Chapter 1: Bound by Loopholes

The late afternoon sun bore down on Redwood Estate, its rays stretching long across the quiet, tree-lined streets. This neighborhood always felt like a world of its own—meticulously manicured lawns, spotless sidewalks, not the kind of place where trouble brewed. I had patrolled these streets for years, and nothing here ever raised more than an eyebrow.

So, when the call came in about a “disturbance” involving two young women, my first thought was that it was probably nothing. Maybe some neighborhood teens are getting into a squabble or playing their music too loud. But there was something in the dispatcher’s tone that made my gut twist.

“They said it’s ... well, you’ll see when you get there,” dispatch had told me, not offering any more details. That should’ve been my first clue that this was going to be anything but routine.

Beside me in the patrol car, Officer Jenna Collins drummed her fingers lightly on her door handle. We’d worked together for a few years now, and she had a good sense of when something was about to go sideways.

“Bet, it’s just some kids being stupid,” Jenna said, glancing at me with a raised brow. “Maybe trying to start a TikTok trend or something.”

I wasn’t so sure. “Maybe,” I muttered, keeping my eyes on the road as we turned onto Sycamore Street. “But let’s stay sharp. Something feels off.” The moment we turned the corner, I saw them.

Two young women—no, girls—stood by the sidewalk in front of a modest house, chatting and laughing like they didn’t have a care in the world. At first, nothing seemed unusual. They were just standing there, completely relaxed, like any other pair of sisters hanging out in their neighborhood. Except for one glaring detail: they weren’t wearing any clothes.

My heart skipped a beat, my mind struggling to catch up with my eyes. “Are they...?”

“Yep,” Jenna said before I could finish. “Naked.”

I blinked hard, trying to make sense of the situation. Twin girls, barely in their late teens, standing completely naked in broad daylight, in the middle of this quiet suburban neighborhood. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks—not from embarrassment, but from the sheer absurdity of it all.

“What the hell is this?” Jenna muttered, shaking her head. “A protest? A dare?”

“Let’s find out,” I said, stepping out of the car. My hand instinctively went to my utility belt, though what I thought I might need, I had no idea. I walked toward them, trying to project authority even though the scene in front of me was making that harder by the second.

“Good afternoon,” I called out, keeping my voice calm but firm. “I’m Officer Mercer, and this is Officer Collins. Can you tell me what’s going on here?”

Both girls turned to face me at the same time. It was uncanny—like watching synchronized dancers. They were identical in every way: pale, flawless skin, long auburn hair that fell in waves down their backs, and striking green eyes that were now focused squarely on me. They didn’t flinch, didn’t try to cover themselves. They just stood there, utterly composed, as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

“We’re just hanging out,” one of them said casually, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“Is there a problem, Officer?” the other chimed in, her voice soft but carrying the same confidence as her sister.

I had to blink again. This wasn’t real, right? “Yeah, there’s a problem,” I said, trying to regain control of the situation. “You can’t just stand around naked in public. That’s public indecency.”

The first twin, who seemed to be the more talkative of the two, tilted her head and gave me a look like I was the one missing something. “Indecency?” she repeated, her voice light, almost playful. “We’ve been doing this for years. No one’s ever said it’s indecent before.”

Jenna stepped up beside me, arms crossed. “Yeah, well, maybe no one’s called the cops before,” she said, her tone sharp. “This is a public street, not a private beach.”

The second twin gave a small shrug. “We don’t wear clothes. It’s part of our family’s tradition. We haven’t worn them since we were kids. Why would we start now?”

My mind was racing, trying to reconcile what I was hearing. A family tradition? That didn’t make any sense. “You’re telling me,” I said slowly, “that your family just doesn’t wear clothes? In public?”

The first twin nodded, completely unfazed. “Yep. My name’s Elise and this is my sister, Elara. Our family follows a custom that once we finish middle school, we stop wearing clothes until we’re married. It’s a tradition we’ve always followed.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but Jenna beat me to it. “That’s ... not possible. You can’t just decide not to follow public decency laws because of some family tradition. It’s illegal.”

Elise—at least, I thought it was Elise—smirked. “It’s not illegal. There’s an exception in the law for cultural practices. You can look it up if you want.”

Jenna and I exchanged a glance, my frustration mounting as I pulled out my phone. There was no way this could be true. But as I scrolled through the ordinance database, my stomach sank. There it was, clear as day: a section of the Public Decency Act that allowed for cultural or social practices to exempt individuals from public nudity laws. My hands tightened around my phone as I felt control of the situation slip right through my fingers.

“Unbelievable,” Jenna muttered under her breath.

Elara stepped forward, her green eyes twinkling with a kind of quiet amusement that only made my frustration worse. “We’re not breaking any laws, Officer Mercer. Our family has been doing this for generations. The whole neighborhood knows. No one’s complained before.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” I shot back, feeling the tension in my voice. “This is still a public space. People live here. Kids live here. You can’t just walk around like this.”

Elise shrugged; her expression unbothered. “We’ve never had a problem with it. And the law’s on our side.”

Jenna let out a low whistle, glancing over at me. “So, what now?”

I didn’t have an answer. I should have. I should’ve been able to take control of this, to assert my authority. But the law was the law, and these girls—these twin sisters—knew it better than I did. My stomach twisted as the reality of it settled in. There wasn’t anything I could do.

“I’ll be filing a report,” I said, the words sounding hollow even to my ears. “We’ll see what my department has to say about this.”

Elara smiled, and it was almost kind. “You do what you need to do, Officer. But we’ll still be here.”

Their soft laughter followed us as Jenna and I walked back to the patrol car, the sound twisting like a knife in my chest. I had come here to enforce the law, to keep order, and instead, I was walking away with the weight of my authority feeling paper-thin.

Jenna glanced over at me as we got back in the car. “This is messed up, Leona,” she said, shaking her head.

I gripped the steering wheel harder than necessary, my knuckles pale against the black leather as I drove away from the scene. Jenna sat beside me, her eyes glued to the window. The twins—the McAllister sisters—kept replaying in my mind, their laughter and carefree demeanor like a haunting echo.

“What are we supposed to do about this?” Jenna finally asked, breaking the silence.

I exhaled sharply, the knot of frustration tightening in my chest. “I don’t know,” I admitted, anger and confusion twisting together. “I’ll file the report, but with that loophole in the law, I don’t see what we can do right now.”

“Feels wrong, doesn’t it?” she said, glancing at me. “I mean, what happens if other families catch on, and suddenly everyone’s claiming it’s some cultural practice? Are we just going to have naked people everywhere?”

The thought sent a shiver down my spine. I couldn’t help but imagine how my teenage daughter, Lily, would feel about this situation. She was just fifteen—right around the same age as those twins. I couldn’t picture her casually strolling around naked in public, especially not in our quiet suburban neighborhood. If she were to see the McAllister girls, would she feel pressured to conform? To be like them? The idea filled me with dread.

“I’ll talk to the chief,” I said, trying to maintain my focus. “Maybe there’s something we can push back on. Maybe the community has more say in this than the law lets on.”

“Let’s hope so,” Jenna muttered. “Because if not, this could get out of hand real fast.”

Later that evening, after the paperwork was filed and the shift was over, I found myself staring blankly at the television. The familiar hum of the news anchor droned in the background, but my mind was far away. My home, a modest two-story on the outskirts of Redwood, felt empty and still, a stark contrast to the chaos brewing in my mind.

My husband, Ryan, would be home soon. I could already picture him trudging through the front door, his work boots clomping on the wooden floor, a weary smile lighting up his rugged face. Ryan had a way of making even the longest days feel manageable. He was in his late thirties, with tousled dark hair flecked with silver, deep-set brown eyes that seemed to see right through me, and a strong build that spoke of years spent in manual labor as a contractor. He was dependable, always knowing how to fix things—not just around the house, but also when it came to my emotional highs and lows.