Played: “Sometimes you never know who is playing who, until the damage is done." by Bad-Boy Storyteller

system that apparently doesn’t protect against desperate girlfriends.
    She crosses the busy street, tugging her bag, along with a business folder found in the car held over her hair. In the wind her short dress dances near a full show as she shuffles up the steps to the large entrance door. It’s heavy, but she uses her hips to push it open, entering into a large room packed with more cops than she’s ever seen in her life. As usual she immediately catches the attention of the men, as she shakes her way quickly to the station’s service counter. There she waits intolerantly until someone is ready to talk to her. “Hi, I’m Amberly. Amberly Carlson. Is Detective Cools here? I need to speak to Detective Cools.”
    “No, not at this time. Is there anything I can help you with?” the officer asks, blatantly looking her up and down.
    “Yes, well, I need to report a missing person. And I need to see Detective Cools; is he here?” she asks, peering behind the counter, searching for him, even though she doesn’t know what he looks like.
    “Okay, missing persons…Take a seat, and I will have someone help you shortly.”
    “No, I need to talk to Detective Cools!” she blurts out like a spoiled child.
    “Ma’am, I have your name, and you need to have a seat,” the officer states, raising his voice.
    Amberly stands her ground in protest for a second, until the officer’s finger directs her to a row of empty chairs. She lets out a frustrated groan to show her disapproval of his hospitality, then turns sharply, swinging her bag, and stomps her boots to a seat, where she flops down hard. And there she waits, clutching her bag for thirty-five minutes, paying no attention to her onlookers, and praying to God she gets out of this without having to go to prison.
    “Hi, are you the Amberly Carlson that wants to report a missing person?” asks a heavyset policeman.
    “Yes, yes, I am,” she replies, with a rush of anxiety.
    “I’m Officer Renny; follow me.” He then turns without even taking so much as a glance at her and waddles back through the station to a small cubicle. Amberly, rarely getting such a reaction from men, follows closely. A curious look reveals a wedding band. His desk is decorated with vacation pictures of his family surrounded by knickknacks only a wife would buy. Well, at least he’s not gay.
    He offers her a chair, and after taking a seat, she crosses ignored legs. She watches him quietly, attempting to hide her nervousness, but soon she’s going to have to tell what she’s done. Lengthy seconds turn into minutes before he pulls up the missing persons screen and begins asking the basics. “What is your full name? Where do you live? Where do you work? Your phone number? And who do you want to report missing?”
    Suddenly she clams up. This is it; once I answer this question, there’s no turning back. A voice tells her to run. Just get up and run out of the building as fast as you can.
    Officer Renny, with his portly fingers on the keyboard and unwary eyes glued to the screen, repeats the questions.
    “Give me a minute!” she blurts out.
    He gives her an odd, fleeting look, only to return to the photos surrounding his space, apparently oblivious to her fidgeting, long, painted nails. Left alone she studies him. He is a rare man in her torn world, a loving and faithful family man, the kind that won’t even look at her. She scrutinizes him, sitting in his chair peacefully, looking as if he only does this job to put food on the family table and take them to Disney World in the summers. Images of him dressed as Santa Claus entertaining the little ones on Christmas and cutting their turkey on Thanksgiving strengthens her determination. I bet he never raises his hand in anger. I bet he tells bedtime stories to his children and kisses them good night. I bet he makes love to his wife, instead of fucking her. She steadies herself, preparing to tell who is missing. Officer Renny, sensing she is about to