The life of an Indefinite Playerr

Chapter 30

"Patrick, wake up. I got to get to work, I will drop you off at your house." My head felt very light from the sedatives Tracy gave me yesterday. I woke and jumped into the sweats I came wearing. I went into the kitchen and had a breakfast. Tracy had prepared a cereal for me. "Can you try to reach Rashin, find out where they are. Mark did not come home yesterday."

"I would if my phone was with me," I answered trying to remember where I left it. I was completely clueless, thinking maybe it fell in Rashin's car when we were all panicky yesterday.

"Ohh damn,"  she said, making me wonder what had happened.

" A kid is hospitalized from overdose at some party yester.... oh wait," Tracy frowned as she continued scrolling through her phone. "The news." She hurriedly as quickly as she could went to the living room I followed her with my bowl of cereal. She took the remote and turned on the TV.

Narrator over TV*

"...where 15-year-old Chloe Clarkson had a drug overdose. The students from Midway high school say that the party was hosted by the house owner Patrick McHale who is said to have provided everything for the party including the narcotics, and now nowhere to be found. Chloe Clarkson remains unconscious as the police continue to investigate the matter.  Reporting live from the crime scene."

I dropped my bowl onto the floor as same as my jaw. I had hit rock bottom and noticed my life crashing before my eyes. Tracy turned off the news and she stood up and quickly took her lab coat, car keys and then dragged me to the car. My head felt scrambled. 

"I am not going back to my house," I said panicking and sweating. 

"Look, someone has to take responsibility for this."

"Responsibility for what," I asked, shouting at the top of my voice. "They are looking for me, they think I did this. I cannot just hand myself over like I am stupid."

"Patrick look, the more you run, the guilty you'll become. It will seem as if you have something to hide..."

"I have nothing to hide!"

"...which is exactly why you have to go." She insisted as she went in her red Ford SUV. I hesitated but I knew she was right. The journey to my house became shorter than I had anticipated in my head. We parked behind a police squad car, and then the attention all came to us. I was destined to be the talk of Midway for the next couple of months. The town was small, news travelled through the air in that place.

"Hello," The officer said slowly with a stern face ".... Patrick...McHale, is it?" he asked.

"Officer..." I said banging the car door as loud as I could. One would be loud to call me overreacting but in situations like that one, overreacting becomes a norm. 

"I would and appreciate it if you came down to the station with for a few questions about the events of last night. Maybe you could give a viable reason why you fled the crime scene," He continued.

"See... sir," I said panicking behind my voice, " I did not flee, I was not here at all."

"You can explain everything at the station, is this your sister?"

"I am Dr Tracy of Midway Clinic," she said stretching out her hand for a handshake, the officer just looked at her with bloodshot eyes.

"I am Detective Diego, special officer of illegal drugs and narcotics." He turned to me. "Let us go, son." He spoke through the walkie talky in some code, but I did manage to pick up the word "forensics". He then roughly grabbed my hand and handcuffed me, then he roughly escorted to the squad car in front of Tracy's Ford. The noisy neighbours were already peeping through windows, some even bold enough to stand outside with coffee mugs in their hands. He lowered me into the squad car backseat, exchanged a few words with Tracy then he left. On an early Saturday morning, I would probably in a shower singing as my mother made pancakes or swamp the living room couch watching documentaries that take the morning run, but today felt different. Everything was strange, I was spending it in a police car, handcuffed. In a few patient minutes, I would be down at the station being interrogated. I was a wuss, spilling everything out was the very first option, but an echo of Mr K's hoarse voice made me reconsider my next route.

...

I was kept in a room written "detain station" on the front door. I sat there, slept, thought, cried, slept again, studied the walls and they seemed freshly renovated, slept again. After a long while, the detective came in.

"Someone is here to see you," he said as he prepared to sit in front of me "...but before we go out there I would us to have a little chat. This is a tape recorder, whatever you say, can and will be used in a court of law." That line is used when you're actually cuffing someone, but maybe he had forgot so he felt it right to use it now. "You have detained for three hours, if you co-operate, we might feel graceful and let you go before lunch. And if you don't....All is actually up to you."

"I am on medication, and I have already missed my morning dosage, can I go home earlier?" I said fighting the urge to start crying again.

"You won't die, yes maybe get a little bit sick, but not die. I bet a twenty that you will make it the whole day without that dosage." He took a notebook and started scribbling something I could not make out. "My first question is..." he began and the fear took over me "why did you even host a party in the first place?" There was a long haul of silence. I did not know how to even answer it, then I figured I had no other option.

"I... was," I sniffed and paused for a second. "I was grieving my mother who passed a few weeks back, I thought having so many people over would numb how I felt."

"Mmh. I see." He bent down and started scribbling something. "Do you happen to know a certain Mark Coleman," I froze.

"He is..." I hesitated. "Yes, officer I do."

"Detective!" He corrected. 

" We are actually in the same class, and his sister is my doctor." I broke out. 

"Interesting," he said. "You seem pretty close to the Coleman family."

"How do you mean, sir?" He did not answer.

"We are in search of a narcotics syndicate; we know you know him.

"How would I know such a person? I asked hesitantly.

We know how innocent you are. You owe this man nothing, Patrick! If we let you go, just know you are now working for the cops, you will lead us to him and his goonies and whatever lair you may have. Understood?" I nodded. He stood up and gestured me to follow him. We went out to the visitor's room.