Soda Pop

Chapter 62- The Lack of Evidence

It has been nearly a month since I found out the truth. Marcus has stayed away, and I haven't seen him at school for awhile. Someone told me he came down with some type of illness and was in the hospital, but I don't believe that for one second. He is a lying piece of scum, and you can be sure I will never trust him again.

Brett has been working out the details of his plan to keep us out of prison, and I am focusing on prom, which is next week. I am thankful for a distraction. The events of last month have truly scarred me for life.

It's been so long since the police had a lead on the Soda Pop case, I am pretty sure there are cobwebs on the case files. 99% sure it is safe to say that even if we don't go to the police, they won't ever bust anyone. But with Marcus running free on the streets, I won't feel safe until he is locked away.

So that is why Brett and I stood in front of the Pennsylvania Police Department, scared out of our minds.

"No matter what happens, I will fix this. My dad is a lawyer, and he can get us out of whatever Marcus has gotten us into. I love you, Casey Carson," He squeezes my hand, and in that moment I felt like no matter what-or who- we would never let anyone get in our way. This is what true love feels like.

"I love you more than anything in the world," I squeeze his hand back.

"Then let's do this," He starts walking in the set of tinted glass doors.

"May I help you?" The woman with frizzy, unkempt hair behind the counter says without even looking up from her book. I almost gag at the sight of her. She is a pretty woman, but the way she takes care of herself is revolting. She probably hasn't showered in weeks, and the Garfield shirt she is wearing is so many different stained colors, she looks like a paint by numbers. Not to mention her oh so out of style Crocs.

"Yes, we need to speak to the person in charge of the Soda Pop case at Crumberlin Private High School," Brett says impatiently.

She looks up at us, giving us an annoyed look. Finally, she licks her sausage fingers and pulls out a form, and a chewed up looking pen, "Fill this out and bring it back up when you finish.

"Ma'am, I don't think you understand. We have evidence on who Soda Pop is," I say before Brett can speak.

"Yes, I understand. Fill out this form," She looks down at her book again. I protest again, but Brett drags me towards the row of plastic waiting room chairs.

The whole place looks like it stepped out of a dumpster. The walls are a faded, ugly brown. The front desk's paint is peeling, and the sign on the front that says Pennsylvania PD, is missing a few letters. The place is a dump.

Brett quietly filled out the form and returned it to the lady at the front desk.

"Can we speak to someone now?" I ask.

She is quiet for a few moments, finishing the page she was reading. "No, you need to speak to the DEA. That's who the case was recently handed over to. You will need to go to the other side of town."

Rage bubbles inside me. "Are you kidding me? We filled out that 100 question form just to have you tell us we need to be somewhere else?"

"Goodbye," The lady says plainly.

"C'mon Case, let's just go," Brett drags me out.

We then get back in the car. And drive another 30 minutes to get to the DEA office.

"We better be in the right place," I grumble.

Brett says nothing, just pats my back comfortingly.

This time, we don't take the time to say our 'I love you's', we just walk in.

This office is much nicer. The couches are a sleek, faux leather. The walls look like they are freshly painted, The ceiling isn't cracked. And the lady at the front desk looks much nicer.