Runaway Felons (A Michael Clifford Fan Fiction)

Chapter 1

     It was 2 AM on a Sunday when the incident happened. I did not mean it. I was not myself that time. It was either too late or too early to be conscious. The Swiss army knife, such a tiny weapon, I know, was still on my hand, and the blood had already dried up. I looked at my hands, and then my stare drifted towards my supposed victim. He's unconscious. He's not breathing. He's dead.

     The cops arrived at around 2:15 AM.  They arrived really quick as soon as a traumatized passer-by dialled 911. What's your emergency? But this isn't just an emergency. This is an unforgivable felony. The cops cuffed my wrists behind me, and they took my weapon away from my bloody hands. Everything felt like it was in some sort of a trance. I closed my eyes for five seconds, praying, well, hoping that when I open them, everything that has happened will just be a mere nightmare. But it was not. I could still see the police cars and the two CSI agents who were examining the corpse. The sight of the corpse was grotesque, and so was the act of continuously stabbing a person. The next thing I knew was that one of the cops was shoving me into the police car.

     "Get inside of the car, and we'll just dicuss about your crime there.", the cop said, but I just stood there, staring blankly at a sea of terror, confusion, and tragedy .

     "I said, get inside!", he repeated. The cop had a really authoritarian voice, but most cops do. I got inside of the car. The heater was turned on, and it was blasting. It felt like I was in hell. The thought of it made me feel a little bit suffocated. the police station was only five blocks away, but the blocks streched really far. As soon as we arrived at the station, the cop who was riding shotgun grabbed me by my bony shoulder quite harshly. Don't they know how to handle a lady? Ha, that made me laugh. To them, I'm just another criminal. They logged me in to this blue record book with my thumb print. Afterwards, they took me inside this room for the infamous mugshots. I stood in front of the tripod as they uncuffed my wrists. I noticed some red marks on them which I thought were rashes starting to build up. They confiscated my wallet from me to get my identification cards. One of the cops typed in my information on the old computer covered with dust, whilst another cop put my identification on a rectangular board and handed it to me soon after.

NEW YORK POLICE DEPARTMENT

NAME: MCDERMOTT, LILIAN    HEIGHT: 5'4

DOB: 01/19   AGE: 18

CRIME: MURDER/ HOMICIDE

G 156R08

     "Lean against the wall, murderer.", the photo man said. I'm not calling him a photographer though, because it would just be really sad for him to admit to his colleagues that his clientele consisted of criminals or jail inmates. As told, I leaned against the wall. I kept slouching, so the photo man kept on making some foul remarks. A handful of mugshots later, they took me out of the room, and took me to the office to call my family. I reached for the phone, but they told me that they're the ones who are going to call my my beloved family. The cop put it on speaker mode, so I could hear the worry in my dad's voice since he was the one who answered the phone. 

     " How can we get a lawyer? That costs a lot of money, Stanley.", I could hear my mother's cry from the phone. They were a tad bit audible, so i just listened. I listened to my mom's faint cry. I listened to my dad's swears of disappointment. This incident broke their heart as much as it broke mine. 

     "How's that, McDermott? Your family is practically broke. Guess you'll be staying here for awhile. It has been a long time since we had a young, female inmate like you.", one of the cops said as soon as the phone conversation was over. I felt like I was going to puke, but I just nodded at his stupid words. Finally, they led me towards my cell. Well, it wasn't really mine since somebody was already there.

     "We don't have any vacant cells for new detainees like you, so you'll be staying here with emo guy.", the cop told me as he patted my shoulder. I flinched.

     "I'm not emo, you prick!", the guy from the cell exclaimed. "And no! She's not staying in here! Of all the cells, you chose mine? Yeah, nah." The 'emo guy' had a really thick accent, Australian, I'm guessing, because I'm pretty sure his voice did not sound like a New Yorker. From the dark, I could see his fair skintone since a faint light sneaked its way through the cell.

"This ain't your cell, buddy, so don't act like a stingy landlord.", the cop told him, then he faced me. " He's always moody, that guy, but I really couldn't care less if you killed each other. As a matter of fact, I encourage it. The lesser criminals, the better. So.." the cop pushed me inside the cell and locked the gate. "in you go."

     The cell was pretty dark except for the faint light shining from the filthy communal bathroom. Did I deserve this to happen to me? I don't know. Everything was beyond me. There were two cots on the opposite sides of the cell. One was occupied by the so-called emo guy, so I walked towards the old and unoccupied cot. I sat down, and I was trying to start a conversation with my fellow inmate. I'm not usually the one who talks a lot and starts a conversation, but I did it anyway to break the ice. I'm going to live with this guy for quite some time, so might as well.

     "So, what's your name?", I asked quite loudly that my voice echoed.

     "Why do you care?!", he then replied.

     "I was just wondering.", I told him. My voice was more quiet.

     "Then stop wondering!"

     "I'm Lilian McDermott, but you could just call me Lily. Lilian is a mouthful. I supposedly murdered someone and---"

     "I don't give two shits to whoever you are and whatever you did, so can you please shut the hell up because it's just going to be hopeless."

     Well, that really shut me up. I lay down on my cot, not minding my peer. I was trying to sleep, but suddenly, the thought of my parents suffering because of me crossed my mind. Then, I was crying. It was just a little sob. I was just worried as to how my family's gonna deal with me. Suddenly, the voice that had yelled at me earlier started talking less aggressively. Just a little.

     "If you're going to be a little bitch and cry, I'm just going to tell you about me for you to stop. My name's Michael. Michael Clifford. I got convicted for arson and homicide.", he said so surprisingly calm. "So please stop crying. I'm trying to sleep here, because apparently, this is now like a coed dorm room."

     "Actually," I started "I wasn't crying over you, douche bag. I'm thinking about my family."

     He laughed at my words.  "A murderer thinking about her family? Now that just seems so bizarre and unbelievable."

     I scoffed. "You're just heartless," Even from the dark, I could feel a smirk forming on his lips.

     "I know.", he said. "And you are, too."