Chapter 47 Manipulated
A middle-aged woman dressed casually, a long coat hanging loosely over her frame, burst into the hallway and rushed straight for Marcus.
She threw her arms around him, pulling him into a desperate embrace. She had to be his mother.
She sobbed into his shoulder, body shaking, clinging to him like he was the only anchor she had left in the world. Marcus stood frozen for a beat before hugging her, not tightly, but enough to steady her.
She was holding on to him, but he wasn’t holding on to her.
He didn’t hug back with the same hunger. Confusion flickered in his eyes. The villainous glare he’d worn like armor only moments ago melted off his face.
What remained was something calmer… weaker… but still unreadable. Pale skin, hollow eyes, a face that looked like it belonged to someone who had seen too much or slept too little.
I finally exhaled, lungs burning like I’d been underwater. I can’t believe I was scared to death just now.
Marcus almost told me the truth… I think.
His mother pulled back slightly, both hands flying to his face. She cupped his cheeks, thumbs brushing his skin like she was checking if he was real or slipping away.
“Are you alright?” she asked, voice thick with panic. “Have you been sick? You’ve gotten so pale.”
She grabbed his hand, squeezing it once, twice, concern spilling from every gesture.
“You haven’t been eating well. What happened, Marcus? Talk to me.”
Sheriff Fitzroy stepped forward, clearing his throat lightly. “Mrs…?”
The woman snapped her head toward him. “Anna,” she shot back, tone sharp enough to slice the air.
The Sheriff sighed once, recovering. “Mrs. Anna. You’re Marcus’ mother? I—”
She didn’t let him finish.
“I need answers.” She crossed her arms defensively. “Why did you arrest my son?”
“Your son was reported for harming a student this—”
“I didn’t do it, Mother,” Marcus rushed in, voice trembling. His shoulders hunched forward, hands clenching at his sides. He looked small. Shaky. Timid, like someone who had forgotten how to stand tall.
“What?” the Sheriff muttered, stunned by the whiplash transformation.
Marcus stepped closer to Anna and latched onto her arm, hiding slightly behind her like a child seeking cover from thunder.
“I… I didn’t do it,” he repeated, voice cracking. “These people just took me here, Mother.”
Then he sobbed. Soft at first. Then louder. “I didn’t do anything… they just dragged me here…”
Oliver’s foot tapped rapidly behind the glass. Tick-tick-tick. The rhythm of impatience and alarm.
Anna looked startled for a flash, like she sensed something was off, but maternal instinct smothered suspicion before it could breathe.
She covered his hand with hers.
“I know, Marcus,” she whispered, thumb stroking the back of his palm. “You’re innocent.”
The Sheriff and I exchanged a glance, quick, loaded, unspoken.
Oliver stayed exactly where he was, arms folded, face flat, eyes locked on the scene like he was watching a story he already knew the ending to.
Anna turned back to Fitzroy.
“He said he’s innocent. You heard that, right?” she pressed. “He did nothing wrong. Now can you let us go?”
The Sheriff opened his mouth… closed it again… then exhaled a long, heavy breath like the argument had aged him another year.
“Alright, Anna,” he relented, standing. “Take him to the hospital. He needs a check-up.”
Anna nodded curtly and guided Marcus toward the exit.
Marcus followed without resistance, but also without presence, like his body moved, but his soul lagged half a step behind.
Outside, Oliver and I stepped into the open air, boots hitting the pavement softly.
We stood in front of the police station and watched a mother and her unnervingly calm son climb into their car, headed for the hospital.
Anna slid into the driver’s seat on the left side. Marcus opened the passenger door and paused.
Our eyes met again.
A small smirk curled at the corner of his lips. Tiny. Fleeting. But real.
Not villainous. Not timid. Just… knowing.
Before I could decode it, Oliver laced his fingers through mine and stepped half an inch forward, positioning himself deliberately between us, not blocking the view, just claiming the narrative.
Marcus’ eyes flicked to Oliver’s eye. His smirk fell. His jaw tightened slightly, a muscle twitch of fright he tried to bury quickly.
He slid into the car without another look.
The engine hummed. Tires rolled. And the car vanished down the road, swallowed by distance.
We stayed watching long after it was gone.
“Kids,” Fitzroy called from behind us.
We turned.
“You need to head back to campus before the sun goes down,” he said, tapping a stack of paperwork into a neat rectangle against his desk. “Or… I could drop you off.”
“No,” Oliver answered immediately, hand already resting on my shoulder, protective but casual, posture saying she’s mine to look after, not yours.
“We’re good,” he added.
The Sheriff’s gaze shifted to me, softer now, scanning my face for cracks in the façade I was desperately trying to maintain.
“You okay?” he asked.
I wasn’t. But curiosity and overwhelm swirled too loud inside me to form a confession.
“Yes,” I said, forcing a small nod. “I’m fine, Sheriff.”
He stepped closer and extended a contact card toward me between two fingers.
“In case you find anything,” he said. “Don’t hesitate.”
I glanced at the card, then back to him. “Phones aren’t allowed at the Academy,” I said, reflexively rejecting the idea of needing an adult, especially one who wore a badge.
“There are emergency telephones on campus,” he countered gently. “Just in case.”
He didn’t push further. He simply held the card there until it made sense for me to take it.
Maybe he really would be the only adult who wouldn’t look at me like I was unhinged if I said something strange.
I took the card.
Oliver glanced at me and shrugged lightly, palms turning upward once. Not a big deal.
I nodded once toward Fitzroy.
He stepped back. “Alright, you two. Get back safely.”
He waved once before disappearing inside the station.
We turned toward the woods again.
I really couldn’t wait to see how Marcus would look when he returned to Gravenmoor Academy.
If he acts strange, something’s wrong.
If he acts normal, something’s still wrong.
Either way… I’ll be watching.