One Journey, the Final

Chapter 18:

In a small part of my mind, I can tell they're shining a bright flashlight in my eyes. I try to focus on it, but the entire time, I'm dizzy, seeing about five lights instead of one.

"Yep. This one's definitely drunk. If not, wasted," a gruff voice says. Was he talking about me? I was sure I only had the one bottle. Maybe subconsciously I had more. I'm sure that's not possible. But I couldn't picture myself doing that.

"Do you think she'll respond?" A softer voice says. The gruff male voice retorts, "She's going to have to." I'm being led to a different room now, and as soon as I walk through the door, goosebumps trail up my arms. It was bitterly cold in here. I'm then sat in a cold hard metal chair that doesn't provide any comfort. The same gruff male voice practically screams,

"What is your name?!" The sound sends shooting pains in my head, which I clutch dearly. I softly mutter,

"Annabel Price." He slams his hands against the table, which nearly causes me to jump to the ground and cry. I don't know what I did wrong, I don't know where I am, and I don't know what's going to happen to me. One horrifying word keeps creeping up in my mind though. Jail.

"Annabel. What were you doing at that party?" his voice is a little softer now. He must've noticed my black eye and felt sorry for me. Or he was doing some sort of reverse psychology on me, and then he'd lower the boom.

"My boyfriend. He invited me," I numbly say. My mouth still has a stale taste of beer in it. I want to swig it down with a nice glass of water.

"Do you normally attend these...events?" he probed. It took me a while to respond to that question. My head was still throbbing, and I couldn't think clear enough to answer quickly.

"Not until a couple months ago." In the distance, I hear a buzz of small chatter, with the different rooms and interrogation, I was pretty sure we were at a police station. It would make sense since the cops showed up. That seems like forever ago. I vaguely remember what happened after they showed up. They yelled at us all not to move a muscle, and that we were to all follow them downtown. Why you may ask? I can't remember that part.

"Do you drink often, Ms. Price?" the guy said. What was he getting at?

"No. Actually, this is my first time being drunk. Am I going to die?" I asked worriedly. I heard him chuckle.

"No, you're not going to die. Trust me, your alcohol levels weren't that high. You might just have a small immunity to acohol, which causes you to become drunk very easily."

"Oh," I sat and thought. A small immunity to alcohol. It made sense. "So why am I here?" I finally was able to make complete sentences, and my thoughts were starting to clear up. Not the headache though, or the pounding in my eye where I got hit.

"The alcohol provided at last night's party was stolen-" Ah, so I've been here for about a day. "...whoever brought it, paid with a maxed out credit card. He took it and ran. We were able to trace him back to the party house, where we also found illegal drugs being passed around. So then we had to investigate all of the attendees."

"Am I going to jail?" I plainly asked. The officer smiled at me, and with his mustache moving up and down with each new syllable, proclaimed,

"I'm going to let you off on a warning, just this once. Don't make me have to see you again like this. Go ahead. You can go home. You might want to take some ibuprofen. You've probably got the world's worst migraine hangover. Not fun." I scooted out of my metal chair, sending screeching noises throughout the room. We both cringed at the horrible noise, but I quickly left before he could say anything else. I slowly made my way to the bathroom where I splashed cold water on my face to wake me up. I was going to have to drive myself home, and I didn't want to be drunk driving. After patting it down with a paper towel, being extra careful around the tender area, I felt much better. When I walked out, I saw Dave in line to be interrogated. He must be feeling really awful and sick. Yep. Because a few seconds later he was puking in a trash can. I turned away and walked out, making my way home.

Sure, getting arrested was not exactly in the plans, but hey, that would make for a great story. Harry was bound to see that. This only added to my excitement and drive to push for more. I looked down when I felt a vibrating at my hip. Three missed calls from Mr. Byrns, seven text messages from Lyla, and I couldn't even count the calls and messages from Harry and my mother.

Oh crap.