A/N: For Bittersweet's contest.
This is a really rough draft, that could use heavy, heavy editing. My younger sister helped me on this. It's somewhat long.
[Belinda]
I felt like I was being watched.
I didn’t care about it much. Every kid who goes to school acquires some type of a stalker eventually, right? Besides, you can’t actually even call them a stalker if all they do is follow you every now and then. If they don’t go to the same place you’re going to, then they’re not actually stalking, are they?
I don’t care about stalkers, anyway. I like being followed. It makes me feel important.
It made my neck hairs stand on end, sending a gentle shiver down my spine as each one reached away from me.
I was a thief. Well, I wasn’t actually a real thief. I'd never robbed a bank or broken into anything that was locked off. I’ve only shoplifted a few times, if you could even call it shoplifting. It wasn’t ever anything big. Little things, like chocolate and key chains and cheap jewelry from the counter of the ninety-nine-cent-store on the corner of Oak Street. I liked doing it; it was fun to show myself how clever I was. No one seemed to notice, and in time I became skilled enough to slip merchandise before their eyes without them even suspecting.
Like I was saying, I felt like I was being followed around. In fact, I knew I was being followed. But, after I got into the ninety-nine-cent-store, the feeling disappeared, so I took a candy bar anyway. I chatted with the cashier for a little while; he considered me a friend, but I should have been his most hated customer.
The last thing I remembered was leaving the store and heading up Fifth Avenue. Out of the blue, someone came up behind me and asked me why I had stolen the chocolate. I faked innocence, told him I stole nothing and he must have me mixed up. He mumbled something back like his eyes had never once fooled him before, and they weren’t about to start. He said he would teach me a lesson; criminals need to get a taste of criminal medicine.
For the first time in my life, I felt like stealing was a crime.
[Averie]
Bella’s a troublemaker.
It’s bothering; everything my sister does always has to be blamed on me. It’s like she can never be in trouble. She’s supposed to be Momma’s sweet-little-angel.
But, that’s a lie. I’m the good girl. I’m the angel. I don’t get in trouble.
I get in trouble by being scolded, but what I mean is I don’t start any problems like she does. And every time I tell Daddy after Momma yells at me or tell Momma after Daddy yells at me, I get the same answer: stop blaming things on your sister because she is innocent.
I don’t even know what innocent means, but I hope it means something bad.
One day, they will see how much of an angel I am. Even if I have to grow angel wings. But, I would like that, because angel wings are pretty and they let you fly and they would probably come with a halo.
When Bella didn’t come home that night, and Momma got worried and called the police, I didn’t care. I thought, maybe she finally got arrested for cutting off my teddy bears' arms and sewing them together.
But, three hours later, when Daddy was reading me my bedtime story, I started to get a little worried. It was weird because every night Bella came by my bedroom to tell me that eight-year-olds don’t need to hear bedtime stories. I used to get mad at her, but because she didn’t do it, I got scared.
I was about to ask Daddy where she was when we heard Momma scream. Daddy ran out to see what was wrong, and I heard them yelling and screaming about Bella getting taken away. I giggled under my covers, because, finally, nobody would be able to blame me for Bella getting into trouble.
But when the wind came through the window and made me shiver, I got really, really scared.
[Anne]
My baby, my baby!
Lord, help us. That girl may be quite a wild one, but she sure is a sweetheart. Why me? Why me? Why does it have to be me to lose my baby, God, why?
When the cops phoned last night and told me that someone saw Belinda picked up, I swear to God my heart fell apart.
God, I pray that she’s in good hands. I don’t believe that criminal acts like kidnapping are ever done by good, but I do believe that the Lord gave everyone a heart. Maybe her kidnapper’s got a heart and will just spare her.
Oh, God, just tell me, why? Why is it always the innocent, perfect ones? Why wasn’t it Daniel or Ava or me? Why Belinda? Why? Why?
[Daniel]
I’m doing all I can. I’m not sure that there is anything I can do at this point, other than let the police handle it, but Anne doesn’t want to hear that. She wants me to go out there and hunt. Hunt, hunt, hunt until I bring her Belinda home.
She didn’t sleep last night, and it’s evident beneath her eyes. Little grey circles line the edges and the sclera of her eyes are red. I told her to go lie down, and she went hysterical, screaming and kicking, asking me if I’m stupid to tell her to go lay down when her baby ain’t in her hands.
No, I ain’t stupid. I just got sense enough to tell her to go lie down before she passes out from insanity and lack of sleep. Heck, the woman had me call everyone in the family she knows about and tell them that Belle is missing.
Aunt Lyddie called her an irresponsible mother. Said what kind of mother lets her daughter get kidnapped? Anne went berserk; threw a tantrum just like Averie would.
I can tell Avarie’s worried, but she ain’t said nothing about it yet. She just sat in the corner with her hands folded in her lap—Anne wouldn’t let her out of her sight. She said if a kidnapper’s greedy enough to take Belinda, then no doubt they’d want Ava, too.
[Detective]
I’ve seen cases of crazed people before, but I don’t think I’d ever seen a crazier case than the case of Belinda Ingle.
It’s not that the case was unique or crazy. It was an ordinary kidnapping.
Her mother was crazy.
I don’t mean crazy like funny or weird, I mean crazy like she belonged in an asylum. She came through the sliding doors of the station, staggering like she was drunk. After she realized people were in earshot, she started screaming, “Belinda, Belinda! I want my baby, Belinda.”
It was crazy, I tell you.
We tried to calm her down, telling her that our best detectives were working on the case. I can’t really say that Orin and Ames were the best detectives we had, but it was necessary to tell her that, otherwise she would have kept screaming.
My partner, Glasgow, said that if we find Belinda, we’ll let her know immediately.
She went crazy. Insanely crazy. She started screaming, jumping, and running all over the building demanding that we do find her. She started pushing stuff off of my desk, bawling and throwing my pens.
The only thing that stopped her from smashing my computer monitor was telling her I would work overtime tonight to find Belinda.
She dropped to her knees before me and sobbed, thanking me in tears. The picture of my own two kids lay on the floor. I would miss them tonight.
[Officer Miles]
I hate working late shifts, because I get so sleepy. It’s always lonely in the station, and if anyone else is there, they’re in the same state as I am. Bored and tired. Donuts and coffee keep me awake, but I can’t help feeling like every donut and every cut is adding at least five pounds to my already heavy paunch.
I was surprised to see Detective Bates still awake, much less at work. His shift ended at six pm, and just like he was never late to arrive, he was never late to leave.
“Well, now,” I said, dragging in my usual stash of fatty donuts and three cups of Starbucks coffee. “It isn’t at all normal to see you ‘round here ‘round these late hours, Bates.”
“Yeah, sure,” he barely seemed to notice me as he shuffled through a thin stack of pages, “promised that missing girl’s mother I’d work late to find out where she was.” He yawned, open mouthed, not bothering to place his hand before his face, “It’s got to be one of the worst choices I’ve ever made.”
“Come on, Bates, it can’t be that bad.” I wasn’t actually too sure, because I’m an officer; he’s the detective. “I’m no detective myself, but I’m sure I could be some help to you. Whatd’ya got there?”
“There’s not much evidence, and we only have one witness so far, but they haven't responded. Tomorrow we’ll check the stores and houses closest to the place she’s last been seen and see if anyone’s seen her or if any surveillance cameras captured any footage. We’ll interview her classmates and friends, too, just to see if anyone’s got any information on her.”
“Did you think about interrogating the parents, too? They’re likely suspects…”
“Oh God, no. The way Mrs. Ingle was acting, there’s no chance—“
“Bates, you’ve got to interrogate the parents.”
“Go—“
His sentence was cut short by the ring of the fax machine on his desk, followed by the faint buzzing of his cell-phone.
Let's fix that, shall we? I almost feel unworthy of critiqing you. *bows reverently*
I can totally relate.
Changing Perspectives/ Characters
However! I do think that perhaps some of the characters' narrations might be a bit more distinct. I liked the father's less edicated tone of voice; that was very effective. I think that the mother could be a bit crazier in her own narration, though. I realize that she certainly wouldn't think herself crazy, but maybe she could seem a bit more...deranged? Ava's simple language was good for establishing her age. Maybe for one of the characters you can have a trait of tending to speak in shorter sentences, sometimes even fragments? And another can use a more sophisticated word choice.
Moving on.
