A Killer Itch

Good Morning Chicago

Ryan's arm was on fire. Or at least it felt like that. He woke with a start, frantically scratching at his right arm. Why did it hurt so much? Once at least some of the pain subsided, he looked around his dark bedroom before glancing at his clock. It was 4 am and he wasn't supposed to wake up for another three hours. He didn't have a job or school. It was Saturday, and he planned to chill and relax, like an average 14 year old boy living in Chicago. He just kept waking up at 7:00 so he wouldn't risk sleeping through his alarm on a school day. Then the pain returned. He continued to scratch at it as he exited his room, bumping into numerous things in the dark. His dad was on a business trip in Detroit, but his mom didn't work until 8. He sat down on his chair and began playing [insert copyrighted video game here]. He had been playing for nearly twenty minutes when he realized he was scratching his arm again. Why did it hurt so much? Intrigued, he paused and went to the bathroom. He flipped on the lights and took off his shirt. He was of nearly average build, a bit on the slimmer side. No muscles to speak of. He had better things to do then work out. He examined his arm in the mirror and was puzzzled by the lack of... Well anything. It looked like his normal arm. He put some lotion on it and went back to his game.

Two hours later he noticed that the lotion hadn't worked. He had been on off again savagely clawing at his arm, desperately attempting to make the pain stop. The issue was that it wouldn't. Ryan didn't understand. He was on the floor at this point, scratching and growling at the pain. Some might have called him feral. He stood back up, brushed off the dust, and went back to the game. This cycle repeated itself numerous times.

His mom exited her room at exactly 7:30, as per usual. She paid no notice to the slight mess as she made her coffee and got ready for her job as a newscaster. She didn't even glance at Ryan raving on the floor at his arm. She left for work ten minutes later, leaving Ryan alone with this immense burning pain in his arm.

After nearly three hours of fighting his arm, Ryan had won. It no longer bothered him, though it had a slight red tint from all the scratching. He grabbed a soda and was about to sit down when he heard a knock at the door. He assumed it was the mailman coming to complain about their mail slot again. He walked over to the door and looked through the peep hole. It was two police officers, both in full uniform. Ryan's first and only thought as he unlocked the door was expected of a kid in his position.
'What did I do what did I do what did I do' he mental screamed as he opened the door.

"Good morning officers. Can I help you?" Ryan asked, hoping to get this over with. He had nothing against cops, but these particular officers were interfering with his weekend plans.

"Are you Ryan Mortin?" The tall officer asked, reading a clipboard. Ryan gulped before answering.

"Ye-yes, that's me. Why?" He asked, hoping he was merely overreacting.

"We're going to need you to come with us. You're under arrest." The shorter one said as he grabbed a pair of handcuffs. As the cuffs clicked around his wrists, his mind raced back to his government class.

"Wait! I-I plead the seventh!" He yelled. Both officers looked at him confused.

"How does that relate?" The tall officer asked, taking off his glasses. Ryan re-raced through his mind back to government class.

"Shit. I meant, uh, I plead the sixth?" He asked more then told, hoping this was the right one. The short officer nodded in understanding.

"Oh, the sixth. You, Ryan Mortin, are charged with treason against the United States, conspiracy to commit criminal offenses, and criminal conspiracy." The officer read off, stunning Ryan.
'What? Treason? I haven't left the house? What kinda shit is this?'

Ryan was escorted out of the room, but while on the stairs, both cops slowed down and began whispering to each other. Ryan could barely make out the words.
"Least he's exercising the fifth now. Good. Less questions the better. Nice work on those charges by the way." The tall officer whispered. The small one snickered.
"It's a good thing he doesn't remember all the amendments." Both officers began chuckling when Ryan hatched an idea. A plan. He turned and looked at the officers.
"Um, excuse me? I gotta take a leak." He said, doing the potty dance. His arm had began to hurt again, which could only improve things. Not. The officers reluctantly lead him back to his apartment where he went to the bathroom and sat on the toilet, trying to figure out how to pee whilst wearing handcuffs. After finishing his business, it was time to put his plan into action. He knocked on the door.
"Little help in here?" He asked. The tall cop reluctantly opened the door.
"What in the world could you need help wi-" was all he got out before Ryan clubbed him with his handcuffed hands that he had managed to get in front of him. He had seen it in a movie once. The smaller one looked inside to see what the commotion was and met a similar fate. As Ryan used the sink to scratch his arm, he heard a loud noise outside. He looked out the large window and saw... a helicopter? He held up his arms to shield his eyes from the spotlight now directed at him. He could hear a voice on the chopper's loud speaker.
"FIRE!"