Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
SORROW
I sit on the bench and keep my head down, avoiding eye contact with everyone.
The cell they had me in is located toward the back of the jail, but it’s still part of the main room.
There are desks lined up in front of me to the left and right, with a clear walkway in between.
I have to assume there are additional cells in the back because this one is small, even for a town the size of Tempest. Not to mention, you couldn’t realistically lock a man and woman up here together, even in front of everyone, and expect her to be safe.
I’ve been in a real prison. I know exactly how easy it is to do something right in front of someone when they’re not paying attention.
Aside from that, given how my morning has just unfolded, I’m not sure anyone is that concerned about my safety.
No, my guess is I’m sitting here so it ups my humiliation. I’m on display for everyone to look at. However, judging from some of the looks I received when I was dragged in bleeding, not everyone is on board with what’s happening. None of that matters, though, when nobody stood up in my defense.
I keep my eyes averted so I don’t give someone else an invitation to start shit and make a promise to myself that this is the last time I let this happen.
I wanted to believe in the system. I had faith it wouldn’t let me down because I’m a good person, and I had the truth on my side.
The problem is the truth doesn’t matter more than the person telling it.
I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here staring at my knees, when I hear a commotion.
I lift my head when a cop comes in, cursing someone out.
I see him turn, his eyes landing on mine before they widen a fraction.
His mouth drops open when he sees the sight of me, and I can only assume why.
My nose has been bleeding all over the place, thanks to the cop’s rough handling of things, and not a single person thought to inquire as to what the hell happened to me or to offer me so much as a tissue.
“Are you fucking serious right now?” the angry cop snarls at the one behind the desk nearest to him, who holds his hands up.
“I have no idea what’s going on. The rookie said she resisted arrest and got violent. We’re waiting for the chief to come down.”
“And what the hell has the chief got to do with all this?”
“Like I said, I have no idea what’s going on.”
The pissed-off cop walks toward my cage, his anger palpable, but I can see it’s not aimed at me. “My name is Wade Jackson. Can you tell me what yours is?”
I sigh, vaguely recognizing the guy. I think he was a rookie himself when I was arrested. I press my hand to my throat and mouth before shaking my head.
He frowns for a second before he blinks. “You can’t talk?”
I shake my head and indicate for a pen and paper.
“Fuck.”
“Can’t give her a pen, man, you know that.” Another cop walks over.
“She can’t talk. So, I can only assume she hasn’t been given a chance to make a phone call or ask for a lawyer. Looking at the state of her, I can guess at the laws we violated. What’s a few more, right?” he hisses.
The other cop gets a good look at me and winces. “I’ll get something to clean her up,” he mutters.
I shake my head and point at Wade. When I have his attention, I pretend to take photos.
“You want me to photograph you?”
I nod as he swallows.
“Careful, Wade, you know how shit can be twisted. Before you know it, this will be all over the news, a sign of police brutality when Denny himself said she got combative.”
“Police brutality is not a fabricated thing. It’s a reality, and honest to fuck, I’m two seconds away from getting pretty brutal myself. Besides, I have to assume the rookie has proof of what happened, right? So he should have nothing to worry about.”
“I was just doing my job, sir.”
I look over when I see the rookie walk in with a folder in his hand. “Is that right? Care to explain why she looks like this?”
“She resisted arrest and got violent with me, sir. I was forced to restrain her.”
“What was she arrested for?”
“Resisting arrest and driving while under the influence.”
He turns to look at me, and I mime for Wade to give me another breathalyzer. I’m not sure he understands what I’m asking for, but he turns back to the rookie. “How long has she been there for?”
“An hour, sir. The chief is coming to question her.”
“Hard to question someone with no means of communicating.”
“We can provide her materials to write with when the chief gets here.”
“Just not right now, in case she asks for a lawyer, right?”
The cop standing beside them hisses, as if realizing the severity of how things have been handled.
Wade walks over to one of the desks and opens a drawer, then slams it closed. He opens the second one, pulls out a breathalyzer, and heads back over to me.
“That’s not necessary. I’ve already done one. She blew three times over the limit,” the rookie argues.
Wade glares at him. “Better to cross all our i’s with how things have been handled so far. It will be easier this way when IA arrives to investigate.”
If I weren’t so freaked out, I’d laugh at how pale the rookie has gone.
“Open the door,” Wade orders him. The rookie keeps protesting, so the other cop opens the door instead, holding it open so Wade can walk in. He approaches me slowly and stops with a little distance between us. “Can you stand up for me, please?” he asks me softly.
I do as he asks, but it takes me a couple of tries. My arms are still cuffed behind my back, and my legs are like jelly. I move so I’m sideways and not being blocked by Wade from the cameras that face the cell.
“She still has her cuffs on?” Wade snarls.
“She was violent,” the lying rookie replies before getting torn into by another cop. Huh. I guess they didn’t notice the cuffs with how I was sitting.
Wade pulls some keys from his pocket, which I guess must be universal ones for cuffs, and holds them up for me to see. “I’m going to take the cuffs off, and then we’ll do the test, alright?”
I nod, trying to stay calm. Everyone is on edge, and I don’t fancy getting shot today. I see the rookie with his hand on the butt of his gun and swallow as saliva pools in my mouth.
Wade must notice something on my face because he follows my stare to the rookie. “You pull that gun, and I won’t just have your badge. I’ll arrest you myself. Get him out of here, John.”
At first, I don’t know who John is, but then the guy who opened the door moves, leading a complaining rookie from the room.
Wade turns back to me. “Ready?” I nod and turn so he can uncuff me.
I jolt when I feel his hand on mine, but I don’t pull away.
“Ah, Jesus. Carl, bring me the first aid kit.” The guy Wade first spoke to gets up from his desk as I turn back around.
With my wrists free, I bring my arms in front of me, whimpering in pain when my shoulders protest. I get a look at my wrists and see where the cuffs have cut into them from being on so tightly.
“Get me the camera as well,” he orders as he pulls out his cell phone and dials a number.
When they answer, he keeps his eyes on me as he asks, “You get the footage?” Whatever the person on the other end says, Wade’s face turns thunderous.
“Can you get copies made and bring them to the station? Thanks.”
He hangs up but doesn’t put his cell away. “With your permission, I want to take a few photos on my cell phone as well as with the digital camera.”
What the hell? I look around, knowing that’s not a procedure. When I look up at the camera, it suddenly dawns on me that Wade knows something isn’t right, and he’s making sure that the evidence doesn’t just randomly disappear.
I turn back to him, and though I feel exposed, I nod.
He isn’t invasive. He doesn’t ask me to show him any more than he can see right now, but he captures multiple shots of my wrists and face, plus my top, which is saturated with blood.
Once that is done, he steps closer, holding the breathalyzer in his hand, and tells me what to do.
I do exactly as he asks and blow into it until he tells me to stop.
He looks at it for a moment before his eyes slip closed, and he snaps a photo of its result. “Breathalyzer shows zero alcohol in your bloodstream.”
I hear murmurs going around the room, but I keep my eyes on Wade, feeling a tear slip over my cheek.
“You want me to call someone for you?”
I try to indicate that I want my own phone because who the hell knows anyone’s numbers? But he doesn’t get it, so I pretend to write instead.
He takes a pad and paper from the cop called Carl and hands it to me. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up, and then you can write down what you need.”
I follow him out quickly, scribbling that I need my cell phone, which the rookie took.
It contains my lawyer’s information, and my phone has an app that converts text-to-speech for making phone calls.
I add my lawyer’s name and my full name, just in case something happens to me before I make my call.
I’m about to sit where Wade indicates, and the police chief walks in.
Now, him, I definitely remember. He’s friends with the Bannerman’s and didn’t think twice about screwing me over before. I have no doubt things are about to get dicey once more.
As soon as his eyes land on mine, I brace myself. I see the shocked expression when he takes in the blood, but he gets over it quickly when he marches toward me.
“Sorrow Wells. Why am I not surprised?” When I don’t answer, I can see him getting pissed. “Take her to interrogation room four, Wade.”
“Sir, she needs to be cleaned up first, and she needs to call her lawyer.”
He snaps his head around to look at Wade. “Did she ask for legal counsel?”
Wade grits his teeth before indicating to the pad in my hand. “She wrote down the details for me to call them.”
I have no idea how he saw that, but I’m grateful.
The chief pulls the pad from my hand and tosses it on Wade’s desk. “She had the chance to ask, and she didn’t. I don’t play games.”
“She can’t speak—”
“Yes, she can. She’s just choosing not to. Trust me, I’ve known Miss Wells all her life,” he says with such disdain, he grabs the attention of everyone around us.
“Sir—” Wade tries again, but the chief glares at him.
“You are dangerously close to finding yourself reprimanded, Wade. I’d have thought, given what this girl did to your friend, you’d know better than to fall for a pretty face.”
Wade’s mouth drops open in shock for the second time since he arrived, and he’s not the only one.
Before anyone can say anything else, the chief grabs my wrist, making me yelp. He grins victoriously. “Told you she could speak.”
I look at him as if he’s an idiot because he is.
His face darkens with anger before he pulls me away toward the interrogation rooms. I turn to look at Wade, who is on his phone, his eyes fixed on mine.
In them, I see something I haven’t seen for so long that it almost brings me to my knees.
His expression is one of promise. He’ll get me out of here.
I just need to hold on. Here, where it all started in a small-town police station, where my life was pulled apart, he’s asking me to have faith.
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry at the irony, but something tells me not to write Wade off just yet.