Philophobia

Mine

       "Mr. Iplier then?" A young policewoman, who had stated her name to be Rachel, asked.

       "I prefer it. I'm aware it's not my actual last name." Mark smiled, although he didn't let it reach his eyes. Rachel nodded.

       Mark took a glance to his left. Jack was sitting so still it was difficult to tell he was breathing. He stared at the ground as his mother kept her arm tightly around him, the way someone might cling to a precious heirloom. It was absolutely disgusting the way the woman made him feel. Painfully obvious though it was what Jack felt about his mother, Mark sensed nothing but ugly from her. He'd met a lot of people in his life, and been a lot of places. His intuition was sharp, and it rung alarm bells the moment they made eye contact once the group had sat down in the station.

      She looked predatory. Vicious. But almost as if she wasn't aware of this fact. Even if she genuinely loved her son, she didn't love him like a person.

      He was something she could cultivate and live through. An item of use. And no one could touch it because it would change into something she didn't want.

      It was legitimately unsettling.

      Rachel coughed abruptly, and then spoke up.

      "Well, Mr. Iplier, there are no legal documents confirming his contractual commitment to work underneath you. There are, however, hospital records confirming his role as a caretaker for you while you were severely injured," She sat down at a desk to the back of the seating area and looked over at him, "Did you ever see any signs of drug usage while he was in your home?"

Mark gritted his teeth, "No. I did not. I'd like to be questioned only if I can see the 'evidence' that led you to make such a claim. He is my employee until I am fully healed."

Rachel sighed, leaving her desk to sit down in a chair across from Mark. She crossed her legs and stated, "Regardless of your affiliation with him, this man has been charged of DUI and illegal drug abuse. If he isn't taken by his family for intervention and rehabilitation, then it's jail." Pulling out a small folder and setting it on the table, she pushed up her glasses, moving it towards him with a small nod.

Mark grabbed the folder and flipped it open, gingerly turning each page and reading intensely. Inside were papers filled with information about results on blood tests. It was thorough, but he didn't believe a bit of it. He couldn't. This wasn't Jack.

"When were these done?" He asked, closing the folder and holding it firmly. Rachel raised an eyebrow and paused for a moment.

"Ah that's right. These were done while the subject was missing in Ireland, and was eventually apprehended in Dublin attempting to leave the country. He was underage, and in custody of his family, who prompted to quickly tests for mental illness, drugs, gang involvement," She walked to her computer, scrolled through something, and spoke again, "...when he was 17."

"17? Was he near death or fatally injured?"

Jack's mother huffed, "No, and thank goodness he wasn't. Boy isn't right in the head, he needs us. Now stop asking questions that are family matters." She turned to Jack and kissed him on the head with a loud smack.

"Did Jack consent to being tested for drugs? Because if he didn't, and his life wasn't threatened by an unidentifiable cause, then it would seem as though you forced him into testing he didn't give permission to be done. Which is illegal. And I highly doubt he was involved in violence or ever overdosed before-"

"He was tested," His mom spoke up, "by Reagan Filecity, an old family friend and child psychiatrist. It was done outside of the system, but I can assure you it was all very professional and valid."