reached for the window sill. She nearly cried when her first effort to pull herself up failed. Now she was not only angry about the situation, she was mad at herself for being too small and too weak. She tried again, nearly slipped but, at last, with the help of a foot on the wall, she was able to pull herself up on the ledge and look inside.
Below her, water was running in the bathtub, slopping over the edges and flowing like a little stream out the door. She had no choice. If she wanted to get inside, she had to jump in the tub. Do I really need to? she wondered. The water’s running; obviously something they said was true. But that could be a coincidence; maybe someone turned it on to see if it worked and forgot to turn it off. She had to be sure. She clung to the sill, and made the small drop. When she pulled her hand away, she realized she’d been cut on a piece of broken glass.
She swirled her hand in the water, watching a little stream of red eddy into the tub. She used her uncut hand to grab the faucet and turn off the water. She stepped out onto the wet floor, grabbed a towel off the rack and pressed it against the cut. She turned off the sink faucet, too, and opened the medicine cabinet, searching for a bandage, but it was empty. No one lives here, dummy, she admonished herself, why would you even look?
She sniffed the air for the scent of urine but everything just smelled musty and damp. She sloshed out of the bathroom and into a bedroom where the carpet was drenched by the ankle high water. She squished across the sodden flooring to the living room where she saw the red writing on the wall and the red daisy on the carpet. The can of spray paint bobbed in the water. She picked it up and went into the kitchen.
She turned off the water running in the kitchen and opened the cabinet under the sink and sniffed. Ewww – pee. She remembered that smell from the stairway in the downtown parking garage. She was standing beside the dining-room table when the door blasted open and four uniformed officers burst into the room, guns pointed right at her.
‘Uh, uh . . .’ was the only sound Charley could make come out of her mouth.
‘Drop everything in your hands, girlie. Drop it all now,’ one of the officers shouted.
Charley looked down at the can and the towel in her hands as if seeing them for the first time. She jerked her hands open as if what she’d been holding had just burned her fingers. The can clattered on the top of the table, then rolled to a stop beside the centerpiece. The towel fell to the floor, laying on the watery surface, absorbing it for a moment, before sinking to the bottom.
‘Hands up in the air!’
She shoved them up as high as she could.
‘Turn around!’
‘But, but . . .’ Charley objected.
‘Turn around!’
She obeyed the order, her knees shaking, heart pounding. She didn’t think they’d shoot her in the back but she’d heard some strange stories on television. Her wrists were grabbed from behind. Her hands secured in a pair of cuffs. A hand pushed on the back of her head. ‘This way, girlie,’ the officer said, maneuvering her around, leading her out of the apartment and into the back seat of a waiting patrol car.
On the way to the Justice Center, she spit out the names of the kids responsible for the vandalism, admitting she didn’t know all of their last names. ‘Please don’t say anything else,’ the officer in the passenger seat said. ‘We need to read you your rights but before we do that, we need to have one of your parents present.’
‘No,’ she insisted. ‘I just need Lucy – I mean Lieutenant Lucinda Pierce.’
‘You want Pierce?’
‘Yes. She’s my best friend. Don’t call my dad. He worries about me too much.’
‘Lieutenant Pierce is your best friend?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Yeah, right,’ he said with a chuckle.
‘No, really, she is, honest,’ Charley pleaded.
‘Just shut up, kid, before you get yourself in even more
Below her, water was running in the bathtub, slopping over the edges and flowing like a little stream out the door. She had no choice. If she wanted to get inside, she had to jump in the tub. Do I really need to? she wondered. The water’s running; obviously something they said was true. But that could be a coincidence; maybe someone turned it on to see if it worked and forgot to turn it off. She had to be sure. She clung to the sill, and made the small drop. When she pulled her hand away, she realized she’d been cut on a piece of broken glass.
She swirled her hand in the water, watching a little stream of red eddy into the tub. She used her uncut hand to grab the faucet and turn off the water. She stepped out onto the wet floor, grabbed a towel off the rack and pressed it against the cut. She turned off the sink faucet, too, and opened the medicine cabinet, searching for a bandage, but it was empty. No one lives here, dummy, she admonished herself, why would you even look?
She sniffed the air for the scent of urine but everything just smelled musty and damp. She sloshed out of the bathroom and into a bedroom where the carpet was drenched by the ankle high water. She squished across the sodden flooring to the living room where she saw the red writing on the wall and the red daisy on the carpet. The can of spray paint bobbed in the water. She picked it up and went into the kitchen.
She turned off the water running in the kitchen and opened the cabinet under the sink and sniffed. Ewww – pee. She remembered that smell from the stairway in the downtown parking garage. She was standing beside the dining-room table when the door blasted open and four uniformed officers burst into the room, guns pointed right at her.
‘Uh, uh . . .’ was the only sound Charley could make come out of her mouth.
‘Drop everything in your hands, girlie. Drop it all now,’ one of the officers shouted.
Charley looked down at the can and the towel in her hands as if seeing them for the first time. She jerked her hands open as if what she’d been holding had just burned her fingers. The can clattered on the top of the table, then rolled to a stop beside the centerpiece. The towel fell to the floor, laying on the watery surface, absorbing it for a moment, before sinking to the bottom.
‘Hands up in the air!’
She shoved them up as high as she could.
‘Turn around!’
‘But, but . . .’ Charley objected.
‘Turn around!’
She obeyed the order, her knees shaking, heart pounding. She didn’t think they’d shoot her in the back but she’d heard some strange stories on television. Her wrists were grabbed from behind. Her hands secured in a pair of cuffs. A hand pushed on the back of her head. ‘This way, girlie,’ the officer said, maneuvering her around, leading her out of the apartment and into the back seat of a waiting patrol car.
On the way to the Justice Center, she spit out the names of the kids responsible for the vandalism, admitting she didn’t know all of their last names. ‘Please don’t say anything else,’ the officer in the passenger seat said. ‘We need to read you your rights but before we do that, we need to have one of your parents present.’
‘No,’ she insisted. ‘I just need Lucy – I mean Lieutenant Lucinda Pierce.’
‘You want Pierce?’
‘Yes. She’s my best friend. Don’t call my dad. He worries about me too much.’
‘Lieutenant Pierce is your best friend?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Yeah, right,’ he said with a chuckle.
‘No, really, she is, honest,’ Charley pleaded.
‘Just shut up, kid, before you get yourself in even more