Cell No.13

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: The Imaginarium


Cover designed by Booksie's own Markie Bee https://www.booksie.com/users/markie-bee-223538

Submitted: August 28, 2018

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Submitted: August 28, 2018

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Cell No.13.

It was going to be tough to fit them all in. That is once they’d managed to round them up. Those that were uninjured were determined to escape, or at least to have a good try.

The Deputy looked around at the carnage. It was unbelievable. Things like this just did not happen out in the sticks. Bowley Ridge was a quiet town, a law abiding one too. They just did not have the man-power to cope with something of this scale.

How many injured? Four or five? The extent of the injuries varied but all would need to be taken to hospital to at least be checked over. Several would be staying without a doubt, just from the amount of blood they’d lost. He really hoped that there would be no fatalities among them.

Drugs had to be involved somehow, or at the very least alcohol; a hell of a lot of alcohol too. Maybe a mix of the two. But look at them, still running around all over the place, even though they were sparsely surrounded. Patience was wearing thin and it wouldn’t be long before shots were fired. The Deputy needed to make sure that did not happen.

Where was the Sheriff when he needed him? He always seemed to be breathing down his neck when there was nothing more than boring and tedious paperwork to be filled in. He’d be there watching to make sure that every i was dotted, every t crossed, every necessary form filled in and signed.

As each rampaging teen was caught and then cuffed, the cars were filling up. One headed back to the station for its occupants to be booked, put in the cells, then a second did likewise.

Most of the kids had been apprehended. And that’s all they were; kids! Sixteen to eighteen year olds. The Deputy recognized them all, at least vaguely. They were locals so this was not something that could be laid at the feet of outsiders. The four kids left were most likely the ring-leaders, going by the state of their tatty and bloodied clothing.

Outnumbered now, it would not take long for them to be caught, and by some miracle not even one shot had been fired. A girl and three lads; the girl had to go with him, for he knew only too well just who she was. No doubt the others had recognized her too; it’s not as if she were any stranger to the station house, after all.

The Deputy tried to be gentle as he put her in the back of his car but she didn’t make it easy. He’d been reluctant to cuff her, but she was one of the least co-operative of the lot. He locked the back doors then climbed in to the driving seat.

Neither said a word for most of the journey. Every time the Deputy looked back in his mirror he was greeted by her sullen face, staring at him, daring him to speak. There had always been something disconcerting about those green eyes of hers; the bloodied clothing, the streaks on her face, only served to accentuate it even more.

Why?” he asked, at last. But she said nothing in reply, just stared back defiantly. He would not be getting any answers from her.

He radioed ahead to see if the Sheriff had arrived. Nope, there was a hold-up at home, some kind of crisis. He’d be there within the hour for sure. The Deputy had a good idea just what the crisis was, but was reluctant to put it out on the radio. “Just get a message to him to get to the station as soon as he can; there might be an answer for him there.”

So now what? He had to take her in, book her, do everything by the rules. Isn’t that what the Sheriff always insisted on. But once it was there in writing it could not be erased, would not disappear. Maybe he’d get her to a cell on her own; if he went in the back way, Cell 13 was not that far. The last one in the row, it was rarely used, and it would avoid having to parade her through the station house. Also it would give him time to think.

She did not put up any resistance or cause any fuss as the Deputy opened the door to the cell. That, at least, was a relief. If she had been shouting and screaming, she’d have attracted all the attention that he was trying so hard to avoid. She just went and sat on the bench, tapping her feet, waiting.

Not long after, the Sheriff came in through the front door. “Sorry! Mary-Lou has gone missing. Had to stay, calm the wife for a while.”

The Deputy approached, asked the Sheriff for a quiet word, all the time leading him along the row of cells to the last one. He wanted to stop him from saying too much. “She’s not booked yet, Sir. Thought I’d best leave that decision to you.”

The Sheriff looked unbelievingly in to Cell 13. There was no mistaking the hair, and those eyes that met his own. “Mary-Lou?”

Hi, Dad. You still recognize me then.”

The two men talked together in hushed tones while the Sheriff’s daughter made her way towards the cell door. He’d let her out, might tell her off a bit, but that would be it. He’d have to consider the scandal, her Mom’s feelings, wouldn’t he. She would almost bet that she’d be home within the hour.

When he looked back at her, the Sheriff looked sad, almost like he had aged ten years within the five minutes he’d been standing there. His shoulders slumped in defeated resignation as he turned towards the Deputy.

Book her. Don’t omit anything.” Then without a backward glance, the Sheriff walked away.


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