The Last Day of Freedom by R.J. Vickers

Author:R.J. Vickers
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: courtroom drama, school based mystery, natural disaster, fantasy contemporary, fantasy about school, bullying brotherly love friendship trust character strength of character peer pressure, suspense novella
Publisher: R.J. Vickers

Chapter 4

Over the next month, Tristan began paying attention to his fellows at the detention center. It did not take long to notice that none of them stayed longer than a week. Tristan was the sole long-term resident.

“Where do you go after here?” he asked a scrawny, timid-looking boy who joined him at dinner one day.

“Depends on what you’ve done. Most kids just go home. They’re put on probation, and some of them get counseling, but that’s all. The bad kids go to Cass.”

“What’s that?” Tristan asked, his misgivings mounting.

“It’s the lock-up for kids. The long-term detention center.”

Tristan prodded at his flavorless stew. “I’ve been here nearly a month. Why haven’t they sent me there yet?”

“Maybe they can’t decide what to do with you,” the boy said innocently. “You’re in too much trouble to go home, but not enough for Cass.”

That night, Tristan decided he didn’t want to put up with the bandages on his cheek any longer. The nurse in the clinic had replaced them every few days while he’d stayed at the temporary detention center, but though the pain was gone, he could tell there would be scarring. He just didn’t know how bad it would be.

After most of the boys had finished their showers and disappeared to their rooms, Tristan slunk to the most decrepit bathroom in the building, with its constant smell of mildew and piss and a pipe that wouldn’t stop dripping. There he plucked at the medical tape that held the gauze pad in place, biting his lip so he didn’t wince as the tape yanked out every remaining hair on his cheek. The gauze pad caught on the new scab that had formed on his cheek, and he eased it free, cursing when it ripped out a patch of dried blood.

Only when he let the stained, gummy bandage fall to the sink did Tristan get a clear view of the damage beneath.

His first instinct was to retch. Clutching the sink, Tristan forced himself to confront his reflection.

Even a month after the crash, the gashes across his cheek were raw, a mess of swollen flesh and pus and scabs that hadn’t quite healed properly. It looked as though a rabid dog had torn a chunk out of his face.

It was the face of a murderer.

When Tristan lifted one trembling finger to his cheekbone to prod a swollen red lump crossed with stitches, the pain sent him reeling.

Dizzy with nausea, Tristan stumbled away from the mirrors and sank to the damp floor. The tears that had refused to come in the weeks following Marcus’s death now welled up, burning as they streaked over his torn-up cheek. He welcomed the pain. His body wracked with silent sobs, Tristan hunched over his knees.

He wanted to die.

Why had it been Marcus, not him? He should have been the one cut lifeless from his seat, not his brother. Marcus had suffered enough already. Years and years of enduring operations and seizures and long periods of sickness, and for what? There was no justice in this world.

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