The Last Flameling of Solnis

Collateral

"No Shiloh. We are helping you." Detective Ross chimes as she reigns Howard in. "We just don't want you to make the mistake of protecting the people tormenting you."

"That and we have to work every angle, but if you don't want to talk about your car then maybe you can shed some light on what happened in the parking garage just up helm street yesterday. Any thoughts about the scene at The Upper Crust?" How butts in again and my mood shifts as I can tell he isn't truly on my side. Just the mention of yesterday is enough to figure that.

     "I don't know what you're talking about," I respond, failing to keep my voice from shaking as I lie.

"See, I think you do Shiloh," Detective Ross tags back in. "And we can't help you if you don't trust us. These are the facts. We have eye witness account of you arguing with some of your classmates at the pizza shop. The same shop where your classmate DeShea was burned. You were also spotted running off into the parking garage after your scuffle. Shortly after that, all the alarms of all the cars go off and your car is spotted leaving. Our officers get there and lots of windshields are smashed in. Can you help us clear some of this up? What was the argument about? And who would've wanted to hurt DeShea like that?"

     She works so hard to seem calm and level headed as she lets silence linger between her questions. And it's not hard with How pressing me like he does. But I'm not naive to their good cop bad cop routine so I remain silent. They exchange a look and How continues to dig.

     "The interesting part of all this is that when I tried to run back the security footage there was none. So here's what I've come up with. You had an argument with your friends likely about the infamous video and all the rumors spreading around. They called you hateful slurs. You got rightfully angry, threw a tantrum and decided to vandalize their property to blow off steam. They got angry and decided to retaliate. Or maybe you did this as a cry for help. Either way you spin it, somehow you're involved in all this. So we need you to start telling the truth," he grills. He just won't let up.

"Detective when I went into the parking garage my driver side window was cracked as well. If I wanted to vandalize property it wouldn't make sense to wreck my own car too." I rebut poking holes in his theory. And like clockwork, his good cop clocks back in.

"I mean, it would kind of make sense if you wanted to cover your tracks. So you're going to have to tell me what happened. Or do we have to take you down to the courthouse to figure this mess out?" She threatens like a scolding mother, but I don't back down.

     "Detective Ross my mother is a lawyer so I have a pretty good idea of how these things are supposed to go. I know for certain that it is illegal to interrogate a minor without the consent of a parent. And the fact that you didn't just arrest me, take me to the police station, and put me in a proper interrogation room with my mother further aids my theory that you have nothing to bring to a judge that, at this current moment, would allow charges to stick, just maybes. And even in a court of law a motion to suppress statements would have this case thrown out. So while you sit here interrogating me for the destruction of my own property, which I clearly have no motive for, all of your potential eyewitnesses, or even further, suspects, that your men just pushed to the sidelines, have vanished. If you would like to explain to me, or my mom, how I've gone from being a victim of a hate crime to being a suspect in vandalism in the space of a few exchanges of dialogue, or better yet find the people that did this to my car be my guest. Otherwise I have nothing further to add except for the fact that you should go back to the police academy and—" my lawyer style jargon that could only come from helping my mom practice her courtroom takedowns is halted by an immense thundering that seems to slow down time. The deep sound, the vibrations, rattle us. And then the force of it snatches us from the ground. Our bodies soar and land hard on the grassy median.