The Delinquent's Haven

Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

 

          "You just don't know about what anymore?"  He asked, still eyeing Haven as her entire body shook with emotions and thoughts unknown to him.  Tears were rolling down her face in a desperate plea but she wasn't making any noise. 

          "Anything . . .  I don't know what's going on anymore.  It's like my life is falling apart and there's no way to fix it, you know?"  She rhetorically asked, looking up at the officer, "It's like I was made to fail at everything I do."

          "I understand that," he said with a nod of pity.  She looked back down at her hands and closed her eyes tightly before he spoke up, again, "Can I ask some personal questions?" 

          "I guess I don't really have much of a choice . . . "  She stated without any trace of expression or emotion in either her body language or her face and eyes.

          The man interviewing her nodded and opened up a file folder.  Haven knew what it was and it wasn't that important.  It was just information about her that he's going to ask about.  He already knows everything accessible about her; he just wants to see if she'll lie. 

          "Do you and your parents get along well?"  

          "I don't care about my parents and I would appreciate it if you just didn't bring them up.  They're fucking useless people and I don't want to talk about them," she snapped, suddenly filled with rage and irritation. 

          "Alright," he said slowly and looked up at her.  She still had her head down and was looking at the steel table.  Leaning forward, the officer placed his elbows on the table and watched her.  The room was silent when Haven looked up and into his brown eyes. 

          "What's your name?"  She asked. 

          "Officer Peter James Marcus," he said, watching as she nodded.  

          "Tell me, Officer Marcus," she put her elbows on the table and mimicked how he was sitting.  "If you have everything you need to know about me in your little file, why question me on this?  I told you all you needed to know; I didn't set the fire.  Why drag this out?  Do you think I'll admit to something I didn't do?" 

          "For all I know, you did set the fire . . . but since you brought it up, let's see what's in my little file," he sarcastically retorted before leaning back slightly in his chair.  He laid the file open on the table so she could see what was there.  From where Haven was sitting, she could even read was he was already saying out loud. 

          "You were an exceptional student up until seventh grade.  Then, you barely made it through middle school.  You're a senior with a dirty record; you'll be eighteen in two months.  You're a foster child and you didn't get along with your parents.  It says in my little file that you accused your father of abusing you," he looked up. 

          "What else do you have in there?"  She asked, giving him a taunting look. 

          "You have a tattoo," he said, raising his eyebrows slightly.  

          She stayed silent, watching as he eyed her.  She didn't want to talk about that, but from where she was sitting, it didn't look like she had much of a choice on anything, anymore.  Everything was out in the open and she didn't have a say in what was going to happen next.  

          "V-I-I-I," he said the letters slowly and separately, watching her as she narrowed her eyes involuntarily.  Then, he leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table, again while speaking, "Eight, right?  What's it mean, Haven?  Why get roman numerals on your side?  Why get eight tattooed on your body?"