I jerked my head around, straining to see him. "What fucking kids?"
The cop grabbed my left arm. He twisted it violently backwards, and I cried out from the searing pain in my wrist. "You think that hurts? That ain’t nothing. You’re going to tell me what you did with them, or I’m gonna break your fucking wrist, shit heap."
The cop shoved me down onto the body of my car, my face pressed against the hot black sheet metal of the trunk. I saw another officer stepping out of another cruiser that had pulled up behind the first one.
I tried to pull my face away from the trunk deck, and the officer grabbed my neck and shoved my head back down. I protested, "That hurts! It’s fucking hot!"
He leaned down, his face close to mine. "Deal with it, fuckhead. I want to know where we can find the children’s bodies, scumbag."
I squirmed, wondering if my face was blistering from the hot sheet metal. "I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about."
The cop hoisted me off the trunk of the car by twisting my hand harder and lifting. I felt a soft snap as something in my wrist let go. I shrieked and the cop threw me face first into the gravel. The cop landed on top of me. I could barely breathe, and my wrist was a ring of burning pain.
The police officer on top of me yelled at the other office, "Get over here. This fucker is resisting arrest."
I heard the rapid crunch of boots in the shoulder gravel as the other officer ran towards us.
"This the one?"
"Yep. Dash cam seems to be broke today, too," the cop that had me pinned said.
"Is he saying where we can find the kids?"
I spit dust and gravel out of my mouth. I sputtered, "I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!"
I felt a rib crunch as the second officer’s boot connected with my ribs. I bucked violently, the wind knocked out of me. I gasped desperately for air.
"What the fuck is going on here?" a woman’s voice yelled.
"Trish?" I heard Joe and SOB say at the same time inside my head. I twisted my head, and blinked. A knee came crashing down on my neck, grinding my face into the gravel. I could see her van was on the far side of the road, and she was opening the door.
"Ma’am, stay in your vehicle."
"But that’s my husband!" She opened the door, and I could barely see the other officer turn, grab his gun, and point it at her.
"Ma’am, stay in your fucking vehicle!"
Oh Christ. What a fucked up mess this was. I prayed that she would pay attention. These two goons were obviously in a bad mood, and wanted to take it out on unsuspecting motorists.
The cop wrenched my other hand behind my back, and cuffed me. My hand was numb, my wrist was like a ring of fire, and every breath I took hurt like holy hell.
Joe Cool told me I would need medical attention. I told him no shit, Sherlock, and SOB started laughing again inside my head. I blinked back tears as the cop hauled me to my feet, still struggling for air.
"Come on, asshole. We ain’t got time for your bullshit." The first cop shoved me forward while kicking my legs out from under me. I winced, unable to put my arms out in front of me to brace for the fall. My chin smashed into the gravel, and I saw stars. I inhaled deeply from the searing pain and I sucked in a lung full of sand. I could hear Trish arguing with the second cop across the road. I coughed violently, and searing pain seized my chest where the cop kicked me.
The cop rolled me over onto my back; my handcuffed hands pinned beneath me. We could now add stitches for my chin to the list of medical needs.
The first cop looked down at me and smiled. "Still don’t wanna talk?" He pulled a small canister from his belt, shaking it. "Speak up, boy."
I stared at him, my eyes wide. Every breath hurt. "What…the…fuck…is…this…about?" I shrieked between breaths.
Joe Cool told me that this was going to hurt. I agreed, and SOB started howling, "They’re gonna mace your ass!" as my face caught fire.
I held my breath, my chest searing in pain. However, I could only hold my breath for a few seconds, and gasped for air. My mouth and throat burned, and I felt a violent wrenching in my stomach as I inhaled. The last thing I remember was hearing Trish screaming as I vomited violently, and then I started choking on my own vomit. The other officer was yelling at her to get back in her fucking vehicle again.
As I passed out, I swear I could hear SOB giggling hysterically and JC telling him to shut the fuck up.
~~~~~~ *LP* ~~~~~~
Joe Cool told me to open my fucking eyes.
I politely told him to please go fuck himself. My eyes hurt too much. I could feel the tears squeezing out and streaming down my cheeks between my tightly closed eyelids
SOB was whining that the siren was too fucking loud.
I asked him, "What does that have to do with anything, and what fucking siren?"
Joe Cool said we were in an ambulance, dipshit.
I found it hard to concentrate, and it took a few moments to lock into the sound of the siren.
I asked Joe how bad off we were.
He told me we would probably live, but the next few hours might not be very pleasant.
I told him in that case I’d rather slip into unconsciousness again, thank-you very much.
Joe said pay attention, this might be important. Listen to the paramedics.
I tried to concentrate, but it was difficult.
Finally, I could tune them in, but it kept fading out like a distant radio station. I could barely breathe; each breath was a fucking distraction of pain.
"…sick fucker?"
"…last night over on Fourth street."
I asked Joe what they were talking about, and he said me. Oh. Ok.
I told Joe I am not a sick fucker. He must be mistaken. I'm an insurance analyst. It’s rather boring and most people don’t give a fuck after about thirty seconds of me explaining what I do for a living.
Joe said shut the fuck up and listen.
"Same sick fuck two weeks ago over in…"
I was having some technical difficulties with basic body functions like breathing. In the order of priorities, generally, breathing ranks above most other extraneous concerns.
"….sick shit. Kids."
"…decade ago down in…."
"Too bad we don’t…but we can break his…"
I asked Joe to repeat the last part.
Joe sighed, and told me to brace ourselves.
I asked him for what. Joe said never mind, just sit back and take it.
I heard a loud crack and saw stars behind my closed eyes as my nose shattered. I felt blood running down my throat. If I weren’t on the edge of consciousness, I’d have screamed. I didn’t, though. That would have required an effort. Zero perspiration baby. It’s all just a wild fucking ride, now.
I asked Joe if they were done.
He said no. I said Ok, I'd go somewhere else then. Wake me when it's fucking over, m’kay?
"….shouldn’t have resisted…."
I asked SOB what he thought about this mess.
He just laughed and giggled. Just one big cluster fuck, baby.
I told them to keep an eye on things since I was going to pass out again if it was all right with them. The wail of the siren was gaining a tinny quality, drifting away from me. I let it go. I’d worry about this fucking shit later. Buh-bye now…
~~~~~~ *LP* ~~~~~~
I opened my eyes. I could barely blink and the world swam into and out of focus.
A white masked face leaned over me, shining a light into my eyes. It turned and looked over me. I could hear the beeping of a heart monitor. It was rapidly picking up its pace. Various parts of my body were starting to report pain to me, and they were starting to compete for my attention. The face with the mask looked up. "He’s coming around."
A voice from somewhere over my head answered, very flatly, "I know."
My lower face felt like steel screws were slowly driving through the bones. I struggled as I felt panic rising.
>
"God damn it, put him back under! I still have several stitches left to go, and I can’t work if he’s struggling!"
"But he…"
"PUT HIM OUT!"
I felt the world pull away from me again.
~~~~~~ *LP* ~~~~~~
I was vaguely aware of the heart monitor again. I asked Joe if the coast was clear. I was getting really afraid to open my eyes. There was no answer for several long moments. Finally, SOB muttered something about it might be ok, and I cautiously opened my eyes.
The light was bright, and I had trouble focusing on the ceiling tiles. I tried to move my head, and realized my head was bandaged. I struggled to sit up, but apparently, I was not ready for that.
A male in green scrubs looked down at me. "Lie down and sleep. You’re still recovering from sedation and surgery."
I saw Trish, from the corner of my eye. I turned my head to look at her. She was standing against the wall, with her arms folded in front of her. She glared at me, and then pointedly looked away. Yeah, score points off the broken and bruised. That’s fucking convenient. Sigh.
Joe asked me why the fuck I was in the hospital. I told him I had been worked over pretty good.
Joe said no shit, and asked me why I would be worked over.
I told him that was a most excellent question. I told him it was probably because granny told me to fuck off earlier today.
SOB snickered.
Joe and I told him to stuff it.
I stared at the ceiling tiles, enjoying the quiet inside my head.
Trish walked away.
I drifted in and out of consciousness. I don’t think I slept, but I remember very little. Time was very fluid, like a ballet. I watched people come and go, dancing across my vision in slow pirouettes of medical efficiency.
~~~~~~ *LP* ~~~~~~
The nurse cranked up the hospital bed, and stepped back.
I glanced at the detective in the rumpled suit.
He looked up at the nurse. "You can leave us."
The middle-aged nurse glanced uncertainly at me, and then left quietly.
The detective flipped out a notebook. "So, the patrolman read you your rights?"
I shifted uncomfortably, and shook my head no. My nose was packed full of cotton or something. So was my mouth. Apparently, a few teeth were misplaced while I was riding in an ambulance. I could feel a few gaps in my gum that weren’t there yesterday. I had all my teeth before I was maced. Now I don’t. The in-between was real fuzzy.
"Their report says that he read you your rights, and then you tried to run."
"Yeah? When the fuck did I try to run?" Except it came out as, "Yuh? Mem da muck did I tmy to mun?" I spit out the blood soaked cotton wads.
"Was it after they sprained my wrist?" I smiled broadly. It hurt like hell, and was probably a bad idea. I could taste blood. I sounded like I had a mouth full of marshmallows still, but I didn’t care. I didn’t like this jackass.
The detective nodded without returning my smile, and scribbled in his pad. "All right then. We’ll take it from the top. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law…."
I tuned him out, and stared at the door. It was time for pain medication. SOB was telling me that this fucker knew it and was using it to make me uncomfortable. I sighed. He probably was. I wondered why they didn't dispense pain medication in the IV strung up next to me.
"…understand these rights?"
"Whatever." I tried to shrug, and even that simple movement was painful. My wrist was in a temporary splint of some sort, wrapped up in an ace bandage, and was itching. I shifted uncomfortably. I tried to sit still, while the detective just stared at me. I said nothing.
"So, you resisted arrest."
"No."
He glanced up at me, and nodded before scribbling in his pad.
"So tell me…how do you lose three teeth, get a broken nose, various stitches, cracked ribs, and a sprained wrist if you were cooperating with the deputies?"
"Fuck if I know. When you figure it out, let me know so I can sue."
He sighed. "Well, their report says that you stepped out of the car, tried to hit him, and then ran."
"Yeah? Nice fairy tale."
"The other officer corroborates his story."
"Like I said, nice fairy tale. Other cop wasn’t there yet when I got out of the car."
He nodded, and scribbled some more in his notebook. I fidgeted. My ribs were starting to pound lightly, and my nose and mouth were throbbing dully. "What’s Mrs. Cranston say? She drove by when I got out of the car."
He looked up. "Who’s that?"
"My nosy little eighty-something year-old neighbor. Probably told half the fucking neighborhood about what she saw by now."
He smiled. "You know I’ll check that."
I smiled back. It hurt like hell. I felt myself drooling. "Have fun with that."
Joe Cool told me to watch the smart-ass comments.
I told him to stuff it; I really didn’t give a rat’s fucking ass at the goddamned moment.
Joe said fine, I should wipe the drool off my face, though, and to real in my fucking temper. Dial it down a few notches.
I wiped the drool off my chin, and it covered my hand in blood. I heard SOB snicker. That must have been an entertaining sight for the cop. Me smiling, blood running down my face. Yeah, that’ll prove I am innocent. Portrait of psychoses, in techni-fucking-color.
Joe told us neither of us was helping matters.
I stared at the cop for a moment. "Cop cars have cameras, don’t they? Just watch the fucking tape and you can tell me what happened."
Joe muttered something about the cop said it was broken today. I told Joe No shit, bright eyes. Why the fuck do you think I mentioned it to Sherlock Fucking Holmes the Third over there?
The detective shifted uncomfortably. "Well, your wife saw you struggling with the officers."
"No shit. They manhandled the fuck out of me, and pushed me down. Then they maced me. Tell me, would you sit still for that and just take it?"
He just nodded. "So why were you resisting arrest, then?"
"Probably because I was getting my ass worked over by some cops."
He smiled. "So you admit that you were resisting."
Joe Cool called me a dumbass. I flexed my hands, trying to keep my anger in check. I was losing the battle. My wrist flared with pain, and I flinched involuntarily before I looked at the cop evenly.
"Besides your two goons, we also need to hear what Trish and Mrs. Cranston have to say on the matter."
"I’ve already talked with your wife." He smiled broadly.
I nodded, wondering why he said that as if he knew something I didn’t. "Well, when can I talk to her?"
"We’ll see."
"What the fuck was I being arrested for?"
He leaned back, and smiled. "At the moment? Resisting arrest. So, tell me Ryan. Where were you at three AM the night before your arrest?"
I felt my anger rising again, and I struggled to calm myself. I was failing, and I struggled to lean forward towards the cop. "Now how the fuck can I be under arrest for resisting arrest without other charges?"
He smiled, and shrugged. "Those are the charges."
I wanted to choke that asshole. Joe told me to knock it off. This prick was trying to push my buttons, and I was letting him. I told Joe I don’t have anything to hide from this cocksucker.
Joe asked me if I was sure.
I told JC this wasn’t time for fucking games, and I asked Joe what the fuck he knew that I didn’t.
He said Jessica Winters.
Oh, yeah. That. Fuck. I leaned back. Christ, I felt old.
"So, where were you at 3 AM?"
I looked down at my hands.
"At home."
"Doing what?"
I glanced up at him, and sighed. "What’s it matter to you?"
"Not much, at this point. We pretty much already have this buttoned up.
I just want to hear what you have to say. See if we can fill in some details."
"Well, I was sleeping. Having nightmares, in fact. Ask Trish, I woke screaming and scared the shit out of her at one point."
He nodded. "I already talked to her. So you were nowhere near Fourth Street, then?"
"Of course not. Why? What happened?"
"So you are telling me you didn’t leave the house?"
"No, I did not. What is this about?"
"Do you own a black Buick?"
I thought about backing out of the driveway in my dream. This was exactly where this was heading, and I hadn’t had a chance to think it through. "What do you think I was driving when your cops decided to pull me over for avoiding an accident?"
Joe told me to keep my temper in check.
I’d have choked the shit out of Joe if I could have, and that damned cat too for good measure. I was feeling the frustration take hold, and my heart was pounding. I could feel the iron grip of a headache squeezing my temples ruthlessly. It was going to get worse.
"So you admit you own this car."
I smiled. I felt like my skull would split with the pain. "You’re the detective. You tell me."
Joe Cool said it was time to shut our mouth and that this wasn’t getting us anywhere. I told him, "We’re already fucked. Tell me this, Joe Fucking Cool, do you think we took a little trip to Fourth Street last night? It's pretty fucking obvious that Deputy Doofus here sure thinks we did. Explain that, smart-ass."
The detective nodded and scribbled in his notebook. I half wondered if he was writing anything down or just doodling. He hadn’t asked me anything he couldn’t have already found out. He had said as much. Which begged the obvious question: What did he have to prove it was me?
"So, tell me about Sarah Winters."
Joe told me that must have been the young girl’s name. I wanted to smack him for being Captain Obvious. I kept my voice neutral. "Can’t help you there, officer."
"It’s detective, not officer, Ryan. So, you are telling me that you do not know Sarah Winters?"
Ryan's Suffering Page 14