"Hello, how may I help you?" the receptionist said with a bright, polite smile.
"Hi, I'm here for my son." Heather's voice was calm but carried the typical hint of urgency every parent has when they're picking up their child.
"What's his name? And what class, please?"
"Alex Remington. Class A."
"Okay." The receptionist turned to her computer, typing steadily. A few moments passed before she looked up again, her expression subtly shifting. Heather's brows furrowed immediately.
"What's wrong?" Heather asked, her tone sharp.
"Um, can I ask what your name is, please?" The receptionist's hands dropped to her desk, but Heather noticed her reaching discreetly toward the phone beside her. Heather's instincts flared... something wasn't right.
"Heather Remington," Heather said firmly.
The receptionist hesitated, her voice lowering. "I'm going to transfer you to our security department. They are the ones who deal with situations like this."
"What do you mean by 'situations like this'? What are you talking about? I'm here to pick up my son. Where is he?" Heather's voice rose slightly, the panic creeping in despite her attempt to stay composed.
"Please, bring your voice down," the receptionist urged, glancing around nervously. Heather followed her gaze and realized other parents in the reception area were now staring at her.
"Where is my son? Where is Alex?" Heather said again, this time more controlled, but the urgency in her voice was undeniable.
The receptionist didn't answer immediately. Instead, she picked up the phone and started dialing. Heather felt the world spin around her. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.
When the receptionist hung up the call, she looked back at Heather but didn't say a word. Less than a minute later, a man in a pressed uniform walked in, his badge marking him as the security department head.
"What's the matter?" the man asked.
The receptionist quickly filled him in. "This woman came in requesting an Alex Remington, but it says on the system that Alex Remington was checked out five minutes ago."
Heather's heart stopped. "Checked out? What do you mean by 'checked out'? I didn't check anyone out. I'm just arriving." Her voice was a mix of disbelief and dread.
"Please, calm down, ma'am," the security head said, his hands raised in a placating gesture.
"Calm down? You're asking me to calm down? Where is my son?" Heather demanded.
"I'm sorry, I just need to confirm who you are," the man said diplomatically.
"I already told her my name. Heather Remington," Heather snapped.
"That's the issue," the woman replied, her tone was tinged with hesitation. "A Heather Remington checked out with Alex five minutes ago."
Heather blinked, her face frozen in shock. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying Alex Remington wouldn't check out with someone who isn't his mother, Heather Remington."
Heather's stomach twisted violently. Alex had been taken.Someone had pretended to be her, and it had worked. But it looked like this people think she's pretending to be Heather Remington. Her voice dropped dangerously low. "Do me a favor. Take out your phone."
The receptionist's eyes widened. "Excuse me?"
"Take out your phone."
The receptionist hesitated but obeyed, slowly pulling her phone out and unlocking it.
"And?"
"Search up Heather Remington," Heather instructed, her voice was sharp and unyielding.
The receptionist complied, her fingers trembling slightly as she typed. Her eyes darted between her phone screen and Heather's face. "You're Heather Remington?" she whispered, her voice was filled with dawning realization. This is one of the rare situations Heather loved being popular.
"Now, where the fuck is my son?" Heather demanded.
The receptionist exchanged an uncertain glance with the security head. "I really don't know," she admitted weakly.
"You're telling me you don't know how to do your job?" Heather's voice cracked slightly, her fury barely containing the panic beneath.
"It's a common mistake on our part," the receptionist stammered, her defenses rising. "It's not my fault. Alex went with this woman."
Heather clenched her fists, trying to control her spiraling emotions. Alex wouldn't have willingly gone with a stranger. Alex was smart, he wouldn't have been tricked that easily.
"What did the child look like?" Heather asked, her voice trembling but firm.
"Like every other kid," the receptionist replied nervously. "He was a bit tall. Um, his hair was messy. His shoe was untied, I noticed it when he came out with his lunchbox."
"What kind of lunchbox? I'm thinking his mother would know the kind of lunchbox he has." The security head asked.
This man is asking the wrong question. The receptionist said Messy hair.
"I wasn't really looking."
"You said his hair was messy?"
"Yes." The woman glanced around, unaware of how that confirmation would help the situation.
Messy hair? Alex never had messy hair. He was too meticulous, too composed for that.
"What was the color of his hair?" Heather demanded.
"I think… brown," the receptionist said hesitantly.
"You think brown?" the security head interjected.
"I mean, I'm sure it was brown," the receptionist corrected hastily.
Heather took a sharp breath. Her knees felt weak. "Oh, God," she whispered, her hands flying to her face. Alex's hair was blonde, unmistakably blonde, just like hers.
"Did any child follow this person?" Heather asked, her voice shaking.
The receptionist nodded slowly.
"And?"
"There was a blonde child," the woman replied. "Unlike the other, he looked really neat. Like he was just coming to school."
Heather's breath hitched. "Who took my son?" She muttered to herself.
"Can you describe the woman who checked him out?" Heather pressed.
The receptionist nodded.
"Evelyn," Heather whispered under her breath. Evelyn was the first person who came to mind. It made sense. Lauren had a brown-haired son, and the receptionist had clearly mistaken him for Alex. Plus, this must be the payback Evelyn wants to get, for the beating of the other day. But Evelyn don't know how dangerous she can get when people mess with her.
Heather fumbled with her phone, scrolling frantically for a photo of Evelyn. She found one, it was a group shot of Evelyn with Lauren. Heather shoved the phone toward the receptionist. "Was it her?"
The woman studied the screen carefully before shaking her head. "No. That's not her."
"What?" Heather's voice was thick with disbelief.
"Check the other woman. Familiar?"
The receptionist shook her head again. "The woman was taller… and skinnier. She looked like, I don't know, a K-pop idol."
Heather slammed her hands on the counter, the sound reverberating across the room. The receptionist, the security head, and a handful of parents flinched. Heather felt completely unhinged, like the ground had crumbled beneath her feet.
"Where are the cameras?!" she shouted.
"They're turned off every now and then," the security head stammered. "We don't keep them running during transitions to avoid system..."
"Who turns off cameras in a school?!" Heather screamed, cutting him off.
"It's not our fault. We didn't know this would happen," the man said weakly.
Heather scanned his uniform for a nametag and hissed, "Hal?" She seethed, her voice venomous. "I've been coming to this school for, what? Five years. Everyone here knows my son, and you're telling me it's not your fault you let someone take him?!"
Marcus walked in at that moment, his expression concerned. "Miss Heather, is everything okay?"
The security head interrupted. "Miss Heather, I'm deeply sorry, but you can't really blame us for your son's disappearance. Perhaps if you'd trained him not to follow strangers..."
Heather's mouth dropped open in disbelief. Before she could react, Marcus's fist collided with Hal's face. The man staggered back, stunned.
Marcus didn't stop. He punched Hal again, sending him to the floor. "You own up to your mistake," Marcus snarled.
Hal lay on the ground, his face bruised and purple, grunting in pain.
Heather nodded to Marcus, then turned to Hal. "Brace yourself. You're getting fired. Both of you." She turned on her heel, storming out of the building. She is one of the biggest donators of the school and this security guard had the guts to tell her it's not their fault for giving her child to someone else. They misplaced her son, and they're telling her it's her fault for being a bad mother?
She knows Alex didn't just follow that woman. He probably was going outside to wait for her, as usual. Or was probably outside, but the receptionist didn't want to talk about that.
Marcus followed close behind, his jaw tight with anger. Heather muttered to herself and him, "That car... The one that almost hit us. I knew something was off."
"XZB-749..." She couldn't remember the rest, but that has to be the kidnapper.