contacted her as soon as I could.”
Right in one, Alna thought. “If you don’t mind my asking, how did she have time to get you one? The accident took place yesterday, did it not?”
Alna’s tactic seemed to work, as Wilks was much calmer than a moment ago. “She was here most of the night—went off to buy the card to calm her nerves. I only managed to get her to go home this morning.”
“Understandable,” Alna acknowledged. “A protective parent can be a true force of nature.”
“Tell me about it.”
There was a moment of silence in which Wilks attempted to calm herself even more. Alna, holding her pen and notebook, watched with a patient expression on her face. Expressing her own restless nature at the moment would only damage things further.
“Okay.” Wilks sounded much calmer. “I do think there might have been someone watching the accident—but people do that anyway, you know?” As Alna wrote this down, Wilks’s face scrunched up in concentration. “I still don’t know the gender, though, sorry. The entire thing happened pretty fast, anyway; I didn’t even remember the person till you came here.” A shrug. “Who knows, maybe it was my mind playing tricks on me or something.”
“Perhaps,” Alna acknowledged without enthusiasm. The information Wilks had given her wasn’t much to go on, but it was a start. It certainly piqued Alna’s curiosity. Had anyone acted unusually at the accident scene? Alna was ashamed to admit that she didn’t know. She’d been much too preoccupied with getting to her date on time.
“That’s pretty much all I can tell you,” Wilks said, sounding apologetic. “I hope it’s enough for your article.”
“Oh, I’m sure it will suffice,” Alna assured her, eyes taking on a distant look as her mind started to formulate more ideas and plans. It would be prudent to write a fake article of some sort, Alna mused. She wondered if she could get the newspaper company to publish it. It was worth looking into, she supposed, if for no other reason than to avoid suspicions about the journalist girl who showed up out of nowhere.
Alna smiled at Wilks and said, “I hope your recovery goes smoothly.”
“Thank you.” Wilks leaned back against her pillows, looking as if the interview had drained her. “I hope you do well on your article.”
“As do I,” Alna replied, her tone mild as ideas continued to bounce around her head. She placed her notebook and pen in her purse and gathered both bags. She bid Wilks one last goodbye, skirting around any version of “have a good day.” She didn’t feel such a sentiment was appropriate for this situation.
Wilks, however, didn’t seem to share Alna’s opinion, as she told Alna to “have a good day” just as she was opening the door to leave. Alna turned back and voiced a quick “you too” before exiting the room.
The moment Alna approached the elevator for a second time, she was tempted to let loose a curse. Standing right there was Henriette Zweifel, one of Mom’s co-workers. And it had been going so well until this point, Alna thought with annoyance. She considered turning around and taking the stairs, but decided against it. No need to risk the possibility of making Doctor Zweifel curious about her.
To Alna, it felt like a scene out of a movie or book as she stepped inside the elevator alongside Doctor Zweifel. The air was thick with tension—which the doctor was unaware of—but Alna forced her posture to remain relaxed and nonchalant. She glanced at Doctor Zweifel out of the corner of her eye a few times, trying to gauge if she recognized Alna. Despite this, Alna couldn’t help the feeling of distaste that rose at the sight of the woman.
Alna had never liked the doctor. Even if she was one of the more “accepting” people of Alna’s mental abilities, she always failed to take her seriously. The few times that Alna had snapped her observations at her, Doctor Zweifel seemed amused, as if she thought Alna was performing some trick for other people’s enjoyment.
Looking away from the annoying woman, Alna’s jaw locked and her eyes hardened—the only outward signs of her discomfort. When the elevator doors opened a moment later, Alna was all too happy to leave the confined space. She surveyed Doctor Zweifel, who had exited before her.
As far as Doctor Zweifel’s clothes went, they didn’t offer much information. They were what one would expect a doctor to wear, consisting of a well-kept, unembellished white coat and black dress pants. She wore no makeup, apart from some foundation, and her silky black hair up in a high bun. To Alna, all these details showed how closed-minded and boring she was.
Doctor Zweifel was still walking next to Alna, her head turning to look at her with confusion. Alna pretended not to notice, all the while speeding up to reach the exit ahead of her more quickly.
“Excuse me?” Doctor Zweifel addressed Alna, who had managed to get a few paces ahead of her.
Reluctantly, Alna turned to face the doctor, pasting a look of mild surprise on her face. “Yes?”
“Do I know you?” Doctor Zweifel questioned, eyes flicking up and down Alna. Infuriating woman.
“Um, no, I don’t think so,” Alna said with a slight shake of her head. It took all her willpower not to give the doctor a venomous look.
Doctor Zweifel’s eyes narrowed in concentration, obviously trying to figure out what about Alna was familiar to her. Didn’t she have a job to devote her attention to?
“I could swear…” Doctor Zweifel muttered to herself. More loudly, she inquired, “Have you ever been a patient here?”
The temptation to edge toward the exit was almost impossible to resist. “I don’t believe so. Perhaps you’re thinking of someone else?” Alna kept a sharp eye on Doctor Zweifel’s face as she said this, searching for any realization.
“Yeah, maybe,” Doctor Zweifel muttered, still eyeing Alna. Suddenly, something flashed in her eyes—not quite recognition, but close enough. “You kind of look like—“
“Oh!” Alna pretended to exclaim, pulling her phone out of her jacket pocket. “Sorry. Text,” she explained, making a show of reading the nonexistent message before going through the motions of typing a reply. She glanced back up. “I have somewhere to be, but it was nice meeting you, Doctor…” Alna allowed herself to trail off, pretending to read the name tag. “Zweifel.” Alna offered one last, insincere smile before continuing out of the hospital.
There were applications one could download on their phone that faked phone calls and text messages. She should get one.
***
Alna hadn’t meant to spend so much time in the library. After she’d made her hasty escape from the hospital, Alna shucked her disguise and headed to Brigate Public Library. She’d had every intention of walking in, grabbing a few books, and heading home to continue her research.
But, as fate would have it, Alna had a certain passion for reading. Especially for mystery or educational books.
Which was why, a half an hour later, Alna was still browsing the shelves, two books tucked under her arm, intending to pick up two more.
She pulled yet another book off of its shelf, flipping it over to read the back before tucking Sense and Sensibility alongside her other choices. For a moment, her hand reached up to hover over a fantasy book Marianna was sure to enjoy. Shaking herself, Alna looked over at the clock placed at the end of the aisle. She blinked with vague surprise at how much time had passed without her knowledge. Frowning to herself, she picked up her bags and headed to the checkout counter, where a bearded man fiddled around on his flat screen computer.
When Alna placed her selections on the counter, the man glanced up. “Do you have your library card with you?”
“Yes,” Alna replied, placing her card onto the counter. She glanced up at the windows that made up the ceiling, giving her a view of a cloudless sky. Bringing her eyes back to the man, she took her books from him with a “Thank you” and headed out of the library, resisting the urge to scan the shelves some more.
She still had a lot of research to do.