Oversight Monday Camera one. Everything looks as it should. The hallway is empty, except for the dark blue lockers installed last month. Each is neatly closed and sealed with a shiny Masterlock. Switch to camera two. Nothing is moving simply because nobody is there. All the parking spots are empty, except for the one clearly marked “campus security only.” The wind doesn’t touch the underground garage, so even the fallen autumn leaves can’t dance on the slate grey pavement. Someone decided to discard his McDonald's 42 oz. cup on the ground before driving away. Other than that, nothing is different than it is any other night. Camera three. A stray cat runs across the front courtyard. That’s the most interesting thing Emory Douglas has seen all night. He sinks in his swiveling chair, alternating between the TV screen’s whopping three channels. He swallows hours-old lukewarm coffee, the only thing keeping him awake right now. He looks at the bulky digital watch on his wrist and wishes it said 5:00 instead of 3:56. An hour to go. Just an hour to go. Tuesday Emory has tonight off. He’s displeased by the way his living room looks. The couch cushions aren’t exactly right and there’s dust on the mantle over the fireplace. He mentally notes that he’ll have to fire yet another housekeeper. He sits in his leather easy chair, deterred by the frustratingly unmade sofa. He thinks about picking up the phone to call his mother, but decides against it. She still thinks he’s living the exciting life of the LAPD. He’d been lying about his job from the start. A degree in law enforcement from a not particularly renowned college wasn’t good enough for real cop status. He reaches for the remote instead of the telephone. He watches Fox News at seven, and turns the TV off precisely at eight. While depositing one of the Hungry Man frozen dinners that overwhelmed his freezer into the microwave, he thinks about when he used to cook for real. He remembers the recipe to the seafood paella Kelly Sonders used to love so much, but ever since Kelly left, he couldn’t bring himself to boil water for pasta, let alone fry eggs, de-vein shrimp, and assemble the spontaneous mix of spices that changed every single time, but always tasted good. Nope. He substitutes the sound of crackling oil with the beep of the microwave. He pops open a bottle of beer and unenthusiastically eats his dinner. He doesn’t eat dessert. Kelly used to make the desert. Tuesday was lemon bar day, Emory’s favorite. But it’s not anymore. Emory is tired, but not in the normal way. His physical state is awake enough to run a mile. It’s his mind that’s the problem. He’s tired of his thoughts, they seem to worsen every day. He tries his best not to dream. Wednesday The screen may as well be blank, nothing ever happens. Still, Emory tries to make the best of the boredom. Surprisingly, sitting in a chair doing nothing all night pays somewhat decently. He wants to pick up a bouquet of lilacs for Kelly. He thinks it’s adorable that she prefers lilacs to roses. It’s her birthday today. But of course there will be no flowers or champagne or cake or “Happy Birthday to You!” because she’s gone. Emory checks his voicemail, skipping each before more than a syllable can be heard. Finally, the robotic voice says “One saved mess...” Emory presses six. “Hey babe it’s me...uh...I know you’re probably asleep right now. You worked last night, right? Anyway... I have to tell you something and I don’t want you to get mad, but umm...well... I have to go... out of town for a week or two. I kind of can’t explain right now, it’s family stuff and I don’t want you all mixed up in it. I’m at LAX right now...so yeah...I’ll see...I’ll see you...soon.” That’s the last he’d ever heard from her. When he called her back, the phone line was “disconnected or no longer in service.” So he listens to the message, the lies. A broken record is better than no record at all. There’s a piece of the song and that’s all that matters. Camera one. Empty hallway. Camera two. Empty parking lot. Camera three. Empty courtyard. Emory Douglas. Empty life. Thursday It’s raining. Cars are skidding all over the road, hydroplaning like crazy. Nobody is walking on the sidewalk or in the park or over the bridge or on the screen Emory is watching. Emory shivers and pulls his blanket around him. He sneezes three times consecutively. Maybe he shouldn’t be here, if he’s coming down with something. And no one was going to break in. Nobody would vandalize the courtyard or gamble and drink in the parking garage. It’s a high school for goodness sake, if the kids are gonna do that, they’re gonna do it, but they can’t be stupid enough to do it on school property. Emory doesn’t believe the rumors that got him a job. They say the school district office had been receiving “threats” from an unknown source. Some say they’re threats of shooting. Others think it’s kidnapping. Arson is on the table too. Emory is amused by the ridiculousness. He’s not alone in his disbelief though, quite a few people complained about the county’s expensive overreaction to what was clearly a stupid prank. Emory sneezes. Surely, there’s no reason to stick around and compromise his health. He feels his forehead and smiles. The fever will distract him from camera one and two and three and lilacs and dinner and coffee and, most importantly, Kelly. He wants to go home, take a hot steam shower, and go to sleep without a thought in his mind. For the first time in a long time, Emory Douglas does what he wants. Friday Blue and red flash through Emory’s window. Emory covers his head with a pillow, but even with the lights taken care of, the obnoxious “Weeeeeeoooo Weeeeoooo” isn’t blocked out in the slightest. Knock Knock. Kelly always knocked on the door before coming in, even though she had a key. She liked the phrase “knock on wood.” Emory is still half-asleep. He doesn’t know what time it is or how long he’s been sleeping. He hears the knock again. He wants it to be Kelly so badly that he doesn’t connect the sirens and lights to the person on the other side of the door. Emory, barefoot and in his pajamas, runs and opens the door. He blinks several times in disbelief. Now he’s one-hundred percent awake. “Are you Emory Douglas?” “Yes. Why, Officer?” “Inland High was broken into last night. Security footage shows an unknown, middle aged man open a locker and remove contraband items.” “May I ask what items?” “Several ounces of cocaine, a loaded revolver, and adiamond ring reported stolen three months ago. Where were you at 1:23 am this morning? “Oh, me? Oh of course it wasn’t me. I wasn’t there. I was here. Asleep, probably. Is that all?” Emory realizes his mistake, but it’s too late. “I was coughing and sneezing everywhere. I thought I may have had an infectious disease! I had no choice but to leave my post.” “Did you disclose your departure to the school?” “No, but it was one in the morning! I’m a very considerate person, you know.” “Well then, you should have considered the consequences of your actions.” “Hey! Maybe my boss can fire me, but I didn’t break any laws. Leaving work unannounced isn’t a felony. I’m still feeling under the weather so if you’d excuse...” “We’re going to have to take you downtown.” Emory is wide-eyed and shocked as cold metal handcuffs bind his wrists. “Could we skip that? I just went through a breakup and...” “Mr. Douglas, quite frankly your personal life is not of interest to me.” “I, but. I could be contagious. So...” “You need to get in the car. Voluntarily or otherwise.” “Oh. Oh, but. Fine.” Emory feels defeated as the cop escorts him to the car and recites his Miranda Rights. You have the right to remain silent. He’s confused and disconcerted. Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law. His thoughts race through images of jails, courtrooms, and bright orange jumpsuits. You have the right to speak to an attorney. He feels alone and scared and helpless. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. He wants to call Kelly. Do you understand these rights as they have been read to you? But Kelly isn’t there. “I do.” Oversight, 11-12, p. 1 1