1. 

Roland’s POV

Asphyxiation. 

Police lights flashed around me as I sat on the curb of the sidewalk. My legs were stretched out and my ankles were crossed like the officer instructed me to do while they ran around the shop behind me randomly. 

Blunt force trauma. 

My stomach ached along with my arms and butt. The longer I sat here the more the pain grew but with my hands cuffed behind my back, I knew it would be a bad idea to try and make a run for it.

All of this for a pair of socks.

Poison. 

The cold night air whipped through the air, cutting me to the bone despite the thin jacket wrapped around my body. The more I shivered the more the cuffs chatted my skin yet I couldn’t make myself stop. 

Blood loss. 

A shadow loomed over my but I refused to look. My eyes were glued to the sidewalk I was on. I had hoped if I didn’t look at him the man would simply walk away but he only crouched down in front of me. 

“Hi,” he said, his voice was kind but I knew it wouldn’t stay that way for long and I refused to be fooled by this trick again. “My name’s Patrick, what’s yours?”

Disembowelment. 

“Do you want to tell me what happened today?”

Waterboarding.

“If you don’t answer me here, then we’ll have to take you to the station.”

Behind my back the shivering in my hands got worse as I pressed my fingernails into my thumb pads.

I didn’t want to go to jail but my throat was locked up; no words could escape even if they wanted to. 

Cancer. Natural causes. Broken neck. Brain leakage. Internal bleeding. Burned alive. Hanging.

A sigh pushed past his lips as he stood up before coming up behind me. His hands were gentle as they gripped at my wrists and shoulder when he helped me stand and remained gentle as he led me to his car.

It was an act though. I knew it was an act. He wasn’t going to trick me. I’d be ready for him to turn cruel this time.

Drowning. Electrocution. Heart attack.

The ride was short and silent but the second we pulled into the parking lot the air grew tense.

Patrick’s hands remained gentle as he helped me into the building and into the interrogation room. As soon as the door closed behind us the cuffs on my wrists loosened until they were completely gone.

“Can you tell me your name yet,” Patrick asked as he slowly walked over to the table in the center of the room before sitting down in the chair.

My throat still wouldn’t allow me to answer as I walked backwards until my back hit the wall. The second I made contact, I felt my knees bend as I slid down the wall, keeping my knees pulled into my chest.

I openly stared at Patrick now. His brown hair was short and shaggy, his brown eyes pinning me to the wall. The smile on his face was hard to read. Was it pity? Genuine happiness at my misfortune? Just a reflex? I couldn’t tell.

My fingernail found my thumb pad again as Patrick pulled a notebook and pen from his belt. 

“Do you have anyone we should be contacting?”

Overdose. Medical error. Mixing household cleaners.

“How old are you?”

Car crashes. Plane malfunctions. Boating accidents. Train collisions.

“Are you able to speak?”

Accidental manslaughter. Gun violence. Police shootings.

A shiver ran down my back as I stared at Patrick more than before, my eyes trained on the weapon in his holster.

Another sigh breaks through his lips as he stands from the chair. I can’t help but jump as his chair scraps against the floor, my nails pressing harder against my skin at the sound. I watch as he takes several steps towards me.

I tuck myself farther into the wall. 

I knew it was coming. I had been expecting it since the beginning. He hadn’t fooled me yet I hated that I was right. 

I tensed as he came closer and wondered how he would do it. Grab me by shirt and push me against the wall and scream until he got answers? He’d be screaming for a while. Beat me until I couldn’t speak? That would take considerable less time. Would he touch me? I shivered in disgust as I pushed myself into the wall even more, my thumbs nearly bleeding at how hard I was pressing them. 

I watched with horror as he stepped closer and closer and tensed when he was nearly right in front of me but he did nothing. He didn’t even spare me a glance as he took the door by the handle and opened it without a word.

The second the door closed I released a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. I don’t leave my little ball but my heart reluctantly slows ever so slightly as I keep an eyes on the door just in case Patrick changes his mind and comes back.

Minutes tick by yet nothing changes.

The only sound in the small room is the grumble of my stomach but it was nearly drowned out by the sound of the fan spinning in the center of the room. It was moving so fast it was swing back and forth at the force. Something was wrong with it though; every third rotation it would make a clicking noise. 

I watch it closely but without getting closer I can’t tell what’s making it sound like that. 

I tried my best to imagine what it would look like inside the fan in order to come up with a reason why it was broken but I hadn’t worked on enough fans and the image I came up with was blurry and unhelpful. 

Eventually I couldn’t stand it. The near constant clicking was about to drive me mad. 

As I stood up the aching in my stomach only got worse but I ignoring it as I slipped the switch for the fan, not waiting at all for it to slow before walking to the table and stepping on it to get a better angle.

My hand grabbed the blade to make it stop before turning it slowly. My eyes were closed as I tried to make a new picture. The gears. The bearings. The motor. The picture was still too blurry yet I my hand still spun the blade, pausing every three rotations to hear the clicking before starting up again. 

I couldn’t help but glare at the fan in utter hatred as I continued to spin it. 

“Spin it the other way.”

I nearly fell off the table at the voice just as the door slid closed. Patrick was standing there, just a few inches in front of the door, a box of pizza in one hand and a cup of water in the other.

My stomach growled as I stared at the food but my curiosity out weighed the hunger. 

My attention turned back to the fan as I followed his instructions. The hate filled glare returned when on the third rotation, the clicking did not sound off.

“The handyman reversed the wires. The clicking happens because the gears are grinding against one another,” he said as he stepped closer to the table as I stepped off of it with every step he took. By the time he reached the table my back was hitting the wall again. “The fan is slowly breaking itself since it wasn’t meant to spin that way. I haven’t had the chance to rewire it yet.”

For a while we only stare at each other until Patrick places the box down on the table and pulled the chair up.

“I haven’t had dinner yet,” he said with that confusing smile. “There’s plenty if you want some.” He doesn’t wait for my answer before pulling himself off a piece and plopping it on the plate. 

His eyes are soft as he stares down in front of him and his movements are slow, his knee bouncing to a rhythm I don’t know. 

I bit my lip as I took a small step forward. When Patrick didn’t comment on it, I took another small step forward. Too soon I was standing directly in front of him but Patrick still only stared down, his movements still slow, his eyes still soft.

My hand barely grazed the crust before I snatched it back into my chest while taking several steps back, my heels colliding with the wall before I managed to stop myself. Still Patrick hadn’t moved. 

I ate the slice quickly but it did little to help the pain in my stomach.

“I tried to run your face through our data base but nothing came up,” Patrick said just as I was about to take another step forward but his words kept me planted firmly. “Can you tell me your name?”

His eyes searched mine for something but when I didn’t say anything his hand reached for the pen and notebook he had earlier and pushed it closer to me while closing the pizza box and putting a firm hand on it.

Part of me wanted to cry but I bit my lip as Patrick stared me down.

“You can have more when you start answering questions,” he said gently but his voice was firm. “Write it down if you have to.”

I refused to break first. The two of us stared at each other in silence, Patrick unmoving while I fidgeted against the wall. 

A growl of my stomach cut through the room but Patrick didn’t gloat, he only pushed the pen and paper closer to the edge of the table with a blank stare.

I broke first.

I shuffled to the table slowly, my hand shaking as I grabbed the pen and waited for instruction, choosing the lean over the table rather than sit.

“What’s your name?”

The writing was shaky as if a child had wrote it but I was still freezing and being so close to man I didn’t know didn’t help. 

“Roland Grace,” he read with a hum before pulling out his phone. His typing didn’t last long before his phone was back sitting face down on the table. “What are your parent’s names?”

I don’t answer this time but my eyes don’t leave the notepad in front of me as my teeth play with my bottom lip. 

“Where do you live?”

I placed the pen back down on the table and my hands go back to pinching themselves behind my back while I continue to stare at the table.

Seconds later his phone goes back off. He only glances at it for a few seconds before a frown covers his face and his eyes shift back over to me. 

“My friend says you’ve been off public record for quiet a few years now. He says you were in a few foster homes but you always ran from them. After the last one you did a good job at hiding until now.”

I don’t know how to answer so I simply don’t.

“Where have you been living?” His voice comes out gentle but I can’t stand it. I can feel the blood rushing to my cheeks as my heart begins to pound. 

Asphyxiation. Blunt force trauma. Poison. Blood loss. Disembowelment. Water boarding. 

“Where have you been living,” he asked again. 

I meet his eyes for the first time since meeting him and though I don’t want to admit it, the look in his eyes tells me he already knows my answer.

“I want to leave,” I said barely above a whisper, my throat still tight and jaw resistant to movement. 

“And go where? I can’t let you leave if you have no where to go.

I can help you though.”

I didn’t want his help. The only reason he cared was because I was in trouble now and no other adult was here to help scold me. 

“There’s a camp that can help,” he said after a while of me staring at him. “The shop owner said he wants to press charges for theft but if you got to camp you can avoid going to jail and it won’t go on your permanent record. My friend says you’re still a minor, only 16 right?” If he was waiting for an answer he wouldn’t be getting one. “You’ll be able to leave the camp when you’re 18 instead of having to go back into foster care when you get out of jail.”

He was trying to trick me again. There’s no way this camp was any better than foster care.

After a while Patrick only sighed again.

“Since you’re still a minor and already a ward of the state you don’t really have a choice,” he said with a frown that somehow felt fake. “Just know that it won’t be as bad as you think. You’ll stay here tonight ad head to camp in the morning”

I can’t help but flinch when he stands from the chair before taking several steps away from him. My back was back against the wall in seconds while a new frown covers Patrick’s face. 

“Try to get some rest,” he said with a weak smile that I couldn’t stand. “And you can have the rest of that,” he pointed to the still closed pizza box. Thank you for your help.”

I glared at the box as the door closed behind the cop. Stupid pizza. If I hadn’t been so hungry he wouldn’t have known anything and couldn’t have sent me to that stupid place. 

My stomach still churned and the ache didn’t but my eyes grew heavy and I refused to accept the bribe pizza now that it betrayed me.

I ignored the pain as I slipped underneath the table, thankfully blocking out the harsh light and helping ease the new headache that was forming. The shivering still didn’t stop as I pulled the thin jacket closer to my body.

Patrick only came back one more time. A black hoodie was held tightly in his hands but I didn’t bother moving to get it. After a while of trying to coaxing me out he just sighed and placed it on the chair he had been sitting in before leaving for the last time.

My scowl only deepened when he was gone.

I didn’t need him now just because he was here. I didn’t need his food, I didn’t need his warm clothes, and I didn’t need his stupid ass criminal conversion camp.