death, a hand on her hip. She ripped the file from his hands, turning and walking away without a word. Greg’s face reddened, following with anger bleeding from his stance.
“You’re actually taking this seriously?” He yelled. His arms stretched out, as though he was waiting measuring wingspan. Something about it put Aly on edge, her nerves flooded with alarm. It seemed aggressive and self-gratifying at once.
“How do you recommend it be handled, Greg?” The woman responded, voice curt. She kept her back to him. Finally glancing over her shoulder, she inquired, “Alyson, are you still holding that this is a legitimate report?”
Aly nodded, rubbing her arm. It was too warm in the building, but she had grown cold. Ignoring Greg’s glare, she raised her voice, “Of course.”
This is wrong– it’s happening way too fast. My head’s spinning.
The woman smiled. It seemed genuine, managing to overlook Greg completely. Aly realized she reminded her of her mother. “Fantastic. If our screening approves, I’m launching investigation. If only to extend Doctor Glass’s comfort zone – think of it as professional development.” Her eyes narrowed on Greg, smile dissipating. “It’s good to be challenged by our colleagues – even better by our supervisors. Now, would you do me a favor and follow up on the Yaver report like I requested this morning, and the morning before?”
“You-” Greg began.
What is going on? I’ve never seen him like this.
“Now, Gregory.” She interrupted. Her voice was too polite, somehow a warning, as she added, “Please and thank you.”
Greg glowered, his animosity momentarily on his boss, rather than Aly. She breathed a sigh of relief, moving to sit closer to the desk. It felt safer, as though the distance allowed her to stay out of sight despite the open-layout. Though tempted to move to the couches as they vacated, she held still. He stalked down a back hallway to gather himself.
Or plot revenge and world domination.
After a moment, the woman moved to continue her conversation. As another researcher in casual work clothes joined them, Aly’s interest was piqued. Her relocation put them in hearing distance. She knew they were discussing her, or at least her case.
“What’s the word, Jocelyn?”
She finished her sentence, ignoring the interruption. “…It appears two teens with her are refusing to come forward. She claims the third will show in the morning.”
A scrawny man in a lab coat groaned. He turned enough to reveal red stitching with the title Oliver Grooves above a breast pocket. “Can’t we deal with it then?”
Pushing her bangs from her eyes, she shifted the papers, reading one page while fumbling to recover a photograph beneath it. “It’s a classic rock throwing encounter, with photographs. They’re way to unclear to identify any animal, but it’s still a reiteration of validity. Did you see the picture of her leg?”
Oliver nodded. “Yeah… It looks like she was in the way of an assault weapon… kicked a grenade or something.”
A taller man with braids pulled into a wide ponytail shrugged, adding ardently, “Plus, bears have no known record of throwing rocks.”
“Honestly Darrin, all of this is irrelevant to one fact: that’s Greg
Glass’s daughter.” Oliver shook his head.
“It’s all the more reason to look into it. He’s a serious guy,” Darrin sighed, rubbing his brow.
“Yeah, but he’s hardly Mr. Moral,” Oliver argued, pushing half- rimmed glasses up his nose.
“If it’s any help, I absolutely believe her– or enough to give her the benefit of the doubt. It’s our job to investigate claims. We treat known hoaxers with more open minds. Don’t blacklist the kid.” Darrin motioned with each sentence like a conductor, offering a sincere expression to Oliver’s doubting face and seeking encouragement from Jocelyn’s. She nodded each time, avid in agreement.
Jocelyn nodded. “Exactly. It’s necessary, no matter your personal feelings.”
“Whatever. You’ve got paperwork.” Oliver shoved the papers into Jocelyn’s hands, seeming more exhausted than irritated. He bumped into her arm playfully as he moved past. She spun around, eyes following as he speed-walked towards what seemed like a break-room from a limited glance. She stuck out her tongue, he responded with a taunting leer. Crude hand gestured where exchanged until he finally disappeared behind the wall, leaning as though someone pulled him inside while he struggled to stay behind for the last word.
Walking alongside each other, Darrin and Jocelyn smiled at Aly mid-conversation as they passed. Unsure how to respond, she nodded. Self-conscious, she stared at the colorful Band-Aids along her skin like stepping stones, wishing she’d worn something more modest than shorts.
The sound