Cuffed

Chapter Two

The whole ride to the station was deadly silent, as the smug officer drove along the highway. When they arrived at the station, two well groomed men roughly grabbed his upper arms on either side, and brought him to a blank looking room with grimy brick walls. Isaiah suddenly felt very warm, as if the room was extra heated, to work up a sweat to give into the pressure to confess to the crimes- a part of the whole interrogation method.

"Desmond! Sit down." A guard said, locking the room after he entered. Isaiah walked over to the gum-laden chair. Once he sunk into it, he suddenly felt so small, and quickly started to build up a sweat.

    'Maybe this is their strategy,' he thought. 'Maybe they've lowered the chair and heated the room to make me give in.' Isaiah knew he needed to stay strong. He wasn't going to be facing the consequences of something he didn't even do.

As soon as the officer who Isaiah presumed to be the boss, entered with a heavy-looking, black camera, Isaiah knew something bad was about to go down.

"Isaiah Desmond," the man started to say, reading off a case file. "Twenty-two year old African Nova Scotian, arrested for harassing an officer of the law, driving under the influence, and resisting arrest." The man spoke in a boring, monotone voice. The man stood up from the chair, and went to set up the tripod for the camera he was holding. Isaiah didn't like what he saw.

"Sir, if I may ask-"

"No, you cannot." The man interrupted. Isaiah looked down at the ground. The man started setting up the camera, and once he was done, he yanked Isaiah from the embarrassment of a chair and set him up into a different chair. A more comfortable chair, in front of a camera.

"Oh God..." Isaiah muttered.