Page 4 of Stolen Christmas
“Oh my God, please tell me this isn’t about my brother Noah.”
“I’m afraid it is.”
“I can’t lose him,” I sigh, fighting tears.
“He’s not dead, ma’am. He’s been arrested.”
“Arrested?” You have to be shitting me.
“I’m sorry. Yes, we have Noah Scott here in our custody. Could you please come down here?” He provides me with the station information, as well as the name of the person I need to speak with.
“I’m on the way.” I can’t believe I’m headed to the police station to deal with my little brother and his shit. We lost our parents, and I’ve been doing my best to take care of him without the state trying to take him away from me. Luckily for me, there are so many problems with the system and so many overcrowded homes that they don’t harass me, but it wouldn’t take much for them to pull him from my custody.
My life is falling apart, but I try to hold it together, telling myself things will improve once I have a better job. I’m faraway from a promotion, and my responsibilities leave me with little opportunity for growth. Now, I’m barely hanging on to my position because my boss finds reasons to judge me hard.
As much as I dread asking, I have to ask this bastard. “Excuse me, Mr. Cochran. I hate to do this, but I need to leave.”
“Why now?” Damn it, I forgot I had to leave early last week for a parent-teacher conference, which was stupid because they told me he is a model student. I didn’t need to be there at all. It was a waste of my time and a waste of asking for time off.
“My brother…um…”
“Don’t ‘um’ me, girl. You’re supposed to be an adult. Maybe you should send him to a home if he’s too much trouble.”
“That’s not…fair.” He has no idea what it’s like to lose most of your family and try to keep the only family you have left together.
“Enough. Go.” I hurry out of here before he fires me. I know it won’t be long before he cans me. Damn it. I rush to the station that the officer gave me, taking the train and then the bus. By the time I arrive, it’s over an hour later, although it feels like six. God, what has he done? It doesn’t make sense because he’s a good boy. Foolish, but good.
I enter the intimidating station, which appears to have recently undergone a makeover. Police officers move around, back and forth, in their uniforms and guns. I didn’t do anything wrong, and yet I feel guilty. There is a woman at the front desk who, although female, seems scarier than the men.
“Miss, can I help you?” she asks in a brisk tone. She clearly doesn’t have time for me and isn’t in the mood to deal with a wishy-washy person, but the last time I was at one of these places, it was to deal with my parents’ effects after their deaths.
I nervously smile at her and move to the edge of the counter and say, “Hello, I’m here to get my brother, Noah Scott. He’s a minor.”
“Oh, sure. Let me get the arresting officer.” Before she does, a handsome blond officer approaches me. He smiles, but I don’t trust it. I remember there being a lot of great cops when my parents died, but something is disconcerting about this person that makes his smile overtly sinister. He sticks out his hand and I shake it, even though I want nothing to do with him.
“Hello, you must be Angel Scott. I’m Officer Anthony Fields.” It’s not that I have a thing against cops, but this man could send my brother to jail and get him taken away from me, so maybe that’s why I was getting the uncomfortable vibe.
“Please, come this way.” He leads me to a small interrogation room.
“Where is he?” I ask, wanting to see him and make sure he’s okay. He has to be frightened. This isn’t like him, and he must be panicking. I know I am.
“Currently in a youth lock-up.”
“What happened?” I stop and turn to face him, nearly slamming into his chest. He reaches out and grips my forearms. “Sorry.”
He points to the plastic chair in front of the table. “Please take a seat.”
“Okay, but I need to know what happened. He’s really a good kid.” He gives me a tilt of his head and a distasteful scowl. I’m sure he’s used to hearing these things, but my brother really is one of the good ones, or so I always believed.
“Miss, we hear that all the time, but driving a vehicle without a license while transporting a passenger…” My mouth falls open because that can’t be true.
“You mean he had someone else in a car,” I say. He shakes his head, so I continue, “Maybe he was out learning how to drive. He has a permit. It has to be a misunderstanding.”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Scott, but your brother was operating a motor vehicle for Uber and struck a government vehicle.”
My hands splay out on the cold table in a semicircle and then rise up to my face, rubbing it. “Oh my goodness. How could he? We don’t even own a vehicle.”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Scott, but that’s another problem. He seems to have borrowed the vehicle from a friend.” I slam my head on the table a little harder than I should have.
