" Yes, because I look like a cold blooded murder, "
In which Brent Alvarez spends an unfortunate fourth of July at Sweetwater river, thinking he only wants to get away from his house, but instead becomes a murder suspect for the most popular kid in...
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Present
Rusty red dots splattering the front of his white shirt, purplish bruises littering his features, dirt caked his skin, Brent could barely feel his body. His eyelids grow heavy causing his environment to become a haze, the faint throbbing pain numbed his senses. Lulling him into unconsciousness, his body slumping against the metal table in front of him. He could hardly keep himself propped up. Shallow breaths pass through his lips, only brought him temporary moments of comfort. Metal cuffs constricted his movements, tightening at the smallest twitch. Brent had to fight every instincts he had not to pull on his restrains.
It was much harder than most people would believe.
The sound of metal clanking against each other rang in his ears as his fingertips barely touched his wrists. A pained hiss passes his lips when his finger touches the raw skin, who knew handcuffs could cut into one's skin so easily.
If he could see himself in a mirror right now, he would probably cringe.
How long have I been sitting here anyway?
Fading in and out of consciousness made it difficult to keep track of time. Plus that was the least of Brent's worries, being locked in the interrogation room was much higher on that list. Finally, the only door into the cramped room slowly opened. Confliction flickered across Brent's features when his eyes land on Sheriff Keller. Being both his friend's father and his captor he didn't know what to make of the situation.
"Brent Alvarez?" Keller spoke in a gentle tone.
The boy didn't respond, it took too much effort to. Instead, his face landed on what Keller had in his hands. Unsure what to make of the folder that he held onto tightly, he focused more on the clear plastic cup in his other hand. It only dawned on him now how dry his mouth was.
God, he hated the taste.
But blood was the only fluid he could get into his system. Keller pulled out the chair opposite from him, both item were set in front of Brent. "How does a young boy, like yourself with no criminal record end up the prime suspect in a murder case?" He inquired, drawing Brent's attention back to the folder. Only now did his vision manage to concentrate on the words printed in bold on it.
Brent Alvarez.
"The only record you have is from your foster care, even at that it doesn't shed much light on the subject," Keller furrowed his brow. To someone who had watched a lot of buddy cop films, it seemed that he was going for the nice cop approach. He wanted Brent to trust him, but trust was something earned.
Still handcuffed Brent moved his arms the best he could, rattling filling the silence. "It would be a bit easier if these handcuffs weren't cutting my wrists," he pointed out. Ignoring the flashes of pain arising from his wrists when he stupidly, lifts his arms. Well, lifting wasn't quite the action Brent did but Instead, hitting the chains against the arm of the chair.
"That only sound fair," Keller sighed raising from his seat. Patting down his belt for the keys hanging loosely from it. The longer it took for his hands to find them, the more Brent felt his skin burning. A faint click sounds his freedom when the handcuffs release their grip on him. Clattering to the ground, Brent kicked them to the side. Instinctively his hand found his wounded wrist holding it gently, with a caring touch while his eyes traced the red mark left behind.
"Now back to the topic at hand,"
Keller sat back in his seat, the kind that he had up until this moment sharpened. As if he truly believed that sitting across from him, wasn't a bit in the wrong place at the wrong time, but a cold-blooded killer. With a quick flick of his wrist, Keller pulled something from the file. Right in front of Brent was an image, one of many of these 'evidence' that the police had against him.
Laid out on a simple sheet of paper was a frozen moment in time, a still image of the instrument used to kill Jason Blossom.
His throat tightened, while a faint haunting itch resurfaced in Brent's hand. Clenching his jaw, Brent lifted his gaze, he wasn't sure if it was confusion or fear that caused the acceleration of his heart rate.
"There is a lot of evidence that has you, linked with the murder of your classmate, Jason Blossom and a witness that places at the river on the Fourth of July,"
Regaining his composer from the sudden bombardment of information, Brent shook his head scoffing slightly "I'm not a killer if that's what you are implying."
"I'm just stating facts," Keller defended, his arms folding across his chest.
"Facts that aline with one person's theory," Brent shoot back, his eyes narrowing at the accusing adult.
"Say things aren't as they appear, how do you explain how your fingerprints ended up on the murder weapon?"
"I-"
Keller was quick to cut off the boy, another page was pulled from the file and placed on the table "or being seen burning evidence."
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Brent's heart rammed rhythmically against his ribcage. If his mouth wasn't already bone it certainly would be now.
"That's not-"
Another picture was thrown down. "As Well, you've been seen at The Whyte Wyrm," Keller added, his cold words echoed in his mind. Knocking off the walls of his skull.
Three pictures sat down on the table, each of them held something against him. While his eyes shifted from one to another, they seemed to add an invisible weight to his already heavy body. First was the gun, the second image wasn't quite clear, but going by what he could make out it looked like a burnt out car. Clearly, the burnt evidence that evidence that Keller had told him. But when he looked at the final picture, there was no guessing, no speculation, it was clear that the boy was him. The vague haze of cigarette smoke did nothing to hide his features.
Now if a man sat where Brent did, with the amount of evidence against them. Someone like his father. They would be strong, they wouldn't be scared or get angry. But he wasn't his father and anger flooded his veins.
"Bullshit! I didn't do anything!" Brent suddenly jerked as his fist found the metal table, hitting it with great force. The whole thing shook to both parties surprise, but Brent made sure to hold his ground. He didn't even register the fact he was now standing up, face to face to the sheriff, his eyes never leaving his.
A grey eyebrow quirked upwards, Keller's expression shifted a little. Only for second. "How can I believe thst? Like I mentioned there is lot against you," he questioned, unfazed by Brent's aggressive reaction.
"Because you'd be putting an innocent person to jail," he held back a snarl threatening to come out.
"Brent, my hands are tied, unless you have more information to share that will help us, by all means, tell me,"
Brent's body deflated, slumping back into his seat. With burrowing brows, he lifted his head from his laptop look at Keller "where do I start?" He murmured.
"Try the Fourth of July, the last sighting of Jason."
Author Note I really like how I started this? I don't know why but anyway. I have never been so happy and nervous at the same time putting up a chapter. And this is only the first one too. I've kind of already getting a feel for Brent.
Though I do feel a little bad by making Keller out to be a bad guy. But at this point he would want to catch Jason's killer.
Anyway enough of my rambling thanks for reading this chapter. I hope you all have a good day.
