Page 102 of Shattered Veil

“Officer Dowler.”

“First name?” I clarified.

“Randy.”

We began to move after he fastened his seat belt.

“Officer Randy Dowler,” I repeated his full name to myself in an attempt to sear it in my memory, “Is this when I’m told I have the right to an attorney?”

His eyes flashed to the rear-view mirror. “You’re not getting brought in for questioning.”

“But I do have the right?”

He watched me carefully, as if he were biding his time. “Yes.”

It was then that I stopped talking. I assumed that we would arrive at the station, my belongings would be held for safekeeping, I would be offered a phone call or two, get tested for drugs or alcohol, and be subsequently released. I’d be late for work and cite having car trouble rather than going into the full story. I’d spend my free time during the day researching knowledgeable lawyers to seek legal action and report the fuck out of Randy Dowler because this felt like a massive abuse of power.

I pondered who I would call—whose phone number I had memorized. How long it would potentially take for me to get through this so I could return back to my car and go on with my day.

Officer Dowler performed a U-turn.

My feet began to tingle, and I internally cursed the hard seats and lack of space.

He peeked at me through his mirror.

Other thoughts in my mind muddled together, and eventually faded away when I realized that we were now headed away from the city.

He peeked at me through his mirror.

The tingle spread up my legs and to my hands.

He peeked at me through his mirror.

My limbs went heavy.

He peeked at me through his mirror.

My head nodded down to my chest.

Darkness took me.

Chapter 19

Cassie

Zoey sat across from me at the circular kitchen table in my brother’s apartment, having woken so recently that she hadn’t even tamed her hair. The short strands were sticking every which way, signifying that she had either had restless sleep, reckless sex, or both…and because I didn’t care to vomit first thing in the morning, I assumed the former. Her green eyes were trained on a laptop before her, the screen reflecting through the thick-framed glasses that she always wore when she had yet to put in her contacts. The image was indiscernible in her lenses, but her unbothered expression showed that she was far from worried.

Ready to bustle out the door, Liam strode his way over to her with a large, black mug in hand. He set it to the right of the computer, and Zoey glanced to it, up to him, and back to the mug, stretching her neck to inspect its contents.

Clearly realizing that it was intended for her, she gave him a small smile. “Thank you.”

He smiled back. “Mhm.”

“You have to go?” she asked.

Liam nodded, taking two steps away from us toward his couch. His over-the-shoulder bag was resting on the floor, packed and ready, and he lugged the strap over his head. It appeared to be heavy, biting into his grey hoodie and bunching the fabric, and I wondered if he had managed to fit in a textbook or two so he could do some last-minute cramming for his exam.

He looked between the two of us with a crease between his thick brows, and he pursed his lips before he hesitantly remarked:

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