this is not the night for the knight of robertshaw
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TW: MENTIONS OF RAPE VICTIM-BLAMING MENTALITY
RAFE CAMERON SITS IN AN AVAILABLE JAIL CELL with a smug look on his face. He picks at his nails as the handcuffs around his wrists clink against each other. He hasn't said a word, maybe a few chuckles here and there as Shoupe forcibly moved him out of the cop car and into the building.
The heavy door is heaved open, sliding away to reveal Deputy Shoupe as his keys on his belt clink together. "Wipe that smug smile off your face before I do," he warns, snaking his key through the jail cell lock and opening it. "You're wanted in the interrogation room," he says, grabbing Rafe's arm and walking him into an available room.
"I want my lawyer," Rafe says, his fingers picking at his dry skin around his nails as he enters the eggshell-colored room.
"Your daddy called him," Shoupe answers, pushing him in his seat. "He'll be here in a few, but Peterkin is gonna read what you're being arrested for. A piece of shit like you can sit and wait." Shoupe spits at the boy, scoffing at how the boy's smug smile drops into a worried face. He walks out, telling Sheriff Peterkin that he's ready for her.
Deputy Shoupe walks into another room, where Rose and Ward Cameron sat, staring at how nervous, scared, and guilty their son became in his chair.
Susan Peterkin nods, grabbing her folder, walking into the room with the banished kook prince.
"Do you want some water? It's kinda stuffy in here," she says, trying to build rapport. She sits down opposite him, the tension in the room thick as he shakes his head.
"Alright, let's get to it, shall we?" She shrugs, opening the file as her eyes look at the long list of charges. "Rafe Cameron, hereby Kildare County Sheriff's Department, you are charged with the following unlawful acts. Class 1 Misdemeanor of blackmail and a Class H Felony, revenge porn of a minor. $1,000 bail. Class A1 misdemeanor, assaulting a minor, 150 days in jail, or $5,000 bail. A Class E Felony, assault with a deadly weapon with an intent to kill, 15 to 31 months in prison if convicted. $15,000 bail. And last but not least, a Class C Felony, second-degree sexual offense; 44 to 182 months in prison if convicted. $25,000 bail."
Rafe curses to himself as he shifts in his seat. He turns to the big mirror on the opposite wall, knowing that he's staring into his pissed-off father.
➵ ➵ ➵
SARAH CAMERON SNEAKS AROUND HER FATHER'S OFFICE with a conniving smile on her face. Making her way to the redwood desk underneath Denmark Tanny's gold-trimmed portrait, she tiptoes as softly as she could. Squatting down, her white dress scratches the floor, her ivy crown swinging softly against her butter pecan hair. She rummages through each cabinet draw, pushing and pulling each one until she reaches the last one. Her fingers just graze the much-needed map as her father's voice startles her.
"Did you know?" His face is a bit red from practically yelling his face off at his son. He looks down at his squatting daughter with a serious thin line.
"Dad, you're home," she turns to him, startled as her jaw drops.
"I asked, did you know?" He repeats his question as he sticks his freshly bruised hands deeper into his slack pockets. He practically beat his son to a pulp too.
Sarah sighs, biting her lip as she stands up with the folder containing the plat maps. "Of course, I did."
"And you didn't tell me?"
"It's not my story to tell and, even if I did have permission to share her story, Rafe was there every second." She will defend her best friend to the ends of the Earth.
"Instead, you made me a laughing stock at my own party?"
"I did not do anything. Rafe did," she says, placing down the folder on a nearby table. "Speaking of him, is he still in jail?"
"I bailed him out, got him my top defense lawyer and everything."
"You what?" Sarah turns to him, her eyes watery as she stares at him in disbelief.
"I won't let them tear this family apart, Sare."
"Them? This is not a vendetta against us, he needs to be held responsible." Sarah shakes her head, pulling out the old map.
"You're right, I'm sorry. What are you doing?"
"I...Just wanted a copy of one of the old plat maps."
"A plat map," he laughs, bewildered at her daughter's answer. "Of Tannyhill?" Ward asks, stepping towards his daughter.
"Yeah," Sarah says, flipping open on the book.
"You never wanted to look at those when I tried to show 'em to you," he looked down at the map, eyebrows raising.
"Well, since then," Sarah sits down on the maroon leather couch. "I have become so appreciative of this beautiful property that we call home," she pushes some fallen strands of hair back out of her face, "and they're so beautiful, I thought maybe I could get them framed and hung in my room."
"Okay, come on, Sarah," Ward shuts his eyes and shakes his head at how unbelievably bad his own blood is at lying. "Seriously. What is this, a school thing?"
"No," she pulls out the old map from the protective folder, "it's July."
"A Topper thing?" He sighs, holding the bridge of his nose.
Sarah shakes her head, carefully bending the old paper over her fingers in smooth turns. "It's not a Topper thing." She stands up from her seat, smiling as she holds the folded map in her hand. "But it is a boy thing."
"A boy thing," Ward nods.
"He's a real go-getter. I'll think you'll like him," she smiles, walking towards the exit.
"Hey, who is this mystery history buff? Is he a cartographer or somethin'?" Ward questions his daughter as he watches her become all giddy.
She turns to look at him, her eyes shifting as she turns the doorknob. "Well, I could tell you, but then he wouldn't be a mystery, would he?" She opens the door, but before she could finally leave, he calls out for her one more time.
"Hey!" Uh, Sare?"
"Yes?" She replies, peeking her head out.
"When the media gets a hold of this, I don't want you to be friends with Martha anymore."
"Excuse me?" She looks at him, her head tilted to the side as her eyes bulge at what he's saying.
"If the media sees that his own sister is on her side, they'll convict him for sure."
"Do you even hear yourself right now? It's like projectile shit, left and right. We'll discuss this later because I cannot believe you right now." Sarah dismisses him, walking out of his office.
