The Support Group ✖ BajanCanadian [COMPLETED]

thirteen : investigation

Chapter Thirteen - "Investigation"

I woke up the following morning to Teddy and Griffin waiting on both sides of me, their faces pale and frozen with fear. I sat up quickly.

"What's wrong?"

"The police...they're scary." Teddy looked down to avoid eye contact.

"What did they do?"

"They were being rude to us. Mostly Teddy, though." Griffin said.

"It's kind of their job..." I sighed, rubbing my eyes and standing up. I hugged them both briefly. "Just stay in here. Are they in-"

"The kitchen. Yeah." Griffin nodded. I nodded back and brushed my hair, walking into the bathroom, and changing into a normal t-shirt and leggings with my old sneakers. I ruffled both boy's hair as I passed by to open the door.

I saw my uncle plop down on the couch, pinching the bridge of his nose. I saw him sigh long and deeply, shaking his head and adjusting his gaze on the blank TV screen. I tried being as quiet as possible on my way down so I don't disturb him.

Next, my aunt came out, frowning.

"That nice boy is in there." She smiled as best as she could with her thin lips. I smiled back, patting her shoulder awkwardly while walking into the kitchen.

I was sat down my police officers across the table from a man with a notebook, a pencil ready in his right hand and his brows furrowed in concentration on whatever he was writing about. I wondered why he called the rest of my family in to be investigated when they just arrived last night. Precautions, I assume.

"When was the last time you saw your father?" He spoke in a hushed tone, but a very strict and serious one.

"Three nights ago." I answered.

"What was the last conversation you had with him?"

"I-I was um...talking about moving out..." I rubbed my wrist in anxiousness, like I always have.

"Do you remember any direct dialogue?"

"He just said that I was old enough to make my own decisions..." He mumbled something incoherent and took more notes.

"Did this trigger any involuntary actions? Perhaps...anger?"

I felt like I was being roasted. My cheeks began to burn and my lips felt chapped.

"A little...maybe hurt, though..." My throat felt dry.

"I see here you've been diagnosed with severe depression, and have been prescribed MAOI's. Do you think the side effects of the medication could have led you to a weapon? Maybe a gun?"

"I don't think so-"

"Because in previous statements it says you were intoxicated while your father was being robbed and killed. You see, everything in the house except for your room is trashed."

"I-I...they took my credit cards and my allowance...I-I mean, who would want anything from a teenage girl's room?" I felt as guilty enough as it is, and this dick isn't making it any better.

"Let's just cut to the chase here, because if you confess now you won't be in as much trouble later if you lie."

"I doubt I'd get off the hook for murder."

"So you admit it?"

I took a deep breath and looked down at my hands. They were shaking a bit, and my palms were clammy and pale.

"Yes."

__

Mitch pulled me out of the kitchen and rushed me into the hall.

"What the hell did you just do?!"

"I-I don't know! I just feel so guilty, I thought-"

"You thought going to prison for a crime you DIDN'T commit would help?!"

"I don't know, dammit! He deserved a better daughter, and he deserved a better life! A LONGER ONE! I RUINED IT! I COULD HAVE DIED! IT WOULD HAVE BEEN ME EVERYONE WAS CRYING OVER! I'M NOT SOMEONE TO DWELL ON, EVERYONE WOULD FORGET ABOUT ME IN YEAR ANYWAYS!" I yelled, causing everyone to rush into the hallway.

"What is going on?" My uncle asked. Aunt Carly opened her arms and walked forwards to hug me, but I dodged her comfort. I saw the police officers behind them, handcuffs at the ready.

"I'll talk." Mitch walked back into the kitchen with the officers.

Everyone exchanged awkward glances of pity for me and shuffled around in place. I turned around and started to run up the stairs.

I killed him.

They should take me away.

I don't deserve this life.

Once I reached the bedroom, I buried my face in the soft pillows and cried. I balled my hands into fists, hitting the comforter at the same time.

It should have been me.

I could just imagine it: Dad asleep on the couch with the remote dangling from his fingertips, snoring loudly as the static buzzed. A dark figure picks the lock. At first he's quiet as he bags everything in sight, but then he makes a noise, rattling most of the old house. Dad is shaken awake by the robber, and is scared to death. He glances at his shotgun, but it's too far. It'd be too much of a risk. So instead; he complies. He tells the robber take whatever they want, and they do. They can tell he's scared as they take away all of his prize possessions. Right as they leave, and he gets a good grip on the phone:

Boom.

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