Shadows of St. Louis

by Leslie DuBois

He looked at me strangely. "Stephen, your face is covered in cuts and bruises. The officers who subdued you kind of went a little too far. You have open wounds. You’re bleeding.” He pointed to a couple of places on my face. “Doesn't it hurt?"

  I shrugged and reached for the bottle and paper towels. I didn't feel pain like most people. It was a coping mechanism I'd developed at an early age.

  "I'm Lieutenant Drake," he said, still staring at me as I cleaned my wounds. "This must have been a hard few days for you."

  I nodded.

  "Your father is dead, your mother is missing, and you and Ruthie are on the run."

  I nodded.

  "Why are you running? You know running only makes you look guilty, and I don't really believe you killed your father. I don't think you're capable."

  I stared at him. "You have no idea what I'm capable of. You have no idea what that man did to me."

  "You're right. I don't," he said, trying to hide his surprise at my response. He sat down and crossed his arms. "So why don't you tell me? You obviously have a story and you need someone to listen. So tell me your story. Tell me everything."