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tail.
“MVPD. Pull over. Now. ” I hear
Officer Evans shout over the patrol car’s megaphone.
Crap. I slam on my brakes and skid to
a stop. There’s no way I would ever try to out run the police. I
don’t have some rich father who could lawyer up and get me off with
a warning, and frankly everyone on the force knows me and my
family. Not to mention my car’s one of a kind on the
island.
I watch Gregory ignore the command as
he tears out of the parking lot onto State Road and disappears into
the dark.
…
“You have the right to remain silent,”
Sam says, placing my hands behind my back and securing the
handcuffs tight around my wrists with a click. “Anything you say or
do, can and will be held against you in a court of law.”
“Sam, are you serious?” I look at him
over my shoulder, making him wince.
“You have the right to an attorney. If
you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for
you.”
“Sam, please?” I beg, hanging my head
while he walks me to his parole car.
“Do you understand these rights I have
just read to you?” His tone is clipped and official.
“Yeah, I understand,” I answer before
he puts his hand on the top of my head and guides me into the
backseat carefully. Embarrassment and anger pulsing through my
veins.
Sam stands with the door ajar, one
hand resting along the doors frame as he rubs the back of his neck
with the other. He stares at me silently with what appears to be
sympathy on his face.
“Lane, what were you thinking?” he
asks. “Someone called in a description of your car for reckless
driving out on Lighthouse Road. You know I have no choice, I gotta
take you in,” he says in his normal non cop voice. The same voice
he uses when he’s at my house for birthday parties, or Wednesday
night dinners and the voice he uses to cheer me on at my lacrosse
games, which he’s never missed a single one.
“It was just a stupid race with some
rich kid who apparently has a bone to pick with me. I swear it
wasn’t even my idea.” I explain like that’s gonna get me out of
this predicament. “You saw him, right? The BMW? ”
“Yeah I saw him, but we only got a
call about your car. There’s nothing I can do about
him.”
I drop my head. Of course the car
called me in. I could have killed them. And a cherry red
convertible isn’t inconspicuous.
“I’m really sorry,” I say in a quiet
voice. I lean my head forward and rest it against the metal grate
that separates the backseat from the front and try not to throw up
from the smell of vomit and urine.
“I know you are. Me too,” he says, and
then gently shuts the patrol car door.
Sam’s a by-the-books kinda guy, so I
understand he has no choice. Even if I wished he’d bend the rules
considering he’s like family.
“Hey, Lane?” Sam says from the front
seat.
I look at him through the rear view
mirror. “Yeah?”
“I know you’re eighteen so legally I
don’t have to call your mom. But…listen, I also don’t feel
comfortable keeping this from her.”
“It’s okay. I’m gonna tell her.” I’m
disappointed in myself and ashamed to put one more thing on her
plate. I tip my head back on the seat, close my eyes tight and
fight the growing lump in my throat. “Like she needs anymore
stress,” I say so quite it’s barely audible to my own
ears.
“What was that, son?” Sam asks,
turning into the police station.
“Nothing,” I say, shaking my head. “It
was nothing.”
Chapter 6
Ashley
“Ashley, dear?”
I push my sunglasses onto my head and
squint up at my mom standing on the deck above me. She’s dressed in
her tennis whites with a full face of makeup and her hair perfectly
done. That’s my mother. Even during exercise, she makes sure she is
presentable. Although, tennis at the club is hardly exercising for
her, unless hobnobbing is considered an aerobic sport these days,
in which my mother would certainly excel.
“Yes?”
“Your father and I are going to the
club
Learning to Kill: Stories