Chapter 3 - The Campus Police and the Missing Tape
The campus security command center smelled of ozone, old carpet, and cheap instant coffee. Rows of glowing monitors flickered against the dark walls, displaying silent, ghostly feeds of empty hallways, vacant parking lots, and dark quads across the sprawling Bradley campus.
Officer Miller, the shift supervisor—a beefy man with a tight buzzcut and a nametag that crookedly read MILLER—slumped into a rolling office chair, clicking through a digital timeline on his computer.
"Here," Miller said, pointing a thick finger at a grainy monitor feed. "Camera 14 covers the rear exterior of the West Science Complex. This is from last night at 11:15 p.m."
I leaned over the back of his chair, my eyes glued to the screen.
The image was grainy, distorted by the heavy rain. For several minutes, the screen showed only empty concrete and swaying bushes. Then, a figure entered the frame from the left—moving quickly, hooded and bundled against the storm. Another figure stumbled backward into the wall, hands raised in a desperate defensive posture.
My breath caught in my throat. It was Lily.
Before I could make out the face of her attacker, the video stuttered violently. The timestamp jumped from 11:18 p.m. to 11:35 p.m. in a single, glaring flash of digital corruption.
"What the hell was that?" I demanded, slamming my palm down on the metal desk. "Where did the eighteen minutes go?"
Miller flinched, leaning back in his chair. "Looks like a server glitch. Power fluctuations during the storm sometimes cause packet loss on our older analog-to-digital converters."
"A glitch?" I leaned down, staring straight into his eyes. "A glitch conveniently wipes out the exact window of time my daughter was beaten into a coma? Don't insult my intelligence, Miller. Data doesn't just evaporate."
"Look, Mr. Mercer, that's above my pay grade," Miller said defensively, raising his hands. "Our systems are managed by the university's central IT department in Bradley Hall. If there's missing footage, it's a technical issue on their end."
"Then let's go talk to IT," I said, turning toward the door.
"Central IT is locked down until 8:00 a.m.," Miller protested. "You can't just walk in there."
I didn't answer him. I walked out of the command center, the heavy metal door swinging shut behind me.
My military instincts were screaming at me. This wasn't an accidental glitch or an equipment malfunction. Equipment failures were random; this was surgical. Someone with administrative credentials had manually scrubbed those eighteen minutes from the server to protect whoever had cornered Lily behind that science building.
And I was going to find out who had the keys to the digital vault.
As I walked out into the cold morning air, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, expecting a call from the hospital.
Instead, it was an unknown number.
I swiped and pressed accept. "Hello?"
A low, disguised voice hissed through the speaker:
"Back off, Mr. Mercer. You're looking into things that don't concern you. If you know what's good for your daughter, you'll pack your bags and leave Peoria today. Next time, she won't just end up in a hospital bed."
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The line clicked dead.
I stood frozen in the center of the dark campus quad, the dial tone buzzing against my ear like an angry hornet. Someone was watching my every move. And they were terrified of what I was going to uncover.
