Mr. Halloway's Pet

Chapter Thirty

I sit in a hard, cool chair staring at the light color of oak wood. My fingers intertwine in my lap, nervously strangling one another as my heart races for Drea.

She's been gone for 30 minutes and I begin assuming the worst. Dad called on the way to inform the police department of the situation beforehand and now we're an hour into a report.

They had questioned me for 10 minutes due to my limited knowledge on the encounter and where he may have gone but to my understanding, Drea's dad is MIA.

My own father sits next to me with a leg bouncing up and down. Both of us face the wave of nerves and it's very much on display.

An officer sits behind the front desk, providing the sound of sifting papers resonating through the silence of the room. Just as I'm about to stand and ask how much longer they would have Drea in the back room, the oak door opens, revealing my small, shrunken friend.

She has a hand tightly gripping her forearm as a means of a guarded stance, her face looks pained and the ghost of tears stain her cheeks. I shoot to my feet and approach her and the officer behind her.

She's quick to accept my short-lived hug and loop her arm through mine.

Somewhere in the midst of our embrace, dad walked over and stands next to us with his arms crossed, "Is there anything you got for us?"

The officer glances toward Drea and I, then back to dad.

"Not yet, we have his description and a few locations he may have ran off to. We'll be looking into it. As for now, Drea is a juvenile and will be kept in police custody while we contact family members in the area." He adjusts the cuff of his uniform and clears his throat.

"I just told you, I don't have anyone who will take me in." Drea says, her voice hiking up an octave and revealing the distress bubbling up in her throat.

"We have a contact list here—" he informs, pulling a paper from the folder he previously had tucked under his arm and completely ignoring Drea.

"A contact list of people you'll be lucky answers the phone let alone commit to having a full conversation with a police officer. Can't you run background checks or something? None of them are even sober enough to look after themselves." Drea's frustration becomes more apparent with every word she speaks. Her face is flushed and she trembles in the slightest.

"Is there any way I could take her in? Foster? Adopt? She doesn't have any more than a couple months before she's of legal age." Dad asks, arms still crossed and face set into an expression of stone. Drea's head shoots in his direction, then back to the cop.

"Yes, but it's a process. I wish there was more I could do, but the state has strict regulations. We'd have to get a social worker inspect your home, the time frame itself is about 2-6 months." The officer does look apologetic, but at this point I'm too angry with these rules to excuse his execution of them. He's merely doing his job, but with the way Drea freezes, my clouded brain doesn't know why he has to be such a hardass.

"Forgive me for my inclusion, officer." I smile and step forward, "This man has taken care of Drea far more than any other person of relation. I guarantee you she's way better off with us that the crackwhore of an aunt you're about to call."

As uncomfortable as he seems with the interaction, he still seems determined.

"I'm sorry, I have a job to do." His face sets back into a wall of stone as he steps back from the close proximity I put us in. "If I can get at least verbal agreement and a means of identification, then perhaps we can arrange something. But until then, we have to hold her here."