“This should all be fairly familiar to you, Mr. Morgan. However, unlike last time, we will not be quickly trying to get you out of here so you can be on your merry way after a night or two. Something tells me you’ll be in for a little while. But hey, what do I know? I just bring the bad guys in. I don’t make the laws,” Sheriff Stevens informs me.

For some reason when he calls me Mr. Morgan, it is more of a slight than if he just referred to me as Adam. Almost as if the familiarity of that first-name basis isn’t something he wants with “scum” like me. “Mr. Morgan” is projected with the cold distance of a faraway observer as if I was on another planet receiving radio signals.

“Sadly, it is all familiar,” I say. I try to keep my sarcasm in check as all I want for this night is for it to be over.

“Hopefully, one way or another, it will be your last time with us.” This could be taken as kind or as evil, and I’m not sure what to make of it. Is he cheering for my conviction? Is he still convinced after everything he has seen that I did this? Fuck. If he thinks that, then what will a jury think? I feel the beginnings of a panic attack, but I do a breathing exercise and focus on the realization that I can’t solve anything, not here, not now anyway, and I come back down to earth.

“I’m gonna leave you with these guys for a minute,” Sheriff Stevens nods at a couple of blue-uniformed gentlemen with unpleasant expressions. “I just have to ask though… why? You knew you had the ankle bracelet on. You knew we would find you. You knew it would only make things worse. So why?”

“Because I didn’t do it, and no one is listening to me.”

“I see.” Sheriff Stevens stands still for a moment looking down at the floor as if he will somehow find an answer hidden within the pattern of the gray paint flaking off the roughly poured concrete floor. He then looks up at me and opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a breath. He closes his mouth, shakes his head, and walks back toward the entrance of the station.

“Mr. Adam Morgan, is it?” one of the deputies asks.

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“Are we gonna do this the easy way or am I gonna have to drag you by those goddamn handcuffs to cooperate, because I’m good either way, but you scream ‘flight risk’ to me,” the deputy says with a full-toothed smile, all while smacking his gum as loud as possible for emphasis.

“I won’t be any trouble this evening, sir.” I’m too tired to fight anymore.

“Smart decision.”