The Tomb

Chapter 2

“Why did you do it?”

“I didn’t do it, how many times do I have to tell you guys this,” I lazily look at the police officer while he seethes. As he rummages through a bag I study him. Tall, middle-aged, blonde, with stern grey eyes.

“Yes you did, all evidence points to you,” he says putting down the pictures taken at the scene. I turn my head and try to stare at the white brick wall.

“Don’t you dare look away,” he says grabbing me by my hair and making me look at the pictures. “Look at them, look at what you did to the people who raised you,” he says smashing my face in the pictures moving them around.

I lean back after he has removed his hand from my brown hair, glaring daggers at the officer. Unfazed is how he seems as he pulls out a picture of the bloody kitchen knife. “This knife, we ran a test on it, and your fingerprints are all over it.”

“Of course they are, I had to yank it out of my mother’s chest,” I say in a duh tone. He takes his hand and pulls it back, the next thing I know is I feel my head whip to the side with the power of his slap. No mercy for the wicked.

“Stop being sarcastic, if you didn’t do it why were there no signs of forced entry huh?” he asked quizzically, leaning down on the table to get in my face. Cold grey staring into pale blue.

His question starts to make me wonder. There were no signs of forced entry, except the unlocked door, but that itself didn’t even seem forced. So that only means one thing, something my mother decided not to tell me.

“Answer me boy” he screams in my face, and my eyes snap back to his.

“The culprit was let in by one of my parents,” I bite back.

“Yeah and maybe that culprit is you.” He says narrowing his eyes at me.

“Whatever,” I groan tired of this, we have been at it for hours.

“See if you’ll be saying that when we send you to The Tomb, you heathen.” He says standing up and walking out.

I lay my head on the table and groan. The tomb, I can’t go to The Tomb. I won’t survive in there. Isn’t this wrong, don’t I get a right to a jury and a trial. Have they never heard of the sixth amendment?  

After a few minutes of waiting, Mr. Grumpy comes back. “What a shame, you were such a smart young man too,” he says looking at me solemnly. “Well come on,” he says waving me over towards the door.

“Where are you taking me,” I ask trying to stand up with handcuffs on. After my many attempts, I stand up and walk out the open door, and follow him down the hallway.

“First to your house, so you can maybe put some clothes into that backpack of yours.” He says looking at my book bag. “Why do you carry it anyway, ain’t got nothing but school supplies in it.” He says opening the door for me to step outside.

“My parents gave it to me as a college gift,” I say walking down the hallway, “Before my mother...before she died. She told me it would mean the world to them if I kept it with me always.” I say getting into the back of his cop car.

“Bet she wish she would have put a bomb in it, so she could have blown you to smithereens before you could touch her,” he laughs.

“Whatever,” I sigh and stare forward as he closes the car door and sits in the front.

“Well, are you ready?” He asks driving while looking at me through the rearview mirror.

I turn my head and look out the window, “No one's ever ready.”