Chapter Text
“Good evening officer, uh… One of our students, Mark Heathcliff, uh- he’s been absent for the past couple days without any reason, no phone calls from parents, no doctors’ excuse… And we don’t have any apparent emergency contacts on file for him… If you could have someone pay a visit to, uhm… Uh- three w—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-avenue and make sure everything’s alright, it would be much appreciated. Oh, and if someone could try to get the contact info for whoever answers the door, that would be much appreciated… Uh, thank you, have a nice night.”
The woman’s voice flows through Lieutenant Thatcher Davis’s ears, pleasant and soothing yet evident with panic and anxiety. The ringing signaling the end of the voicemail snaps the man out of his daze, forcing his eyes to focus once more at the landline in front of him, finally giving in to his responsibilities, which Davis can simply hand off to the next officer below, him having just been promoted. Nonetheless, he grabs his pure white gloves and stretches them over his hands, quickly gathering his items before heading out to his car.
Thatcher’s impeccable memory mixed with freakishly impressive sense of direction helped navigate him to Heathcliff’s estate very quickly, but as this is normal to the blonde, he didn’t pay it any mind and stepped out onto the grass as soon as he arrived. His anger, due to his coffee machine not working this morning, was far too dominant to let Thatcher overthink or worry about the situation, so he simply knocked on the door and shifted his hips forward, letting his back arch a little without falling over.
“Sheriff’s department, open up.”
When the lieutenant didn’t hear an answer, let alone any kind of shuffling around in the house, his mind started wandering to possible outcomes of what could have happened in this particular place of residence.
“Police! Open the door!”
This time he had used the side of his fist to bang on the wood in front of him, hoping to get some sort of interaction with someone in there. The man suddenly heard a deep, glitchy voice try to force him away from the area, while simultaneously bribing ‘Mark’ into opening his door.
Mark… Heathcliff.
Thatcher knew he needed to get in there as soon as possible, his mission had suddenly turned from an investigation into saving a boy’s life. He suddenly took a couple steps back and took his gun out of its holster, turning safety mode off and turning his attention to the ebony oak door. Davis lifted his foot up and kicked the wood as hard as he could, right beside the brass handle cuz, hell, he didn’t have a key or an easier way to get inside, and a 17 year old man’s life was on the line of every decision he made. The front door surprisingly opened very easily, and that made the blonde’s stomach rifle with anxiety, overthinking about how easily this boy would have been killed had the alternate used force.
Although, after a moment of thinking and deducing the situation at hand, Thatcher had come to the conclusion that the door actually hadn’t been locked in the first place. ‘This kid’s a dumbass..’ Thatcher had thought to himself. He would never admit it with voice, okay maybe he would admit it with voice- but nonetheless, the six foot tall man held his gun sturdy in front of his face, immediately stamping his way towards where he assumes Heathcliff’s bedroom resides. He turns the corner with his pistol propped up, taking in as much information as he can, as fast as he can. The lieutenant had pulled the trigger without even aiming, a reckless movement he didn’t have time to think about.