Find all the parts of this story here.

Chapter 2: Let’s Dance

Part 4: Sam

Sophie visibly bristled at Sam’s domineering tone. Okay, so maybe he didn’t need to talk down to her as if she was a child, but his patience had worn so thin at this point that he didn’t school his words like he probably should have. He sighed and dropped his head, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I apologize, Miss Lane. That was rude of me. But I would like to have a conversation with you about your seeming lack of basic safety precautions,” he tried again.
Crud. Tears shimmered in her eyes, but she blinked furiously.

“All right,” she whispered. Without another word, she gathered her things and headed toward a little side closet, flipping on her phone’s flashlight. The warehouse plunged into darkness, and Sam reflexively pulled out his own little powerful pen light.

“Miss Lane?”

She paused, one hand on the doorknob, and turned to look at him.

“I just want you to notice that your hands are full, you only have a dim light, and you’re about to walk outside into a dark area. Do you see how vulnerable to attack you are?”

Confusion furrowed her brow, but she dutifully looked down at her hands, then out the window into the darkness.

“I… Oh. Um…” she stuttered, then ducked her head. “I never thought of that. Everyone here seems nice.” There was a pleading undertone in her voice – she didn’t want to believe anyone would hurt her.

“I’d love to promise everyone in Williamson is a saint, but all the people in the church pews and the existence of my job would argue otherwise,” he pointed out gently.

Sophie chewed on her lip as she pondered his words. She shifted nervously before looking back at him.

“So what should I do instead?” she asked.

Sam’s heart warmed at the question. He felt an inexplicable sense of pride at her humility and resilience. She didn’t scoff, or argue, or crumble. She recognized she had room to learn, and accepted his knowledge. It made him feel 10 feet tall.

“Assuming the warehouse setting remains the same, don’t leave alone. And neither should any of your friends, for that matter. Leave in a group. That way one or more people can hold lights while you have to turn your back on the parking lot to lock up the space.”

She nodded along. “Stay in a group. Get a better flashlight. What else?”

“Lock the door while you’re inside. I didn’t hear you unlock it when I arrived.”

“No, it was unlocked for everyone to arrive.”

“Did you all arrive in daylight?”

“Yes.”

“That’s good. What else… Park closer to the building. No need to leave all that open dark space between you and your car. Have your car keys in your hand before you unlock the interior door to leave.”

Sophie cocked her head. “How am I supposed to carry everything and have my car keys out?”

“That’s what your friends are for. Everyone should have a hand free,” Sam encouraged.

“Oh,” she mumbled softly. Sam just shook his head.

“Come on. I’ll walk out with you.” He gestured to the door, then followed her out. Sophie turned her back on the parking lot with her full arms and awkwardly punched in the code to lock the door. Sam resisted rolling his eyes at her fumbling movements, but kept watch over her in the dark parking lot. Then he drove behind her as she made her way the few miles to her frightfully dark neighborhood.

Why had a single woman with no sense chosen to live here? Maybe he just answered his own question…

Outside the front door of the building, she paused, suddenly looking shy.

“Did you want to, uh, come up?” she asked, biting her lip.

“If you don’t mind, yes, please.” He thought about launching into some thoughts about her building, but kept those to himself – for now.

“Sure…” She opened the front door, which was totally unsecured, and entered a dingy 70’s lobby, complete with worn orange carpeting. Gross. They walked past mailboxes, then up a narrow staircase to the second floor. After a quick left turn at the top, she approached an end unit.

“Is there another way down? A second staircase?” Sam couldn’t help but ask. His brother Ryan, a firefighter, had drummed the importance of multiple egress points into his head.

“No, just the one,” Sophie replied offhand, juggling her multiple bags again and searching out her apartment key. The hallway lighting was dim, and Sam imagined she worked more by feel than sight.

His first impression of her apartment was that she was making the best she could of the worst situation possible. They stepped immediately into the living room. Thin, worn carpeting that could have been gray or brown rested under his feet. A cheerful but weathered plaid two-seater couch sat on the wall to the right. A coffee table, dented and scratched but clean, rested in front of it.

To the left of the living room was a tiny galley kitchen with ugly once-yellow cabinets, some missing their handles. The stove and fridge were tan 90’s plastic. Straight ahead was a wall with two doors, which he assumed led to the bedroom and bathroom. No natural light made it to the living room and kitchen, and Sam had to wonder how much time she actually spent here.

“Uh… I don’t have coffee, but do you want some tea?” Sophia asked, setting down her bags on the kitchen counter. She looked nervous, and Sam felt a little bad about that. He realized he had been awfully judgmental in his frustration about her safety.

“No, but thank you. I shouldn’t stay long. I…” Now he hesitated. How to say these things without hurting her feelings too much? Because it surely would hurt at least a little.

“Miss Lane…” he began, then sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

“It’s okay with me if you call me Sophie,” she suggested quietly, shifting from one foot to the other in her kitchen doorway.

“Sophie,” Sam tested the name, enjoying how it felt rolling off his tongue. Nope, focus on the task at hand.

“Look, I don’t want to freak you out, but I get the impression you didn’t have to think much about your safety growing up,” he hedged.

“You would be correct,” Sophie acknowledged. “I’ve never seen anything bad happen in my hometown, even, let alone my neighborhood.”

“What about college? Surely you had to learn some basics at college.”

“I, uh, lived at home and commuted,” Sophie admitted, biting her lip as if that was something to be ashamed of.

“Good way to save money, I imagine,” Sam commented with a smile. Sophie just nodded, but said no more.

“Okay. Here’s the deal, Sophie. You don’t live in a safe neighborhood. In fact, you live in the worst neighborhood in Williamson.” He paused a minute while she winced and chewed her lip again. “Surely you’ve heard the sirens and noticed the frequency of the police driving through your neighborhood or even having to come into this building.”

“I have,” she whispered.

“I’d hate for you to go blithely through your days thinking it will never happen to you and then find yourself the victim of a crime that could have been avoided.” Another wince, but she glanced up and nodded. “I’ll go through a few things right now, but could we get together again and talk about personal safety some more, please?”

Sophie’s brow furrowed, and she hesitated before speaking.

“You’d do that? Why?”

Sam couldn’t help smiling. “I don’t like the idea of you being hurt,” he finally settled on saying. Confusion was written all over Sophie’s face before she blanked her expression and nodded.

“All right. What do I need to know?”

Find all the parts of this story here.

Chapter 2: Let’s Dance

Part 3: Sam

Sam had actually been a little glad to get a call on Friday night, especially this one. He could live without the drunk and disorderly calls at 2am. A noise complaint at 8:45 was probably not a big deal. Maybe some teenagers being obnoxious.

His curiosity and concern grew when he realized the address was a random building along the riverfront. This stretch had mostly warehouses and closed-for-the-weekend offices. Who was actually bothered by any noise here, now?

The specific warehouse in question was surrounded by dark buildings. No vehicles were parked in the neighboring lots, no pedestrians wandered. The closest restaurant was a quarter mile away. The whole block would have looked deserted if it weren’t for lights on in a warehouse, and a handful of cars parked behind it, along the river.

Sam brought his vehicle to a stop in front of the warehouse. He wondered briefly if he should call for backup with that many vehicles. He decided to just scope out the situation before making that decision. He called in that he was exiting his vehicle, ensuring the handheld radio clipped to his shoulder was on and functioning.

He walked along the side of the building, counting five cars and a motorcycle. He reported that to the dispatcher. He could barely make out the sound of voices coming from the warehouse, and definitely not the loud music the caller had complained about.

When he reached the rear of the building, he stopped short at the sound of the door opening. He paused in the shadows and watched.

A slender figure dressed in black, with a long light-brown ponytail hanging over her shoulder, stuck her head out the door.

“Officer Harrison? Is that you?” she called just above a whisper.

Sam ground his teeth. Not that he wasn’t happy to see the shy little brunette that had been randomly popping into his thoughts this week – but didn’t she have the good sense not to be in a sketchy place in the dark, and then go poking her head out the door when she wasn’t sure who was out there? Between this and her choice of residence, Sam was beginning to think God had brought them together just so he could give her a stern talking-to.

“Miss Lane,” he greeted as he stepped into the watery light by the back door. “What brings you here?”

Upon closer inspection, he noticed she looked a little flushed and had a sheen of sweat on her face. She opened the door wider for him and stepped back into the building. He entered and stood to the side of the door, taking in a quiet group of adults dressed in comfortable exercise clothing, all staring at him.

“We’re, uh, dancing,” she replied with a shrug.

Dancing? In a warehouse on a Friday night?

“Why not go to a club?” he asked. He watched Sophie swallow hard, her eyes darting to her – were they friends? – acquaintances and back to him.

“We, um… we do our own choreography,” she finally stammered.

“You’re a dancer? Like, ballet?” Sam couldn’t stop the surprise in his voice.

“Not ballet, but yes. Contemporary dance. Or hip-hop. Stuff like that.”

Sam noticed Sophie was avoiding eye contact with him. Was she guilty of a crime? Embarrassed about her dancing? Flat-out lying about what she’s doing here?

“Someone called the police reporting loud music coming from this building. I assume you play music when you dance.” He paused and waited for her to nod. “How loud?”

“May I?” she gestured to a phone sitting on top of a portable speaker.

“Please.”

Sophie approached the phone, tapped a few times, and music filled the space. He didn’t recognize the song, but he did note that the volume wasn’t unreasonable. Someone walking down the sidewalk probably wouldn’t have been able to hear enough to know who the singer was, let alone be annoyed by the volume.

“Thank you. You can turn it off now,” he said after about 30 seconds. She did so and turned to face him.

“Am I in trouble?” she asked. He found it interesting that she singled herself out. He’d bet this week’s paycheck she wanted to protect her friends from any fallout of the noise complaint.

“No. I’ll take down your names and contact information just in case, and ask you to disperse for tonight.” Then a thought occurred to him. “Do you have permission to be here?”

He knew the small warehouse was owned by a man name Edbridge. What connection could Sophie Lane have to him?

“I do,” she insisted, her eyes flaring a little. “I can show you the emails.”

“Let me take down your friends’ names first, then we can go over that.” Sam’s tone brooked no argument, even though he knew from experience none of these people wanted their names in any kind of police report. He had no idea what was going on here, but the fact that someone called in a noise complaint on people who weren’t being all that loud had his suspicions running. He was looking forward to picking the lieutenant’s brain on this one.

With a surprisingly low amount of grumbling, he recorded the names, addresses, and phone numbers of Sophie’s ten friends. She stood by quietly as they packed up and left, offering not even a farewell. She had put on a thick cardigan and wrapped her arms around her waist. To be fair, she was probably cold, having worked up a sweat dancing before standing around for half an hour in an unheated warehouse. As was common for the spring, once the sun set, all the warmth in the air disappeared.

“I’ll message you later,” the one named Amy promised with a squeeze to Sophie’s hand as she left. Sophie just nodded and watched her leave. She finally turned back to Sam with sorrow in her eyes and apprehension on her face.

“Can you show me those emails, please?” Sam prompted. Business first, then he would at least make sure Sophie got home safely. Maybe even start that talking-to about her ridiculous safety choices…

“Right.” Sophie reached for the phone again, and, after tapping a few times, handed it over. He accepted the small iPhone in a floral case – how very Sophie – and skimmed the messages. Seems she had gone to the trouble of identifying the warehouse owner via property records, then found his email through social media. Resourceful girl, he noted, even if she wasn’t street-smart.

“Would you be willing to forward those emails to me for my records?” he asked, handing the phone back. Edbridge had given her explicit permission to use the warehouse for dance rehearsal, on this specific day and time. He’d even included instructions for the lights and the code for the door.

“Um…” Sophie hesitated, her brow furrowing. “I guess so.”

“Thanks.” Sam rattled off his department email, and she fired off the message. He confirmed receiving it before pocketing his phone.

“Now.” He waited for her to look at him. “I’m going to follow you home to make sure you get there in one piece, and we’re going to have a little chat about your choices.”

Find all the parts of this story here.

Chapter 2: Let’s Dance

Part 2: Sophie

Right on time, a knock sounded on the warehouse’s back door.

“Come on in!” Sophie called out. She turned to see Gray and Amy Shachar arriving. Sophie had connected with the unexpected husband and wife duo at Mt. Olive, of all places, and they had all quickly bonded over their love of dance.

Gray was build like a linebacker, all big muscles and tough-guy persona. Amy stood a full foot shorter than Gray, and had a very huggable curvy figure. Her bubbly personality matched. Amy was everyone’s friend. Gray didn’t talk much. How they ever managed to find each other and fall in love was anybody’s guess, but it was plain as the nose on Sophie’s face that they were devoted to each other, heart and soul. She was aware enough to admit that someday, she’d like a relationship like that, too.

Amy greeted her with her usual bouncy hug and proliferation of words.

“Hi, D! So good to see you. How was your week? Did you get to do the ride-along your boss mentioned?” She paused half a second for Sophie to nod before plowing onward. “Ooh, I bet that was so fun! Who’d they pair you with? Was he cute?”

Could the floor open up and swallow Sophie right now, please? No?

“Hi, Amy. It’s good to see you, too. And hi, Gray.” Gray spared her a smile and nod, but said nothing. He was changing out of his motorcycle boots and into shoes better suited to dance.

“I’m so excited for this round! We took too long of a break. What song are we doing this time?” Amy’s words bounded out of her mouth like an over-eager jackrabbit.

Before Sophie could get in a word edgewise, more people spilled through the open door.

“D! It’s been a minute. Glad we’re going again,” Lee Hood greeted her enthusiastically. The Asian man was at least 15 years older and only came up to Sophie’s chin, same as Amy, but he was slender and shockingly flexible. She wondered if he had been a gymnast at one point, but she purposefully didn’t ask a lot of questions. They came to dance, not be interrogated, even if a big corner of her heart yearned to be actual friends with some of them.

“Hi, Lee. Thanks for coming,” Sophie accepted his handshake, then turned a slightly wary gaze to the stranger behind Lee.

Newcomers are always welcome, she had to remind herself.

“Hello,” she extended a hand to the shy-looking woman behind Lee. Sophie took in a halo of golden ringlets surrounding big brown eyes, legs a mile long like a ballerina. “My name is Sophie. You’ll also hear people call me D,” she introduced herself.

“The Dragoness, right?” the slender blond asked in a quiet, high voice. Sophie just nodded. She hadn’t chosen the moniker, but rather one of the other dancers (no one remembered exactly who anymore) had given it to her when they did the third Imagine Dragons song in a row. So she had a favorite band?

The name had grown into a thing of its own, however. Now the Facebook group she used to organize rehearsals was called The Dancing Dragoness, as if it were some fantasy pub in Neverland. For Christmas, Gray and Amy had gotten her a custom mask in black, burnt orange, and copper, with a dragon’s tail curling around her temple. She loved it, and loved them for their support. The name, she could give or take. She did enjoy how mysterious it made her feel, but hated too much attention.

“I’m Everett Barstow,” the sweet little voice spoke.

“I’m glad you came, Everett.” She tried to commit the woman’s name to memory. Everyone put in so much time and effort that she wanted to at least give them the respect of remembering who they were.

In short order, half a dozen other people filed in – Ryan, Paige, Jennifer, Oliver, Cori, and Brenda. She had opted for a shorter timeframe, which unfortunately left some of the less experienced dancers concerned about learning the routine in time. As much as she tried to reassure them, there was never any pressure to join. They would have three Friday night practices and then perform in a month.

11 dancers total. Her mind began spinning with options for adjusting the numbers. 13 had committed besides her, so she’d choreographed for 14, but it wasn’t unusual for some to back out. She’d message the missing three people later to see if they still wanted in.

“So, D, what’ve you got for us this time?” Lee rubbed his hands together gleefully. Ha! Lee, glee. Sophie mentally shook herself and resisted a smile.

“We’re going to do an abridged version of Big Dreams by The Score,” Sophie announced. Clapping and whooping sounded from some of the people, the ones who clearly knew and liked the song.

“I’ll let the song run through twice, then we’ll get into particulars. I’ve cut out one verse to keep the performance closer to two minutes.”

“Aww, man, but it’s such a goooood song!” Lee enthused. This time, Sophie didn’t cover her smile.

“I heartily agree, which is why I want to do part of it justice in the month we have instead of a halfway job with the whole song,” she explained.

“I suppose,” Lee said, scuffing the ground with his toe like a little kid.

“Ready?” Sophie moved on. A few nods and murmurs of agreement later, she pressed play.

At first, almost everyone gazed around the room, eyes not focused on the surroundings as they took in the song. By the second chorus, though, heads were nodding, feet were moving, hands were tapping out rhythm on thighs. Sophie felt at home with these people, because they all had something in common: music moved them. They didn’t just hear sound in their heads. They heard music with their arms and legs, felt it in their hearts and let it flow out their limbs. The music itself told a story that begged to be shared.

This song in particular demanded something dramatic – Big Dreams needed big movements, strong formations. In Sophie’s mind, when she closed her eyes and felt the music, it made her want to lift her arms and her face to the sky, which told her a lot about what direction to take her choreography.

She had planned the whole dance before tonight and rehearsed it at home from each dancer’s perspective. Even with that knowledge, nothing would beat finally seeing the group come together as a whole.

After the second time through, Sophie began giving directions to groups of dancers, walking them through their steps.

“Okay, I’ve marked starting positions in green.” She pointed out small pieces of green masking tape on the floor. “We’ll begin with two rows in a rough semicircle. Most of this routine will be in a sort of call-and-response fashion between the left and right sides. Basically, envision one side as the singer,” she paused and gestured to the people on her right,”and the other side as the dreams he chases.” Now she looked to those on her left and waited for them to nod.

“If at any point you feel so inclined, singing is definitely encouraged,” she added with a smile. Several of the dancers grinned back.

“Okay. The opening sentence is an 8-count. Singers,” she pointed right,”you’ll have to dash out first. By the end of the first 5 beats, I want you in this position.” She demonstrated a pose facing the other half of the semicircle, feet spread wide, one hand down at her side and the other stretched out as if reaching for the dancers opposite.

“Then dreams, you’ll have that five count to get in place and then use the 3-count of your words to call out, like this.” She turned around to match their position, facing the ‘singer’ side, cupping her hands around her mouth as if shouting, and leaned forward.
“Good?” She waited for confirmation in the form of everyone in position. Then, she worked through more of the song, 8-count by 8-count. Amy, the most experienced dancer besides Sophie, offered some suggestions for adjustments as they went along, as well.

It took half an hour before everyone had the first verse and chorus down. She was so happy with their progress and how well the small group worked together and with the music. They all took a water break, talking about the piece and the details of the performance time & location.

“Hey, D?” came Amy’s voice from the front of the warehouse, but it sounded strangely tight. Sophie walked up.

“Were you expecting company?”

Amy lifted a stubby little finger and pointed to a vehicle sitting out front. Sophie squinted in the dim lighting and was just able to make out the city’s police force logo on the side of the black car.

Her stomach dropped when a familiar blond man’s head appeared.

Find all the parts of this story here.

Chapter 2: Let’s Dance

Part 1: Sophie

Friday night brought with it a sense of the exhale – walking out of work knowing she had made good progress, her fridge was bare but cleaned in anticipation of Saturday morning’s shopping, and best of all, it was dance night.

Sophie could barely suppress her grin as she bid her coworkers farewell, climbed into her well-loved little Ford Focus, and drove not towards home, but to the warehouse she had secured for this week’s rehearsal. It sat just a mile from her apartment building. She had scouted the place, and then found the owners in the city records. The process made her feel like an investigative journalist. The man who owned the warehouse only used about half of it to store product for his wife’s online home goods store. He’d had no problem unofficially subletting some space to her for the evening. After tonight, she’d decide if she wanted it again.

She parked in the back lot, noticing a lack of lighting that made her a little nervous. A few deep breaths carried her across the lot to the back door. Mr. Edbridge, the owner, had given her a code to the back door and told her how to turn the lights on. Thankfully that included an exterior light next to the door – although that still meant she’d have to turn the light out to walk to her car. She shivered a little at the thought, then pushed it aside with a reminder of the presence of her pepper spray.

The door creaked ominously – of course – and the lights buzzed while they slowly came to life. 1987 called and they want their creepy warehouse back, Sophie thought. She set her speaker in the corner and turned it on, then changed out of her work clothes and into black leggings and a soft black oversized t-shirt in the little corner restroom. Flexible, thin-soled dance shoes and a ponytail completed her look.

A glance at her phone told her she still had two hours before the posted rehearsal start time. She had a plan for every one of those 120 minutes, just like she had a plan for every minute of their rehearsal.

Step one: food. An apple and peanut butter, whole wheat crackers, and a few cubes of her favorite expensive cheddar (who knew Wisconsin had such amazing cheese?! This warm-blooded Arizona girl had definitely been missing out.) filled her belly for the night to come.

Step two: call Dad while warming up, also known as pacing clockwise circles around the warehouse.

“Hey, sweetie-pie. How was your week?” her dad’s comforting voice rumbled easily over 1,600 miles of distance to warm her heart.

“Hi, Dad,” she breathed. “I miss you.” The words escaped before she was ready for them, and a few tears made a sneaky showing.

“Oh, sweetie-pie, I miss you, too,” he crooned. Not helping, Dad! More traitorous tears snaked down her cheeks, and she swiped at them angrily.

“Do you get a spring break?” her dad asked with an edge of laughter in his voice.

“Aww, man, I wish,” she answered with a smile. Thank you, Lord, for Dad’s good humor to lighten the situation.

“Dance class tonight?” he asked to redirect her yet again. Now she swallowed back guilt.

“Yup,” was all she could answer.

“I’m so glad you’re keeping up with your dancing, sweetie-pie,” he commented. “Anything good at work this week?”

A certain golden-haired young police officer’s face drifted into her mind, and she felt the blush warming her cheeks.

“Uh, yeah, actually. Remember me telling you about the project to revamp Williamson’s marketing?”

“Sure do! A big project. It’ll be good for your career, right?”

God bless her dad, ever trying to be part of and understand his kid’s lives. Pete Lane was a blue-collar plumber, but also a small business owner. His understanding of marketing extended only as far as the check he wrote – yes, physical check – to the lady from church who did some social media ads for him on occasion. Her dad avoided computers like the plague, and only caved to a cell phone when Sophie’s older brother Jonathan had moved out of state. No texting, though – phone calls only.

“It will, yes. I’m only doing part of the project. Almost everyone at my firm has a piece of the pie. My boss asked me and one of my coworkers to focus on the emergency services in town. This week, I got to do a ride-along with a police officer,” Sophie explained, feeling a bit like a kindergartener telling her daddy about a field trip.
Okay, so maybe her dad was as far removed from her ripe age of 23 as she was from kindergarten… Would she ever actually feel like an adult?

“Wow, sweetie-pie,” Dad replied, and she sensed a strange tone. He paused before continuing. “Was that safe?”

Aha. Oh, Dad. Nope, she definitely did not feel like an adult, and she was doubly thankful her family would never see the apartment she lived in before her lease was up.

“Yes, Dad.” She barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes by turning around and pacing in counter-clockwise circles. “The nature of a ride-along is that there was an officer there at all times. I was probably safer than normal.”

“Hmm,” was all Dad would say.

“Besides, his only two calls were for a broken window and a stalled vehicle. Nothing nefarious, I promise.”

“If you say so. How was that supposed to help your project?”

“I got to interview him while he worked, and see our police force in action. It gave me ideas for how to present our police force to both our current citizens and to people who might visit or even move here. I know you’re not a computer person, Dad, but a lot of other folks are. The city’s current website does a terrible job of promoting emergency services. If I was moving to Williamson again, I’d be much happier with the new website options we’re developing. It gives people a better idea of the presence of the police as a community service, as part of the fabric of the town instead of a random auxiliary group that only shows up when things are really bad. It was enlightening and surprisingly enjoyable.”

Her dad didn’t say anything for several moments, leaving Sophie fighting not to hold her breath as she paced. She forced herself to sit on the floor and do some light stretching.

“I’m glad it was a productive day for you,” he finally said. “Maybe I’ll have Mom show me when it’s done.”

Warmth spread from the smile on her face into her torso and all the way to her toes.
“I’d like that, Dad,” she replied.

“Well,” he said somewhat gruffly, clearly choked up a little by her emotion. “Gotta keep tabs on you. Now, this officer…”

“Dad,” she warned, dragging his name out to several syllables.

“Sophie,” Dad replied in kind, making her laugh.

“Fine. Yes, he is handsome. He actually recommended a church to me,” she offered.

“Not some modern, spineless stuff, I hope?”

Sophie couldn’t help laughing. “Not at all. You know I haven’t enjoyed Mt. Olive.” Her dad gave an indistinct grumble of agreement. They had talked at length about the practices and preaching at Mt. Olive, never finding anything doctrinally wrong, exactly, but also never feeling entirely comfortable with it. “He goes to a more traditional Lutheran church in the next town over. Same synod.”

“Really.” Dad sounded surprised and, maybe, a little impressed?

“Really,” Sophie concurred. “I’m going to visit this weekend, see if I like it. They have two services, even, so I can go to late church like I always wanted to.”

“There’s my sweetie-pie, sleeping until noon,” Dad teased.

“Yup!” Sophie agreed cheerfully.

“You’ll call Sunday afternoon?” Dad requested. “Tell Mom and I all about it?”

“Of course. You’ll be the first to know.”

“Thanks, sweetie-pie. Have fun at dance tonight.”

She winced a little at the deception. “I will, Dad. I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetie-pie.”

Read Part 1.1 here
Read Part 1.2 here
Read Part 1.3 here

Chapter 1: The Ride-Along

Part 4: Sophie

Sophie wanted to know what had happened, but kept her silence while Sam talked on the radio. She heard some more random sets of numbers, and it felt just like the cop shows she enjoyed watching on TV. It was a secret language for a secret club, and she got to snoop, just like Harriet the Spy.

She was surprised when Sam turned to her and gave her a quick rundown about a box of batteries and a nervous teenager. She couldn’t help but smile sympathetically – the poor boy must have been terrified. But, as Nanna would say, all’s well that ends well. Hopefully the young man learned his lessons of both taking care and being honest.

Sam started driving around the neighborhood again, including a loop past her apartment building.

“Do you like living there?” he asked.

Shock at the personal question when she had been trying to get her mind back on work left her speechless for a moment.

“I don’t dislike it,” she finally settled on responding.

“Hmm,” was all Sam said. She studied her iPad and picked a question.

“What made you decide to be a police officer?”

He actually looked surprised by the question.

“What? Nobody’s asked you that before?” she prompted.

“I mean, sure, they have. Just not in a while. I’ve been an officer for almost 5 years. Also, what does this have to do with the city’s marketing?”

“Why people do what they do is, to me, an essential component of capturing the heart of whatever it is I’m trying to present.”

“Isn’t marketing all about buffing and polishing something to perfection?” Sam argued.

Sophie couldn’t resist a smile. “Not to me. Marketing is about showing people your best side, which should always be truthful. Since I’m marketing humans, there’s no perfection involved.”

“In that case…” Sam paused, seeming to gather his thoughts. “I became a police officer because my grandfather spoke highly of his years on the force. I liked the idea of hard work for an important, honorable cause. I like serving God and my community in my work.”

Sophie’s head snapped up. “You’re a Christian?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sam replied with quiet sincerity. His warm voice sent little tingles down her spine.

“Me, too,” she offered up.

“Yeah? Where do you go to church?”

“Uh, currently Mt. Calvary, but…” she hesitated.

“But what?” Sam prompted.

“It’s not the right fit for me,” she finally finished.

“Why not?” No judgment, just curiosity. Huh.

“I’m, uh…” She squirmed a little, then forced herself to be still. “I’m not a fan of the worship style. Contemporary music. Changing the liturgy all the time.”

“I understand. I’m the same way. I go to Bethel Lutheran over New Albany. It’s only a 20-minute drive. You’re welcome to come sometime,” Sam offered with a little shrug.

“Thank you. I’ll look it up.” She cleared her throat. “Can I ask more questions now?”

“By all means,” Sam replied with mock graciousness, bringing another smile. He really was a nice guy to be around.

“What do you like least about your job?” Ooh, this was one of her favorite things to ask people. It revealed so much, and she waited with great anticipation to hear his answer.

“Easy. Paperwork.”

She couldn’t contain a little snort at that. How very predictable.

“What’s one step better than paperwork but still unpleasant?”

“Aw, man, that’s not fair. I don’t have an answer ready,” he groused.

“Good. That means you spend more time focused on the good than the bad. But I still want an answer if you have one.”

A comfortable silence descended on the car, interrupted by the sounds of life happening outside the open windows. Sophie cued into birds chirping in one of the huge, old trees in the boulevard, a couple of other cars driving down the street, and the loud laughter of two women on a front porch. It felt cozy and homey, and made Sophie want to climb out of the car and just breath in the air.

“I thought I was going to choose the hard calls, the ones that get under my skin and just make me sick at the evil in the world. But I think it’s actually listening to coworkers complain. I love my job, even on the ugly days, and it makes me sad when my colleagues lose sight of the great privilege we have,” Sam spoke out of the blue.

Sophie hurried to scribble some notes on her iPad as she listened. His words gave voice to the pride and responsibility he felt in his role. Slightly ashamed, Sophie realized that this was really the first time she had thought about police officers as individual humans, not cookie cutter robots filling a mold, devoid of personality. Clearly, Sam was a person, with relatives and opinions and a life outside of his job.

Did he see her as a robot, too? Probably not. He would encounter so many different people in his job that he was likely much more self-aware than she was. She felt every year of that age gap pretty strongly right this moment.

She cleared her throat – again – she really needed to stop doing that – and looked back at her question list.

“And what do you like most about your job?” she asked.

“Mmm… So many things,” Sam mused. “I like being able to help people, making friends in the community, learning new skills. I think every police officer has to like the satisfaction of getting the bad guys off the streets.”

“Of course,” Sophie agreed. What little kid hadn’t played some version of cops & robbers? That thought prompted a sudden stab of longing for her family, which she ruthlessly shoved back in the heart-box labeled “Later”.

Over the course of the next several hours, Sam responded to just one more call, this time a stalled vehicle blocking an intersection. She watched him masterfully direct traffic, then, with the help of a few bystanders, push the car through the intersection to the side of the road. He stayed with the woman driving the car until the tow truck came. All the while, Sophie jotted down her reflections – professionalism, attention to detail, competence, calm, good attitude. Her brain was already whirling with ideas about how she would like to present the police force to the community and to people who might visit or consider moving here.

All in all, today had been very productive on two fronts: she had obtained a treasure trove of data to inform and support her work, and she had found out about a church that just might suit her. She refused to think about the potential for a friendship. She knew she was just here for a job, and Sam would sooner be rid of her than befriend her. Not for the first time in the last 8 months, she wished she was better at making friends. Today, her heart felt lonely.

Keep reading! Part 2.1 can be found here on 2/28/25.

Read Part 1.1 here
Read Part 1.2 here

Chapter 1: The Ride-Along

Part 3: Sam

Sam was about to respond when his radio beeped, then the dispatcher’s voice filled the car.

“Report of a 10-33 at 2200 Elm convenience store,” came the crisp female voice.
Sam picked up his radio. “Show 793 responding 10-12.” He gave the code for visitors present, alerting the dispatcher to be careful what she said to him over the radio. A security alarm going off at a corner store could be a problem, but was more than likely a false alarm. It seemed a safe thing to bring Sophie along, as long as she stayed in the vehicle until he made sure the scene was safe.

He glanced over at her, sitting motionless in the passenger seat. At least she no longer looked as stiff as a board. Maybe she, like him, needed something to focus on to get through painful social interactions. Sometimes it stunk, being so introverted. Chit-chat was not his forte.

“There’s an alarm going off at the convenience store,” he explained.

“Oh. That doesn’t sound good,” she replied with a furrowed brow and a nearly reverent tone.

“Could be nothing,” Sam shrugged. “Have you been there?”

“Sure, all the time. It’s nice to not have to go all the way to midtown when I just need a few things.”

“For this call, you’ll remain in the vehicle until I tell you otherwise. Understood?” Sam tried to keep a gentle tone, even though his words were rather harsh.

“I understand,” she said softly. “I don’t want to get in your way.”

With that, Sam pulled into the tiny parking lot behind the corner store and parked the cruiser near the back door. He got out with a little pang of something like regret. This was the first time he’d had a non-relative ride along with him, and it didn’t feel good leaving her in the car. At least she was in the front and could get out if needed.

What was he thinking? She lived in this neighborhood. She’d be fine. He physically shook his head to clear those thoughts as he walked in the front door and scanned the occupants of the room.

Two shoppers stood just inside the front door as though trying to decide if the alarm meant something or not. A young Hispanic man was at the register ringing up an elderly man’s purchases. The older man looked unbothered, while the young man was fidgeting – definitely ill at ease.

The owner, Raquel Ruiz, approached from the back room. Sam had met him several times before. He was tall and rail-thin, with dark hair that was slowly graying from the temples. He was always bursting with energy and life – and right now, with worry.

“Officer Harrison! Thank you for coming. I don’t know what happened, but it won’t let me turn off test mode, so I know something triggered the actual alarm…” Raquel chattered as he led Sam to the back room where Raquel’s desk and the alarm panel were tucked in a corner behind back-stock of nonperishables.

“See? It’s not the test light blinking,” Raquel pointed. Sure enough, it wasn’t, and when Sam squinted in the dim lighting, the code scrolling across the alarm panel’s tiny display was that of a tripped alarm on a window.

“Looks like someone opened a window somewhere, Raquel,” Sam reported. Raquel frowned and rubbed his chin, then took off like a jackrabbit examining all the windows in the back room.

“Here!” he yelled, before Sam had finished silencing the alarm. Sam joined Raquel and examined the broken window. It was cracked in a spiderweb outward from a central impact point.

Scanning the area, Sam noticed a plastic crate full of batteries on the floor near the window. Bending down, it was obvious one corner of the crate was cracked, and a piece had broken off.

“Raquel? I think this is your culprit,” he pointed. Raquel squatted and muttered something in Spanish.

“I will speak to Migo about this,” he said as he rose, a severe expression on his face. Sam tamped down his amusement.

Sam followed an angry Raquel back out into the store, noting the elderly man had left, and the two gawking shoppers by the door were now filling baskets. The young man at the checkout counter – Migo, apparently – was sweating profusely. He began to speak rapidly as they approached.

“Mr. Ruiz, I am so sorry about the window,” he gasped on a breath. Raquel held up his hand, quickly silencing the boy.

“Why did you say nothing?” he demanded harshly. Migo’s lower lip trembled for a minute before he raised his chin and put his shoulders back.

“I was ashamed and afraid. I am sorry.”

Sam was proud of the boy for admitting the truth. He left Raquel and Migo to work out the particulars of whether the window would come out of Migo’s pay or not and headed back to the car.

Keep reading! Part 1.4 can be found here on 2/25/25.

Read Part 1.1 here

Chapter 1: The Ride-Along

Part 2: Sophie

“Tell me about your typical day, Officer Harrison,” Sophie launched into her first question as soon as Sam sat down. She felt so awkward about this whole thing, and her only saving grace would be focusing on the work. While she waited for him to answer, she pulled her trusty iPad and Apple pencil out of her book bag. She opened it to the notes page with her questions for today and prepared to write.

“Oh. Sure. At the beginning of our shift, we check in with either our sergeant or the lieutenant.” Sophie scribbled a note to ask about those rankings. “We learn about anything major that happened recently that we need to be aware of.”

Sophie noticed Sam paused a lot, as though giving her an opportunity to jump in. She fought a little smile that wanted to escape. She prided herself on being a good listener; she wouldn’t dare interrupt.

“Then we get our patrol assignments, which are usually the same thing.”
When she finished writing notes, Sophie waited a minute, but he didn’t continue. “Do you mean that you typically have the same route or list of tasks day-to-day, or multiple officers doing the same assignment?”

“Same route. And I guess the same tasks, but it’s really just one – keep an eye out and answer calls. So maybe two tasks. I have an area that I drive around.” He paused again, and Sophie waited.

“Some guys drive the exact same route through their patrol area. I think it helps them notice things that are out of place. I like to take a different route each day, so that I see the neighborhood from a different perspective. It also means I’m never in the same place at the same time two days in a row, preventing criminals from predicting my behavior and using that to their advantage.”

Sophie nodded and jotted in her own personal shorthand of sorts on the iPad. She rarely wrote down direct quotes, preferring to keep the gist of things on paper and the flow of the conversation in real life moving.

“On average do you respond more to calls or things you see personally while you’re out on patrol?”

“I would say more calls. People here are good about calling 911.”

Hmm. Good? That was unexpected. She’d have to chew on that thought. Sophie just assumed it was a bad thing if you had to call 911.

“What sorts of things will you end up doing? I assume you don’t stay in your vehicle all day.”

“Oh, a bunch of different things. Some days it’s boring. Maybe a traffic ticket or report of a break-in or theft.” Sophie shuddered. That was boring? Man, she had a lot to learn to master this assignment, but for now, she needed to focus, since Sam had continued speaking. “Some days there are fender-benders or even major accidents. Very rarely will we have something significant like armed robbery.”

She scribbled down some notes, preparing to ask about the police rankings, when Sam surprised her by turning the tables.

“Am I allowed to ask questions, too? I’d like to know more about this project you’re doing.”

His mellow voice lulled even as the content of his speech caused a hitch in her heart rate. Sophie excelled behind a computer, molding other people’s words and jobs and products into something beautiful and desirable. Talking to those other people about herself? Not her strong suit.

Work. Focus on the work.

“The company I work for, Jordan Designs, won a bid from the city council to update the city’s marketing. We’ll be touching everything from the website to the banners downtown, fliers in shops… Um, what else?” She drummed her fingers on her leg.

“How does that bring you here?” Sam asked.

“My boss assigned me this part of the project. I’m to collect data about the police department via interviews and this ride-along, then work with my team on the police department’s portion of the city rebranding.”

“I take it this is more than just a new font and colors, huh?” Sam gave a half-smile.

Sophie appreciated his attempt at understanding her job. “Yes, it is. New slogan and taglines, new graphics, and yes, new colors and fonts.”

Sophie glanced out the window and realized with a jolt that –

“This is my neighborhood!” she exclaimed in a half-whisper.

“It’s also my patrol area,” Sam supplied.

She had no idea how to feel about this. Her first reaction was a sense of injustice, but she knew not at what. That he knew where she lived? That he hadn’t told her when she mentioned her building? That she was somehow supposed to observe him in action on her own turf?

Except it didn’t feel like her turf. 8 months hadn’t been enough to make this area feel like home. Most days she went straight from work to her apartment and locked the doors.

Well, when she wasn’t out doing… other things.

She decided to keep all her thoughts to herself and refocus on her list of questions.
“Can you explain the hierarchy at the police station? You’ve mentioned a sergeant and a lieutenant,” she prompted.

He gave a nod. “Officers report to sergeants, sergeants report to lieutenants, lieutenants report to the captain. Captain runs the station, or precinct. There are 4 precincts in Williamson. The four captains report to the chief. Bigger cities have more layers between the captains and the chief, like maybe commanders or deputy chiefs. We’re small enough that we don’t need a bunch of managers. The chief has an assistant, and that’s about it.”

Sophie’s head was spinning faster than her fingers could move the digital pencil. Her notes looked like a barely-legible version of “off-sgt-lt-cap-chf”.

“So let me get this straight. You are an officer. So your boss is a sergeant?”

“Sort of. I mean, technically, yes, but my sergeant is also a detective, and more often than not he’s out doing his own thing. So the lieutenant is the one who briefs us at the beginning of shift and gives out assignments like this one.”

“Stuck with me by the grandboss, huh?” she smiled in a rare joking moment. Where had that come from?

He chuckled. “My enthusiasm must be obvious.”

Now she laughed out loud. “Very few people are enthusiastic about talking to a marketer unless they asked for it. I’ve heard the mayor was very receptive to my boss’s interview and suggestions, but I certainly don’t expect that response from everyone.”

“You expect people to dislike you?” He frowned, but she didn’t understand why.

“Sure,” she shrugged. “Comes with the job sometimes. I imagine it’s the same for you.”

Keep reading! Part 1.3 can be found here on 2/21/25.

We’re starting a new story today! I can’t tell you whether it’s more of a short story, a short novel, or a full-length novel, because I haven’t written all of it yet. So we will get to find out together. 🙂

Chapter 1: The Ride-Along

Part 1: Sam

Officer Sam Harrison glared at his offending laptop screen. This had to be a joke. He scoured the email header in hopes of finding an errant email address, but no such luck. It was actually from his boss’s account. Unbelievable.

“Harrison!” barked said boss, Lt. Mike Lehrer, from across the room. Sam jumped to his feet, shut his laptop none too gently, and strode into the lieutenant’s office.

“You see my email?” Lehrer spoke before Sam had crossed the threshold.

“Yes, sir.” Oh, how he wanted to object, but he knew he couldn’t argue and maintain the LT’s respect.

“Good. Report to the front desk. She’ll ride with you until 2p.m. Dismissed.”

Sam gritted his teeth and left the office, detouring to the vending machines before he went out front. He needed a minute, and maybe a Snickers. If second breakfast was a good thing for Sam Gamgee, it was good enough for Sam Harrison.

He finished the last swallow of the candy bar just before he reached the front desk. Seated in one of the visitor’s chairs – nasty, hard plastic things he wouldn’t touch with a 10-foot pole – was a tall, slender young woman wearing an ill-fitting gray suit coat and matching skirt with a plain white shirt underneath. Her hair, a nondescript brown, was twisted into a tight bun at the back of her neck. All she needed was a pair of glasses to look like a dowdy old librarian, Sam thought with a barely-contained grin.

“Sophie Lane?” he called as he stepped around the desk. Her head snapped back to look at him, the movement so quick she nearly cracked her head on the wall. She stood, stiff and straight, and offered a hand. Sam shook it and noted with mild surprise that she had a strong grip – for a skinny girl.

“I’m Sam Harrison. You’ll be riding with me today,” he introduced himself.

“Pleased to meet you, Officer Harrison,” she replied in a clear soprano voice. Huh. He liked her voice. Didn’t want to like anything about her, but there you go.

“You can follow me out to the car,” he said, waiting for her to grab her book bag before turning and walking out the front doors.

At least it was a beautiful spring day, unseasonably warm for the Midwest. He could roll the windows down and enjoy the fresh air. After the miserably long winter they’d had, they were due a nice spring. 50 degrees in late March? Yes, please.

Sophie pulled a lightweight down jacket out of her book bag and slipped it on as they walked to the cruiser. He supposed she didn’t have enough meat on her bones to stay warm. And why was he thinking about her body? Nope. Back to the weather. Or something else innocuous.

He cleared his throat. “So, do you live in the area?”

“I do. The Maple building on 5th.”

Sam knew the building well. He patrolled that area roughly three times a week. It was on the south edge of town, in a neighborhood that had seen better days several decades ago. Now most of the single-family homes there were owned by rental companies, the larger homes had been divided into multi-family dwellings, and the apartment buildings boasted cheap rent and appliances from 1982.

He took a glance at Sophie’s left hand, clutched tightly around her book bag strap. She was on her own? He frowned at that thought. He wouldn’t want a sister of his living in a neighborhood like that. He told himself it was purely platonic concern – he was responsible for the safety of the residents of Williamson, after all. Still, it didn’t sit well in his stomach, imagining her coming home to the Maple building in the dark of winter.

“How long have you lived there?” he asked next. Maybe she grew up in the neighborhood. That would change the dynamic.

“Since last July.”

There went that idea.

Woman of few words. How was he supposed to spend five hours driving around with a lady who barely put two words together? Ugh. He liked Lt. Lehrer’s idea even less at this point than he had when he first saw the email.

Arriving at the cruiser provided a brief respite. He opened the door for her and told her to keep her bag on the floor at her feet. There wasn’t a lot of spare room in a police cruiser, but she tucked herself in just fine. Sam walked around the car, blew out a breath, and climbed in behind the wheel.

Keep reading! Part 1.2 can be found here on 2/18/25.