Chapter 15

The clock on the car’s dashboard ticked away. Two hours passed before Jennings decided to take me in for processing. As we left the motel, he hummed something under his breath. It was a happy tune. He was happy which made me mad. Yes, anger began to fill me. The resentment of having been arrested for defending myself was only the beginning. Ms. Frasier mentioned that he liked to push buttons. If I was right, he was teasing me. He wanted me to give him a legitimate reason to arrest me.

After about ten minutes of driving, I realized that the humming had stopped. I looked up and found him glaring at me in the rear-view mirror. More than that, there was a difference in his eyes. His aura didn’t reveal any changes, so I wasn’t sure what was going on. Then, in a deeper, colder voice, he asked, “How did you do it?”

I looked at him. “Do what?”

“Survive,” he said. “How did you survive their attack?”

His question hit me from left field. I knew he would ask me something, try to get me to talk so as to use my own words against me, but this...?

Then my confusion cleared up and I understood. Sitting in the back seat with my hands cuffed, I felt like a bird staring at a viper. This man, this officer of the law, had decided to show me his true self. The grinning, jovial, near-incompetent detective was only a mask, and well worn. Worse, he wasn’t only showing himself, he pretty much just confirmed that he knew I was attacked. If he knew I was attacked, then why arrest me?

I stared at the mirror for a moment, allowing him to see my shock. I didn’t know what he was playing at, I couldn’t let him draw me out and potentially confirm that I had done something wrong. But, was his real goal my incarceration? Something told me it wasn’t. There was also the fact that he had to know I would convince someone of this deception. He couldn’t allow it. Therefore this wasn’t about me going to jail. He had something planned and I had to be ready for it.

For the time being, I blinked and looked away, saying nothing.

“Damn lawyer,” he grumbled. “She got to you, didn’t she? I convinced you not to say anything. Won’t matter. After tonight, none of it’ll matter. Police Departments all over the U.S. lose detainees all the time. You’ll be no different.”

I frowned and looked at the mirror. I wanted to ask what he meant by ‘lose detainees.’ Did he mean misplaces, like with your keys, or something darker?

Twenty minutes later, we arrived at the central police department for Arlington. While the front looked modern and inviting, the back made me think of dark alleys and other places where crimes could be committed and no one would even discover them for days, if not weeks.

We pulled into a garage. He parked and shut off the car. He sat still and waited for the garage door to close. Then he climbed out, closed his door, and opened my door to let me out of the car. “C’mon, let’s go,” he said in that same darker tone.

I eased out and stood up.

He closed the car door behind me, stepped around, and looked up.

I looked back at him, met his eyes, and knew something was coming.

Without warning, Jennings nailed me in the gut with the handle of a baton I hadn’t seen him holding.

I doubled over and dropped to my knees. I couldn’t hold my gut, where it hurt. I struggled to catch my breath.

“Something you have to learn, boy,” he said. “You are not in charge. Here, you have no power.”

His last statement worried me. My shield hadn’t appeared. Granted, if it had, it wouldn’t have done me any good with my hands cuffed behind my back. But, why hadn’t it appeared?

Jennings used the baton to raise my face so I was forced to look at him. He grinned and softly chuckled. “You’re not so tough.”

I caught my breath but continued to refrain from doing anything in return because then I could be charged with assault and possibly attempting to escape custody. Yes, that college class taught me a lot, but it was no help with my current situation.

“Get on your feet,” he said with a mix of disgust and the threat of more violence in his voice.

I stood up again.

He tried to hit me again.

This time, I was ready. I used telekinesis to catch the baton. I held it in place for a second and then let it go.

Jennings looked from the baton to me. He was confused, but then he studied my face. “You did something didn’t you?”

I didn’t say anything. I simply stared back at him, ready for anything else he might try.

He turned and invaded my personal space. His hot, smelly breath washed over my face as he said, “Don’t get smart. Anything you do while in custody can be interpreted as assault.” Then he grinned. “No, on second thought, get smart. Defend yourself. Let’s find out just how bad you really are.”

Then he grabbed my upper arm and forced me to walk with him to the only door.

My location didn’t scare me. Being detained for the next forty-eight hours didn’t scare me. What scared me was that I was being led through the building by a man who felt justified in hitting me with a baton to prove his authority. There was nowhere to run. The interior was built with concrete, liberally, and metal framed everything. I wasn’t leaving until they chose to let me go.

Jennings led me up to a large booth. Several officers sat behind thick plated glass at terminals. They looked bored. One of them stood up and approached as if he knew we would be there hours before our arrival. “Hey, Detective,” he said. “Who do we have tonight?”

“Another low-life scumbag,” Jennings said. “Goes by the name of Ral Sutton.”

The officer blinked at him as if confused. His aura, a steel-gray, said he was. Then he looked at me. “Isn’t he the one who did some kind of weird voodoo shit at a court hearing?”

“The very same,” he said, switching back to his good-ole-boy tone. “So you guys keep an extra close eye on him.”

The officer glanced at me and then nodded. He hit a button, which set off a loud buzzer along with a metallic click of a door unlocking. A door adjacent to the Detective and myself opened and two guards came out.

Now, Lieutenant Stanfield was a big man. He stood easily six-four and looked like he could wrap me around a telephone pole if it ever became necessary. The two men who came out in guard’s uniforms made Stanfield seem a bit on the short, tubby side. Both were easily six-six or taller and looked like they didn’t bother owning houses or renting apartments because they spent all of their time either here working or at a junkyard throwing around rusted-out old Junkers for exercise. Their arms were as thick as my waist and I couldn’t even imagine what would compare to their chests. Challenging these two was not a question of stupidity, but rather a timer to find out when I would regain consciousness in the infirmary.

They stood by, one in front of me and the other to my left, while Jennings removed his handcuffs. Then he pulled on my shoulder, wanting me to turn to face him.

I met his eyes, along with that infuriating smirk, and burned with the desire to show him exactly what I could do. Fortunately, I held back from doing anything stupid, like tempting the WWE rejects from smearing me into the floor. Instead, I stood silently with my hands at my sides and all my rage for Jennings in my eyes. It took a lot of effort to hold back my powers from hitting him with the Evil Eye.

One of the officers, Tweedle-Dee, turned me to face the wall. My hands held it and my feet were kicked far enough apart that I worried about slipping down into the splits on the highly polished floor. He checked me for weapons, took my belt and my shoelaces, and then instructed me to stand straight but remain facing the wall.

I could hear the other officer, Tweedle-Dum, talking to Detective Jennings in low voices. They were interrupted by the officer behind the glass.

“Detective? I’m not showing any charges against Mr. Sutton.”

“He’s being held for suspicion,” Jennings said, irritation coming through as if the officer should have understood that. “Forensics is gathering evidence. I’ll file charges when they’re done.”

The officer frowned. “It could take longer than forty-eight hours for forensics to process...”

Jennings stomped over to the glass. “Even if it takes longer than that, this sumbitch isn’t going anywhere. You got that?”

“Sir?”

“He doesn’t leave!” Jennings yelled.

The officer stepped back from the glass as if Jennings might reach through and grab him. After a moment, he stepped up to the mic again long enough to say, “Yes, sir.”

Jennings continued to glare at the officer until the younger man had gone back to his computer station. Then Jennings yelled, “And make sure to keep him isolated. The sumbitch killed a former soldier and badly injured two others. One may be permanently blind.” Then he looked at me with that malicious gleam. Tweedle-dum looked at me too, but in an assessment that said he didn’t realize I was that capable. I couldn’t see the officers behind the glass to note their reactions.

Jennings wasn’t lying about the results, but I didn’t know those assassins were former soldiers. It would explain their equipment and tactics. Regardless, I kept my silence. He wanted the others to believe I was dangerous. Sure. But, then if I was so dangerous, how had he captured me? At least one of the officers present had to be asking himself that question, even if they were too intimidated to put it into words.

A moment later, the officer behind the booth returned to the mic. “He’s ready for Holding Room four.”

Tweedle-Dee looked over at him. “Four?” he asked. “We never use four.”

“Perfect,” Jennings said.

The officer behind the glass pulled out something and set it in a tray. It was the same kind of tray banks used to pass money, documents, etcetera through their wall while you sit in your car. Tweedle-Dum gathered the paperwork. Tweedle-Dee, who hadn’t left my side, gripped my upper arm and pulled me around. “This way,” he said in a slightly deeper voice than his counterpart.

They lead me over to a door across from the glassed booth. It had the number four on it. Something told me that if I allowed them to shut me in there, I would never get out. I was sorely tempted to call on my sword and shield and cut my way out of this facility. My heart began racing and I jumped when that noisy buzzer marked the unlocking of Holding Room four.

Tweedle-dum pulled the door open and then planted something against my chest.

I grabbed it instinctively. Feeling the material, I looked down out of confusion. It was two thin cotton blankets.

Before I could do anything else, both guards gave me a push into the room. As quick as a flash, the door closed behind me and locked.

I stumbled to a stop, dropped the blankets, turned to the door, and ran back at it. I slammed against the door, not so much as making a small thudding sound as my useless form hit it. I beat against the door with my fists and screamed for them to let me out.

Nothing happened.

They didn’t try to tell me to calm down through the door. They didn’t use an internal squawk box to tell me to keep it down. They didn’t open a window to shout at me. I didn’t hear them laughing at my plight. I didn’t feel the door give in the slightest. I was effectively locked in a box and they held the key.

I stumbled back from the door and fell to the concrete floor. My backside hurt, but otherwise, I was uninjured. Then I sat up, pulled the two blankets to my chest, and buried my face into them hoping I wouldn’t hear myself sobbing.

Once I was done wasting energy while feeling sorry for myself, I looked around the room. If they were going to hold me here for the next forty-eight hours, I might as well learn what I could. I couldn’t simply sit on the floor, and let myself go to pieces.

The first thing I noticed was that the room was cold. I was still wearing the clothes I had put on for the lunch I had with my friends, which, while not much, was at least better than shorts and a T-shirt. I pulled one of the blankets around my shoulders for additional warmth. I was going to need it.

The next thing I noticed was that everything, even the bench built into the wall, was made of concrete. I didn’t have a problem sleeping on a firm mattress, but even a firm mattress had some give. Not to mention, the part of the mattress you sleep on absorbs and retains warmth for your body. Concrete would only take my warmth. Sleeping would be an issue.

I also noticed that the overhead lights were fully, brightly lit. The last time I checked a clock - the one in Jennings’ car - it was almost four a.m. They didn’t turn off the lights. I turned and looked at all of the walls. No, there were no windows. There were no clocks. There was no way to know how much time had passed. The only way I could track time would be by the meals they served. Which I should get in the next couple of hours by way of breakfast.

Then I noticed the last detail. Noise. No, it wasn’t constant. Most of the time, the place was deathly silent. But, that buzzer they used to unlock doors went off on an irregular basis. I had no way of knowing when they would lock or unlock a door. Or why they would for that matter.