DAYS BEFORE NEW YEARS : 10

I hissed as my actually assigned doctor took out the injection. The cotton absorbed the excess blood before my actually assigned nurse wrapped my arm in a fresh bandage—for the fifth time.

Yea, for the fifth time.

An hour after I got drugged, my actually assigned nurse came to check up on me, only to see me scrambling around the papers and documents on the table, barely able to stand on my own legs. She immediately noticed the bandage on my arm and questioned the other nurses before conducting a search in my room.

Despite a thorough check, they found no immediate clues, but their concern grew when my heart rate monitor started spiking with irregularities. That’s when they were alerted to a missing vial of Propofol from the lab.

It didn’t take long before they found the empty glass vial—smashed on the ground outside the hospital’s back entrance. Given that my room was on the third floor, the only way it could have ended up there was if someone had thrown it from my window. Security reviewed the CCTV footage, confirming the theory.

Yeah. That strange woman tossed it after drugging me.

From there, things escalated quickly.

As you can guess, they notified the higher authorities and started the exhausting tests and trials to keep me stable (AKA messing up my beauty sleep). Security and law enforcement were informed, shortly later they launched the interrogation and investigations in the hospital.

Then something struck me.

Why was I still in this room? The same room where I was drugged? Shouldn’t they have taken me somewhere else for testing? So why keep me here?

I didn’t like the answer that came to mind.

“So, doc? Why are you taking blood again?” my father asked, his legs bouncing anxiously against the floor.

“One second... yeah! So,” the doctor began after transferring my blood from the syringe into a vial and securing it in a collection box. “The newly collected sample will help us assess your current condition and monitor how your body is responding. We’ll also compare it with the previous samples to track any changes.”

He paused briefly before continuing with the findings.

“Thankfully, from all the blood tests we conducted, only Propofol showed up. No other drugs, aside from the prescribed ones, were found—like the vitamin shot we gave you earlier.” He glanced at my parents, giving them a chance to ask questions.

“Then why so many tests?” my mom asked, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief.

“That’s because the results I just shared with you come from our in-hospital tests. The other two samples, with your parental consent, were sent to law enforcement for forensic analysis as part of the investigation.”

“I heard the nurse noticed something irregular with his heart? A spike or something?” My dad’s tone was tense, his agitation evident.

“Yes. From the heart monitor, we observed fluctuations in his heart rate,” the doctor explained, stepping aside, so my parents could see the screen. “Since Propofol is a strong anesthetic used for sedation, it caused his heart rate to slow down—a condition we call bradycardia. To compensate, his body responded with a rebound effect, briefly spiking the heart rate into tachycardia.”

“So then, you guys ready for the big news?” he asked, his tone shifting.

Both my parents instinctively grabbed my hands as if bracing for the worst.

“The good news is that your blood pressure has stabilized, which is a positive sign. We’ll continue monitoring you for another day, and if everything checks out, you’ll be discharged.”

He finally broke the tense air, allowing the room to exhale a collective sigh of relief. He then secured the blood sample in a collection vial, placed it in the storage container, and stepped back to give us space.

My parents, for once, didn’t scream or had their eyes squinted, judging my every decision. Instead, they hugged me, which has been happening a lot these days.

Yes, I know. I will admit that I might have exaggerated a few times about my family situation. But it's the truth, would anyone offer me sympathy or advice if I simply said my dad scolded me for missing curfew, instead of making it sound like he lashed out in anger?

No one would.

They would rather save than prevent it from happening.

Either way, it felt good to know that fathers can be human beings at times.

I felt teardrops smudge against both my shoulders—and then on my face.

I pulled them in closer, my breath hitching—

The door opened, and two officers stepped inside, walking toward my bed.

“Mr. and Mrs. Town, as much I would love to give you all the time to celebrate, we need your son’s testimony,” Officer Adam said, exchanging a nod with me. “Now that the doctor has given the green light, we need him for the investigation of the assault.”

He stepped aside, allowing the other officer to introduce himself. After a quick hello, he kept his head down, avoiding my gaze.

He smiled at me—polite but distant. But when I glanced at my father’s face… I suddenly remembered the ruckus from my dream.

The last time they were here, my dad struck Officer Adams for the obvious reasons of me getting drugged under his watch. Though the officer could easily press charges against him. considering that he’s from the force, he chose not to.

I had convinced myself it was a dream. Because surely, my dad wouldn’t stoop that low—hitting the one officer who had been supporting me through this whole dilemma?

He never bothered to ask questions, knowing that I was up to no good.

But as it turns out, people with a big fat ego don’t tend to be the first to apologize, even a single, simple “sorry” would’ve been enough to acknowledge the bruise beneath Officer Adam’s eye.

There it goes, my empathy for my dad.

Crushed, diminished into the fine spectacle of sugar grain. Sugar are very important integral part of our life, yet too much of it could also lead to problems.

“Good evening, I am Detective Piers. I am the one interrogating and conducting the investigation.” the new officer, a redhead, introduced himself, shaking hands with my father.

They looked about the same age. But that didn’t mean my dad would get along with him.

Thankfully, both the men took the hint and without much of a discussion, my dad walked out with his head down. Briefly brushing Officer Adams in the way.

Must be some sort of legal warning he got.

Before leaving, my mom made both her hands into “W” shapes and moved them in small circles near her forehead while she shook her head slightly.

ASL for ‘don’t worry’.

She placed both fists together over her heart with thumbs up and moved her thumbs up and down.

ASL for ‘sweetheart’.

Pointing to herself, she then made a small arc outward to indicate both of us.

ASL for ‘we’.

Her dominant hand moved forward in a small arc, palm facing sideways.

ASL for ‘will’.

Both her flat hands were held close together, palms facing her body, moving them slightly inward.

ASL for ‘near’.

Didn’t know how scared my face looked because the moment she saw through my cracked mask, she pulled the two officers away at once.

My actually assigned doctor was stuck in the middle, with no clue why he felt the tension rise, he slightly nudged me at the shoulder.

I just shrugged.

There was no point to elaborate more because no sooner he left to update my medical records.

So did my mom.

But both of them had the same look before leaving me behind in that damn room.

Eyes soft and slightly squinted.

Mouth slightly open and turned down at the corners.

ASL for pity.

So, it began.

The interrogation.

Again.

Yes, this is the third time of them coming here to confirm all the facts I spewed out while my body was pushing out the drugs out of my system.

Third time also getting irritated by this mucky-two-face of his.

Detective Piers had been the only detective in our town for the past five years.

A good achievement and a well honored post.

Until recently.

On that night, Officer Adams was camping with his daughter nearby, when he stumbled on me and Thalia screaming over Jackie Ferris ‘s dead body.

All that poor officer ever wanted was to take a peaceful dump, rather than extracting info about the dead man and judge our fucked-up-sleep-schedule. We didn’t give him that much info to get killed off, just enough to enlighten him to see Coby’s memorial and naive treasure hunt in a different light.

The light, Thalia and I shared.

So, in his eyes, it seemed like we were crack, talking about some forthcoming apocalyptic wipe out of humanity and how we played the cult version of treasure hunt with an invisible gun pointing at our heads.

Waiting for any reason to pull its trigger.

Even after showing the bite marks on the dead body and video recording from our phones, we sounded more lunatic than the thousand masked people in black robes. They previously gathered to clap and celebrate the moment we finished the hunt, orchestrated by our before-dead-now-alive mate : Coby.

He only started to believe after hearing Sue’s frightful encounter with the mentioned masked cult, whose members were marched down the hill. She recounted how she was woken up by the loud noise of a crowd, and decided to find out the source. Luckily, she was not foolish enough to carry her dad’s shotgun along, just not smart enough to ignore her curiosity and slip back into her sleeping bag.

Long story short, she got caught by those creepy masked people and was chased by them. Fortunately, luck was on her side. Being the marathon runner she is, she outran them before crashing into us at the fork.

As shocking as it might sound, the force actually believed Officer Adam's findings that we three (the kid fell asleep) fabricated.

Only one person didn’t buy our crap.

Detective Piers.

This wasn’t just about the case. This was personal. He wasn’t thrilled about losing his monopoly on investigations. He wasn’t happy that someone younger, sharper, and less set in his ways was stepping in.

And he sure as hell wasn’t happy that I was involved in all of it.

“Look, kid. As much as I’d like to help, you better let us have access to your phone.”

The redhead threw the all alibies he collected at the coffee table that still had the yellow duct tapes covered.

Fuck.

The uneasiness I was feeling at the start intensified.

Reminder that I am back in the same room.

THE ROOM-

Wait a damn minute….

Shouldn’t they be questioning me somewhere else? Away from the place where I was drugged?

Like in the movies?

But then again, the hospital wants me out of here just as badly as I do.

Noticing my flickering gaze, Officer Adams signaled for a time-out. Piers' scowl deepened, irritation flashing in his eyes. Regardless, he was obliged to give a break according to the investigation rules for a minor.

I drank water, while Officer Adams calmed me down with his soothe voice.

Man, I could fall asleep during his lectures.

“— And remember our practice. If you feel-”

SLAM!

“DETECTIVE PIERS! ” A nurse scrambled into the room. Fidgety eyes, shaking legs, and visibly sweating, vigorously under his armpit.

He stepped forward, looking around to see if whatever hell he had seen, was awaiting his demise.

Both the adults became alerted enough for Piers to lose his furrow brows and for Officer Adams to turn his soft gaze to a sharp eye. Whereas, I couldn’t care less as to what the issue was.

I just wanted it to-

OHHHH MYY GOd! What is that smell? It's so foul-

The nurse finally turned his back to Piers, finally facing me and Officer Adam.

The blood on his hands was so dense and spread out to the point that I couldn’t make out till where did his gloves started out and where did his sleeves ended. His scrubs were splattered with bright crimson, making the baby blue color lose its innocence.

Piers immediately instructed Officer Adams to stay put as he moved behind the trembling nurse, whose chattering teeth punctuated his frantic retelling of the horror they were about to face.

Strangely, Piers seemed to be more excited with a smile like that. I wonder if he’s a sadist or—

“That damn bastard!” A kick to the sofa. CRACK!

There goes his toe.

Okay, Officer Adams’s train of curses proved my theory to be correct.

So, I’m back in this room—for the sadistic pleasure of a man who holds absolute grudges when things don’t go his way. A man who’s pissed that he’s no longer the only detective in town, or someone younger might eventually replace him.

It could be both. Better be logical than that dumb witted person.

Why? Because he had been asking the wrong person, the wrong question.

It’s not that I lost my phone rather, Officer Adams had it with him the WHOLE TIME.

I legit kissed my phone after Officer Adams returned it.

Silence.

Oh, well I decided to break the ice.

“So, I bet you still have questi-”

“That nurse had bite marks.”

Silence.

“Like, him?”

“Yeah…yea…”

Silence.

“You know what forget about that… umm yea.”

“Yeah….” Officer Adams slumped down the sofa, closing his eyes for a minute.

“Why does Piers hate you? I understand why I am getting the hate. But why you?” He asked first, curiosity lingering in his tone.

“Because I toilet papered his house last Halloween.”

Silence.

Then, like a dam breaking, laughter exploded between us. It started as a snicker from me, a small chuckle that I tried to suppress but failed miserably. Officer Adams, still slumped on the sofa, cracked a grin before his body gave in to uncontrollable laughter. His chest shook, and his hand slapped his knee as he leaned forward, his face contorted in sheer amusement.

“You—you what?” he wheezed between gasps, gripping his stomach.

I nodded vigorously, barely managing to get words out as I struggled for breath. “Yep! His precious, perfectly-manicured suburban dream home. Every tree, every bush, every square inch of his front lawn—mummified in pristine white rolls.”

Officer Adams cackled, wiping a tear from his eye. “Oh my god! No wonder he’s so grumpy! You basically committed a war crime, in his eyes.”

I flailed my hands dramatically. “Oh, but it gets better! He had one of those fancy motion-sensor sprinklers.”

“No way.”

“Swear on my life.” I gasped between laughs. “The second we were about to leave, the damn thing went off, drenching me and my friends like we were in a water park!”

Officer Adams lost it, his laughter turning wheezy as he nearly toppled off the sofa. “Holy shit—I can just imagine that guy’s face the next morning, standing on his porch, fuming like-li- god-I can’t!”

“Oh, he wasn’t just fuming. He filed a whole police report for ‘premeditated property vandalism.’ Used words like ‘malicious intent’ and ‘orchestrated conspiracy’ like I was some kind of criminal mastermind.”

That sent Officer Adams into another fit of laughter, his head falling back against the cushions. “That explains so much. No wonder the guy practically has steam coming out of his ears every time you speak.”

I clutched my ribs, barely able to breathe at this point. “I mean, come on, it’s Halloween! Who takes toilet papering that seriously?”

“He does,” Adams said between chuckles.

We sat there, laughter slowly dying into breathless giggles, wiping our eyes as the ridiculousness of it all settled in. The tension from the room, the interrogation, the gruesome discoveries—all of it momentarily forgotten in the absurdity of a perfectly-wrapped suburban house and a detective with an eternal grudge.

Then, Officer Adams sighed, shaking his head with a grin. “You know, son… I really needed that.”

I smirked. “Me too.”

"Why 'son'?"

"Hmm?"

"Why do you call me 'son' when you're just old enough to be my cousin?"

He smirked. "Because that way, I get to boss you around. Legally."

I narrowed my eyes. "Legally, huh?"

He leaned back, crossing his arms like he just won the argument. Too bad his victory was short-lived. THWACK!

The empty water bottle bounced off his forehead, making a satisfyingly hollow bonk before rolling onto the floor.

Adams blinked. "Did—did you just—"

"HEADSHOT!" I threw my fist in the air like I just scored the winning goal.

He stared at me, processing what just happened, then slowly turned his head to the side where the bottle had landed.

"You little—"

Before he could finish, I was already scrambling to the other side of the bed, using the IV stand as a makeshift shield. "IT WAS A REFLEX!" I shouted, grinning like an idiot.

"Yeah? Let’s see your reflexes dodge this!" He grabbed a pillow from the sofa and hurled it at me.

And just like that, a very professional, very serious police interrogation turned into an all-out hospital room war.

For a moment, we weren’t in a hospital room wrapped in crime scene tape. We weren’t dealing with cults, dead bodies, or drugged IV lines.

We were just two idiots laughing about toilet paper.