Tranquil Falls

Blind

There was a sense of comfort that came from the flashing of police lights. No siren. Just the lights. Watching as they reflected in the darkness around us. The feeling that help had arrived. A sense of peace that everything was going to be okay after all.

Unless you didn't want help. Or to be found.

I sat in the back of the cruiser, my head resting against the back of the seat as the officer spoke with his partner outside the door. I shifted uncomfortably as the cuffs dug into my wrist. I stopped when I noticed that they were both looking at me and dropped my eyes back to my lap.

My parents were going to be pissed that the cops were bringing me home again. They were probably the ones that called and asked for a unit to retrieve me. They always thought I was running off to buy or use drugs or some other legal activity. They didn't know that I was going to the graveyard to visit someone. Not to do the stereotypical things that teenagers do in a graveyard.

I didn't look up as the balding cop got into the driver's seat and started the car. He turned off the lights and headed in the direction of my house. I'd been in the back of his cruiser before. He and my dad went on fishing trips whenever they both had a weekend off. My mother was on the PTA with his wife. He'd been to my house for dinner.

"Second time this month, Gatlin," he said gruffly as he turned onto the highway.

I shrugged but didn't answer. I'd been seeing a counselor twice a week for the past six months. My parents thought it would help with my rebellious streak. I got good at playing the game, though. Telling the psychiatrist what he wanted to hear. Assuring him that I was taking my medicine and not flushing it down the toilet—which I was, but he didn't need to know that.

He probably already did, though. He humored me. At least I had that going for me. Maybe he thought if he played my game, he'd get me to slip up and finally get to the bottom of whatever's going on with me.

I wished someone would figure it out without me saying the words.

"How's the team looking this year?" Officer Owens asked.

I turned my head to look out the window, watching as the trees passed by. "Okay."

"Your dad said you had a good chance of making first string. That must be exciting. Although, how's Coach going to like it if his star player is being picked up by the cops every week for running away from home?"

I wasn't running away. That was what they didn't get.

I shrugged but didn't respond as I rested my forehead against the cool glass, closing my eyes. Maybe he would drop it if I didn't say anything. I knew him well enough, though, to know that wasn't going to happen.

"Your dad said you're still making the honor roll. So, why does a smart kid like you need to run off?" he asked. I could feel him looking at me, but I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of looking back at him.

"Can you give me the key to take these cuffs off?" I asked him, opening my eyes to watch as the trees faded into the suburbs. "Are they really necessary?"

"You were trying to cut the lock on the fence, Gatlin," Owens said as he turned off the main highway onto the street that would take us to my house. "That's an attempt of the destruction of property, so, no."

I rolled my eyes and sat back in the seat, casting my eyes to the ceiling. The streetlights flashed inside the car as he drove past them. They didn't give me the same kind of peace as the cop car lights. They seemed depressing. A bad taste entered my mouth as my stomach churned. It only grew worse as we got closer and closer to my house.

I slumped down in the seat, closing my eyes. I knew my parents would be waiting on the porch when we pulled up. My sister would be inside on the couch, wearing her pajamas and hugging her stuffed rabbit, watching me with tired eyes as I walked past her to the stairs. The same scene that happened every time I "ran away".