As I arrived at the police station, I couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. The bright fluorescent lights overhead seemed to hum with an eerie intensity, and the smell of disinfectant hung heavy in the air. I approached the front desk, where a stern-looking officer sat typing away on his computer, his eyes fixed on the screen with a mixture of boredom and concentration.
"Excuse me, officer," I said, trying to sound calm and composed, despite the turmoil that was brewing inside me. "I'm here to see my dad. He was brought in earlier tonight."
The officer looked up at me, his expression unreadable, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in my appearance. "Name?" he asked gruffly, his voice firm but not unkind.
"My dad's name is John," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. "He was arrested for assaulting my stepdad, George."
The officer nodded, his expression unchanging, as he typed away on his computer. "Ah, yes. John. He's being held in cell block C. But I'm afraid you can't see him right now. Visiting hours are over."
I felt a surge of desperation wash over me, my heart racing with anxiety. "Please, officer," I pleaded, trying to keep my voice from shaking. "I really need to speak with him. It's important. We need to talk about what happened tonight and figure out what to do next."
The officer raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical. "What's so important that it can't wait till tomorrow?" he asked, his voice firm but with a hint of curiosity.
I took a deep breath, trying to gather my thoughts and explain the situation. "My mom and I, we need to talk to him about what happened tonight. We need to figure out how to deal with George and the situation at home. And we need to get Dad out of here as soon as possible."
The officer sighed, rubbing his temples, his expression softening slightly. "Fine. I'll let you see him for a few minutes. But make it quick. And no funny business."
I nodded, relief washing over me, as the officer stood up and led me to the cell block. As we walked, the sound of clanging metal and murmured conversations filled the air, the smell of disinfectant growing stronger with each step. We stopped in front of a cell, where Dad was sitting on a cot, his head in his hands, his eyes fixed on the floor.
"Dad," I said, my voice shaking, as I approached the cell.
He looked up, his eyes red-rimmed, his face pale and drawn. "Hey, kiddo," he said, his voice hoarse, his eyes filling with tears.
I felt a lump form in my throat, as I gazed at my dad, my heart aching with sadness and worry. "Dad, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for things to go this far."
Dad shook his head, standing up, his eyes fixed on mine. "It's not your fault, buddy. I lost control. I'm the one who's sorry."
I nodded, feeling tears prick at the corners of my eyes, as Dad approached the bars of the cell. "We need to talk about what to do next, Dad. We need to figure out how to get you out of here and deal with George."
Dad nodded, his expression determined. "Let's talk."
I asked him, my voice laced with concern and a hint of desperation, "What do you have in mind next, Dad?" I thought he was going to say something like hoping to get free from there, or appealing the charges, or maybe even trying to find a way to get the sentence reduced. But instead, he sent fear into me with his reply, a reply that made my heart sink and my mind race with worst-case scenarios.
"I hope my sentence in prison would be less than ten years," he said, his voice serious and firm, but not looking scared. His words hung in the air like a challenge, leaving me feeling confused, worried, and scared. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Ten years? How could that be? My dad, the man who had always been there for me, the man who had always protected me, was now facing the possibility of spending a decade behind bars.
"What do you mean by that?" I pressed, my voice shaking slightly, my mind racing with questions and fears. "You're not making sense, Dad. Why would you say that? What's going to happen to you?"
Dad sighed, his eyes fixed on mine, his expression grim and resigned. "I'm going to be charged for assault, kiddo," he said, his voice firm but laced with a hint of sadness. "And on top of that, I broke the court law. I was penalized not to approach you guys until you and Emily turn eighteen, but here I am, I have broken the court law and knew that I would serve an increased time in prison."
I felt like I had been punched in the gut, my breath knocked out of me. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. My dad, the man who had always been my rock, my protector, was now facing the possibility of spending years behind bars. I couldn't wrap my head around it.
"What are you talking about, Dad?" I asked, my voice laced with confusion and fear. "What kind of court law is that? What are you talking about?"
Dad rubbed his temples, his eyes closed, his expression pained. "Remember when I got into a fight with George a few months ago, after your Mom divorced me?" he asked, his voice low and rough. "I was ordered to stay away from you guys until you both turn eighteen. But I couldn't help myself, I had to see you, protect you. And now, I've broken that law, and I'll have to face the consequences."
I was devastated, feeling lost and hopeless, but I never going to let things end this way, I am not going to lose my Dad, not again, not when I can possibly think up something.
"No Dad, I promise you, this time, I am going to be the one to protect you, I promise."