"I wish I wasn't in this mess," Isabelle sighed as she blew out the candle. Michael's eyes widened as he stood up straight and bolted for his desk. "Your butt on fire or something?" she asked.
"Or something," he muttered as he quickly typed something into the computer and picked up his phone. He punched in a number and waited.
"Morning Mel. Yeah, yeah I know it's late... early, whatever. Look, there's been a major change in the case. Can we please meet in your chambers later?"
Isabelle looked up at him with a cocked eyebrow, staring adamantly at Michael.
"Yes, I'll owe you, but you know I'm good for it," he sassed. "Thank you, Mel. Yeah, yeah, sweet dreams." He hung up the phone and smiled at Isabelle.
"Congratulations, kid," Michael cheered, throwing an arm around her shoulders.
"Thank... you," she said, confused.
"I just got you a meeting with the judge. Since your mom is gone and your dad is a fugitive, there's no reason you can't be emancipated." He stood up, and dramatically took a bow. Isabelle got up and ran into his arms, hugging him tightly.
"Oh my God, you're amazing! Thank you!" she cheered, her voice breaking slightly.
He hugged her back, gently rubbing her back. "Don't thank me yet. He still needs to make a decision."
*
"Why do we need to stop by the school?" he asked as they pulled down the road toward Canoga Park High.
"You told me to get character references. I can't urge them to ditch school to sing my praises, but I can send in documents, right?" she sighed, staring out the window.
"True, true," Michael nodded. He pulled in to the parking lot.
"Give me a few minutes." Isabelle opened the car door and exited the car, running up and into the front office. Michael sat for a few, picking at his nails, checking his hair, and trying to find something to ease his nerves. He settled with staring at the "Tobacco Free Campus" sign, hoping it would catch fire and he could light a cigarette.
He hadn't noticed Isabelle until she opened the car door, startling him.
"Well," he asked. She held up two folders, both with different labels.
"Records?" he asked, reading one.
"I have character witnesses in one file and my transcripts in another. I'm maintaining a 3.5 GPA currently.
"That's amazing, kid!" Michael exclaimed.
"You told me to work hard, so I am," she smiled. A stray thought came up, bringing him back to the meeting with his superiors.
"So you're not selling anymore?" he blurted. Isabelle's eyes widened.
"Y-you knew about that?!" she squealed.
"Yeah. To make it worse, my bosses know it, too. That may be a deciding factor."
"How bad?" she whined.
"We won't know until we get there."
*
Isabelle picked at her nails as she waited to plead her case to the judge. Her teacher and her counselor provided great character references, so she wasn't too worried about that too much. What has her on the verge of an anxiety attack is the fact that Michael's bosses of all people knew she used to deal her father's pills at school for extra cash. With her mother dead and father missing, he sees her as responsible enough and grants her emancipation.
"What's up? I thought you'd be excited for this," he stopped and turned her around to face him. "Are you alright?"
Isabelle looked up at him smiling, but tears tainted her smile, making her look like she was on the verge of breaking down.
"I mean, I think. I'm free, I don't have to deal with my shitty parents anymore," she took in a jagged breath, choking back sobs. "But it also feels like I was just labeled as an orphan. My mom's dead, my dad is fuck knows... I feel like I got first prize, but still lost, you know?" Isabelle's voice began to crack as she cried harder. Michael pulled her into his arms and held her tightly.
"I know, kid. I know. This isn't how I envisioned you winning your case either," he sighed. He hugged her tightly for as long as she needed. He didn't mind that his shirt and tie were probably covered in snot and tears. He didn't think he'd need them anyways.
Once she calmed down, she pulled away from his grasp, cleaning her face on the back of her shirt sleeve.
"I'm hungry. You hungry?" she asked, her face bright and cheery, yet red and puffy.
"Yeah, I could eat. What'd you have in mind?" Michael nodded. He knew she was just trying to distract herself, but he decided to go with it. Now wasn't the time for his bad news.
"Ooh, I was thinking KFC. I could go for some extra crispy," she giggled, continuing down the steps of the court house.
"Sounds artery-clogging and expensive," Michael laughed, following behind.
"Not for me. It's your treat," she said matter-of-factly.
"Oh really?"
"Yeah. Besides, you owe me a celebratory gift." Isabelle opened the passenger side door of his car and slid in. Michael scoffed, still smiling. Even though she wasn't his daughter, he felt a sense of pride for her only a parent would for their child.
"Eh, what the hell," he muttered to himself. He walked around the car and got in the driver seat.
"If I'm paying, we're getting everything. Not just a bucket. We're getting all the sides, drinks, and desserts," he declared.
Isabelle squealed with excitement and fist-pumped. She buckled her seatbelt and turned the radio to the local rock station, blasting it loudly.
*
"Hey, all I'm saying is it's such a cheesy old movie," Isabelle waved her hand nonchalantly as she carefully walked up the stairs, holding a large brown bag filled with cups of macaroni and cheese, mashed potatoes, and gravy.
"Clue is a classic," Michael whined breathlessly as he followed behind, carrying a large bucket of hot chicken and a cardboard drink carrier.
"Dude, that movie came out before I was even born," Isabelle retorted.
"Oh right, it makes sense that you would think that Nancy Drew crap is better than A CLASSIC," he reiterated, shaking his head. "Damn kids, making me feel old."
"Mike, you're huffing and puffing walking up one flight of stairs. I don't think it's us 'youngins' that makes you old," she giggled.
Michael paused at the top of the stairs. His smile dropped and his expression became serious.
"Hey man, I'm sorry, that was kind of harsh-" Isabelle began. Michael put his finger to his mouth and shushed her. She looked at him confused. Realizing he was looking past her, she turned around and froze.
The door to her apartment was ajar, parts of the frame and jam were splintered and on the ground.
YOU ARE READING
Save Me
Ficción General(Trigger Warning for those who suffer or have suffered from abuse) Michael Emmett, a prudish detective for hire, has been working with Child Protection Services for fifteen years. He's rescued the abused from their abusers, and has hunted down runaw...
