Lies Left Unsaid

Detective Brandon

Against my better judgement I decided to attend the graduation. I was officially on leave given my "mishandling" of the investigation, as the Captain put it, although when he delivered the message it included far more cussing and screaming. Terry was still in jail. It would be awhile before everything would be sorted out. His lawyer might be able to put doubt in a jury's eyes on the murder charges, given the fact that Caitlyn's body was still missing and the presence of Martinez's semen was on her underwear. At the very least though, he was sure to serve time for the stolen pain meds and no doubt, when he came out of prison, his career would be finished. There wasn't a hospital in the world that would want to hire a pain abusing former convict who was involved in the murder investigation of a teen girl, and not just any girl, the now infamous Caitlyn Coates whose story had been splashed in the headlines across the entire country. 

As I approached the field where the graduation was to be held, I could see hoards of people entering under a large elaborate balloon archway with a sign which read, "the best is yet to come." I laughed aloud at the sappy quote as I took a swig off of the whiskey filled flask I had hidden inside my jacket pocket. The football field at Highland Park High was decorated to the nines and had been transformed into a stunning display of high school nostalgia.mThey had spared no expense in celebrating the class of 2018, which was no surprise. This was how the rich commended themselves in this town. It would be one spectacular party after the next for these spoiled rich kids. My graduation was in our tiny high school gym which smelled of feet. It was followed by a pat on the back and a Budweiser given to me by my father with the advice, "life sucks," which I suppose wasn't advice so much as a statement, which turned out to be far truer than I ever could have imagined. These wealthy brats had no idea how lucky they were, and they never would. They would follow in their parents footsteps and become lawyers or doctors. Many would live off of their family trust fund or inherit the family business. They would continue to screw the little guy while exponentially increasing their family's wealth and social status. That was the irony of our country. The American dream was just that, a dream to most, achievable only to those who were born into privilege. 

I continued to take long swigs off of my flask as the senior class of Highland Park High 2018, filed into their seats grinning from ear to ear and high-fiving one another as they congratulated themselves on finally being able to get the hell out of high school and start their "real" lives. I wanted to shout out that life would never be better or easier than high school, that the real world is a place filled with broken promises and crushed aspirations, but I didn't need to squash their naïveté. They would find out the truth soon enough. That was one thing their money couldn't protect them from: the harsh reality of the day to day grind of work and relationships. It had been my experience that in order to succeed at one, you needed to sacrifice the other, although now I was left with neither, a painful fact that only the alcohol seemed to numb.

I wandered through the crowds of proud parents unsure of why I even came or what I thought I'd find. I found my gaze wandering towards the list of previous suspects trying to determine if one of them was the psycho behind the invitation. The whole cast of characters was there: her secretly gay jock boyfriend, her BFF frenemy, her drunken adulterer mother, her sweet albeit naive father, her second rate sister. It was quite the gathering of fools, topped off by myself, the biggest loser of all, who couldn't even see what was right in front of his face. Noticeably missing was, of course, Caitlyn. I half expected to see her eyes peering out at me from behind the throws of teenagers in their green graduation gowns: those steely cold hazel eyes whose story I was now beginning to understand more and more of. 

And then, just like that, they were staring at me, from center stage, where a photo of Caitlyn was projected onto a screen in memoriam. Her hazel eyes gleamed in a way that seemed unnatural. I would have thought the photo was digitally enhanced had I not known otherwise. Her flawless skin glowed with a dewiness that only a teenager can possess: a canvas that has been untouched by age, booze, and the hardships of life. Her perfectly wavy auburn hair was gathered to one side and tossed over her left shoulder in a nonchalant trying, not trying, sort of manner. I could see now why the other girls loathed, yet loved her. Even in her death, she continued to be the star of the show. I'm sure Emily was dying right about now, not literally of course, that was Caitlyn's realm, of which she was undeniably the ruler. Every thing she had done had been a calculated move, and I was one of the many pawns she had captured, too stupid to see that she was always ten steps ahead of me. It may have been the king I needed to take down to win, but it was the queen who advanced stealthy behind the scenes making all the important moves. The king might have been the most important piece, but it was weak in its movements. It was the queen who could go wherever she wanted, easily taking down those in her way. It was the queen who held all the power. I was certain of it now. Caitlyn had played us ALL for fools. 

We stood there staring at one another. Her, laughing at me, at my stupidity, mocking me for my inability to solve her disappearance, for my inability to see what was right under my nose the entire time, and me, willing her mouth to open and tell me the truth. Where are you? Who are you? But most importantly, why? Why did you do it? They were questions I would most likely never fully know the answer to, and so we continued our standoff, staring at one another, even though I knew she would win in the end. She had won the competition before it even began, before I even realized I was a player in her twisted little game.

Checkmate.