Walking With The Outcast

Chapter 12 - Ace

"You did it again. I told you that the fighting has to stop!"

I lean back against the cement block wall, staring intensely at the metal poles across from me. Grey walls, grey floor, grey bench, grey ceiling, and dull silver bars.

Like a second home.

"Ace, look at me when I speak to you!"

My eyes drift to the Sheriff, standing outside my own personal cell, huffing and red-faced with anger. "We have had this discussion numerous times. You will stop fighting, and you will become a model student. Do you understand?"

I grin to make his temper worsen, even though I'll regret it later, if the malicious glint in his blue eyes is anything to go by.

Vibrating with anger, he grips the bars, knuckles tightening. Ooh, I've made him angry.

"Your boy acting up again, Hank?" The deputy speaks up, as he approaches.

"I don't believe that is any of your concern, Deputy," my DNA-giver responds stiffly.

Deputy Westly grins a smile laced with mockery and victory. "Of course not, Sheriff. I just needed to know if we had any open cells."

Westly is probably my favorite officer, if only for the fact that him and my father despise one another. Growing up, they were rivals, through and through. Always trying to beat the other, I'm positive they joined the force just to see who could get the bigger gun, metaphorically speaking.

Westly pipes up, "Oh, did I tell you Hank? My son got accepted into an ivy-league school."

No surprise there; his son's a nerd.

"That's wonderful, Charles," Sheriff grits out, somehow managing to glare at Westly and me simultaneously. "If you'll kindly give us a moment alone, I need to speak with my son."

Westly sends him one last mocking smile and strolls down the hallway, victory apparent in his gait.

Sheriff stands outside my cell, and a stare-down begins. My green eyes clash with his blue ones, the gene of his I luckily didn't inherit. His eyes harden at my rebellious attitude, and it gives me a sense of victory that I'll hold on to when I get home.

Our battle of dominance ends when a gruesome smile flits across his lips. "Go home, Ace. Since staying in a cell all night isn't going to fix you, we'll just have to discuss your behavior at home." My fists clench at the word 'discuss', and my back straightens, as if preparing itself. The sheriff notices my change in demeanor, and his smile becomes a little more grotesque. To outsiders, the smile looks fatherly. To me, the smile is a direct portrayal of the wolf in sheep's clothing.

Passing by him through the cell door, I knock my shoulder against his and stride angrily away from the lowlife. His footsteps follow mine, but they ring with a mocking tone, reminding me that our upcoming 'discussion' will have nothing to do with words.

At the police station's door, I am stopped. "Oh, and Ace, Miss Carmile can't pick Queenie up from her after-school activities. Be a good brother, and go get her, please." He says it so caring, one could almost believe we matter to him. I've long since stopped falling for it.

I refuse to answer and slam the glass exit door behind me.

~~~~~

"Bubba!" A short, blonde child buzzing with energy slams into my awaiting arms, and I enfold them around her, as she babbles about her day.

"Guess what? So me and Izzy pwayed with Tommy, but Mia say he has cuties, so I drawed a butterfwy for you." A piece of paper with a crudely drawn, but vibrantly colored, butterfly is pressed to my nose, forcing me to stare cross-eyed.