Ray of Light

p. blake

I would have guessed it was the crash the vase took to the floorboard that made us all jump. Or the music stopping in the middle of the chorus, but it was a scream. And it was loud. One moment, my friend was telling me about how she wanted to go all the way tonight, and in another, before I could laugh, or even give a small shake of the head, I was looking over my shoulder. My lips fell with my jaw, and my stomach.

Someone was pounding on the door with a closed fist, and I heard it when they lifted Stella Feinstein to drink out of the keg. And I heard it again when Stella came back to here feet, and puked. But it didn't go for a third time, instead it was a kick that got Kyle Pastore's front door to open. And it was being held at gun point to get the girl to scream. I wanted to scream too, but it wasn't because the gun shifted towards me, it was because I knew who had his finger on the trigger. And he knew me very well.

"Everybody freeze!" he shouted, and like that, for just a second, we froze. He looked at me, the gun now moving to it's place on his belt, tilting his head to his shoulder as he spoke into his walkie. "We've got a house party going on at Applegrove, involving alcohol, maybe drugs, bring back up."

Backup. The knot in my throat was swallowed down by something much heavier; fear. My mom told me stay out of trouble, the end of March would have made seven month, but I had a feeling I wouldn't be seeing it soon. After the divorce, it was hard for Mom to even withstand seeing a picture of Dad, or hearing his muffled voice on the other end of the phone call when I was talking to him. It took years and courage to get them to negotiate to send me to New York. Mom would not be pleased to have me home when she's sailing the Pacific, and Dad would never let me out of his sight when he found out. That is if he found out.

From the moment he set his gun down, everyone ran. I would say fifty kids ran past him and out the front door. Everyone standing on the foyer ran up and down, going for the nearest exit. People pushed past me on the stair from both ways as I held my hand out, grabbing air, and not my friends wrist as she made a run for it. I saw many cops, most of who I knew, come in and chase some of the people around the house. My eyes locked with another officer, but his eyes shifted towards the can of beer in my hand. He was a joker around his buddies down at the station, but I never saw him stare at someone so serious and threatening. I watched as he made his way around the stampede of teens as he began to climb up the foyer, his eyes darting towards me.

"Oh crap," I breathed out, my drink falling out of my hand and onto the floor downstairs. I back away, dashing into an endless hallway of rooms, closets, and bathrooms. Kyle Paterson's parents were rich, explaining the reason why the owned a home with six bedrooms, and eight bathrooms. All of which they didn't need, or use. They were in Atlantic City for the rest of the weekend, probably gambling Kyle's college tuition. I looked at my two options, the bathroom, or the bedroom. I craned my head back, panicking at the sight of Officer Mortes on my tail as he stood at the top of the staircase, searching for me. I opted for the bathroom, opening the door and quickly slamming the door behind me.

I expected more than one person to be taking their route out the window, but there was only one person struggling out the window. I breathed heavily, panting as I got the unwanted attention from the boy debating whether he should climb out the window or not. I sucked in a breath, charging at him as I bumped his hip away, "Move."

I noticed why he was so hesitant to climb down. Sure there was the support of a tree, a very tall tree. Tall enough to make me estimate how fatal the fall would be if I lost my balance. But then again, I was going to die either way once my dad finds out. I reached out the window, wrapping my hands around a branch as I began to wiggle out the rest of my weight out the window. I was seeing teens getting arrested from a birds eye view, that was until two hands were firm on my hips. In most scenarios, I would have slapped their hands away, or kick them even. But I was squirming out of a small space that I was too chesty for. Somehow, unfortunately, I could no longer see cop cars, drunk and high teens, or Kyle Pastore's neighbors. I was seeing my worst nightmare: Officer Samuel Mortes. I gulped as he eyed me before turning me around.

"Hey, Sammy, long time no see, right?" I smiled nervously as I played with my hands. Instead, he ignored me and turned me around. He pulled my hands together tightly before he could cuff me.

"You two have the right to remain silent.." I looked up, meeting the eyes of the boy who was cuffed and sitting on the toilet. He looked scared, frightened. His face was pale, his eyes wide. He wasn't so transparent, I could see the millions of thoughts racing through his mind. But one thing we shared in common was that I was doing the same exact thing. "Oh, shit, um," Sammy said, patting his pockets and belt for an extra set of cuffs. "Get up, son," The boys eyes looked up at him, he didn't even need a second warning, he was up and standing. He turned him around, the boy's shoulder touching mine. I heard him jingling and clicking coming from behind my back, but it was clear what he did once he slapped one handcuff on my wrist.

I could feel it all. The ice cold metal pressed against my wrist, caging me from running away. My eyes went wide as my heart ran faster. I was breathing heavy again, my eyes meeting Sammy's again. "Sam, please, don't do this to me," I could tell my partner in crime was staring at me as I spoke. He was wearing the same worried expression as mine.

"You have to learn the hard way."

I groaned as he walked us with the collar of our shirts in his hands. He led us downstairs to a deserted entrance. Everyone was gone. It wasn't until I was walking outside where I saw where the rest of the party went. Cindy, the girl I came with, was hanging by a tree, far away for the police to catch her from. She was staring at me, she was worried. I didn't know why should be, if she hadn't stranded me when the cops broke up the party, I wouldn't be in this mess. Or I wouldn't be handcuffed to a random, I'd be handcuffed to her at least. I sent her an eye roll as I looked at my ride, the cop car.

The boy ducks his head as he gets in, yanking me along with him. Sam did me the favor of ducking my head with his hand as I entered the car. I turned to him completely, "Can you at least get me my own set of cuffs, I rather not be handcuffed to him."

"Being cuffed to you isn't fun for me either," the boy beside me muttered out, looking straight forward. I looked over my shoulder at him, my eyebrow shooting up as I rolled my eyes at him.

"Please, Sam," I begged, looking back at him.

"No," before I could even protest, he slammed the door, cutting me off from what I was going to say. I groaned, laying my head back. I closed my eyes, taking in the smell of sweat and leather. I could hear sirens from other cop cars going off as they arrested more people. Cocky bastards knocked against the glass as they ran past us. What I would give to be one of them. Just running, not being cuffed to some stranger with a sour attitude. But I could feel him tapping his foot continuously. His leg shook against mine, causing the whole seat to vibrate beneath my skin.

"Oh my god, can you stop?" I snapped as I nudged his leg with mine.

"How can I stop? I'm nervous. I'm getting fucking arrested!" He snapped back, a glare fixating on his eyes. "And you are too," he huffed out, crossing his arms only to feel my hand pressed against his. He let his hands drop to his side, mine falling too as I snatched my hand away. "Sorry about that," he mumbled out as he looked out the window.

"Whatever," I muttered out as I searched for our driver.

"So, what's your name?" he asked after a suffocating awkward pause. I looked over to him, noticing in this darkness that he had brown eyes.

I sat there, brown eyes looking into blue eyes in this uncomfortable silence. "P."

"P..."

"Blake? Is that what you're looking for?"

"P Blake? That's your name?"

I nodded my head, "Yep."

"Does the P stand for something?"

"Yep."

"You're not going to me, are you?"

"Nope," I looked forward again, staring at the people filming the police on their phones.

"Okay, Piper? Paige? Pamela? Paris? Peyton? Patricia? Peace?"

I furrowed my eyebrows as I looked back at him. "Peace, seriously? You think my parents would be that stupid to name me that?"

"I actually take that back, you seem too hostile for a Peace."

I rolled my eyes, rubbing my temple with my free hand.

"Is it: Patty, Pearl, Poppy, Phyllis, Peggie, Polly, Po-"

"What's your name?" I changed the subject. If he had said one more name that started with P I would have done something stupid to get the police to fire their guns at me.

"Calum," Right there, I noticed it perfectly. The way his tongue flicked back in his mouth and how his lips rubbed together to pronounce his name, his accent became obvious.

"You're British, aren't you?"

He scoffed, "I'm an Aussie. You know, Australia." He shook his head, "Silly Americans."

"Um, I'm Canadian, buddy."

"You seem like a New Yorker. You know, hostile, get-the-fuck-out-of-my-way kind of vibe."

I rolled my eyes, smirking as my eyes wandered out the window. A police officer was coming to the car jogged around the back, and opened the driver seat. My heart sank to my stomach as I swallowed hard. This couldn't be happening to me. I'm only an eighteen year old, Canadian girl with a future ahead of me. In Thessalon, our family would be shunned if they found out another Blake rode in back of a cop car. If that's even possible. The mailman doesn't even put our mail in the mailbox anymore, he carelessly throws it onto the end of the driveway. Sometimes near the street. If I were home right now, I wouldn't be in back of a cop car. I wouldn't even be invited to the party.

"This is going to be a long ride," the officer said as he turned on the ignition. He speeds down the road, my heart racing with it. I could hear it throbbing beneath my skin, my fears and past gnawing at it. I inhaled deeply, letting my breath go slowly as I was beginning to feel suffocated again.

"Are you okay, Canada?" Calum whispered.

My eyes pulled away from the window as they looked over to him. I nodded my head slowly, the pounding in my chest telling my otherwise. "Yeah," I gulped, my throat feeling dry, "I'm okay." I sucked in a breath, sinking into the ripped leather seats. The police station was across town, I lived near it though. Maybe a block, or two away. My dad says it's good incase of an emergency, I say it's annoying because when you're fast asleep you don't want to hear sirens roaring at four in the morning.

It wasn't long until we parked in front of the station. I saw Dirk from first period getting dragged out by the collar of his shirt. His mother was wagging her finger at him, and irritated expression coating the exhausted one. The officer walked behind us, making sure we didn't break free. I mean we could. He wasn't so strong, or smart, but with Calum and I having a free hand, we could push him, or something. But assaulting an officer meant a couple months and years served in jail.

The officer walked us into a cell, unleashing Calum and I into a cell full of the class of 2015 students. "You both get a phone call each," he said before closing the cell. When we were walking in, Breanne Weiss was using the phone, and she can talk someone's ear off for as long as she wants. The officers always gave them a limit, but she would find a way to sweet talk them into an extra five minutes.

When she came back, Calum was next. Between those two minutes and fourteen seconds of him on the phone, at least three-fourths of the population in this cell left. I sat by myself on the bench, folding my jacket into an uncomfortable pillow.

"Don't hog up the whole bench," a boy retorted from the corner. His face was familiar, he must have been in my English or Art class. I was too uninterested to even learn his name.

"Why are you talking to me when I don't give a shit," I spoke flatly, noticing the chip in my black nail polish. I closed my eyes, hearing the cell open and close. I flicked an eye open when I saw Calum walk in. I shot up, noticing Sammy locking the cell. "Is it my turn?" I asked, inching forward.

"Your dad is already on his way," he replied smugly, stalking off to main entrance.

Oh crap.

I sat back down in my designated spot, watching as Calum sat down next to me. "Can I help you?"

"I just wanted to sit next to someone I know, Christ."

"You don't know me. Being handcuffed to me doesn't mean you know me, buddy," I snapped, drumming my fingers impatiently against my thighs.

"Fine, recognized."

"I never recognized you before in my life. Do you even go to my school?"

"No, actually. My friend invited me."

"Good, I didn't think they want some foreigner crashing their party."

"They invited a Canadian, didn't they?" he shot back, my eyes staring coldly at him.

I didn't even realize the decrease of people in the room. At least four people left, leaving Me, Calum, and nine other people I'm graduating with soon. My head ached, my vision was fuzzy from the alcohol I consumed earlier, and I know my dad would give me a hard time.

"That's his jacket, isn't it?" Calum asked lowly. My eyes fell on the varsity jacket sitting in my lap. It slipped my mind that this was Cory's jacket. He lent it to me when we were outside. "I saw you guys dancing earlier."

"Yeah, it's my..Cor- this guy's jacket," I shrugged, slouching as my eyelids began to feel heavier than this anxiety.

"He sounds very special," he spoke sarcastically, a smirk on his lip. I rolled my eyes.

"Yeah, well he's taking me to prom so that's as special as it gets," I shrugged my shoulders, waiting for my name to be called.

"Fun," he exhaled out.

"You don't mind if I lay my legs over yours, do you?" I asked, before I placed my my awkward jacket pillow down. He shook his head. I swung my legs over his, letting my head fall into my jacket.

"So what school do you go to?" I asked, yawning. I closed my eyes, taking in the scent of coffee and - get this- doughnuts. And a hint of Officer Perolli's sweat.

"I don't go to school," he said, catching my yawn.

"Aren't you living the life," I hummed.

"Yeah, touring with a band, and getting arrested. I'm living a wild one," I could hear him smiling. I flicked my eyes up, sitting up.

"Touring? Like music wise?"

I didn't even get to hear his voice. It was muffled by the sound of disappointment and anger. When I heard this voice as a kid, I wouldn't wince this bad, but I was cringing and turning slowly to face him. My father. A New York police officer.

"I leave work only to find out that my sweet daughter is behind bars," I see my dad's scowl. He was still in his uniform. I'm screwed. So long senior dinner cruise on the Hudson River. "But ironically I have to bail my kid out of my work place."

"Hi, Daddy," I smile sheepishly, standing up and retrieving my coat.

He didn't dare take one glance at my attire. When I left the house, I was in one of his football tees and in pajama pants. I said I was sleeping over my friend's house. My plan was to go home without any friction, retrieve my clothes from the bush outside, and sneak upstairs to my room.

"You put that jacket on right now, I don't want my colleagues thinking I let you leave the house looking like Jessica Rabbit," he grits through his teeth, unlocking the cell with the keys in his pocket.

I nod my head, sliding the jacket on as I prepared for a lecture the moment I step in the car. I step out, glancing at Calum who seemed to have been watching me for the longest time. Some people were too, others were taking it upon themselves to catch up on some sleep. Although I didn't look back, I could feel Calum watching me. I didn't wave a goodbye, but I don't think I needed to. In a life time you'll meet a million people, he's just one of those million that I won't see again. Which was fine. Being next to him was annoying anyways. Who wants to be around someone who nervously shakes their legs.

Something told me my dad was still thinking he was on duty. He opened the passenger seat for me, ducking my head under as I got in. I shot him a look, but his was more serious. I looked away as soon as he came in from the drivers seat. He straps himself in, inserts the key, and turns on the ignition. He grips the steering wheel tight, his knuckles turning a sickly bone white shade. He presses a foot on the pedal, sending us down the road and into a conversation that made me wish I had my headphones loyal to my side.

"Do you have any idea what you got yourself into, P-"

"Daddy, please," I said, loudly. Somehow, when I called him daddy, it weakened the armor wall against his heart. For a moment I saw his jaw relax, only until a sudden thought crossed his mind. As a kid, I addressed him as Daddy, and he would always aw.

"No, not this time, P," I closed my eyes, swallowing. "These kind of things go on your permanent record, the college admission board will see this, what were you thinking?"

"I was thinking your squad wouldn't come and kill the party," I said lowly, looking out the window. They said living in New York City is a dream, it's the city of dreams. But if you're living with a man who you've last seen since you were fifteen, and the only time you hear from his on birthdays and Christmas, then it's a bit dull. In a city as bright as New York, it's so dark living with this man. Oh, did I mention he's a police officer. He wasn't a bad guy, but it was like living a small life with him in a big city like this. Back home, everything felt big. And that's coming from a town that doesn't even have a population of over ten thousand people.

"They were doing their job! They reported drugs and alcohol at the party!"

"Dad, it's a fucking house party!" I turned to him, my voice rising to a pure shout, "What are they suppose to serve? Sugar and water, and give goody bags on the way out?"

"I'm not retarded, P! But you know better than to do any of that crap,"

"Well, I didn't," I slumped back into my seat, staring back out the window.

"I can smell your breath from right here, missy. What was it, beer and vodka you were drinking tonight?" My dad has been a cop for thirty years, so he's basically mastered how to tell if someone was drinking. And he has a keen nose to tell what you were drinking.

I stayed quiet, passing tourist on the streets.

"I just don't want you ending up like Steven," he said after a soft sigh. My heart seemed to have relocate itself permanently in a deep abyss only able to keep my tears and regrets captive there for who knows how long. My heart, just like my dad's, was sealed with an armor coat. But the coldness radiates to the outside, dropping the temperature of this tortuous abyss to twenty below.

"I'm not behind bars for the next twelve years, am I?" My instinct was to bite my tongue, but the worlds left on their own with now motivational push or anything. His name wounded me with bullets. It fires at my chest, hitting at the armor with a bang. My chest tightens, my throat swells, my lungs shrivel up like a smokers.

"I know, but with type of behavior, you could be."