Free Airel by Aaron Patterson, C.P. White

magazines. There was a soda machine next to a row of uncomfortable looking chairs. 
    A few minutes later, the cop from the theater with the heavy brow and dark eyes entered and introduced himself. “I’m Detective Lopez. Looks like you got jgypped!” he slammed a thin file down on the desk. “You went for comedy but got horror instead.” He slapped his thigh and smiled broadly at me. 
    Wow, dude. Pretty lame joke. He had a comforting way about him, though. He told me he was just trying to lighten the mood. His smile was reassuring, a lot like Dad’s, and I could see in his dark brown eyes that he really cared. Either that or he was just really good at his job. 
    He had another chair brought in and I went over everything that had happened, step by step. What I saw, what I heard, everything. My heart sped up when I told him about that horrific scene in the bathroom. The only thing I held back was how the murderer had looked at me. That was too weird, even for me. 
    The artist came in. She was a shy small woman with thin black hair. 
    “Now,” Detective Lopez continued, “I know it was dark, but what can you tell us about him? Was he tall, short, fat, thin, scars, weird looks? Anything you think of will help.”
    “He was tall with blond hair…” As I gave the description, the artist began her work. After getting the basic shape of his face, she began to sketch the killer’s eyes. Looking at them on paper, they still cut right through me. What if he tried to find me?  
    She continued her work, filling in the details, making corrections, adding features, thickening the nose, thinning the eyebrows, squaring the chin. When she finished, I was amazed. The sketch looked just like the man I had seen in the theater. 
    “That’s him!” I felt sick to my stomach. 
    After Detective Lopez and the sketch artist left, my dad came in. I held on to him and would not let go. I needed someone stronger than me. He told me that Mom was home making dinner, busying herself to keep from worrying. “I’m fine Dad, really!” I lied.
    “You sure? Kim filled me in. I’m so glad you’re safe.” His eyes said what he could not: “You could have been killed!” He had a scared look on his face, and I hugged him again.
    “Well… I’m safe now. No need to worry.” I knew that was weak, but I couldn’t think of anything else to say. My brain was moving like sludge and yet I felt like I was still thinking clearly. I looked over my dad’s shoulder and saw Michael. He was standing a few feet behind and I caught him staring at me. I blushed and he turned away. I wondered what he was thinking. 
    Did he really like me or was I just seeing things again? How could he really like me when I was just…me? Then again, he had totally held my hand just a few hours earlier as we had been walking toward what was a defining moment in my life. Maybe ‘defining moment’ is a not a good way to put it. Anyway, it was all shaping up to be too much to handle for one day. 
    “Well I’m just glad you’re okay.” 
    “Thanks, Daddy.” 
    How could I explain the things in my life that I had chosen to keep private? Not just to Dad, but to anyone at all? The most perfect boy I had ever met was digging on me like I was chocolate cookies or something. How crazy was that? And I was getting sick at random times for no good reason.
    Now, as my dad curled his strong arm around my shoulder, taking me toward the car, all I could think about was how I was glad he had paid for my kickboxing lessons. At least I had some kind of self-defense training.
    As we walked out, I remembered Kim saying something about taking the guys back to their truck and that she would bring my car over later. I knew there was no way she was staying at her house tonight, not with her Airel having gone through hell today. We had a lot to talk about.

Chapter XIV

    Monday. It was never a good word. The day that came along with it looked to be living up to its name. I looked at