BROKEN HOME :: OT4

Il a tué son propre père

Chapter Three ; Il a tué son propre père?

Ashton corrects his collar and puts his glasses where they belong before walking in to the station; Mr Joseph and a couple of other familiar students are waiting for him and oh god, he is late on his first day.

"Now that Irwin is here with us, lets get cracking shall we?" chuckles Mr Joseph before walking towards the group of students muddled up together; "This is Ashley, Tyler and Alex; I am almost certain you have heard of our top student Mr Irwin here." They all nod as a response.

The teacher spent no time talking or socialising as he led them in to the small room in which a pale boy is sitting in; he keeps on fidgeting with his hands, as if he has done something bad and all of the students look at their teacher for some back ground information.

Letting out a small 'o', Mr Joseph distributes some paper in between them with some back ground information on Michael and they scan through it.

"Our challenge is to prove that this boy is innocent. You think you can do that?" asks the teacher and they all grin in assurance before leaving to sit in the professional office for Officer Hemmings needed to question the boy.

Michael is nervous; he could feel the sweat patches forming under his arm  pit and all he can think about is how screwed up the situation is. He doesn't want to go to jail, nobody wants to go to jail. He has his whole life ahead of him, and spending the rest of it in prison was not part of the plan.

The blue eyed officer enters the room and makes sure he camera is rolling before sitting in front of the black haired boy. Michael feels as if too many people are watching, even when he is sure it is just him and the policeman in front of him. He doesn't want to speak, but that will make him look suspicious.

"Michael, Michael, Michael- how did you get yourself in to this type of mess?" asks the blonde rhetorically and the other boy simply looks down at the table as if that would make him disappear. After flicking through some paper, Hemmings closes his folder and crosses his arms.

"Where were you last night?" questions the policeman and Michael feels as if he is going to throw up just there. This is when the group of students gather around the glass window which is a one way instrument for their protection and start studying Michael's actions.

"You have to be more specific." murmurs the boy and the officer doesn't hear him; "Speak up."

"I said that you have to be more specific." repeats Michael and the officer leans on the table closer to him. His piercing spring sky eyes are penetrating through Michael's skin to see any sign of guilt.

"Around seven to eight o'clock?" continues the policeman and Michael relaxes a bit because he could see it; the sympathising look in the man's eyes. He doesn't think I did it thinks Michael, and he attempts to relax himself instead of being so tensed. However, he is still nervous; one wrong word and he is going straight to hell.

"I was at the library." he mutters but this time the officer catches it perfectly. He notices how hard the boy is trying to not come across an nervous but he could feel the feeling emitting from the younger boy's body.

"You seem awfully stressed for an innocent person." confesses Hemmings, sitting back and trying to use the psychological techniques he have practised to get through the boys' skin.

"Well, it is kind of hard to stay calm when you are accused of murdering your own father." clarifies the younger boy, chewing on his nails as his feet keeps on moving.

"Fair enough. Which library were you at?"

Silence. There is no answer for that; he wasn't at a library. Michael doesn't look at the officer in the eye, and instead plays around with his fingers; Hemmings could feel his blood boiling in his body. It is not even afternoon yet and he wants to go home; and more than anything, he wants the boy to be innocent.

"So, you weren't at a library?" It takes a few minutes for the police-man to realise that the boy is lying and he wishes he didn't. "Where were you on Sunday, May the seventeenth?"

"I can't say." replies Michael and rises his eyes from the desk to connect them with the blue ones. The officer is shaking his head in disbelief as he smiles. Michael doesn't find anything funny, and he doesn't know why this man does.

"So what you are technically telling me is, that your father was murdered on the same night that you were 'out' but yet have no evidence to support this case." Hemmings kisses his teeth as Michael swallows.

"God damn it, Michael." he slams his fists against the table before itching his forehead and collecting all the papers to put under his arm. Michael's heart is beating as he witnesses the man in front of him go red and he notices that the officer wasn't feeling well.

With one hand to support him on the table, Hemmings tries to regain his balance as he itches the back of his neck: short temper, irritation, loss of balance- these are all signs of an asthma attack Michael thinks.

He is quick to react by jumping off his seat and screaming for help while he kneels in front of the pale officer; he isn't talking or moving, his breathing is slow and his head is hanging low. His fingers twitch, trying to show Michael the direction of his inhaler but his body doesn't want to move.

The black haired boy immediately reaches for the man's back pockets and takes out a blue inhaler to locate near the officer's lips. Michael's hands are cuffed and it makes it even harder for him to co-operate but the man takes a drag. And another one. And another one.

Before any doctor or help arrives the room, Hemmings is back on his feet, staring at the shaky boy next to him; he wishes he wasn't so kind because now he knows. 

He knows that he OWES him justice.