Chapter Text
Jeff's sneakers squeaked against the polished floor of the FDLE office as he pushed through the glass doors, his backpack slung over one shoulder. The fluorescent lights felt too bright, and every sound — the ringing phones, clicking keyboards, shuffling papers—seemed amplified. He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans and approached the front desk.
The officer behind the counter looked up from his paperwork with mild annoyance, taking in Jeff's school clothes and nervous expression.
"You lost, kid? School's that way." The officer jerked his thumb toward the door.
Jeff straightened his shoulders, trying to look older than his thirteen years. "I need to file a report."
The officer's eyebrows shot up. "A report? What kind of report?"
"The police kind." Jeff's voice cracked slightly, but he held his ground. "Something's happening at my house, and I think someone needs to know about it."
The officer studied him for a moment, then sighed and stood up. "Alright, come on back. Let's see if we can find someone to talk to you."
Jeff followed him through a maze of desks and filing cabinets into the bullpen. The smell of coffee and old paperwork filled the air. Officers in various stages of busy work looked up briefly as they passed, but most returned to their tasks without much interest.
A tall man with auburn hair emerged from what looked like a break room, steam rising from a white coffee mug in his hands. He had an easy smile and wore a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
"What's this, Patterson? You finally arrest someone your own size?" The detective's voice carried an easy humor that somehow managed to be both friendly and mocking.
"Kid wants to file a report." Officer Patterson jerked his thumb toward Jeff. "Thought maybe you could handle it, Longworth. You know how you are with..." He gestured vaguely at Jeff.
The man — Longworth — snorted and took a sip of his coffee, studying Jeff over the rim. Something shifted in his expression — the teasing edge softened into something more serious. "Yeah, I've got it."
"Hey, Longworth!" one of the officers towards the back of the bullpen called out. "You arresting kids now?"
"Yeah, well, my quota's been a little low this month," he shot back. "Figured I'd start having the school bus me over their dangerous thirteen-year-olds."
Jeff bristled. "Hey, I wouldn't be here if it wasn't important."
Longworth's expression immediately shifted, the teasing tone dropping away. He shot a look at the detective in the back, then sighed. "Come on, my office is this way." He gestured toward a small office with glass walls and the name 'Detective Jim Longworth' painted on the front. "Let's talk in private."
Jeff felt some of the tension leave his shoulders as he followed Longworth into the office. The detective closed the door, but left the blinds open, and settled behind his desk, motioning for Jeff to take the chair across from him.
"That wasn't about you, by the way." Longworth set down his mug and leaned back in his chair. "The desk sergeant, Patterson, likes to give me grief because apparently I'm the designated kid-whisperer around here. Which is hilarious considering my boss says I have the emotional maturity of a twelve-year-old myself. And Rodriguez, the guy in the back? He just doesn't like that I close twice as many cases as he does while working half as hard at it. That and he's just plain jealous that I get all the fun ones."
Despite his nerves, Jeff felt his mouth twitch upward.
Longworth continued, his voice taking on a much more serious tone, "I know you wouldn't be here in the middle of a school day if it wasn't important. So why don't you start by telling me your name?"
"Jeff. Jeff Cargill." When the detective didn't react to the name, Jeff took that as a good sign to keep going. He shifted in the chair, trying to find the right words. "There's someone watching our house. From the woods behind our property. I've seen them a bunch of times now."
Longworth's casual demeanor sharpened slightly and he pulled out a notepad and pen. "Watching how? Like, standing there looking at the house, or just someone walking through?"
"Standing. Watching. Sometimes for like an hour." Jeff's hands clenched into fists on his knees. "And there's been weird noises at night. Footsteps around the house when there shouldn't be anyone there. Yesterday I was walking home from the bus stop and I swear someone was following me through the trees, staying parallel to the road."
Longworth nodded, not dismissing anything Jeff said. "How long has this been going on?"
"Maybe two weeks? It started small, just feeling like someone was out there. But it's getting worse."
"Have your mom and dad noticed anything? Any of these same signs?"
Jeff shifted in his seat, the question hitting exactly where he'd hoped it wouldn't. "My mom works late shifts at the hospital and she's taking classes during the day, so she's not home much. And my dad..." He trailed off, staring at his hands.
"Your dad?"
"He's not around." The words came out clipped, defensive.
Longworth nodded without judgment, as if single-parent households were the most normal thing in the world. "So, it's just you and your mom at home most of the time?"
"Yeah." Jeff's voice was barely above a whisper.
"And she doesn't know about this?"
Jeff's jaw tightened. "I told her the first couple times, but... she's got enough to worry about. She's working herself to death trying to keep everything together."
"That's a lot of responsibility for someone your age." Longworth leaned forward slightly. "Looking out for both of you. That takes guts."
"I didn't want to stress her out over something that might be nothing."
"But you don't think it's nothing."
Jeff shook his head, the weight of the past two weeks pressing down on his shoulders. "No, I don't think it's nothing. Yesterday when I got home from school, I found footprints in the mud by our back door. Fresh ones. And the lock on our storage shed was broken."
Longworth set his coffee mug down with a soft clink. "Did you check to see if anything was missing from the shed?"
"I don't really know." Jeff rubbed his palms against his jeans again. "But why break in if you're not taking anything?"
"Good question." The detective wrote something on the notepad. "Tell me about these footprints. Big? Small? What kind of shoes?"
"Bigger than mine, but not huge. Like a regular adult. Work boots, I think. Deep treads." Jeff had studied them carefully before the rain washed them away. "And there were cigarette butts by the tree line. Marlboro Reds."
Longworth's pen scratched across the paper. "You're pretty observant. Most adults wouldn't notice half those details."
A flush of pride warmed Jeff's chest, but it was quickly overshadowed by the gnawing worry. "I watch a lot of detective shows with my mom when she's home. She says I notice everything."
"What's your mom's name?"
"Callie. Callie Cargill. She's a nurse at Palm Glade General."
Something flickered across the detective's face—recognition, maybe? But it passed so quickly Jeff wasn't sure he'd seen it at all.
"And you said she works late shifts?"
"Yeah, mostly nights in the ER. Her shift starts at ten and she doesn't get home until around seven in the morning. Her med school classes used to be during the day while I was at school, so we could spend the evenings together." Jeff's voice carried a hint of bitterness. "At least, that's how it was supposed to work. But this last semester, they've been from five to nine in the evening, so I see her for maybe an hour when I get home before she has to leave."
"Sounds like she's trying to build a better life for both of you."
The simple statement hit Jeff harder than he expected. His throat tightened. "Yeah, she is. That's why I can't let anything happen to her."
Longworth leaned back in his chair, studying Jeff with those sharp eyes. "You know what? Everything you've told me sounds like someone's been casing your house, and if it's alright with your mom, I'd like to come by and take a closer look."
Relief flooded through Jeff's chest. "So you'll help?"
"I'll definitely look into it."
Jeff was explaining the timing of the footsteps when the bullpen outside exploded into motion. Voices rose, chairs scraped against floor tiles, and through the glass walls of Longworth's office, Jeff watched several officers turn toward the front desk.
"Jeff!"
His mother's voice cut through the ambient noise like a knife. Jeff's stomach dropped as he saw her rush through the maze of desks, Officer Patterson trailing behind her with an expression that clearly said he regretted whatever conversation had led to this moment.
Callie burst through the office door, her scrubs wrinkled and her hair escaping from its ponytail. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and Jeff recognized the look — she must have just gotten home from work when his school called to report him as a no-show.
"Are you hurt?" She reached him in two quick strides, her hands immediately checking his face, his arms, as if looking for injuries. "Are you okay?"
"Mom, I'm fine—"
"The school said you never showed up this morning. I've been trying to find your for hours!" Her voice cracked slightly. "I thought something happened to you."
Jeff felt guilt twist in his chest. He hadn't considered how his absence would affect her, hadn't thought about the panic it would cause when she was already stretched thin.
"I'm okay, Mom. Really."
Detective Longworth stood up, that easy smile sliding across his face like he dealt with furious mothers every day. "Mrs. Cargill, I presume? I'm Detective Jim Longworth. Your son was just—"
"What did he do?" The words came out flat and tired. "Whatever it was, I'm sorry. He's a good kid, but sometimes—"
"Ma'am, your son isn't in any trouble." Longworth's voice carried that same easy tone he'd used with Jeff, but something more careful had crept into it. "He came here to file a report."
The color drained from Callie's face before flooding back in a rush of anger. "A report? Jeff, what on earth—"
"Someone's been watching our house." The words tumbled out of Jeff before he could stop them. "I told you there were weird noises, but you said it was just—"
"Jeff." Callie's voice cut him off, sharp and warning. She turned back to Detective Longworth, and Jeff watched her transform into the polite, apologetic woman she became whenever she had to deal with authority figures. "I'm so sorry for wasting your time, Detective. My son has a very active imagination, and with everything we've been going through lately—"
Detective Longworth held up his hands in a peaceful gesture, but his smile never wavered. "Actually, Jeff's been very helpful. What he's describing sounds like someone's been watching your property, and that's something the FDLE takes seriously. In fact, if it's convenient, I would like to come out to the house so Jeff can show--"
"Would you?" Callie interrupted, crossing her arms, her nurse's training evident in the way she sized up the detective like a patient she didn't trust. "Or are you just humoring a thirteen-year-old with an overactive imagination because you don't have any real cases to work on?"
"Your son seems pretty observant to me." Longworth's tone had cooled slightly. "What he's describing suggests—"
"Jeff notices a lot of things. He watches too much TV and he reads too many books." Callie's voice carried the sharp edge of embarrassment mixed with exhaustion. "We live near the woods, Detective. There are homeless people who cut through our property sometimes. There are animals. There are a dozen perfectly normal explanations for whatever Jeff thinks he saw." Callie's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Thank you for humoring him, I really appreciate it, but humoring him isn't the best thing for my son right now."
"Actually, Mrs. Cargill, I'd like to—"
"It's Ms. Cargill." The correction came out sharper than she probably intended. "And what I would like is for you to drop this completely. Jeff, get your backpack."
Jeff felt heat rise in his cheeks. "Mom, it's not my imagination. There are footprints, and the shed lock—"
"Is old and probably just finally gave out."
Jeff wanted to sink through the floor. The detective had believed him — actually listened to him and taken notes and everything — and now his mother was making him sound like some paranoid little kid who couldn't tell the difference between reality and television.
"Ms. Cargill, could I just—" Detective Longworth tried again, but Callie cut him off.
"With all due respect, Detective..." She paused, clearly having forgotten his name already.
"Longworth. Jim Longworth."
"Detective Longworth. My son has been watching too many cop shows. I'm sorry he wasted your time, but there's nothing happening at our house that requires police attention." She turned to Jeff, her expression hardening just slightly. "Come on, Jeff. We need to go home and talk about why you skipped school."
Jeff looked desperately between his mother and the detective. "But Mom, the footprints—"
"Were probably from the meter reader. Or the postal worker. Or any number of people who have legitimate reasons to be on our property." Callie's tone brooked no argument. "Get your backpack." Callie's hand landed on Jeff's shoulder, firm and final. "Detective Longworth, again, I'm sorry for taking up your valuable time with this."
Longworth's eyes moved between them, something sharp and calculating flickering in his expression. Jeff could practically see him filing away details — the way Callie avoided eye contact, how quickly she dismissed everything, the careful distance she maintained.
Detective Longworth stepped forward, his casual demeanor shifting to something more serious. "Ms. Cargill, I understand you want to protect your son, but what Jeff's describing—"
Callie's jaw tightened. "Detective, I appreciate your concern, but I know what's best for my family. Jeff is a good kid, but he's got an overactive imagination and he's been under a lot of stress lately. This is just his way of processing that."
"Mom." Jeff's voice came out smaller than he intended. "You weren't there. You didn't see—"
"I see a tired thirteen-year-old who's been spending too much time alone and letting his imagination run wild." Callie's voice gentled slightly, but her resolve remained firm. "We're going home, and we're going to forget this whole thing happened." She fixed Detective Longworth with a look that could have frozen water. "I'd appreciate it if you'd do the same."
Jeff started to protest, but one look at his mother's face told him the conversation was over. He grabbed his backpack from beside the chair, frustration burning in his throat.
"Thanks for listening," he said quietly to Detective Longworth.
The detective nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Take care of yourself, Jeff."
Callie's hand remained on Jeff's shoulder as she guided him toward the door. "Come on. We need to get you to school."
As they walked through the bullpen, Jeff caught snatches of conversation — something about the kid with the overprotective mother, another joke about Longworth's soft spot for strays. His cheeks burned with embarrassment.
But when he glanced back through the glass walls of the detective's office, Longworth was still watching them, his coffee mug forgotten on his desk and that same concerned, calculating expression on his face.
Maybe someone had listened after all.