The Click of the Cuffs


The gunshots grew more frequent as my brother’s outraged shrieks came in a higher quantity.

“Stop stealing all my kills!” He snarled, leaning further forward as if his position on the couch would help him with his score on the wide television in front of us.

“Maybe you’re just awful at this game,” I commented, my fingers cramping from excessive use. We played in silence for another moment, finally relaxing back on the couch as the screen read off the amount of zombies we had hacked to bits.

“Are you up for the next checkpoint? I promise to stay on my side this time,” I asked, pushing my dangling bangs out of my vision. He shrugged, leaning his head from side to side. I winced in disgust as a loud crack emanated from his neck.

“Gross,” I crinkled my nose. He shrugged again, picking up the controller that he had abandoned. As I opened the door to the next part of the game, I was distracted by the red and blue reflected across the bay window next to me. I turned away from the television to peer out the window. Surely the fate of whomever the cops were after was far more interesting that this bleak Sunday evening.

“You’re dying!” My brother protested my newfound lack of interest in the game. After a moment, I realized the seriousness of the crime I had committed and turned back to the screen.

“Too late, you’re dead. I quit,” He announced angrily, throwing the controller at me. I didn’t flinch as it hit me in the shoulder, simply returned to window. I noticed that the squad car was turning down our street. I sighed in relief as it passed my home. The police had always had a knack for making me nervous. I vaguely heard the slam of my brother’s door downstairs, and decided that it was time to turn off the last hour of progress we had made. After a few prolonged moments of waiting for the green light to click red on the gaming console, I noticed that the cop car I had seen only minutes before was parked outside my house. The slam of their car doors seemed magnified by ten and I watched the three burly men exit their vehicles, shaking their heads at each other in a silent conversation. My breathing increased until I was almost hyperventilating, grey spots now dancing in front of my vision. The monotonous ring of the doorbell screeched their arrival at my home. I moved robotically to the brass knob that would deliver answers soon enough.

“Hello ma’am. May we come in?” The gravelly voice of the officer echoed around my entire house. I started to say yes, but quickly paused.

“Is your father home?” Another added, flashing the gold that formed a badge. I shook my head, faltering.

“Just a moment,” I assured, staring at the hands on the first police officer. His fat fingers on his right hand clutched at the holster on his belt, as if I would attempt to snatch his small black handgun away from him. His left hand rested on the trim that held the door closed. I turn and fled to the stairs, searching.

“Dad?” I called up the stairs, tripping as I tried to take more than I could handle in an effort to reach my destination.

“Dad?” I demanded, urgently. My voice had become a mixture of a shriek and a cry. As I slammed the door open, I saw him sitting in the middle of the large bed that occupied most of the room. Headphones covered his ears and he bobbed his head to whatever song he had chosen for that moment. He looked up to see me, panic strewn across my face.

“There are police officers here, they asked for you,” I broke out, my entire body seeming to shudder with the shakes that chilled me from head to toe.

“What?” My dad was on high alert now, standing up from his indent on the bed, tossing the now unimportant headphones onto the comforter. I let him dart past me, running down to ensure the safety of the situation. I followed, my hands finding each other, wringing unconsciously.

“What can I help you with?” He asked them, taking in the large men who stood in the chill of the winter, eyes shifting around to take in their surroundings.

“Can you come with us, sir?” The one who had yet to say a word now spoke, stepping through the officers to confront my father. My mouth dropped open in disbelief. My father looked at them, dread apparent on his normally calm face.

“My shoes are upstairs,” He said helplessly, gesturing to the spot where shoes of other shapes and sizes littered.

“Mind if we escort you?” The officers asked, calm enough to where it sounded as if it was a suggestion, but reinforced by a menacing underline. The man who had been a lifeline to me stepped back, gesturing them to follow him. I leaned against the couch for support as I felt my whole body go numb. Two officers followed him to the upper level of my house and the third, the demanding one who had viciously tried to convince me to let him in, stayed, hovering by the stairs. I closed my eyes, listening to the sound of my father digging through the closet. Our house with its thin walls and sense of openness did nothing to shield my ears from its sound now.

“Please don’t do this now. I will go with you willingly. My daughter’s downstairs,” I could hear my father ask an officer. Realization hit me as I understood the situation at hand.

“I’m sorry, sir. I wish it could be another way,” False agreement sounded from what had become my father’s captors.

“Don’t do this in front of my kids,” He pleaded, trying to convince the officers that it could happen any other way but this one. Tears that I hadn’t realized were present trickled down off my cheeks and onto my clammy hands. I let out a dismayed sob as I heard my father being read his Miranda Rights. After a few moments, and the sound of metal clicking into metal, the trio made their way downstairs again. My father took one look at my horror-stricken face and shot me a look of pure anguish.

“Take care of everything for me,” He nodded. I couldn’t move my head to even acknowledge that I understood the words he had said. They hauled my father through the door, handcuffs stopping the movement that I knew my father would never make. As the door slammed shut, everything that I had once known fell, burned, to the ground. I slid down the couch to clutch my knees, curling into a fetal position. Sobs racked through my body, more hysterical and louder than ever before. One hand reached up to hold my mouth closed, an attempt to quiet the shrieked moans of pain coming from deep within me.

“He’ll be okay,” I turned to see my brother, now hovering by me. I hadn’t even noticed that he had returned.

“I need to go after them!” I cried out, struggling now to get up, to go to the door. But my brother was faster. He caught me, hands enclosing around the fists I made. I violently lashed out, trying to break free from the iron grip that prevented me from reaching for the door. His hands dropped mine and reached around to hold me in a protective hug.

“Let me go!” I screamed out, fists hitting the solid form of all that I had left now. My hands beat at his chest until I was too weak to fight anymore. I collapsed, letting him support me.

“Let me go,” I whispered, shattered. He slung me over his shoulder, and walked around to lay me on the couch, snatching an afghan to throw over my trembling body. I could hear him walk away, grab the phone from its position in its usual cradle, and dial a number, furiously.

“What the hell did you do?” I heard his now fading voice shriek into the phone, demanding answers. I closed my swollen eyes, tightening my grip around the afghan, and felt my soul break into a million pieces. I sobbed, noise now long gone from my voice. It took every amount of strength I knew not to jump into my car, to follow them. For now, all I could do was lie here on the couch, a shell of the person I had once known.