“Waiting for you. How bad did it get?” I saw part of it on television, but they didn’t allow any filming inside the police department.

“Twelve arrests. Four people sent to the hospital, but no one admitted. Just bumps and bruises. One idiot got pepper-sprayed. Chief Stoddard’s pretty pleased, considering.” She shrugs. “If we’d known about the protesters in enough time, we would have called in assistance from the Daley PD, or from Jackson. As it was, we had to handle it all ourselves. But we managed.”

Despite the Clifford PD’s solid demonstration of competency, Jake’s parents are feeling pretty smug about their decision to keep him as far away from the vigil—from anything concerning Lullaby Doe—as possible. Which I know from his frantic texts, once he saw footage of the protests.

If he weren’t on lockdown—for real, this time—he’d have come over hours ago.

Mom glances at the darkened hallway. “Penn and Landry are asleep?”

“Probably not.” Today was the last school day of the semester. We get to stay up late and sleep in for two straight weeks.

“Did your sister see any of it?”

“Penn took her home when the protest started. By the time I got here, they were watching recaps on the news. I think she missed the worst of it.”

“Good. The last thing she needs is to worry about me getting hurt in the line of duty, after …” She shrugs.

After Dad’s injury basically ruined all our lives.

“She’s fine,” I tell my mother. And I hope it’s true. I hope at least one member of this family is mostly untouched by all this. “She was FaceTimeing Norah when I checked on her. Talking about the ‘riot.’ A characterization she clearly got from reading the Crimson Cryer’s tweets.”

“Well, I guess that could have been worse.”

“I don’t understand what they wanted. The people in the pink shirts. Why protest a vigil for a stillborn baby? Don’t they usually target clinics and—”

“This wasn’t about Lullaby Doe,” my mother says. “Those people were fanatics who saw an opportunity to twist a tragedy for their own purposes.”

“Yeah.” I exhale. “Hey, any idea when they’re going to release Lullaby Doe’s remains? We’ve raised more than enough money in Key Club to pay for a funeral, so …”

“The coroner will release her tomorrow. Just let him know which funeral home to send her to.”

There are only five thousand people in Clifford, but we manage to support two funeral homes.

“Thanks. I’ll let Sophia know.”

Sophia, who messaged me an apology three hours ago, admitting I was right about a vigil bringing out the crazies. I left her on read, because I’m feeling pretty bitter about being chased from the park by an angry mob, but I’ll reply tomorrow.