Rookie Chandler
I was having a dream about falling asleep on a bed made out of books, that was until my mother decided to start screaming bloody murder.
"I don't understand! Where's the proof?! Do you hear yourselves right now? My son?! He can't even hurt a fly!" I heard her scream at whoever was downstairs. My body was telling me that it was not good news.
No shit, Rookie.
"Ma'am, we take accusations very seriously. We even had a witness come forward, specifically the one who placed the accusations on your son." It was a cop. My mother. Was talking to a Cop.
You're going to be questioned.
Someone did this to you on purpose.
There's somebody out there who actually said I killed my dad...and witnessed it?!
I couldn't stop thinking. My head was racing and my whole body felt numb as panic started to nearly escape from my organs.
If you panic they'll think it's suspicious!
What do I even do?! I'm already terrible at socializing—never mind clearing up accusations! Accusations about things I didn't do!
Seconds of silence rolled by and I thought that I was dreaming. Then there were footsteps approaching my door. "Rookie, sweetie. Can I speak with you?" My heart sank. My mother's voice was delicate and worried. I took a deep breath and tried to keep my cool before telling her she can come in.
She came into full view and right behind her were two police officers standing with their hands gripping onto their vests. Why do they do that?
"Mr. Chandler, my name is officer McGill. I'd like to ask you a few questions regarding your father, James Chandler." The one officer spoke. He had blonde hair, blue eyes, and seemed like a show off, in all honesty.
"Um. Okay?" I said. I hope that was casual. Why wouldn't it be, right? I even gave my mom a questionable look to make it seem like I had zero clue on what was going on.
He looked at this piece of paper, or more, before looking at me. "According to my records, your father has been deceased for eight years, correct?" Was he correct? Was it eight years? No. Yes. Maybe?
"He died five years ago, sir. Rookie was twelve at the time and is now sixteen." My mother saved me from the stuttering in the non working brain of mine. Hallelujah.
"Hmm. Oh, yes! That's right. Sorry about that, forgot my reading glasses at home." He chuckled as he flashed a smile our way.
"So, Rookie. We got a couple of calls earlier this morning and we were informed a man of the name of Darren West witness you fighting with your father one night. According to him, you beat him until he was unconscious." Beat him unconscious? A twelve year old?!
"Are you accusing my son of actually brutally beating my husband to death?! Whats the matter with you. He was twelve for crying out loud!" My mom's outburst took me by surprise, and the officer noticed my jump.
Great going, Einstein!
"Alright, I've had enough of this—look at the kid's face, John. He's fucking guilty! Isn't that right, you little shit?" The other officer stormed in. Coming real close to my face. I didn't like it, and the panic was starting to set in.
Where's Will's bad reputation when I need him?
YOU ARE READING
The look behind those tired eyes
Tiểu thuyết Lịch sử"It's the look behind those tired eyes, Chandler. They tell a story not many could comprehend. Not a lot of people in your position are able to speak up about their mental health as much as you, you talking about it is a great thing!" "The only good...
