Hell, I didn’t even like Florida. After the way they behaved, I’d never set foot back in the state ever again. I wouldn’t go farther south than Georgia for the rest of my life. Florida could shove their tourist dollars where the sun didn’t shine.
“Don’t you raise your voice at me, young lady. What drugs did you and your boyfriend take?” He stood from his chair but leaned over the table into my space.
His last question set me off. How did you show up at the police station and tell them you’d been kidnapped, barely survived with your life during your escape, and the officer demanded you tell him what drugs you took?
If the police didn’t believe us, who would?
I swallowed hard, trying to hold back the tears, but it didn’t work. When I answered, I had to sniffle before I got the words out. “We didn’t take any drugs.”
The officer pounded his fist on the table, shaking the entire thing as the sound ricocheted off the tiny walls in the interrogation room. I jumped. The noise reminded me of shots from the gunfire.
Why did they have me in an interrogation room in the first place? Shouldn’t I have been out in a chair with a blanket and maybe a cup of hot chocolate? From the moment he picked us up, we’d been treated like common criminals. Who took drugs wearing scrubs?
“I can’t take any more of your lies. You sat here in my police station and lied to us. Made up crazy stories to accused the residents of Florida of shooting at you? You disgust me. You and everyone like you.”
The tears fell freely. No one had ever told me I disgusted them. Especially not when I’d been the one kidnapped. In fact, the officer was so sure I was the scum of the earth that he made me question myself. Did I use my vacation to come to Florida, meet a hot guy at the beach, and take drugs? Had my memories become distorted by a substance so I didn’t remember what happened properly?
No, I was a nurse. I helped people and saw the effects of drugs. I barely took a Tylenol unless I absolutely needed it.
“You sit here and think about what you’ve done. When you’re ready to tell the truth, you can lean your head out of the room and holler for someone in the hall.”
I expected him to say something else. To lob a threat my way or accuse me of lying again, but the officer gave me one last repulsed look and then left, letting the door slam behind him.
Alone, cold, and scared, I didn’t know what we were going to do. How much jail time did you get for a stolen car? My mother might kill me and then have her meltdown.
I rested my arms on the table and then laid my head on top of them. I’d been fighting a headache from the bright lights since around the first time I ended the retelling of our story.
It was impossible to know how much time had passed, but eventually the door opening pulled me from my thoughts of prison life. Cyrus’s face peeked around the corner and then he stepped into the room.
He didn’t look nearly as upset as I did, but he still had the same clothes on, so they hadn’t given him any special treatment either. “Come on. We are leaving,” he said, waving me toward the door, which he held open with his foot.
I shook my head. We couldn’t walk out of a police station. “We can’t leave.”
It wasn’t the principal’s office. You didn’t leave until they said you were free to go.
Cyrus scowled at me but his look wasn’t anywhere near as unpleasant as the officer who vacated the room. “Did they read you your rights and put you under arrest?”
It had been a few long days, so I took a full thirty seconds to consider what he’d asked. I reviewed every interaction I had with the officer and then another few seconds to check my memories once more. Thirty seconds when you’re really thinking hard is a lifetime.
But I spoke the truth when I answered, “No.”
The officer never told me I was under arrest. They didn’t read me any Miranda Rights. And when I thought about it, he never even told me I couldn’t leave.
Cyrus shrugged as if he figured that’s what I’d say. “Then you, beautiful, are free to go.”
I stood from the chair for the first time in over an hour and my legs ached with the sudden movement. We had food and water, but not nearly enough to replenish what we lost during our time in captivity. A visit to the hospital to receive a bag of IV fluids would do us both wonders.
“Where are we going to go?” I asked, meeting him at the room’s doorway. With no vehicle or money, how would we get out of Florida? I wanted to leave as quickly as possible.
“They won’t let me call Corbin, which is suspicious. Something fishing is going on in this police station. We’re leaving right now and I’ll figure out the rest later.”
We both peeked out into the hallway, which appeared empty, but Cyrus took the first step into the space to test our assumption. I was a full step or two behind him. “What about the car owner?”
Cyrus turned, completely stopped walking, and looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. He opened his mouth once, closed it, and his head shook a little. Cyrus might not care about the man or woman we stole a vehicle from, but I didn’t want that on my conscience for the rest of my life.
He turned, began walking again, and answered me halfway down the long corridor. “Once we’re safe, I’ll find the owner and send him a check so big he’ll be able to buy a brand-new car.”
I wasn’t sure how Cyrus planned to figure out the owner of the vehicle, but it didn’t seem the time to ask any more questions. I’d already held us up long enough.
