Lost: Casa Perdida [Completed]

Overdose

Felipe Altamirano Alvarez Espadachín

It was the early hours of the 4th day since the day the storm began.

It was still raining heavily outside.

I could hear the sound of the rain clearly as I was in the interrogation room, interrogating one of the boys that we arrested when we went to Casa 52 in Calle Wulfric, two days ago, to rescue Basilio Armada.

"Tell me!" I yelled as I banged the table in such a way that I scared the boy who I was interrogating.

He was silent and timid as he looked at me, nervously.

"Do you know that if you hide information your punishment is going to be more. You weren't just stealing someone's money. You tried to commit murder!" I said as I walked around the chair on which the handcuffed boy was sitting.

He was shivering.

I couldn't believe how nervous that boy was. He was the one who was about to stab the old man in his neck. But in the interrogation room, he was timid like a whimpering whelp, struggling to speak.

I was silent for a few minutes.

Then, I softened my tone and came closer to him.

"Listen, son, we are interrogating you so that you would tell us why you did what you did," I said.

He just looked at me.

"It is well known that you and your friends brought a knife to kill the old man. If you tell me why you did what you did, you won't be judged on circumstantial evidence", I said.

He didn't say anything.

He began fidgeting and circularly moving his toes.

He opened his mouth, intending to say something, but he struggled to voice it out.

"Go ahead!" I yelled.

"I want water," he begged in a breathless voice.

"Give him!" I told an officer beside me, asking him to give the sweating boy some water.

As the officer was breaking open the seal of the plastic water bottle, I told the jittery boy, "Listen, young man, I don't have all the time in the world. You're not going to get sweet-talked into telling us what you know. Hurry!"

He drank the water, wolfing it down.

As soon as he was done, the police officer removed the bottle from the mouth of the hand-cuffed boy. Some water spilled out of his mouth, as the officer removed the bottle.

The boy was sweating profusely. Beads of sweat rolled off his skin and fell off his chin. He was feeling the uncomfortable warmth of the room.

He stared at me with wide eyes.

I leaned on the table as I drummed it while observing the boy who was just silent and nervous.

He was licking his lips.

His eyes alternated between the floor, my shoe, my name printed on my uniform and the yellow light that illuminated the tiny room.

Suddenly, I kicked the table very hard.

The boy was startled when he saw me do that.

The table fell after crashing into the wall of the tiny interrogation room.

I snapped my fingers and demanded (after moving close to his face): "Tell me, quick."

He was silent and shaking.