Aftermath

Ch 92: These Boots Were Made for Running

Kota

Stanton had sat down in the metal chair a few feet away, reading through a file folder.

I shifted my weight, trying to find a position where the handcuffs didn't cut into my wrists as much. No such thing.

While Stanton was occupied, I chanced a few covert looks around the space, trying to further ascertain my situation now that the hood had been removed.

Now that the hood was gone, I could see that in addition to the handcuffs and shackles, Smith had attached a short tether to the middle of the shackles, maybe about three feet long at best, which was secured at the other end to a bolt in the floor near the wall. It was smart on his part; for one, it kept me from moving my hands around in front of me, though my shoulder would have probably prevented me from doing that anyway, and it kept me tethered in place. Very smart, if inhumane. I didn't even put Max out on a chain like this. More importantly, it definitely complicated matters, but as long as I could eventually get them to leave me alone, I could get out of this. Or at least I hoped so, anyway.

Stanton closed the file. "I'm curious, Mr. Lee. What kind of code was that?" he asked. "What does snow mean?"

More questions. Great.  "Does it matter what I say? It feels as though you've already decided that I'm guilty." My legs were stretched out in front of me, my boots so close and yet so far. I had to stay patient. Either the team would figure things out or I would make my move; either way, I would get out of this.

"I assure you, Mr. Lee, I am a just man."

Uh-huh. He had a teenager handcuffed and chained to the floor. But I bit back that comment; I needed to continue to make my case with Stanton before turning to violence. "You know, if you had just asked me over, I would have come and answered your questions. You're obviously not shy about showing me your face."

"As I told you, I never anticipated your arrival here," Stanton replied as he directed a frown toward the door.

"Where are we?" Then I worried that I wasn't asking the question he expected me to ask. "And who are you anyway?"

"Just an interested party," Stanton said. "I don't want it happenin' again." He reached in his pocket and pulled out a handful of items, finally settling on a can of dip. Opening it, he pulled out a pinch and stashed it in his cheek. "Nasty habit," he commented as he put the can away. "Don't ever start with tobacco; it's hard to stop."

"I don't intend to," I said flatly.

"Now where were we? That's right, I remember." Stanton began ticking items off on his fingers. "Your fingerprints on the bomb casin'. Your presence in the cafeteria. And you've got a propensity for violence, don't you?" He dropped his hands. "Don't try to deny it; I've seen the reports. All those fights you've been in."

"The school board brought us in to help with fights," I said. "Security in general."

"Then there's your familial history," Stanton continued. "Statistically, the children of convicts are three times more likely to end up in prison than their peers. And when the parental crime is a violent one, that ups the odds even more."

Anger surged through me. "Don't judge me based on my father's actions!"

Stanton raised a thick eyebrow. "A sore spot?"

Chill out, Kota. "Statistics can be manipulated to show whatever the user wants," I muttered. "None of this proves anything. It's all circumstantial."

"Circumstantial evidence is still evidence, Mr. Lee. Not as damning, but it counts. There's not always an eyewitness account." Stanton leaned forward. "Then there's the gun the police found. One with your fingerprints all over it...That worries me greatly. What were you going to do with it?"