All Bets Are Off

Chapter Thirty - Ella Fordman: The Other Girl

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            Dedicated to remanmh for all of her support. Thanks, lovely! :)

 

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~Chapter Thirty – Ella Fordman: The Other Girl~

It was at five o’clock the next morning that I came to, my eyes blinking groggily open to take in my surroundings.

            It seemed only fitting that the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes were iron bars, keeping me locked far away from the world. I was half-lying uncomfortably on the wooden bench, my clothes stiff. I reeked of marijuana and vodka, despite the fact I’d only consumed the latter. Still, that kind of smell stayed with a person, long after they’d left the building.

           

            Here is a rundown from what I remember of last night:

1.     I’d been loaded into a police cruiser, handcuffed, and whisked to the nearest station, which smelled of stale coffee and clove.

2.     I’d been thrown into a large holding cell full of other partygoers that had been caught. There were a few hysterical girls crying, and one guy who had no idea what was happening, staring into space with red eyes—still on a party high, I assumed. They’d been able to catch less people than I’d thought, but there were still around fifteen or twenty of us, pathetically huddled in the cell like herded sheep.

3.     And then nothing. I must’ve fallen asleep pretty much soon after.

I was gratified to see most of the girls in the station looked as bad as me. All of the girls had messy hair, torn shirts, and frail, trembling bodies. There was a strange, suspicious white smear on my leather jacket, and I tried not to think too closely about how the mysterious powder had gotten there. I clasped my hands together tightly in my lap to keep from shaking, and tapped my foot rapidly to calm myself down. There was no use getting freaked out yet, not until I knew what was going to happen to me.

Even though my parents were so going to kill me.

I hadn’t seen Carter since the tail end of that shindig, and he hadn’t turned up to the station. Maybe he’d managed to get out in time. I hated to think he’d left me behind as bait so he wouldn’t get caught. I couldn’t imagine he would, though. Surely not. He’d been the one trying to tug me out of the party and keep me safe. At least, that’s what I thought. But had that only been a hallucination in the midst of drugs and panic?

A burly officer in a blue uniform came to the door and opened it, pointing at me with a gnarled, stubby finger that looked curled with arthritis. “You,” he said menacingly, beckoning me forward. “Come with me, ma’am.”