"I'm here to see Sara Hafferty." I sated as soon as the receptionist looked up. There was a short, but still obvious, pause as she took in my appearance; drenched through to the skin, my flimsy clothing clinging tightly to my subconsciously shivering body while my hair spread itself flatly over my face sticking where the rain had beaten it down and refusing to, despite the scattered and half-hearted attempts I made, move.
She disappeared from behind the desk with a polite nod once she was done and returned shortly after with an apologetic smile, "I'm sorry sir, but she's in questioning right now, you can get a coffee and wait," she held her steaming coffee mug up in an almost taunting way before adding, "although I'm not sure how long she'll be, or if you'll be allowed to see her. This is a very serious case that is currently being investigated; this woman could be responsible for many deaths, she may be deemed too unstable for you to see."
I thanked her and told her I'd stay anyway, just on the off chance that I'd be able to see Sara. Kindly, she directed me to a coffee machine where I almost spilt the liquid over myself in the greedy, anxious rush I was in to get the warm fluid down my throat. I sighed happily, savouring the heat, as I sat down on one of the orange seats, identical to the ones I had just left behind in the hospital, of a hallway that had many doors leading in various different directions, some with "Interrogation Room" printed thickly on the door, others with less important functions like, "cleaning supplies."
People passed by me regularly but for the most part, no one noticed me and if they did, it was due to the fact that they almost slipped and broke their necks on the puddle of dripping rainwater collecting steadily at my feet. So I was left alone with my thoughts; something I really didn't appreciate too much as of late, they keep running me round, exhaustingly, in circles tying me in intricate and achingly confusing knots.
I wasn't sure why exactly I ended up at the police station. It might have been because I had no where else to go; I don't know anywhere round here apart from this station which I'm now in for the second time in one week and obviously I couldn't go to the hotel. But I really needed to get away from everyone, from Gee and his stingingly honest words. I've convinced myself that I only went into the building to get out of the rain, but the fact that I was completely numb to it keeps nagging away at me reminding me that, for some probably insane reason, there's a part of me that cares about Sara.
"No! I just want know the truth!" I suddenly, without thinking, voiced my previously mental argument, causing a passer by to stop in front of me, alarmed, and stare slightly.
"You aw'right mate?" he asked, I felt my cheeks burn slightly in embarrassment as I looked up into his face. He looked slightly familiar, and the way he was looking at me made me think that he was trying to place me too.
"Have we met?" we asked simultaneously causing us to, also simultaneously, laugh awkwardly.
"Oh, wait!" the guy clapped his hands together, "you were in a couple days ago with your brother; yez had a wee bit of a run in with Stan."
"Stan?" I asked confused, although now I did see that the guy had been in the communal cell with Gee.
The guy laughed, "He has 'FUCK' tattooed on his forehead."
"Oh yeah, I remember." I laughed too, how could you forget a guy that has 'FUCK' tattooed on his head?
"Well, I'd love to stay and chat, but they've just let me out so...I'll just leave ye to it." He said and I smiled at him before he walked away. So, Mr. FUCK was called Stan?
There was a breeze as a door to my left opened and I turned to look in it's direction, out of habit, to notice it lead to the part of the station that Gee and I had 'visited' last time I was here. In the crack where the door was opened, I caught a glimpse of a burly shoulder and suddenly remembered how the owner of that shoulder knew Sara.
Stan knew Sara.
"I'm telling you she's bad news." Stan answered as he leaned against the bars nonchalantly.
"What's so terrible about her?" I asked, hardly believing the words as they left my mouth; I used to be the first to bad-mouth Sara, what the hell was wrong with me?
"I told you before," he said less coolly, "she attacked one of my customers."
"So, what you're saying is you don't like her because she lost you you're business." I calculated verbally, taking a small and hopefully subtle step further away from him.
"Well," he looked deep in thought, "yeah, I guess. Although, a girl is definitely bad news if she stabs a guy with a bottle."
"Why did she do it?" I asked.
"I don't know, she disappeared before I could find out." He gritted his teeth, obviously still angry at her.
"And the police weren't interested in this 'attack' at all?"
He turned to look at me, fixing me with an expression that shouted "You're an idiot!".
"Mikey, Vegas is 'Sin City'." He was going to leave it at that -as if those five words explained everything- but he noted my blank expression and continued, "It was an attack on a not-so-honest man by the employee of a not-so-honest man. If the police got involved, there would be far too many questions asked."
"So, it's okay that Sara stabbed this guy and then disappeared?" The scepticism was written all over my face, I could tell.
He laughed, "I said she disappeared before I could find out why she did it. Apparently Marley roughed her up pretty bad, although clearly not bad enough if she's still out there causing trouble." He smiled almost sadly. "Marley's the guy she attacked," he added when he noticed my yet again blank expression, "he's pretty powerful in Vegas."
I nodded before lapsing into silent thought, "So, why are you in a British jail?" I asked after a while.
He had been surprisingly friendly and open for the whole of our conversation but, as soon as I asked that, it all seemed to fall away to nothing and he was back to being, not Stan, but Mr. FUCK; intimidating, unapproachable and tough as nails.
"That's none of your business." He snarled, "just give me the cigarettes you promised and fuck off!" -I did just that, handing over the cigarettes I had promised him in order for him to talk, almost instantaneously, scared not too despite the metal bars separating us.
Snatching the pack, he moved away to the opposite side of the cell and began a conversation with a fellow inmate. Stunned, I turned back and began walking to the door that would lead me to the hallway I had left.
"Oh, hey, Mikey." I turned to see a duty officer that I recognised from the other night, Mark his name was, "What you doing back here?" he asked friendlily.
"I'm here to see Sara Hafferty, well, I want to see Sara Hafferty but they probably aren't gonna let me." I answered, smiling, but feeling the hopelessness shine through my words.
He nodded silently in thought until his face cracked into a grin, "You should have seen my daughter's face when I came home with the autograph of the bassist of her favourite band," he smiled happily and I smiled back, "It can be so difficult to communicate with teenagers, so thank you."
"That's alright." I couldn't help but play the lyrics to 'teenagers' out in my head.
"No seriously, I really appreciate it," he looked around in an almost theatrical way, "which is why I'm gonna let you see Sara."
I felt the skin on my cheeks stretch as I smiled the widest smile I had done in ages, "just follow me." He said before starting to walk to a door on the other side of the room.
"Mark?" I asked as I glanced over to Stan one last time, Mark turned and nodded, so I continued," What's Stan in for?"
Mark also looked over to the gargantuan thug and scowled, I noticed that Stan caught us watching him, "supplying; GHB, Rohypnol, Ketamine, those kinda drugs" Mark answered disgustedly.
"Date rape drugs?" I asked, my stomach shuddering slightly as I felt the need to be sick course through me.
He nodded and continued walking.
With the thought of rape freshly in my mind, I began to question why I found myself standing outside Sara's cell watching Mark fumble about with the keys unlocking it, I thought she was the one that did it, didn't I? But all of those thoughts were pushed out of my mind as the door opened and Mark stood back to allow me to walk in.
"I'll be outside." He said quietly waiting for me to enter the cell before locking it behind me.
She looked pathetic and weak, so vulnerable; leaning dejectedly against the grafitied wall, her face tear-stained, and her eyes bloodshot. I could tell she knew I was there but she wouldn't look up at me. I began walking towards her, to sit next to her on the bare bed.
"Don't Mikey." She said so weakly, tears rolling down her face, "don't tell me you hate me" her words shocked me slightly.
"I'm not here to tell you I hate you." I said simply, sitting down next to her, the rubber mattress squeaking slightly. She still wouldn't look at me.
"I didn't do it!" she whispered, "I didn't start the fire! I didn't start the fire and I didn't rape you Mikey!" she repeated quietly, banging her head against the wall.
I pulled her away from the wall immediately, at first I thought she's fight me but she didn't. She collapsed against my chest, sobbing heavily, "I love you Mikey, please believe me!" she pleaded as I rocked her back and forth, feeling my own tears fall.
"I know. I know." I whispered in her ear as she cried, "I believe you."
Ah, well, I'd LOVE to be able to say that the reason I haven't updated for TWO nights in a row (DAMN) is because I was busy seeing My Chemical Romance live, but sadly the truth is far far far far less exciting. So here goes: On Saturday night, I fell asleep after work (oops! WOW i have an interesting life) and on Sunday, I just couldn't think of anything to write... :(
....But this is a wee bit longer?
(and...I'm suddenly liking Sara?)
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