Bailey
Yes, I was scared.
Yes, I was freaking terrified.
Yes, the fact that Shaniqua was dead was probably my fault.
No, I didn’t kill her.
I should have. I wanted to! But I didn’t. Doesn’t that count for anything?
I was locked in a dark room. It was literally pitch black. I couldn’t see anything –even when I put my hand straight in front of my eyes I saw nothing.
Room probably wasn’t even the right word. I could touch the metallic walls on either side of me without stretching my arms. Thank God I wasn’t claustrophobic.
*
When the cops came to my house, I was sitting on the front porch, swinging on a little rusty red porch swing.
There were two of them, both in their late twenties. They were both white.The first one was medium height with a tan complexion and striking black hair. The second was rather tall, with floppy blond hair and a much lighter skintone.
“Are you Bailey Tanner?” the black-haired one asked, perfectly calm and expressionless.
I nodded, of course. In Gary, Indiana, where I lived, police knocking on the door isn’t exactly an uncommon occurrence.
Honesty, I knew from experience, usually paid off. How was I to know they were going to do this to me? How was I to know that anything like this could possibly happen?
The other gave a little nod, and before I knew what was happening, the first guy was holding a pair of handcuffs expectantly in front of me.
“We have a few questions to ask you,” he said grimly. “I'm afraid you're going to have to accompany us to the station.”
I stared at the handcuffs. They didn't look comfortable. They looked sharp, painful, and relentless. A few questions? I was pretty sure that normally when the police ask you a few questions, they don't drag you off in handcuffs. My pulse began to quicken, as that little switch went off inside, the one that alerts you when something isn't quite right.
“I haven't done anything wrong...” I said hesitantly. It was a lie, a sentence that not one single person that I knew could tell without some dishonesty, but I wasn't about to get myself locked up. Surely I hadn't done anything to handcuff level?
The tall one took a step forward. “Look, ma'am. We're not accusing you of anything, but we'd like you to come with us before things get messy.”
This wasn't what I was used to from cops. I mean, I know a threat when I hear one. That was definitely a threat. And sure, it wasn't that uncommon for cops to get rough, but I was a sixteen year old girl, not a raving lunatic.
I still held my hands firmly at my sides, but I stood up, realising that there didn't seem to be much chance of getting out of this, whatever it might be.
“What am I being questioned about?” I asked cautiously, praying that it wasn't a crime which I had actually committed.
They shared a glance. The tall cop crossed his arms, stereotypically staunch. “I already told you, you're not being accused of anything. When you get to the station, you'll be filled in on the situation. If you are unable to help us, we will escort you home. It's very simple.”
He face screamed, “liar!”
I didn't need to be a genius to know that I hadn't been filled in on the whole truth. Why was it that they were so carefully refusing to tell me what the fuck was going on? I was starting to feel kind of pissed off. Their voices, so calm, dark and cold were infuriating. They were like something off of a TV show. No one in real life talked that way. At least, not in Gary. What was with all the “ma'am”s and big words? I honestly felt like I was being spoken to by someone from a different century.
I quickly assessed the situation. I was pretty sure that there was some law about minors being questioned without an adult present, but having dropped out of school at thirteen, I didn’t know enough to say anything. My mom wasn’t home, and most of the houses along the street were abandoned, or simply unoccupied. If I chose to fight the authority, there was no one there to back me up.
“Okay,” I said finally. I glanced down the road, but I couldn't see a single car.
I still didn't hold out my wrists. Call me an idiot, but I really didn't like the look of those things.
“Do we have to use the... handcuff thingy's?” I looked at them with dislike.
Once again, the men shared a look.
“I'm afraid it will be a necessity.” The tall one, clearly the leader, told me, without any change in his tone.
Seeing no way out of it, I reluctantly held out my wrists. He shook his head. “I’m sorry ma’am; you’re going to have to turn around.”
He was asking me to hold my hands out behind me, as opposed to in front.
I looked at the handcuffs. I looked up at the man holding them. I looked at my scarred wrists. I looked back at the man.
I’ll never know what it was that kicked in then. Adrenaline, maybe, or some sort of foolish haughtiness. Suddenly, I didn’t plan on going anywhere.
I put my hands on my hips, and stood up to look at him, full height.
“Tell me what I’m being questioned for,” I said coolly, or I ain’t going nowhere. And you sure as hell are not putting those fuckers on my wrists behind my back.”
Funny how the country part of me always seemed to kick in when I was pissed off. Probably from watching way too much True Blood.
Still no change of expression. Jesus Christ these cops were creepy.
“Ma’am.” he sounded bored. “Do yourself a favour and make this easy.”
I should have. I should have obediently turned around, held out my wrists, and let them take me away. Hadn’t they said I wasn’t being accused of anything?
I had often broken the law in my life, without really thinking about what the consequences would be if I got caught. It wasn’t until the police were standing on my doorstep ready to take me away, that I realised just how much I really did care. As bad as Gary might be, it was a damn lot nicer than prison. By that time of course, it was already too late.
The two cops kept waiting, bored expressions illustrating their emotions.
I knew that they expected me to come with them, whether straight away, or after a bit more coaxing and possibly some more threats. For some reason, it pissed me off. They thought that they had some sort of power over me. Sure, most cops used it for the greater good, or whatever, but these guys were different. They scared me, and that pissed me off more than almost anything else they could have done.
So I did something stupid, something so stupid that even Shaniqua would surely have winced.
“Look, officer.” I glared the tall one straight in the eye. “I haven’t done anything, and I’m not touching your fucked up cuffs. I don’t know what the hell is going on, but if you want me to answer any questions, you can ask them right here. I’ve lived my whole life in this fucking place and I may not have finished school, but I’m smart enough not to get in a car with a stranger.”
Tan cop raised his eyebrows. “What car?”
He was right, of course. I had noticed before that the only car anywhere nearby was an old abandoned Toyota, still wrapped painfully around the power pole it had crashed into almost three years previously. It wasn’t going anywhere.
Kind of like me.
I shrugged. “No difference to me. I wouldn’t ride a horse down East 14th with a stranger.”
Neither cop said anything. It was kind of frightening, how they seemed to be so perfectly in tune to each other, without a single word spoken between them the entire time they had been there.
After almost a minute, I broke the silence, saying nonchalantly, “Do whatever you want. I’m not your momma. But I got things to do, so I’d be ‘bliged if y’all would stay off of my property.”
It didn't occur to me until later, just how childish and immature I must have sounded. It was so obvious that there was nothing in the world that I could do to help my situation. Instead I was making things ten times worse, and making a fool of myself in the process.
Finally, the dark-haired cop took a step forward, so that his pointy nose was mere centimetres from my forehead. I could smell his warm breath, a minty smell as though he had just brushed his teeth. It was surprisingly pleasant, yet somehow every nerve in my body squirmed at the sensation.
I wanted to take a step back, but pride and possibly ego kept me firmly in place. My hands remained stoically on my hips, and I looked him in the eye with as much attitude as I could muster, which was quite a lot.
He didn’t flinch. He returned my glare with a cold satisfaction and said grimly, “Wrong answer.”
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