Polly's uncle was a busy man. When she entered his office on Saturday, he was surprised and in the middle of a phone call. An important phone call about the missing children of a family in the neighboring town.

Polly threw herself in the chair at his desk, opposite of him, and she looked distressed. He picked up on that almost immediately, and he debated hanging up the phone call. The children, the man on the other end was saying, were most certainly linked to the mother of the Cole siblings that Polly's uncle was currently dealing with.

"So," he uncle spun around so he wasn't facing Polly. "it is confirmed. Mary Cole is the kidnapper. I want to know how it was confirmed."

The man on the other line faltered. "Well... it's confirmed because of the phone call and the note. Her handwriting was linked from the note to important documents from her previous place of work. But, she's smart - no fingerprints. Not on the paper, not anywhere in the house. She's very smart."

"So, where does she live?"

Polly's uncle fished in his desk for a notepad, and then fumbled for a pen. He jotted notes as he spoke on the phone, his handwriting messy and scrambled. "Tell me, do you know of an ultimatum?"

John would be lucky if the ultimatum was as simple as Mary Cole wanting her children back. It would be easy and clean cut, but in this line of work, he knew things were not that easy. And never would be.

"So far, nothing from her. And an address is listed, but the location has already been checked. She doesn't live there."

John pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "She is one mystery woman. She has no paperwork, no relatives, no nothing. Her children have no father. She is a hard woman to crack."

Polly sat in the chair across from her uncle, staring at his mug of coffee. She felt like she should not be listening in on this phone call, but her uncle had yet to make her leave, so she stayed, soaking in everything her uncle had to say about Elliott Cole and his mother, Mary.

The rest of his phone call consisted of murmurs and grunts, so when he got off the phone, Polly was more confused than when she walked in.

"Was that about Elliott?"

Her uncle took a sip of his coffee. "Yes and no. It was about his mother, Mary Cole. Apparently, she kidnapped two children. Her whereabouts are unknown, and if she wasn't already a suspect, we would have never known it was her."

"Kidnapped? Her own kids?" Her mind went back to the picture of all three boys, and her heart ached for them. Tightened and clenched at the thought of their freedom being taken away.

"No, children of a family living near Elliott and his brothers. A friend of Elliott's, apparently."

Polly nodded, tightening her hands in her lap. Her mind buzzed with this case, and then her own case. She felt the words bubbling in her throat, begging to be set free. Her uncle knew little of what she went through, and knew little of what was happening to her still.

She might as well use her detective uncle to her advantage.

"Someone is following me," she said in a low voice. "They left me a note in my locker today. It hinted to my past, so I know it's someone from before I moved here."

Her uncle was suddenly furious, his eyes hard and his jaw tight. "Following you? Who would follow you? That crazy priest?"

Well, yes, but... she wanted to say, but she kept that part quiet. "Not the priest - someone else. Well, I think it's someone else. They had a picture of me from when I was little."

Her uncle stood. "Do you have the picture and the note?" He was suddenly digging through a filing cabinet as Polly fished out the compact and the note, her hands shaking. She watched as her uncle removed a file from his desk, and her heart plummeted when she saw her mother's name on the file.

"Do you think your parents are here, Polly?"

Polly placed the compact and note in front of her uncle, her eyes glued to the ground. "No, I don't think so. The compact is far too expensive for my mother to carry around, and the note wasn't written by either of them. I know their handwriting."

And it surprised her that she could remember something such as handwriting. Such as the slope of the letters, the slant, the way her father pressed hard on the page so his letters indented the paper. She could remember the dainty sweeps of her mother's handwriting, with big loops and because she was a lefty, her handwriting always looked distinguished. If she closed her eyes, Polly could picture her mother's handwriting on the backs of pictures, on permission slips from long ago, and on envelopes.

No, the handwriting on the letter was not her parents.

Her uncle looked at the compact, flipping it over in his gloved hands, then opening it. "You're right, your mother would never carry something like this." Then, her uncle placed both things in a plastic sandwich bag. "I'll bring this to the lab to be fingerprinted."

Polly knotted her hands on her lap. "But I've been holding both objects. And so have others."

Her uncle looked up at her. "You've told others?"

"Only one other person."

Her uncle scratched his cheek, pensive. "I'll still bring them to the labs."

Polly closed her eyes, sure there was nothing that her uncle could do. She felt like this was a dead end, and the only way that things would be solved would result in her death. A thought that sent shivers down her spine.

"Polly, I think it may be best if you stop going to school."

Polly's eyes opened, and she shook her head in fear. "Please, no. I'd go crazy. Also, you want me to help you, right? I'm safe at school, and I'm definitely safe here."

Her uncle looked angry. "Safe at school? Polly, someone put this in your locker. Your locker." Then, his eyes lit up. "Video surveillance. That's it! The school must have cameras." Then, he moved to his phone, punching in the numbers of her school.

Polly felt sick. She never considered the fact that someone had to break into school to get to her locker. Or, that someone broke into her locker in the first place. Whoever this was, breaking into her locker, was certainly not someone who was to be messed with. In fact, Polly would bet that whoever left the note was careful enough to not be caught on camera.

And when her uncle got off of the phone, the twist of his mouth told Polly that perhaps he felt the same way, but he didn't voice this.

"I'm packing up for today. Let's go home." And so they did. But Polly felt like there was more to be done, more to search, more to solve. She felt like her stalker was out there, watching from the shadows with wide eyes.

Instead of her stalker, it was Jenny she ran into.

She was standing by the car, eyes wide and she was soaked from head to toe. Since entering her uncle's office, it had begun to rain. And it was clear that Jenny didn't care as she stood there, eyes wide and pastel dress plastered to her body from the rain.

"Jenny, my goodness. Get in the car!" Polly's uncle exclaimed. Then, "how did you get here? Why aren't you home?"

Jenny said nothing. She climbed into the backseat, staring straight ahead at Polly. Her eyes looked unsettling, perhaps because she wasn't blinking or really making any sort of facial expression.

"Jenny, gosh, did you walk here from soccer practice? I thought your mother was picking you up."

Jenny then turned to her father, face blank. "Soccer practice was cancelled."

Polly felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. It was one thing to dream about Jenny and have nightmares about the elementary school girl. It was another thing to see this behavior in real time and in the daylight.

Polly wracked her brain for the first time she met Jenny. The girl was harmless, if not too normal for a suburban child.

When they arrived home, Jenny stepped out of the car. She wasn't shivering. She didn't even looked bothered by her sopping wet clothes. She walked straight into the house, making sure to give Polly a stare that sent shivers up her spine.

There was something off about her cousin. And Polly was going to get to the bottom of it. 

* * *

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