Living Life on Purpose - Chapter 3 (Patreon)

They led him through the stone building, eventually putting him in a small interrogation room.  Rather than having chairs and a table, they sat him on a stone pedestal then clipped his manacles to a chain attached to the floor.  The room had no other furniture, and the light was provided by weird bulbs sticking out from the wall.

Despite the danger he was in, Frank couldn't stop himself from wondering how the lights actually worked.  Although they looked like light-bulbs, they had no socket.  It was as if they just stuck a light-bulb into the stone, and viola... light.  Aside from the monsters and fantasy weapons, this was Frank’s first look at something which he could consider 'magic'.

Frank didn't have a lot of time to ponder the implications, as apparently they were eager to question him.

A man strode through the wooden door, reading a file as if he were a detective from a television show.  But to Frank, his behavior only served to highlight the differences.  Instead of wearing a cheap suit, the guy was wearing sturdy leather pants and what Frank thought was a gambeson.  It was a dark blue, thick cloth shirt which almost reached his knees.  It was held in place by a wide leather belt, with a weird loop instead of a belt-buckle.  The only similarity to the cops back home was his rather normal looking hair-cut.  Parted on the side, his short brown hair made his face look average, at best.  Yet, when it all came together, Frank thought the outfit made the man look capable, if a bit cliche.

Taking position a few feet in front of Frank, the man snapped the file closed, then glared at him as if he were a hardened criminal.

Staring at the cold dark brown eyes of the man Frank assumed would be his interrogator, he wasn't exactly sure what how he wanted to play this.  Deciding to keep his mouth shut, and maybe wait for a lawyer, he met the man's glare with one of his own.

After almost a minute of silence, the man grunted in annoyance and said, "Nothing to say?  Do you have any idea what you've put Carol through over the past few days?  What did you think was going to happen?  You think taking the money would stop the Taylors from buying your home?  Seriously Brandon, how dumb are you?"

Frank's mind picked through the new information, piecing together what he could.  It seemed he had stolen some money from someone trying to buy his house, and disappointed someone named Carol.  Maybe his mother?

Rather than claim innocence, Frank wanted to see how bad his situation really was.  After all, once he claims that he isn't 'Brandon', he can't exactly un-ring that bell.

Keeping his voice soft, he asked, "What's going to happen to me?"

He saw the man's eyes soften a little as he replied, "Most likely?  Since you've become an adult, you'll be charged as one.  Considering that you’ve stolen shards worth over three hundred thousand dollars, you're probably looking at 30 years of servitude, either under the Taylors or the King's army.  I'd recommend the army, as I doubt the Taylors are in a forgiving mood."

Frank’s eyes widened at what he heard.  “Did you just say ‘dollars’?” he asked.

The man gave Frank a look of confusion and replied, “Just because you stole shards doesn’t mean the monetary value of the crime doesn’t apply.  Carol asked for payment in shards, but they were still worth over 300,000 dollars.”

This time, Frank was listening closely while watching the man’s mouth.  It was weird, he could understand what the man was saying, and he was hearing it as though the man was speaking English, but that’s not what the man actually said.  The language coming out of the man’s mouth was decidedly NOT English, and somehow, Frank was just translating what he heard into something he understood.  The man didn’t say ‘dollars’, he actually used a term that meant ‘monetary units’, but also ‘gold’, or maybe ‘coin’.

Mentally working through his discovery, Frank sat in silence with a pensive look on his face.

Assuming, incorrectly, that Frank was feeling remorse about his actions, the man crossed his arms with a satisfied smirk.

After a few minutes of silence, the man broke Frank from his thoughts by saying, “So, I think it’s about time for you to walk me through what happened.  Let’s start with why you followed Carol to the meeting with Josiah Taylor.”

Frank reluctantly met the man’s eyes, and asked, “Theoretically, what’s the likelihood that all of this could go away now that the money is returned?  Or, if I plead guilty, how would it work with the army?”

The man’s eyebrows hit his forehead in surprise.  He’d known Brandon since he was a child, and accepting responsibility for his actions was completely out of character.  Although he wasn’t actually a ‘bad’ kid, no one would call him a responsible young man.

“Well, charges will definitely be filed.  Taylors' guards saw you running away with the satchel full of shards.  As for the army, you’ll be put in a penal unit.  They’ll give you some training on the way to whatever battle they want you to fight in.  If you keep your head down, you might live long enough to earn a transfer to a safer unit,” he said.

Grimacing, Frank asked calmly, “And what about Carol and my brother?  Would I have to see them before I am sent out?”  Although being sent to the army wasn’t ideal, it might worth it to avoid having to explain that he was body-jacking their relative.

The man seemed a little uncomfortable with Frank’s nonchalant treatment of the situation.  “Even though you are no longer a minor, you should still look them in the eye and explain your actions.  Their confusion is understandable, and they deserve some answers.  You’re too old to pretend that this was just a childish tantrum.  They want to know what you were thinking, and frankly, so do I,” he said sternly.

Before Frank could respond, he heard two hard knocks on the door to the interrogation room.  The man shouted over his shoulder, “Send them in.”

When the door opened, Frank saw a woman walk in with a scowl on her face.  Behind her trailed the young man who helped him get out of that nightmare of a forest.  Frank wondered if this was the oft-mentioned ‘Carol’.

She was a tall, lithe woman with dirty blond hair in a braid.  Her face was stern, and she looked, at most, 45 years old.  And, she didn’t look like a mother at all.  Rather than wearing a dress, she was wearing a leather doublet and pants.  Her arms were bare, and well muscled.  In short, she looked more like a warrior than a caregiver.

The brother, meekly followed her into the room, his shoulders slumped in worry.  Frank still had no idea what the young man’s name was.

The man who had been interrogating him wasn’t any help, as he just greeted them with, “Well, here he is.  He’s not said anything about what he was trying to accomplish.  Maybe you two can get him to explain what the hell he was thinking.”

The woman crossed her well-toned arms and glared at Frank.  Her voice was harsh, and full of repressed violence when she spoke, “Alright Brandon.  You’ve got my attention.  We chased you over half the city, then had to hire gods-be-damned questers to actually track you into the forest.  How you didn’t get yourself killed is nothing short of a miracle.  So, let’s hear it.  What do you have to say for yourself.”

Frank looked up at the woman from his stool, baffled at how in the hell he was going to get out of this.  Lying wasn’t exactly his strong suit.  In fact, he was known for his blunt honesty.  Ever since he was a child, it just seemed like too much work to try and come up with a story, or convince someone to believe him.  Instead, he’d just take his punishment and consider it a worthy price for whatever it was that got him in trouble in the first place.  After all, if he wasn’t willing to suffer the consequences, then why would he risk doing something that would get him punished?

This was an entirely new experience for him, and he didn’t like it at all.  As thoughts of lies and schemes tried and failed to form in his head, he sat there in silence and returned her glare.  What was the point of even trying?  Even if he managed to convince them that he was still this ‘Brandon’ kid, then he’d still be on the hook for the robbery.

“Well?” the woman asked with venom.

After spending the better part of the day cowering through the forest, Frank was done hiding.  Whatever was going to happen, it was probably better than getting sent into battle surrounded by criminals.

Without giving himself time to second guess his decision, he said, “Look lady, I have no idea who you are.  I’m not ‘Brandon’.  I woke up in the forest when that guy,” he gestured to the young man at the back, “started shaking me.  Next thing I know, I’m being dragged through some kind of magical forest filled with all manner of nightmares.  Every time I tried to open my mouth to find out what the hell was going on, they told me to shut-up and called me an idiot.  After hours spent on the hike through hell, I get arrested for stealing ‘shards’ or something.  Now you come in here demanding answers, well, I don’t have them.  But for the record, if some kid went to all the trouble to steal something like that, he probably had a pretty good reason.  You all seem to agree, cause that’s all I’ve heard since I got here.  ‘Why’d you do it Brandon?’ ‘What were you thinking Brandon?’ Blah, blah, blah.  And can I get some water and food?  I’ve been treated like shit since I got here.  You all should be ashamed of yourselves.”

After his impromptu speech, Frank kept up his glare at the three subjects of his ire.

The three of them shared confused glances, then the woman spoke, “You think you’re not Brandon?  Then who do you think you are?”

Keeping his glare, he said, “Name’s Frank Higgins.”  Rather than get into details, he thought it best to let his name speak for itself.

The man who had been questioning him looked amused for some reason, and spoke as if he were playing along, “Alright Frank.  I’m Sergeant Jackson, and this is Carol Lake and Mark Pintar.  How about you tell us what you think Brandon was doing stealing all those shards?”

Clearly, this sergeant didn’t believe a word of what Frank had just said, and was just being a smart-ass.  However, Frank didn’t care and answered honestly, “No idea.  I don’t even know what shards are.  From what you said, they’re valuable.  But if he just wanted money, then why run away into the forest.  Is the city not big enough to hide in?  Is there another city on the other side of the forest?  Was he running from something?  You guys need to perform some simple investigative work.  Maybe it’s about the house or something.  Logical reasoning is the foundation of productive thought.  I’m sure if you put in some effort, you’ll figure it out.  Regardless, can we talk about me now?  I’m really starting to get hungry.”

Frowning at Frank’s diatribe, the sergeant tried to figure out Brandon’s game.  This was really out of character for the kid.  Normally, the young man would spin a tale or two.  Maybe blame a look-a-like, or pretend that it was all a misunderstanding.  Denying who he was seemed a bit too far.  And where did the kid learn about ‘logical reasoning’?

Carol wasn’t willing to play along, and took a step forward as she growled, “Enough Brandon.  I’m not in the mood to put up with your shit.  If you want to pretend to be someone else, that’s fine by me.  Good luck with your trial.”  Turning on her heel, she shouted at the young man behind her, making him jump, “Come on, Mark.  We’re done here.”

Mark seemed to wilt under her glare, and offered Frank an apologetic look as he followed Carol out of the room.

Unfazed by Carol’s words, Frank calmly turned to look at the sergeant and said, “So, about that food.  Aren’t prisoners entitled to food and water?  How backward is this place anyway?”

Sergeant Jackson didn’t know how to react to Frank’s casual demeanor.  This really wasn’t the Brandon he’d come to know.  Not saying anything, he maintained his frown while examining the young man on the stool.

Frank, seeing that the sergeant wasn’t responding, tried waving his manacled hands around to grab his attention.  “Seriously man, I’m more than happy to talk through whatever you want, but I am really hungry.  Food and water are basic human rights.  Come on… and while you’re at it, do I get a lawyer?” he asked.

Without coming to any conclusions, Sergeant Jackson shook his head in annoyance.  Figuring that he needed some time to think, he decided to leave.

Frank saw the sergeant walking toward the door, and continued pressing the issue, “Are you going for food?  I’ll take whatever you have available.  Sandwiches are good.  Do you have pizza here?  I don’t know how this translates, but I’d like a cheeseburger and fries.  Maybe a milkshake.  Chocolate milkshake if you have it.  I’ll even take a malt.  That’s where you use -”

Not saying anything else, Sergeant Jackson left the room while Frank continued speaking.  He could here the prisoner’s voice rising as he closed the door behind him.  Whether the man was Brandon or not, he was just as annoying as Brandon was.