Chapter Seven

The boy's father's arrest

Chapter Seven

“That's right, take it all in, you stupid b***h,” I heard him say through the paper-thin walls that separated my bedroom from theirs.

I tried not to gag at the thought of what was happening in that room. Yeah, I should have been used to the events of this house by now, but that didn't mean that I was.

I knew what my father did, and so did my mother. The only reason we didn't turn him over to the cops was that he'd threatened to kill us if we did. So we stayed quiet. There was also the fact that, if we were to turn him over, the police would check us out.

End result? Both my parents in jail for rape and prostitution, and me in a state home for the ext 4-5 years.

When I heard muffled sobs from the next room I took out my small MP3 and began blasting the music so loud that I was surprised that it hadn't deafened me yet.

I sat back and closed my eyes, trying to catch up on the sleep I'd lost last night, yet knowing all too well that I could never sleep like this.

It felt as if hours had passed before I heard the first shouts.

They were muffled and sounded like whispers because of my music. I thought it was just my mother and father arguing, and dismissed it as such...

… Until the three police officers burst through my door and into my bedroom with cries of “NYPD!” and “Police officers!”

I sat bolt upright, taking out my headphones in the process. “What the hell is going on here?!” I cried in fury.

“Are you John Winslow?” the nearest officer asked me.

I shook my head. “No. He's in the next room, having off with some chick,” I told them. “He's not going to like you just barging in on him like you did me....”

They didn't seem to hear my last remark, because they turned without another word, or even a second glance, and burst into my fathers room in much the same way they'd done to me. I heard a gasp and a scream, then decided to go over and watch the scene unfold for myself.

My father was standing beside the bed, scrambling to pull his pants up, the girl on the bed, tied and gagged, looked horrified. Every gun was trained on my father.

As soon as his jeans were securely around his waist, he put his hands in the air and moved to the farthest wall from the girl, as per orders from the police. Once he was there, and officer went to the girl and freed her from her bindings and wrapped her in a blanket.

“John Winslow,” another officer was saying. “Here we have a warrant for your arrest.” The man speaking strode over to my father to handcuff him. “You have the right to remain silent,” he continued. “Everything you say can and will be used against you in the�"�"”

At the officer's abrupt halt and the shouts and clicks that broke out afterward, I turned my gaze from the front door and looked at my father. He was lying on the ground, held down by the officer who had been reading him his Miranda Rights not five seconds before.

“You're not going anywhere,” the officer said. “This just adds to your list of charges.”

The man pulled my father to his feet and let two others lead him out of the building. The detained man gave me a poisonous look as he passed me, obviously thinking that I had called the police on him. Then an officer came over to me, the same one that had tackled my father when he'd attempted to escape.

“I'm Officer Frost.” He introduced himself. “Are you Silas?”

I nodded slowly, know that he was about to question me.

“Sorry about barging in on you like that,” he started. “No one answered the door, and�"�"”

“Yeah,” I interrupted. “Right. I couldn't hear a thing with that music blasting in my ears.”

Frost nodded. “I have a few questions for you, if you don't mind answering them.” It wasn't a question.

“Of course,” I said, leaning back against the wall.

“did you have any idea of what was going on in there?” he asked.

I thought for a moment. “Before or after you arrived?” I countered, instinctively evading the question.

“Before, of course.” Officer Frost seemed amused.

I shook my head, no, making sure not to do it too hastily. “I don't usually pay attention to what my father does all day,” I told him. “Sometimes I hear him leave late at night, but he's always back by the time I get up. But most days he just stays in his room all day.”

Frost nodded slowly. “And you never heard anything... suspicious?”

I shook my head again. “I'm not usually here,” I told him. “When I am here I always have my music blasting�"�"as you just witnessed.”

Frost didn't seem convinced. Then again, he didn't seem like the type of person who was easily convinced of anything. Yet he still nodded slowly, his bros creased and eyes crossed slightly. I knew he was suspicious of me, yet he continued to question down another path. “When will your mother be home?”

I shrugged. “No way of telling. Could be any time between now and tomorrow morning.”

S**t. I thought. You said too much, you dumbass!

“Alright,” Frost said, seeming unfazed by this small piece of information. He pulled out a small piece of white cardboard paper and handed it to me. “Here's my card,” he told me. “Give me a call when she turns up.”

I nodded and stuffed the small rectangle into my jeans' pocket, watching the officer walk away. He stopped at the end of the hallway and turned back. “Sorry about the door,” he said, as if it were an afterthought. “I'll send someone over to replace it.”

“Forget about it,” I told him, fixing him with look that said he really should just forget about it.

The officers left and I returned to my room to get a few things, then went out to the local bar.