Rough tyres droned against bitumen, drowning my hearing. I was trapped under the menacing gaze of the cop in the driver's seat, who flared his eyes wildly through the mirror. Desperately I tried to hide my sweating hands, sinking them deep into the folds of the backseat. Fear striking me hard in the gut; yet I couldn't let them see this emotion cross me.
Only one thought plagued my mind; I never should have gone back for the house. Getting caught was not a part of the plan. This was foreign to me, even to my wildest daydreams.
Now I was at the mercy of justice and her blind scales.
The female officer cut him off. 'Leave it.'
'I'm doing my country service to avoid all this bullshit,' He persisted, snapping at her. 'Not to deal with arson and manslaughter.'
I gagged loudly at his words. A brief flicker of worry crossed his face before he snapped around to focus on the road. Both of them refusing to look back at me for the rest of the ride.
An eerie silence filled the car, my nerves buzzed with anxiety.
Manslaughter? That word couldn't apply to me. No one had gotten hurt in this grisly process, I had made sure of that.
Unless another thing had gone wrong with this plan; that thought alone made my guts sink lower.
⁂
Word around town about what transpired seemingly spread faster than fire. We arrived at the station to a few stragglers; hanging in a hungered desperation. Attempting to catch a glimpse of me as I was dragged from the car.
Most of their faces were familiar, older people mainly from church. Only they would have nothing better to do with their time on a Monday morning.
I was quickly hauled inside the station; their expressions left only to my imagination. Faces most likely twisted in disgust when my back was turned.
The fluorescent lights inside made the space bleak. Cold. Silence trailed behind me through the hallway, smothering all around.
'Turn to the right.' A bright flash crossed my vision as they took another photo. Fighting the urge to shield my vision from the camera, to hide my tired eyes from the world. My fingerprints dipped in smooth ink, a generous swab of the mouth. No matter how far I could try to run now, they would have every piece of information on my appearance and makeup. Finding me would be simple. Effortless.
After, they left me in the interview room out the back. It was small and dimly lit. People moved up and down the corridor restlessly for what felt like hours. My back was to the door, unable to stop myself from flinching at every sound. I had asked for defence, yet no one was coming to help.
Until there was a click of the door. My heart skipped a beat as two men entered the room. Detectives decked out in their own self-importance, with pressed suits to match. The younger of the two had no creases or a hint of dust on his jacket. His face devoid of any emotion.
The older detective was rotund, balding, and all the angrier.
The younger man spoke, 'Hi Tristan, I'm detective Patterson, and this is detective Jones.' Patterson pulled the chair across from me, staring down his nose. The older man, Jones, nodded. But kept a cantankerous expression. 'To start, I have to let you know that this interview is being recorded. Can you please state your name and birthday for the recording so we can get started?' Patterson motioned towards a microphone at the centre of the table.
I leant towards it, croaking out the first words I had spoken in days. 'Tristan Edmond, twenty-first of June 1997.' Patterson shuffled paperwork, organising the wads of paper into neat piles.
YOU ARE READING
When the Sun Sets on You
Ficção Geral'Remember that the sun is watching over you always.' From the view of a grassy hill, Tristan Edmond looks down the end of his life as he knows it. Labeled as a dangerous arsonist, with little to no choice, Tristan is shipped off to Lone Pine. A Ther...
