The Dangerous Doors of Shannon Anderson

Chapter Fifteen

When I came downstairs, the officers were both sitting on one side of the kitchen table. One was thin and black, and even though he was sitting down I could tell that he was tall. The other was a young woman with her hair pulled into a tight bun. Mom and Dad sat beside the officers at opposite ends of the table, leaving one chair open for me across from the police. I sat down.

"I'm Lieutenant Fuller," said the man. "This is Officer Garcia. We just have a few questions."

"Actually, I have a question for you," I said, praying that I was remembering the finer points of the American justice system that I'd learned in AP government the year before correctly. "Since even people who are under arrest have the right to remain silent, and since, having committed no crime, I'm assuming that I'm not under arrest, there's really no reason that I have to answer your questions, is there?"

"Shannon," Mom said through clenched teeth.

"Look," Lieutenant Fuller said, "if this was a forced disappearance - that is, if someone took you and held you somewhere against your will - we need you to tell us. But, being that you're eighteen and that no, you're not under arrest, you're right. You don't have to tell us a thing."

"Although if we're going to go that route, we'd prefer for you to be upfront about it," Officer Garcia added. "No point in wasting our time."

My heart felt as light as balloon fit to burst from too much helium. Perk number one of being considered an adult under the law: not having to submit to police questioning after being missing for three days, even if your parents want you to. "In that case," I said, trying not to smile at my good luck, "I will not be telling you a thing."

"Shannon!" Mom stood up and slammed her palms against the table.

"I'm sorry if a full-scale Law and Order investigation would have made your trip home more worthwhile," I said. "But unfortunately for you, no crime was committed. I wasn't kidnapped, I wasn't locked in a room and tortured, and nobody assaulted me. I just wasn't here, okay?"

The police officers stood too, and Lieutenant Fuller slid his card to me across the table. "If you change your mind and think of something you want to tell us, give me a call. Otherwise, we're closing your case."

"Perfect," I said. "Thank you. And I'm sorry if we wasted your time."

As soon as the officers had gone, Mom shut herself up in Dad's den without saying a word to us, and I ran upstairs to my room to grab my phone from my purse so that I could tell Jessa and Tucker I was okay. But my purse wasn't on my desk where I had left it. When I couldn't find it anywhere else in my room, I went downstairs to the living room to ask Dad if he had seen it, but he wasn't in his recliner.

Reluctantly, I knocked on the door of the den.

"Mom?" I said through the closed door.

"What is it, Shannon? I'm working."

"Mom, where's Dad?"

"He went to get Aidan."

"Where's my purse?"

"I have it. The police needed it," she said.

"Well, can I have it back?"

"No, I don't think you may."

"What? Mom, I need my phone."

She swung the door open and stared down at me with a hand on her hip. "And I think you need some time without your phone," she said. "Or the internet, or television, until you're ready to come clean about this little stunt you've pulled."

"Seriously? Why are you doing this? I just want to tell Jessa and Tucker that I'm back."

"I'll call their parents."

"Fine."

I went to the kitchen and fixed myself a PB&J. I wasn't that hungry, but it was something to do. My natural inclination in the face of boredom and isolation would have been to grab a book, but somehow I didn't feel much like reading. I picked at the crust of my sandwich, thinking about how what I really felt like doing was going back upstairs to finish suffocating myself with that pillow. But my room was so far away, and I didn't have the motivation to get out of my chair, let alone go all the way upstairs. So I just laid my head down on top of my PB&J and let the jelly squish out of the bread onto my face, thinking that drowning in jelly would probably be a more pleasant death than suffocating in down.

But really, I was scared thatthe uncertainty of my future would kill me before jelly drowning or featherasphyxiation ever could.

A/N: Alright, time for a reader poll! Would you rather be asphyxiated with feathers or drown in jelly? Let me know with a comment. I appreciate all votes and adds to reading lists. Your support means a lot!