Wrongfully Exiled

Chapter 2, Part 1: The Interrogation

In Matthew's room, he had a total five officers surrounding him and guarding the door, armed, guns drawn to their arms. Matthew felt the most intimidated he had ever felt in his entire life. His palms were sweating, his face was red, and his fingers were curled up, tugging on the rim of his shirt - something that he did when he was nervous, and did even with handcuffs on.

"Where did you learn to summon forces? Or, do you only know how to summon light? How many forces can you summon?" a mean-looking officer asked, and Matthew's mentally rolled his eyes. It was bold of them to make such a statement with such confidence and no true proof, only eye witness. They hadn't even asked him if he could actually summon them or not.

"I swear to you, officers. I have no idea who did this, but it wasn't me. I don't even know all the different types of summoning, it's so taboo to talk about here. Please, someone tell me," he began, looking around. He was sounding cocky and like he was talking back, and quickly decided he needed to change his tone.

"You can even call my parents," he stammered, "they'll tell you that I've never been into any trouble with the law, ever. My family has been here for a long time, so even if I wanted to learn anything, since my ancestors are from our climate, fittingly even named as the Moderate Climate, I wouldn't have any family to help me learn it. No one that we know even knows the first step to summoning, let alone summoning light, the most difficult kind. That's the most difficult one, right? Maybe?" he looked around and sighed, feeling as if he wanted to break into tears. Being frantic was't getting him anywhere, either. Everyone continued to look at him like a criminal.

"It's just... You have to believe me. I've never had any connection with summoning, ever," he pleaded to the officers, trying to show that he was calm. Internally, though, he was feeling the opposite. The shake in his voice was a giveaway. He was trying to stay calm, but it was difficult. He was just 14.

"Please, just call my mother. She'll tell you."

The interrogation officer looked at a guard, and they nodded to each other.

"What's the number of your mother?" the officer at the door asked, and Matthew desperately tried to hide a smile coming up in relief. He knew that his mother would, though unwillingly and angrily, try to dig him out of the hole that he was stuck in. He knew that she would have faith in him that he didn't do anything wrong.

At least, that's what he hoped.

"Her number is 6754. Please, she'll tell you. I haven't done anything wrong".

As all of the officers left the cell temporarily, and the lock on the cell door clicked, Matthew was alone in his thoughts, tears brimming to his eyes out of fear. What would his mother think of him, getting a call from the jail in the middle of the night? She and his step-father were likely sick to their stomachs, worried about his whereabouts. They hadn't heard from him all night. He hoped that the call from the jail would at least give them a bit of ease of mind, and, hopefully, they would help him out and make it easier for the officers to let himself and the others free.

Switching to the room next to him, Jonathan was very panicky in his cell, as suspected. He was begging to call home, too. If not him calling home, then at least a call from an officer to his parents would be sufficient. He just wanted his parents to know that he was okay, and most of all, he wanted their help. He wanted them to help prove that he was innocent. They'd always been there for him, and could speak to his character. They would help him out, he knew it.