Clouds of Violet

Chapter Eleven

Thursday, September 11th, 19:13

I'm staring at Sheriff Hudson in a haze; I'm a suspect?

Under investigation? For murder of all things?

Wait, does this mean I get to skip class?

No, shut up.

"Skylar, everyone in your detention will be under investigation," he continues. "But right now, we need you to come with us to the police station."

"Right now?" I ask. "At this ungodly hour?"

"Yes, at this 'ungodly' hour," he chuckles. "If you will." He gestures to his police car like he's telling me to get in. I look back at my neighbours, some shouting and asking what the fuck is happening, others silent stoics. I see mothers rushing their small children inside. I look back at my own mother, the red and blue car lights flashing against her dark skin. For some strange reason, I can't read her eyes. Reading her is like reading an open book. But right now, there's no emotion on her face...anywhere. Just tired dark eyes staring into mine.

"Fine, whatever," I say, sighing as walk over to his police car. Mom hesitates for a second before joining me. 

The drive to the police station feels a lot longer than it actually is. As we pull out of my neighbourhood, I can feel everybody's eyes on me. Whenever I look out through the window, one of my neighbours is staring at me in shock.

I rest my head against the window; my eyelids feel heavy and my body relaxes a little too much. I catch Sheriff Hudson staring at me in the front view mirror. He nods and offers a small smile.

"Are we there yet?" I ask, groaning as I look back through the window. "Your car smells like Cheeto Puffs."

"Yeah, just a few more minutes," he says.

"Who's bright idea was it to make the police idea on the other side of town?"

"Skylar, for goodness' sake," Mom says. 

He doesn't respond, but I hear him grunt as we stop at a red light. The police station is right outside of the town square, where all the shops, restaurants, and tourist spots are. I live on the other side of the town square, where most of the other kids at school live. 

The light turns green and we hit a speed bump as we pull up outside the police station. He lets us out and Mom stares at the building with sunken eyes. 

"My daughter," she mumbles. "A suspect for murder."

"Oh, where did you go wrong?" I say as dramatically as I can. I hold the back of my hand to my forehead. 

"I ask myself that every day," Mom says. 

"It's not like I'm fucked in the head," I say. "I'm only a suspect for murder. Besides, everyone's a suspect." I put my hands on my hips and tilt my chin up. 

"Let's just get this over with," Mom sighs. 

Once we're at the police station, they tell Mom that she can't be present for my questioning. Mom, very unpredictably, doesn't protest and just nods. She sits down in the waiting area, flipping through the pages of some magazine. 

"I love having a mother who really cares about me," I whisper to Sheriff Hudson as he takes me to the conference room. 

"All mothers love their children," he tells me. 

"I got the rare prize, then." He opens the door and I pull out my chair. It screeches against the floor; I sit down, and cold metal sends tingles all over my bare legs.