【悬疑】Mirror（8）Abby
No no no, someone’s trying to strangle me and bang me with a frying pan!
Survival instinct kicks in, and I wake up from a dream-like daze, all five senses coming back in the blink of an eye. Okay, not literally, because my eyelids feel like they are glued to the eyeballs. I pry them open, and snap shut right away. The fucking lights outside almost make me go blind!
As the car - I think I am in a car - comes to a screeching halt, someone shouts in the front, “watch out, Martin! Do you want to write yourself a ticket?”
A vaguely familiar voice retorts, “relax, Ken. It's not like I am going to run over a kid. Whoever is out at this hour is either stoned or stupid. One less out on the street is one less pain in our asses.”
I cough violently and flinch in pain. What is all this exactly?
Judging from the colors of the flashing lights and the cage wire I just bump my head on, I am in the back of a police cruiser. Both of my wrists are cuffed to the back, cold metal digging into the muscles numbed by the awkward position. Hard plastic seat, cramped legroom, and a locked seat belt that almost chokes me to death. Yeah, none of these is built for comfort like a first class flight to Hawaii. It feels more like a trip to...I don’t know. Well, I have an idea, but there’s no way this is happening to me. No way.
Wait, how do I end up here in the first place? My head hurts as I think hard, but it hurts more after I recall the events that land me here.
The tape. The taser. The cop. And Abby.
Shit, I am going to be so fucked!
As the bumpy ride resumes, the uncertainty of what I am about to face creeps up on me, like......it’s like this sudden urge to turn my stomach inside out and empty all its contents. The acidic foul taste in my dry mouth reminds me of the explosive puke in the police station. So it wasn’t just a bad dream. Must’ve happened after I passed out. I gag at the nauseating image, but thankfully nothing comes out and ruins my favorite Giants hoodie. Wait, where does this come from? Didn’t I give it to Abby?
The van passes through two barred gates at lease 18 feet tall and pulls up along side a couple other police cruisers. The rear passenger side door opens, high-beam lights throwing an accusing glare at me as if I’ve actually done something wrong.
Shit, my guess is right. This IS the jail!
Sherman plants himself close to the door, peering down at me like a clown trying to scare kids away. Of course, I’ve got at least five inches on him. He can’t look at me any other way but up when I stand in front of him. Freaking moron.
“Come on, let’s make this quick.” He orders me to get out as he unbuckles me. Half-covering his disgusted face from the reek of vomit weeping through the hoodie, he comments with a smirk, “the jacket looks much better on your girlfriend.”
I scowl. Not that I disagree, but every word coming out of his mouth makes me want to vomit again. On him.
Sherman clicks his tongue as he shakes his head disapprovingly, “kids these days......I can’t believe she actually took it off when she heard you were throwing up on yourself in the next room. She even asked us to change you, like we are your fucking nanny! I don’t understand why Ken even bother to put it on top of you.”
Sweet baby Jesus, I wish I can run to Abby through these gates right now and love her every way I can. If only I am not in this deep shit, damn it! She’s all I’ve got now. For how much longer I am not sure, but focusing on the best thing in my life makes the walk to the unknown a lot more bearable.
My thoughts are still on Abby when we reach our destination. Painted in bold font on the long reception desk are four cold words - “Intake and Release Center”. The place itself resembles a guarded hospital with glass windows and doors everywhere. They don't seem bullet proof. The floor is abused by its patrons over the years, and the wall can use a facelift. Strategically placed cameras decorate the ceiling, capturing the hustle and bustle around us with watchful eyes.
No doubt midnight is the busiest time of the day in this facility. Men and women of all shapes, colors and sizes fill the hall, and everyone's busy doing his or her own thing. An officer in white gloves is patting down a guy wearing several layers of clothes with more pockets than a magician. A girl in a skimpy party dress is filling out a form on the wall, hands so shaken she drops the pen twice. On a bench next to a standing officer sits a guy in an expensive looking suit, his head drooped like he's nodding off or about to die. The scenes kind of remind me of the backstage of a talent show, only it's one that performs in a cage instead of on stage.
We stop in front of a small room where four pairs of officer and arrestee already stand waiting outside. It’s the drug testing line. Shit, I have a hunch I’d test positive. The shit I said and shitty things I did earlier feels too much like an OD. The worst kind. A high 100 times more intense than the buzz from the edible sample J gave me. It must’ve come from the chocolate chip cookie he threw in with the candies he gave me at Daniel’s. Damn it, if only it didn’t taste that good, just like the ones Abby made. If only I knew it was that potent. I kick myself for falling so easily. But however this goes down, I only have myself to blame.
“Hey Cindy, we’ll do the shower and search first. This one stinks too bad. See you in a little bit.” Sherman tells the lady through the half-open door.
Shower? That sounds almost heavenly. Walking around in my own puke is beyond gross, and holding up the drug test is a pretty good idea too.
The nurse lady looks up from the blood-filled syringe on a tattooed arm and nods briefly at him before returning to her task. Sherman gives me a shove, pushing me away from the line, and off we go.
The line outside the see-through shower room isn’t exactly shorter than the drug testing line, but I don’t ask any questions. Getting rid of these clothes is on the top of my priority list at the moment. The sight of half dozen bare asses and dicks in the fish-tank shower room doesn’t bother me at all. It’s just like gym class. Our constitution right to privacy is totally overrated. Now my biggest concern is: what happens if I do test positive? Is it gonna like a simple DUI? Or do I have to actually stay here? My palms start to sweat at the possibility of being locked up with a dozen maniacs, or worse, a sexual assault convict. Getting fucked is definitely not on my bucket list.
My expression must’ve given me away, because a corner of Sherman's lip twitches into a wicked smile as he volunteers the most helpful - and horrifying - information of the night. “Don’t think of this as something you can just pay a fine for. Getting caught high on weed at school can land you in jail for up to 10 days.”
Holy fuck, is he messing with me?
“But I am over 18! Who goes through college without trying weed? Hell, three guys in my class went to the 420 Fest and everyone of them came back without a scratch!” I try to bring up my best argument.
“Because it’s not on school ground, you dumbass.” He pats my shoulder, “you should thank your parents for bringing you to this world more than 18 years ago, cause you can’t get away doing it out of school if you are under 18.”
I swallow hard. A couple of minutes later, the naked dudes change into orange jumpsuits and file pass me to the cops that have brought them in for booking. Once traffic clears, Sherman gestures for me to get in, but my feet stick to the floor, unable to move from the shock that freezes me in place. A slap on the back of my head shakes me out of the daze and I numbly walk in. He’s bluffing, I will myself to think. Pushing the alarming thought away, I start shrugging off my clothes like I am in a strip contest. Before handing over the Giants hoodie to Sherman, I hesitantly ask, “will I get this back, when I get out?”
“Why don’t you worry about WHEN you can get out first?” He replies with a condescending smirk as he catches the soiled clothes in a clear plastic bag labeled with my name.
The shower is just what doctor ordered, because I feel like a human again after changing into the ugly but clean jumpsuit. Sherman leads me to another room that doesn’t have a glass door or any glass windows, and this time there’s only me. Two officers with gloved-hands position themselves in front of two opposite walls, facing each other. The only other object is a lone table next to one of the cops, my garment bag and a clipboard sitting on top.
Another search? They’ve already taken all my belongs away, what else is there to check? I turn around and eye Sherman incredulously. He just shrugs, “it’ll be really quick. A couple minutes, tops. Just turn around, squat and cough, spread your butt cheeks, and you are done.”
What? A fucking strip search? Giving them a peep show is one thing, but displaying my private parts like this is down right degrading! Where's our constitutional right to privacy when we need it?
“Why?” My voice comes out a little shaky, but I deserve to know what warrants this invasive action.
“Body cavity search is standard practice when we have a reasonable suspicion that you are in possession of drugs." The cop by the table announces.
"But I don't have..." I stop mid-sentence as he holds up a ziplock bag full of green herbs. “We found this in your jacket. Does this belong to you?”
My jaw drops to the floor. What the fuck is this?!
【悬疑】Mirror（10) Chase