Finding Hope

Chapter Ten

Winter

     I tip my head back when I get out of the car, looking at the sky right above me. Watching the puffs of white pass over. A simple thing, really, but it makes this so much easier. The bright blue and the white on top of each other make my pupils retract, and the cop takes my elbow. I look in front of me as he walks into the station.

     "Put him in 14. Let him call someone first. The kid doesn't deserve to be in here." The cop shakes his head, takes off my hand cuffs, and shoves me forward.

     I've been here before, so I know where the phone is. I walk to the white box on the wall and open the glass door to it.

"Can I have the code?" I ask the man. He's young probably new here.

     He fumbles through the papers in his hands, muttering curse words. "H-here," he tries to hand me the paper.

"No, I'm not supposed to look. Punch it in." I pick up the black phone and press it to my ear.

     The kid pressed in seven numbers.

Four, six, two, seven, nine, six, five.

     I dial the number I need, even though I know nobody's going to answer.

   The call goes straight to voice mail. "Hi! This is Connie! I'm sorry, but I'm not available at the moment! Call again later!" Her voice is sweet and energetic.

     I press the little lever and dial in the code a second time. Four, six, two, seven, nine, six, five. Then I dail her number again. 

     "Hi! This is Connie! I'm sorry, but I'm not available at the moment! Call again later!"

Tears well in my eyes, and I hang up, dialing a different number after punching in the code.

     It rings twice and a rough voice answers. "Hello?"

"Dad," I say, scratching the back of my neck.

"Winter. What do you want?" His voice makes a terrible sound in my head. Like nails against a chalk board.

     "Uh... $400. And a ride." I bite my lip, knowing the answer already.

"$400?! For what?" My dad yells.

"To get bailed out of jail. Again." I say, clenching my fist around the phone. I feel my knuckles turning white.

     "No. Go rot, Winter."

The line goes dead. A buzz on the phone annoys my ear, but I leave it there, pressed against my cheek.

     After a few minutes, I hang it back up and make my way to the kid at the desk.

     "I'm not getting bailed. Put me to a room." I shrug, waiting for the kid to stand.

     He looks at me, chewing his lip. "Okay. This way," he stands, leading me to a cell. Barred door. No window. Tin toilet. Small bunk.

     I lay on the bed and attempt sleep. Soon it comes.

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    My cheek stings, red. My eye is swelled and I can feel blood running down my lip.

"Its your fault!" I feel leather whip against my back. "She's dead! Its all your fault! They're all dead! You should have died!"

Another whip against my back.

     "Fuck you," I mutter, and then I feel a boot in my side. I collapse. Another boot in my side.

     I cough, wincing at the throbbing pain.

He spits at me, the lob landing by my eye. "You bastard child," he walks away, leaving me curled on the floor.

::::X::::o::::O::::x::

My eyes snap open. I sit up in a hurry. Its dark in the station. No lights on. Just the solitary yellow glow above the tin toilet, and another right outside the bars that keep me here.

     I breathe heavily and lay back down, falling again into sleep, dreamless this time.