Women's Studies Ch. 15

*** Kennedy ***

Kennedy's hand brushed against Abigail's as they walked side by side down the wide corridor. Feeling guilty, she forced her thoughts back to the moment. Skylar had told them that a signal from the plane's transponder popped up on a receiver, but only for a moment. Surely that meant someone was still out there to rescue. She refused to think of it as merely a malfunction, or some sort of glitch. As to why the advisors weren't taking it more seriously, she hadn't a clue.

Her fingers touched at her back pocket unconsciously. The picture of her and her father rested there. It was still weird thinking about him so, her father. Once she had found all of those pictures of her in that secret room, all of her reluctance to think of him as her father evaporated. He might not have been there physically, but it was clear that he loved her. That thought threatened to fill an empty place inside of her, and she held onto it, trying to shut out another emotion. Guilt.

Her father was still missing, but after last night's events, and waking up next to Abigail in the morning, she felt as if she were walking on a cloud. She knew she should have been focused solely on finding her father, but that was a strange new concept. Abigail, on the other hand, was something familiar and precious that she had thought she'd lost. Knowing that their relationship was just as strong as ever lifted her heart.

Even Skylar walking in on them naked in the same bed couldn't brush away that sensation. There was something there that Kennedy wasn't seeing though. How was Skylar taking their relationship so casually? You would think she saw siblings sleeping together all the time.

As they approached the door to the Grand Parlor that had been set aside for these meetings, loud voices could be heard from inside. "Do none of you have any balls?" Skylar's commanding voice came. "I would have thought between the five of you, you could put a set together."

Without hesitating, Abigail swung the door open and strode in with a commanding grace. As imposing as she was, it didn't slow their argument one bit.

"You listen here!" an older man in a gray suit with a receding hairline spoke, his face red with anger. "We've had enough of your mouth! You have no say in how we conduct this search. Your authority begins and ends with protecting those girls," he said firmly. "Everything we know puts the crash site in quadrant 26F. From their last known heading, and the flight path, it puts them here." He jabbed his finger on the map. "We're not moving the entire search just to investigate some static."

"I've heard that there has been a new development, Dillan," Abigail said too casually, addressing the man. Her sudden appearance seemed to have startled them as several men jerked around at her voice. Not Skylar though, she was an unshakable rock.

"I'm sure what you've heard was embellished," Dillan said carefully. "It was just a glitch from the receiver."

As he spoke, Abigail walked across the room and took a seat in what was obviously her father's chair facing away from an empty fireplace. It was the largest and most extravagant chair in the room, and certainly the most comfortable. After she sat, she studied the five men for a moment before speaking again.

"Our father is missing, and there was a glitch with the transponder...and you're not going to look into it?" Abigail said flatly.

"The search area..." another man, slightly younger in his years, said stepping forward. "Your father has to be there. If we move airplanes and helicopters to another location, we could risk missing your father."

"Hire more planes, more helicopters," Abigail offered.

"Miss, it's not the aircraft, it's the snowstorms. We have every pilot willing and capable of risking those conditions," Dillan explained, defending his decision to stay the course. "I've personally gone over the data that we recorded, as have other experts, and they all agreed that it must have been a glitch. It wasn't even a real signal. Look for yourself," he said quickly grabbing a tablet.

As uncomfortable as it was to be in the room, presenting herself to them as George Lockwood's daughter, Kennedy moved closer to Abigail so she could watch from her shoulder.

There was a map overlay and the recording was set to a loop. Dillan was right, there was something wrong with the signal that popped up on the screen. Instead of the expected blip pinpointing a location, it was more of a fuzzy blob that covered many square miles.

It wasn't until the eighth viewing that Kennedy found herself speaking up. "What's wrong with that signal? Why does it look like that?"

"It looks like that because it's not a signal, it's a glitch," Dillan said with an exasperated sigh.

Unwilling to let Dillan crush her hope, Kennedy looked to Skylar. She didn't know a thing about this man, but she trusted Skylar, and her judgment.

"The transponder could be damaged," Skylar offered with a wave of her hand. "It could also be iron deposits, or weather. There is really no telling. We don't know exactly where they went down, so that blip is as good of a place as any to look."

"Experts have marked this quadrant," Dillan protested. "Experts! Why don't we leave it to them to know what to do?"

"If I had a dollar for every time an expert fucked up when I was in the Marines..." Skylar said shaking her head. "Well, I would have more money than you."

Dillan spared an unforgiving look for Skylar before turning his attention back to Abigail. "I'm sorry Miss, but I can't in good conscience move the search. I just can't."

"Could we?" Abigail asked thoughtfully. "Could we make that decision?" she said nodding to Kennedy.

"You could," he said hesitantly. "but I would recommend staying the course. These people know what they're doing."

Abigail stared silently at the empty fireplace for a few moments. "You can leave us now. My sister and I have to discuss the matter," she said, dismissing them. "Skylar, you can stay."

One by one they filed out of the room without another word. Dillan did look back as he was leaving, the argument for staying the course plain on his lips even if he didn't speak. The moment the door clicked shut Abigail spoke.

"What are our options?" she asked Skylar.

"We have three as I see it," she explained, taking a seat in the chair Dillan had once occupied. Lounging back, she crossed her feet casually, even discussing such a serious topic she appeared cool and collected. "We can stay the course, move the entire search, or only move a few resources to check out the new area."

"How many aircraft do we have total?" Abigail asked. "Is splitting them up a viable option?"

"It's hard to say," Skylar said. "Dillan wasn't wrong, there is risk involved. If your father is in 26F, moving planes and helicopters could slow his rescue, or they could miss him entirely. It's hard enough to see anything with the storms. Then again, if he isn't there at all, all we've been doing is wasting time. The decision is up to you though. You know what I think."

It took longer than Kennedy thought for them to actually make a decision. It didn't even come down to the logistics of how many aircraft would be diverted. Abigail wouldn't make the decision unless Kennedy agreed, and it terrified her. For that amount of responsibility to be dropped into her lap, a person's life, it wasn't something she was prepared for. If she guessed wrong, her and Abigail would lose a father. When the decision was actually handed to her, she began to understand why the advisors were hesitant to change the search area. None of them wanted to hold the responsibility for failure.

In the end, it was Skylar's calm confidence that made her agree. It was a strange thing to put so much faith into someone she barely knew, but there was just something about Skylar, now that she had dropped the party girl act, that made you want to trust her.

When all was finally settled, six planes and four helicopters were reassigned to the new search area to look for any signs of their father or the airplane. It was only a small fraction of their resources, but it was enough to start. While the advisors didn't agree with the action Kennedy and Abigail had taken, they all seemed relieved that they were no longer responsible for the decision.

*** Lexi ***

I had spent hours in that brightly lit holding cell with its concrete walls and steel benches. I had no clue as to exactly how long though. It surely couldn't have been more than a day, but it felt like a week. Without any windows, or a clock, time seemed to drag on with a slow cruelty.

How had this happened? Two weeks ago, I was the happiest I had ever been. I felt like myself more than I had ever felt in my entire life, and my friends...my friends knew everything about me and loved me still. How was it that I was arrested and named a pervert, and someone like Decker was allowed to walk free?

Thinking of Kennedy and Abigail only worsened my mood. I still hadn't heard from either of them, and the last I had seen on the news, Mr. Lockwood was still missing. I had wanted to use my phone call to try and reach one of them, but with them dealing with their own problems, I didn't want to add my own to the mix. Instead, I called my sister, Audrey. As fate would have it, it went straight to voicemail. She either ignored an unrecognized phone number from the police station, or she just couldn't answer. How was she supposed to know that it had been the most important phone call of my life so far? I left a message, explaining what had happened, all the while a police officer watched on with amused scrutiny.

As far as the police were concerned, I was a filthy pervert, no matter what I said, or what I acted or appeared like. I am a woman, was only met with scornful laughter, even as I was ushered into a large open cell with half a dozen men, most looking like hardened criminals. They all lit up like it was Christmas as I was shoved in with them, their eyes crawling all over my body.

"Good luck," the officer whispered to me before addressing the other men in the cell. "Be careful with this one, he's got a cock under that dress!" With that, he slammed the door closed, the sound echoing through my bones like the closing chapter of my life.

Their hungry gazes turned skeptical as they undoubtedly tried to see the man underneath, but as if they all had some secret conversation through the silence, they all looked away at nearly the same time. Them studiously ignoring the elephant in the room didn't exactly put me at ease, but it was far better than the other options.

One by one, men left, and a few more came in. When the newcomers arrived and saw me, they gained that glow in their eyes, but a not so subtle shake of the head from a heavy-set man with tattoos set everyone straight. I wasn't sure if he was protecting me, or the other men from embarrassment, but I was as grateful as I could have been while sitting in a jail cell. I wasn't sure what I would do once he left, and I was left alone with only the newcomers that hadn't heard the officer out me.

Every so often that officer would stroll by and peer into the cell, and every time he looked disappointed to see that I wasn't being raped, or at the very least a mass of bruises.

My stomach was gnawing at my insides from hunger when I heard the unmistakable click-clack of high heels making their way down the hall outside. There was a scraping of metal and a loud thunk as the lock turned before the door slid open. Standing outside was my tormenting officer, and a tall woman in an expensive skirt suit and power heels, holding an expensive briefcase.

"You put her in with the men?" she asked in a scandalized tone.

"He's a man," the officer replied, emphasizing the word.

"Get her out of there," she demanded coolly as she reached into her purse to pull out a small recording device. "Friday, 11:47am, client Alexis Allen is found to be in a cell accompanied by several men. Note that I passed two empty holding areas on my way to her cell," she finished, clicking off the recorder.

"Wait, what are you doing?" he asked defensively as he reached for her recorder.

She recoiled only slightly from his attempt and stared him down defiantly. "If you reach for my property again, without legal cause, I will file a formal complaint with your Captain, the DA, and anyone else I can think of, and once I have your badge, I'll stop being civil. I will hire six private investigators to comb through your life and find every last thing you've ever tried to hide, and after that I might just make a few phone calls to some people at the IRS and make sure you receive a thorough audit every year for the rest of your life."

By the time she was done with her calm tirade, he was frozen on the spot, until he finally withdrew his hand.

"And if you must know, I'm making notes for what I imagine will be a splendid misconduct lawsuit against your department." She paused with a satisfied nod of her head when she noticed the sick look on his face. "Come along Miss Allen, we have a long day ahead of us, I'm afraid."

It was only when she addressed me that I realized I was still seated. I quickly got to my feet and followed her out, only making a quick glance back at the tattooed man who was still lounging on a bench in the corner. I had to suppress a shudder, not for how terrifying he looked, but for the fact that whether or not he intended it, he was the only reason I was still able to walk out of that cell, and not being carried out on a gurney, or worse.

Down the long hall, I followed the woman and the sturdy clacking of her heels. Everything about her was immaculate, from the fresh press of her suit and blouse, to the perfectly placed curls of hair streaming down her back. Confidence and command emanated from her, letting everyone in sight know that she was in charge. The officer must have felt it as well because he followed behind us, only closing the distance long enough to open the next set of security doors before falling back again.

"I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but who are you?" I asked.

"I'm Patricia Shaw, and I'm your lawyer," she said coolly. "Don't answer any questions without me present, and if you have any problems or questions about anything call me first."

"Did my sister call you?" I asked.

"Your professor, Gale...or Mrs. Holland as you know her," she replied. "She was afraid you might have gotten into a bit more trouble than the two of you could handle," she said with a slight shake of her head. "In here." She opened the door to the women's restroom.

I followed her inside, and without wasting any time, she set her brief case on the counter and clicked it open. Resting between two thick folders, lay a carefully folded dress: black with silver pinstripes slashing across the bodice and skirts. Lifting it by the straps, she held it out for me.

"Put this on. I think I have a pair of heels that will fit you as well. And we need to do something about your hair."

I was a bit confused why we weren't running out of this police station as fast as we could, and she must have seen it in my face.

"Somehow the press got ahold of this. There were at least six reporters outside when I came in. With Abigail Lockwood being your roommate, and the allegations of perversion on your part, you have become quite the story," she sighed. "It's not the coming out party anyone would wish for, but it's the one you're getting."

"Once we step outside, every picture they snap, and every word they write will be the world's first impression of you. Are you a boy in girls' clothing, or are you a woman? Because right now, you're pretty enough, but you look and smell like you've been crawling around the floors of a men's locker room."

I was in a daze as I took the dress from her, hardly even noticing the expensive feel of the silk. When I decided to fight back, I had known that my secret would be out, that people would finally know, but I had no idea that everyone would. I had already pretty much written my mother off, she was a horrible woman, but she would know. People I knew growing up, and everyone from high school would know. Potentially everyone I would ever meet from this point on would know. I was happy with who I was. I had hoped for a day when I could just be myself, but this felt like too much, and all too fast.

Patricia continued giving me instructions as I donned the dress and slipped into a pair of black pumps, and even while I touched up my makeup and hair. I hardly heard a word of it. The only thing that held my focus was the cold feeling I had inside.

Once I was finished, she gave me a quick once over before giving a nod of approval. With nothing more that we could do, she hooked her arm in mine and escorted me out of the bathroom and towards the exit of the police station. Once the doors opened, there was only a brief pause before chaos ensued. The sounds of almost a dozen camera shutters flashing were drowned out by many voices calling out at once.

"Why are you dressed as a girl? Are you really friends with Abigail Lockwood? Does she know you're a pervert? Do you think you will be going to prison?"

The questions were a flood, and some of the things they were asking were nearly staggering. Someone asked if I was trying to sleep with all the girls at Mayweather. Patricia never flinched. Her arm firmly around mine, she guided me through the mass of reporters and to a car waiting just out front for us.

"You can expect more of that," she sighed once we were both safely in the back seat and the driver was pulling away. "You did great though. Never answer their questions, and if you can, don't even acknowledge that they exist."

"Where are we going?" I asked the first thing that popped into my head.

"First, my offices, and after that I've had a nice room set up for you at a hotel," she informed me.

"Not Mayweather?" I knew it was a long shot that they would let me stay.

"I'm afraid not. Not for now at least," she said gazing out her window. "They had some staff collect what they could of your belongings from your closet shortly after the police took you away. I've had the boxes brought to your hotel room. If anything is missing, just make a list."

Part of me knew it was just a school, but it had grown to mean so much to me. It was where I found out who I truly was, where I found my friends, and where I learned that family isn't something you're born with, it's something you find along the way. Everything good in my life happened because of that place. Now it was gone.

The law offices of Shaw and Teller were located on the 18th floor of a skyrise in downtown Phoenix. I hadn't taken the time to make any expectations, but it was more than I would have imagined from a lawyer who just showed up out of the blue. Black granite tile swept out from the elevator, opening up into a wide entryway. To the left and right of the reception desk spread wide hallways lined with large offices made of glass and steel. Expensive furniture dotted a lavishly open waiting area that mocked the expansive space allotted for such a place. Clearly, aesthetics had been prioritized above economy.

Patricia led me into a conference room with a long mahogany table and fogged glass walls. She quickly took a seat, setting her briefcase on the table, and opened it as she gestured me to take the seat next to hers. Before she could even speak, a younger man with boyish looks rushed in to greet us.

"Here are the documents you asked for," he said, slightly out of breath as if he had run quite a distance. "Both the Charter and the Bylaws. I'm still looking for some kind of precedence."