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were already appearing on his arms and wrists.
    “Jacob would never do that,” Gabe instantly replied. “I’ve always told him to respect the police and be polite to them.”
    “He didn’t say a word, Daddy,” Manny defended. “He never got a chance. They were pointing their guns at him and screaming before he could even roll down the window.”
    “Something set them off,” Chip said, “I’ve never seen anything like it. How’s Jacob doing, by the way?”
    “I don’t know. We haven’t found him yet.”
    “He’s got to be in the hospital,” came the dreaded response. “He was badly injured, bleeding all over the place. He couldn’t even walk….” Chip paused, realizing the effect his words were having on the boy’s father. “I’m sorry… but you need to know. He’s got to be at a hospital.”
    “I’ve called all the major facilities,” Gabe replied. “No one has his name on any list.”
    Gabe’s cell phone rang, stopping his report mid-sentence. Glancing hopefully at the caller ID, he was only slightly disappointed to see it was his own home number.
    “He’s at Central Hospital,” came his wife’s excited voice. “I just spoke to a nurse, and she was asking all kinds of questions about his medical history and stuff. They need us down there right away.”
    “Did they say how he is?”
    “No. She wouldn’t tell me anything until we showed up and proved we were his guardians. She said we should hurry.”
    “I’ll be right there to pick you up,” Gabe replied. “Please be ready.”
    “I’ll be waiting by the curb,” Sandy came back. “You won’t even have to come to a complete stop.”
    The anxious father managed to tell Manny and her parents what he had just heard before he reached their front door. “I’ll call you when I know more,” he yelled, hurrying for his car.

    The vending machine sandwich sat nearby, mostly uneaten. Keeping it company on the waiting room’s end table were the almost full container of juice, half-eaten bag of potato chips, and a light dusting of salted pretzel crumbs. All were residual evidence of the Chases’ lunch. Only the coffee cups, one with Sandy’s lipstick, the other unmarked, had been worthy of constant attention.
    After having provided insurance information, signing a seemingly endless stack of consent for treatment forms, and being told someone would be with them shortly, they had been idling for four hours in a corner of the main waiting room.
    Finally a nurse appeared, holding a clipboard and shouting out the name, “Chase?”
    “Now we get to see our son,” Sandy hissed, her frustrations nearing the boiling point.
    But it wasn’t to be. Instead, the couple was shown into a small cubicle where a harried-looking physician sat examining a stack of documents.
    He didn’t waste any time. “Mr. and Mrs. Chase, your son has two broken ribs, a slight concussion, and numerous lacerations, three of which required staples. But what is the most troubling, is his right knee. Jacob tells me he played in the city championship basketball game just a few days ago. Was he, per chance, injured in that contest?”
    “No,” they both responded instantly. “As a matter of fact, he was showing off for his girlfriend yesterday morning, dunking the ball on our home goal.”
    The doctor frowned. “This is most troubling. His other injuries are non-threatening and quite common for people who fight with the police. But this knee is unusual. He has suffered what is called an ‘unhappy triad,’ which basically is simultaneous trauma to the anterior cruciate ligament and medial collateral ligament, in addition to a tear of the medial meniscus. It is extremely rare to see such damage outside of an automobile collision, or vicious football accident.”
    “We left him only an hour before he was arrested,” Sandy spoke up. “He was walking fine.”
    “I just saw his car,” Gabe added, “There was no damage or any other sign of an accident. A witness