The Millennial Box by Julie Steimle (snow like ashes .TXT) 📖

back at the police officers who politely stayed near the door, then looked at the vice principal.

"What's this about?" Mr. Humphries asked, glancing warily across the room to his class. Jeff quizzically gazed up from his desk at the police himself with no fear or apprehension, but certainly not entirely without guilt. He knew he hadn't done anything illegal - if that didn't count breaking into an FBI installation two weeks previous. But they couldn't be there at the school for that, could they?

Mr. Vicksler glanced over the class again with apology toward the teacher. "I'm sorry, but these gentlemen have come for him."

Jeff rose from his seat - not quickly, but rather painfully, gripping the wood top and closing his eyes. He opened his eyes resignedly. "I'm here."

Zormna stared up at him, pursing her lips and begging him with her eyes for an explanation.

Jeff glared down at her once after he spoke, passing her a very guardian-type look that told her to keep quiet.

"What is it you want?" he asked as if he had not heard.

Mr. Vicksler frowned but bade him to come forward.

The entire class gaped at the well-known wrestler as he stepped through the aisle to the front of the class. His friend Brian Henderson kept staring at him and peeking at Zormna who seemed to be struggling within her seat to stay still and not pounce on Mr. Vicksler for taking Jeff away. Adam Arbor continued to gape at the policemen who were now pulling out a pair of handcuffs. Joy remained standing with her paper in her hands until Jeff passed to the front of the row. Then she collapsed into her seat, still clutching her paper.

Going up to him, Mr. Humphries rested his hand on Jeff's back and whispered something in Jeff's ear. Jeff nodded and looked back at Zormna as the police started to cuff him. "Hey, Zormna," Jeff called out rather calmly as the policemen bound his other arm. "Get my books, will you?"

Zormna blinked and nodded, still struggling within her seat.

Jeff allowed them take him to the door without a bit of resistance. Mr. Vicksler followed them into the hall and moved to shut the door.

Zormna shot up and hurdled over her chair, running through the student filled desks to the doorway. Bracing herself on the doorjamb next to the vice principal, she called after them, "I'll call my lawyer for you!"

They could hear Jeff yell back a "Thanks" and then, "Don't I have a right to know what I'm being arrested for? Aren't you supposed to be telling me?"

Zormna slumped against the wall, frowning. She turned back into the room once Jeff was out of sight. Mr. Humphries and the entire class stared at her, enough to make the blonde blush and march back to her seat. Once she sat, she wrung her hands, thinking hard.

"What did he do?" Brian asked her.

Zormna shrugged. "I haven't a clue."

Chapter Two: The Right to Remain Silent

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Speech is as silver, but silence is golden--anon--

 

 

 

Traveling to the police station was not as eventful as being dragged out of his high school in front of his entire English class. It was bad enough that Mr. Humphries had believed he needed to see a school counselor for all the revealing facts he had learned earlier that year, but now Jeff wondered what reaction the teacher would have at him being arrested in his own classroom. Undoubtedly the teacher would assume it was gang related.

At the police station they took his fingerprints, staining his fingertips in black ink, and following all the regular procedures. The only things they had not done was tell him what he had been accused of and read him his rights--a clear infraction of human rights and one Jeff protested up until they shoved him in a large cell and locked him in with a bunch of rough-looking men. There he stopped silent and glared through the bars at the departing policemen.

Turning around and gazing into the cell after a few minutes, Jeff visually took in the characters they had left him with. Some were drunks taken off the street to sober up. Others were rough-looking men with muscles and tattoos on their knuckles that spelled things out like demon and spike who were probably in for theft or gang fighting. A few were men in suits, looking the guiltiest of all. They were sitting and staring at the floor to avoid being pounced on by the men with the tattoos on their knuckles. If it were not for Jafarr's own visible scars, he probably would have looked completely out of place in that prison. As it was, he merely grimaced and leaned back against the bars, wondering what brought him into this cage. He ignored the rest in the room.

The police did not keep him there for long though. After ten minutes, two police officers returned and unlocked the door, calling out his name. "Streigle."

Jeff stepped forward. They took him across the room to the telephone on the far wall so he could make his one phone call. They had stripped him of his cell phone and pocketknife upon entering. Both had been placed in a zip lock bag. Standing there for a second and then glancing back at the 'tank' as it was called, Jeff smirked at the officer with him. He shrugged to himself and dialed a number.

He waited.

"Hello?" Jeff said, leaning near the phone.

A policeman watched him with a stern sober expression, his arms folded across his chest.

Listening to the response on the other side of the phone, Jeff nodded seriously and then said in a long quick stream of words, "Yes, I'd like to order two Chicago specials--extra cheese and sausage--and a liter of root beer."

They threw him back into the tank.

Slamming the door shut, the policeman shook his head at Jeff and left without a word, hooking his keys onto his pants with a huff. Jeff sighed, shrugged, and leaned again on the bars of the huge cell, waiting once more for Zormna to come and claim him with her lawyer as promised. However, he wondered how long that would take, scratching his head and running his hands through his hair. Glancing at the occupants of the cell, Jeff folded his arms and settled his back more comfortably against the bars. There he stayed, closing his eyes as if meditating. Little did they know that he had called home and he had given the code phrase for: "I'm in trouble. You might need to evacuate." He had been waiting for the FBI to interfere. He just didn't know it would happen this soon.

It was Agent Simms who claimed him first. The man had actually been waiting and watching Jeff through a guardroom security camera for a while, grinding his teeth. He seemed particularly grave when he finally greeted the boy. Jeff merely rolled his eyes at the sight of the FBI agent.

"I thought it was you people. What am I in here for?" Jeff asked as Agent Simms (who was accompanied by two policemen) let him out of the cell. The drunks grunted at Jeff as he was let out, and the men with the tattoos eyed Jeff with more suspicion, watching him go.

Agent Simms's lips were drawn together in a tight line as he glared at Jeff. "Come with me."

"Hold it." Jeff pulled back, taking in the surly expression on this familiar agent he had frequently seen watching Zormna but had yet to speak to. "I've played your game. However, I do have a right to know what I have been accused of."

The federal agent looked at him squarely. "You are only suspect at this point."

"Only a suspect or the only suspect," Jeff asked, allowing the policemen to push him down the hall without any form of resistance. "And for what? You guys haven't said anything about what I supposedly did. I have that right."

Agent Simms growled, narrowing his eyes at him.

"Down, Bessie." Jeff leaned away with a half smirk.

They took him to a room down the hall and opened the door. He was resigned to endure the nonsense they were throwing at him. They had already tromped on his right to know what he was accused of. It seemed only fitting that they would break more laws, possibly harming him. Escape might end up being his only alternative. Pushing him in, they gave him an extra shove towards a table. The fluorescent lights above were not all functioning. The far ones were flickering out, leaving a bit of the room in shadow. Blinking to get focus, Jeff sat down in the chair he saw right in front of him.

Lifting his eyes across the interrogation room mildly, letting out a breath of air as he contemplated the space, and more still, to calculate a possible escape. However, as his eyes perused the room he saw that it was indeed a mere police interrogation room, like all those he had seen in movies. It was small, and the walls were a plain pasty green by what he could see from the functioning florescent light. It had the usual observation mirror that didn't reflect well and was obviously meant for people to see through rather than for people on the inside to see themselves. As his eyes focused at the other end of the room, his expression changed from resignation to annoyance. He had not noticed Agent Sicamore sitting at the other end of the table, waiting in silence for Jeff to see him. Jeff nodded at the sight of him and leaned back into his chair. He shook his head and let out a breath.

"I see." Jeff stopped shaking his head. "What is it now, Sicamore? Is this stint supposed to scare me? What am I here for?"

Agent Sicamore's expression was unreadable. He just looked at Jeff with piercing eyes. The two police officers left the room. Agent Simms followed them, but not after giving Sicamore a hard warning glance. They locked the door behind them.

Jeff broke into a small laugh of disbelief, glancing at the door after the three men who had long exited the room. "What is this?"

Agent Sicamore said nothing.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, Jeff shook his head again and leaned on his elbow, waiting.

They sat in that room without a word said across the table for nearly fifteen minutes. Jeff had begun to drum his fingers in boredom, and Agent Sicamore took out a cigarette to smoke, waiting while watching the boy. At first Jeff just glanced around the room, waiting to see if Agent Sicamore would do anything. But the agent did not say anything at all until Jeff started to wave away the smoke with his hand and beg for a window to be opened. By that time the smoke was indeed thick in the room, and Sicamore had finished his fourth cigarette.

Agent Sicamore cracked a smile. "You've had enough?"

Jeff cocked his head at an angle and looked at him funny, coughing with his hand over his mouth. "You know--you actually have to go through the whole legal process and get a conviction before you are allowed to gas me to death."

Glowering, Agent Sicamore slammed his fist against the table. "Do you think this is funny?"

Jeff