Lines ★ CNS Issue#13

Tess, 1995 | San Diego | Pre-Awakening

Tess absentmindedly searched for the phone with her hand as it rang for the third time. It barely registered to her, she was deep into her newspaper. Two young girls were snatched from a playground in a poorer area of San Diego and police were barely responding. They told reporters the usual bullshit; “we’re doing the best we can but we can only do so much.” Tess curled her lip in disgust. When a 20-something college student from a wealthy family was abducted from a party at a frat house a few months back the cops turned the city upside down, invading homes and offering lavish rewards to anyone with information. Tess didn’t want anyone to be kidnapped regardless of age or status, especially when they usually ended up in human trafficking rings, but it was much more obvious that the cops were just mercs. They did nothing for the poor but when the rich said “jump” they said “how high?” The phone rang again, jolting Tess out of her thoughts. 

“What?!” She yelled into the receiver.

“Meet me at your house tonight,” a voice grumbled in a Texan accent. Scruffers. Tess was starting to think he’d died, it’d been so long since she heard from him.

“Now why would I want your surly ass at my house, Richard Leroy?” Tess smirked as she lowered her newspaper. Calling him by his given name always got him fired up. Scruffs had long retired from the San Diego Police Department, and he became more and more ornery with age.

“First, you know how much I hate my name, second, trust me.”

“Why?” 

“Goddamnit, i ain’t gonna do you wrong. This is exactly what you’ve been waitin’ for. Maeve gave me a tip i know you’d die for. Just be there.” Tess laughed. She and Leroy always bickered like an old married couple but they instantly bonded when they realized they were both born and raised in Texas. It was strictly platonic, familial. He was like an eccentric uncle. Uncle Scruffers.

“How is Maeve doin? Workin on that Chief of Police position like her old man?” Tess genuinely hoped this wasn’t the case, but she tried to be supportive. Scruffs knew this.

“Aw Tess she’s barely holdin’ on.” Scruffs’ voice was very stressed. “She hates everything about being a cop, but she says she wants to do something good and if passing info is all she can do, she’ll take one for the team.” 

“She needs to stay safe, those cops can be backstabbers–” Tess started, but Scruffs interrupted. 

“I lecture her all the time. She’ll be with me tonight, so you can say what ya need then, but she might snap your head off.” Tess rolled her eyes.

“Sounds good, ya scruffy old bastard. Bring beer or something, i’ll grill.” She started to hang up then thought of something. “Do not bring light beer under any circumstances!” She hung up the phone.

***

The next night, Tess was sitting on the sofa of her makeshift living space surrounded by boxes, stacks of books and research. Notebooks and papers were scattered on the coffee table and on the couch. Maps with notes were tacked onto nearly every inch of the nearby wall and her computer was on with more maps glowing in the browser. She had a mission; she was going to find the San Diego Underground, like her aunt and uncle wanted, and she was going to keep it a secret, using it to hide runaways and victims of human trafficking. They told Tess about their hunt when she first came to San Diego, eventually it became her dream and she vowed that she’d find it, even if they were no longer here to help her look, and she needed to do more to make that dream a reality.

The possibility for more came last night when Scruffers called her with a tip from his daughter, Maeve. According to them, a sale involving several children and a few young teens would take place tomorrow night at the private dock in a wealthy subdivision on the Silver Strand. There would be two buyers and three sellers. Maeve had tried to have it investigated, but everyone brushed her off. She, Tess and Scruffs were all willing to take bets that some of those douchebag cops were actually guarding the human trafficking scum. The current Chief of Police, Manon, threatened Maeve with being fired if she didn’t drop it. She reluctantly agreed but brought it to her father and Tess in hopes of somehow thwarting these bastards. Scruffers was very clear; the buyers and sellers wouldn’t be left alive and Tess needed to choose whether or not she was going to cross this line. There was no turning back. Tess didn’t even let him finish. I’m in, she had shouted, feeling her heart pound. Tonight, she was attempting to distract herself from the anticipation; she’d waited so long to be able to do more than “official” work.
It was strangely quiet in downtown San Diego, even for a Tuesday night. The house was empty aside from Tess. She sat on the floor, going through her notes over and over but nothing was working; she simply could not concentrate. She finally set the papers down, stood up and began pacing around her research oasis, noticing little things that needed to be repaired. She noticed that the drywall in some places was dented and crumbling. When her aunt and uncle passed away, they left the house to her. It had been in the family for decades and had been built when the city of San Diego was established in 1848. It was long paid off, so all Tess had to do was pay for maintenance and taxes. Her job paid a decent salary, so she was saving her money to renovate the entire building. If she ever found the Underground, she planned to somehow connect it to this building then patch up and possibly furnish any rooms or spaces in it.

Tess mainly lived in her tiny study space on the ground level floor surrounded by all of this stuff. The basement and 2 ½-ish floors above the ground floor were a mess, but she felt like changing them would betray the memory of her aunt and uncle. Obviously leaving the house the way they left it didn’t bring them back, but it helped her feel like they were still there in spirit. After a while, Tess yawned and started straightening things up. She stacked the papers and notebooks on the coffee table and turned her computer off. She wrapped herself in a quilt and got comfortable on a couch, the only place she could sleep for years after they passed away. For a while, she stared at the ceiling and thought about the five  people that would die. She wondered if her aunt and uncle would approve, she wondered if she approved, then she wondered why she gave a shit because no one else would help these children and anyone harming children in any way deserved every horrific thing they got. Eventually she fell asleep dreaming that, somehow, this complete switch in the way she did things would work out perfectly.

Song | Alan Walker, "The Spectre"

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★ Issue #13 ||| 6.1.2024 ★