Murder In The House

Part 7

"Ms.Kilos?" a low voice called. Snapping out of my drowsiness, I hopped off my chair and took a step into the real world. It was a Wednesday afternoon, a time where I should have been at school. But I knew better than most, literally. After what happened yesterday, I knew in my heart it was no longer safe to walk Beachside's hallways with a morbid killer on the loose. Mr.Cornell on the loose. It was not fair for Mr.Glitter to be the one in jail; he was framed ever so smartly. It was now my responsibility to act as a good citizen, and as Mr.Beanoot would say, serve my "role" in justice. It was my moment to shine as a victim of a crime.
           The person with the voice gestured me inside a tiny office. The walls were a pleasurable dark shade of grey. Behind a long, polished wooden desk stood a tall chair, where the man with the low voice seated himself in. There was a square window behind his chair that was half covered by blinds, unveiling tiny rays of burning sunlight. He introduced himself as Mr.Shay, a police officer.
             "So what exactly happened that Tuesday afternoon?" he asked. I took a deep breath and explained everything to the best of my ability, embarrassingly stuttering along the way.
"So Mr.Cornell, your science teacher, you claim to be the muppet man?" he inquired.
"Yes, sir," I shyly replied.
"Okay," Mr.Shay said. He wore a face as if he was lost in deep thought.
"I plan to arrest him and put him on trial." Suddenly, my breathing paused. The man's face awakened, as if he was reclaiming his full senses. The officer arose from his chair. "Follow me," he said firmly. I did as he commanded. We zoomed through a building complex. Mr.Shay and I passed by busy workers with piles of papers clutched inside their hands and people dressed in neat blue suits reminiscent to a policeman or woman. Finally, we arrived at an outside area surrounded by police cars and many others police officers. A clean police car pulled up to the sidewalk which the police officer and I stood. He opened the back door for me.
            "Hop on," he said. My eyes widened.
             "What do you mean? Why do I have to come?!" I asked nervously.
              "You're the victim of a crime scene. You know more than anyone else at the school." I nodded my head  hesitantly and entered the shiny police car. Mr.Shay did the same, only this time he seated at the passenger's seat. Another policeman, who looked much younger, drove the car. He seemed as if he was around his twenties, but it was an unreliable observation considering the fact I used the rear view mirror as my source of analysis.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"To Beachside," the older officer, or Mr.Shay answered. "Hey," he turned his head to face me, "how did you get here in the first place? Shouldn't you be at school?" My eyes widened. Clearing my throat, I began to explain,
               "On an occasion where I held no reasons of my absence in school, the police officers, or you guys, would probably send me back to school." He nodded in agreement. I continued, "but I had a reason, a very good one. To my luck, my younger sibling started school early and my Mom left the house before me, for the sake of her job, leaving me and Katrina at the house. I did something very, very risky. I knew for sure the moment my parents realized on what I have done this morning, I would be in an enormous mess the second I return home." Mr.Shay raised an eyebrow. I giggled. "It is safe to say I have condemned myself into a spider web of misery, with each string being a situation to escape. I knew there would be some strong controversy if I were to tell Katrina that I was heading to a police station, so I didn't say a word. Literally. I did my research the night before; it would take exactly fifty-five minutes if I were to walk to the police department, twenty on a bike, and ten on an automobile. Right when my little sister and Mom left, I called in *sick*. There I was, laying in bed with the poutiest face I could ever make, complaining on how much my *migraine* hurt. My older sister could not perform any remedy about my nonexistent pain." I added, "but she of course did not know that."
               "So how did you get here?" Mr.Shay asked, interrupting my explanation.
                "I was getting there. So her only choice was to leave me here at home, as I strategically planned. I watched her get on the bus from my window, since our bus stop is not at all far from my view.  The very second it drove away, I sprinted to my driveway and whipped out my rusty old bike, which I hid in the forest of bushes the night before. Yes it was archaic, but it sure could move faster than my legs ever could!" Both police officers laughed. "You could probably predict the rest of my journey, but I'll say it anyways. I rode that bike like it would be my last ride. I caught some mean eyes on my trip, but I was proud to finally be burning some carbohydrates. In roughly twenty minutes, I stood in front of my destination, or police department, panting. I quickly secured my bike in the rails and made my way in as if I were a superstar. I was asked some bizarre questions by the worker at the front desk, but I could not blame them. I was told to wait in the row of chairs, and here we are now, pulling up to Beachside's driveway."
"We're here!" the driver squealed. It was quite obvious, but I appreciated his enthusiasm. He sounded quite young compared to Mr.Shay. He must be a helper but not an actual worker back at the building.
               "Listen," Mr.Shay said. "If you give me your Mom's phone number, I'll inform her you did the right thing through a call."
               "Really?" I asked happily. He nodded his head. Mr.Shay handed me a sticky note and a pen, which he took through one of the car's tiny cabinets. I quickly scribbled down the numbers and handed him back the sticky note. He tucked it in his pocket.
             "I'll do it before you get home, so you won't get in trouble." I smiled. "Right now, let's go." Mr.Shay and I stepped out of the vehicle, the driver was nested in the car. This is it. The moment of confrontation. With confidence, we strode into my school. With approval from the front desk, we traveled to Mr.Cornell's room, ready for my accusations. As we made our way down the hallways, my stomach began to ache. That's what I get for skipping breakfast. But it did not matter to me. This was the time we've all been waiting for. I paused in front of the door and looked at Mr.Shay.
          "I'll do the talking," he said, in sympathy of my nervousness. "Plus, I'm the police officer." I calmed down. With a steady hand, I opened the door.
"You are under arrest!" Mr.Shay proclaimed.
           "I'm sorry?" replied a female voice. We looked at each other, then at the host.
            "You're not Mr.Cornell....." I stated.
"Yes, I am not. I am Ms.Dean, Mr.Cornell's substitute for today."