Runaway // h.s.

prologue

Scarlett Brooke Hayes.

18.

Arrested for a Class A-I felony: criminal possession of cocaine and assault weapons in the 1st degree.

Time punishable by crime: 8-20 years in prison.

I had been waiting impatiently in a dark room, both my hands tightly cuffed to the table. The room was square and dimly lit, a design so similar to those seen on TV shows like "Law and Order" and "Criminal Minds". The only two objects situated in the room were the chair I was seated in and the table that my handcuffs were latched to. A thick, dark glass was visible along the wall across from where I was seated. The glass was so dark I wasn't able to see anything behind it. I knew what that meant. I may not have been able to see beyond the wall, but anyone behind that glass could sure as hell see me. I was beyond fucked.

My head was facing down, eyes glued to the rip in my jeans and the dried blood which coated the fabric. Suddenly, my thoughts were interrupted by an abrupt slam of a door.

My eyes shifted upwards to find a detective standing on the other side of the table. His hands were crossed against his chest and his eyebrows were furrowed. He was an older man, most likely aged in his late fifties. His hair was slightly grayed and I could tell he had been doing this for quite a long time.

I wouldn't be surprised if he was taken aback by how I looked. My long brown hair was tangled into knots. My black shirt and jeans were covered in rips, dirt, and dried blood. I looked young, maybe even younger than I actually was. I was lucky enough that the officer who brought me into the precinct let me use the bathroom. I was only given a couple of minutes but the quick bathroom trip allowed me to clean the disgusting filth and blood that was glued to my face. The blood on my clothes and hands remained as there just wasn't enough time for me to clean any of it off. Most criminals wouldn't have been offered a bathroom trip or treated with human decency. I guess I was one of the lucky ones. Many would say criminals like me deserved to be treated poorly but I'd like to think the opposite. No one knew what I had been through.

"State your full name and date of birth please," the detective mumbled as he placed a voice recorder on the table.

I sighed, "Scarlett Brooke Hayes. November 7th, 1997."

He shifted through some files that were littered on the table before speaking again, "I'm Detective Adams. Before going forward, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."

His eyes quickly flicked towards mine. He waited for some type of response to gauge whether or not I understood his words. I nodded.

"You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you," he continued.

Before responding, I quickly reminded myself of what they told me to do if I ever get caught. Say nothing and tell them you want an attorney.

I said nothing.

"So Scarlett," the detective began, "Can you briefly explain what happened during the time you were at the harbor?"

I stayed quiet. I had two options.

One. I could tell them exactly what happened and probably receive a reduced prison time. Maybe a year or two in jail. But with that comes the chance of having his people come after me once I'm released. Hell, they could come after me while I was in prison.

Two. Keep my mouth shut, protect myself and the few people I care about, and not be a target of murder once I'm released.

I decided option two would be best.