Police swarm me, forming a circle around the rusty metal chair I’m sitting in. Everywhere I look, I see darkness surrounding me, except for the little light above my head, making me a spotlight in the center of the room.
“Son, I’m asking you for the last time. Did. You. Do. It.”
They all groan, and the chief whispers something to them, and they all leave except for him. He pulls himself a metal chair and sits across me.
“It’s going to be easier if you tell the truth buddy. I want nothing but the truth.”, he growled
“I. Didn't. Do. It.”
That’s the thing about police. They don’t take no for an answer. If they think we did it. We did it.
“Look, we know it was you. You were the only person nearby and you were holding the gun. All evidence points to you. So I could have you in juvie right now, but I’m giving you a chance to admit your mistake. You should be grateful”
That does it for me. I snap.
“GRATEFUL? YOUR SAYING I SHOULD BE GRATEFUL FOR GETTING SHOT? GRATEFUL FOR BEING ACCUSED? GRATEFUL FOR LOSING MY FAMILY? I ALREADY TOLD YOU A MILLION TIMES. I DIDN’T DO IT. WHOEVER SHOT THAT WOMAN THREW THE GUN AT ME AND RAN. I PICKED IT UP AND YOU SAW ME. I. DIDN’T. DO. IT.” , I scream at the officer. I don’t care about politeness.
The office opens his mouth to speak but I’m not done yet.
“YOU SAID ALL THE EVIDENCE POINTS TO ME, WE GUESS WHAT? THE GUN ALSO POINTED TOWARD ME, AND WHAT DID YOU DO? YOU BLAMED ME FOR GETTING SHOT. YOU THINK I “ACCIDENTALLY” SHOT MYSELF? REALLY? ARE YOU EVEN A POLICE OFFICER? YOU- “
“THAT’S ENOUGH ISSAC. THAT IS NOT THE WAY TO TREAT A POLICE OFFICER. LEARN YOUR MANNERS CHILD.”
His face is a shade of beetroot red, and his ears might as well have smoke coming out of them. Fuming, he stood up and kicked his chair behind him. I stayed where I was and held his gaze. I will not give up. He paces around in front of me, his arms crossed over his chest. Finally taking a deep breath he kneels in front of me.
“Look here son. I have given you many chances to tell the truth-”
“No I want you to listen. I have given you many chances to tell the truth, and yet, being the stubborn teenager that you are-”
“Oh, so you now you’re insulting-”
“You have kept lying to me.”, he raised his voice a little so he could dominate over my interruptions.
“For the last time officer…”, I said in an unnervingly calm voice. “I. Did. Not. Do. It.”
The officer looks at me. Then sighs. “I will see you in court.”
He left the room.
Left me to my thoughts.
I’m seventeen. Why would I kill someone?
I looked down at my arm, wrapped in bandages. The shooter had shot the woman, saw me, aimed for my head but shot my arm, ran out of bullets then threw the gun at me and ran away. The gun had landed at my feet, and I remember gingerly picking it up and feeling the blood trickle down my arm. When the police arrived, I thought everything was going to be fine, and that they were going to help me.
Boy, was I wrong.
They roughly seized me from the ground, and handcuffed my hands. Before they took me to the station, we made a stop at the hospital. The nurse was shocked to see a whole army of police with a bleeding teenager and a woman who hopefully was not dead.
She had died.
And I felt like dying too.
I will never forget the shocked look on my father’s face when he saw what his stupid son had got himself into. I miss my mother. If only cancer hadn’t taken her life. I hear the voices of police officers discussing my fate. My father’s voice joins the chorus of shouts and finally, they stop. The click of the door opening echoes through the dark room, and I prepare myself for what would come next. The same officer that had grilled me before came in, his face redder than ever from the shouting match outside. He tosses a piece of paper onto my lap then starts untying the bonds on my arms. I bend my head and read the flimsy paper. It read:
“ Name of offender: Issac Wells
Crime may or may not have committed: Murder with a weapon
Witness: Mr.Smith - called police after hearing gunshots
Victim: Belle Terry
Date for Trial: Dec 2
Lawyer: Vincent McNougan
My heart almost stopped. December 2. Only two days away. Mr.Smith. Half of this was that old man’s fault. If he wasn’t 80% blind, maybe he would’ve seen the gunman running away. Maybe he would’ve seen me being shot. But instead, he described what he saw as “A speck in the distance running from a young man with a gun near him.” Well, when you put it that way, of course I’m the offender. If only he remembered to put on the glasses that were resting on his head. If only. Belle Terry? Oh. I guess that was the name of the woman I apparently “killed”. Looks like my father finally managed to get a lawyer for me. Last time I heard, he charged $7000 per case. Damn. The police officer finished untying me, and shoved me out the door. My dad is there, waiting for me. His face looks stressed and he grabs my arm and drags me out of there. I guess I’m free.
Jerking, I wake up from the dream. Boy was I wrong again. Rubbing my eyes I tried to forget the trip I just took down memory lane. Wow. I look around and let out a cruel evil laugh. I’m sitting in a prison cell. Wearing an orange jumper.
I’ve been here for two years. And will be here for a few more.