Chapter I: Arrested

It was late afternoon and a boy was walking from gym to his next class. He stopped outside the door and was about to enter when an alarm sounded and the principal's voice could be heard over the loudspeaker.

"This is not a drill; I repeat this is not a drill."

It was a code red, everyone was required to turn out the lights and pretend they were not inside the classrooms. A code red drill was practiced every month in case of an intruder entering the building, someone being seen with a weapon, or any signs of danger to the students. With each drill, it became apparent that the students doubted the purpose of the drill. The question they kept asking themselves was what if the student or students with the weapons happened to be in the locked class room.

It took about ten minutes for the principal to come back over the intercom and tell everyone the code red was over. Of course, all students were to stay put in their classes until they were told that they could leave, because they still had to make sure no one was walking around brandishing a weapon. No one knew why they had to stay put if the code red was over when all anyone wanted to do was go home.

A couple minutes went by, although the minutes seemed more like hours. Everyone was quiet, except for a few girls whispering in the back. Cops were checking the lockers.

The cops split up, searching each hallway individually. As they went about their job, the principal followed them anxiously from hallway to hallway. Each time the detective thought he saw something suspicious or out of place, they would open the locker to search for anything that could be considered potential evidence.

When the cops finished their rounds on the first and second floors, they made their way up to the third floor. Echoes sounded from the locked rooms, making the cops aware that the code red was not always taken as seriously as it should be.

The detective called out to the other cops and, when a couple reached his position, showed them a crimson smudge on someone's locker. Number 3772.

The principal gave the detective the locker's combination and watched as they opened it slowly. What they found in the locker could not be identified. It was shiny and metallic and wrapped around it was a blood soaked white cloth. The weapon itself was caked in semi dried blood, indicating that it had been used recently. Forensics took the sample of blood and the sword, and the detective began explaining the situation to the principal.

In order to prevent the students' feeling insecure or fearful so early in the school day, the principal insisted that he locate the student himself. "Unfortunately," the detective explained, "We can't let you go by yourself to pick up this potentially dangerous student." So instead, he was accompanied by two officers and the detective himself.

When the principal announced that it was he outside the classroom door, the teacher let him in. He called the boy and gestured for him to follow. Aware of the code red, he immediately tensed and walked to the front of the room, wondering how he could be involved in the situation.

Once he stepped out into the hall, the detective quickly closed the class door and gave him a stern stare.

"You'll have to come down to the station with us son, we're gonna have to ask you some questions," the detective told him solemnly.

In the station, they checked his person for weapons then told him to proceed into a room. The walls were blank, it was an interrogation room.

"First off son, what's your name?" asked the detective.

"David Vandan, sir," he replied.

"Where were you before and during the code red drill?"

David hesitated, thinking to himself, they must think I was somehow involved with it. It's got to be a mix up. "I was coming back from lunch and was on my way to my Constitutional Law class. I was inside the classroom, right after the bell rang, and the code red went off a few minutes later. I went straight to class after lunch; I didn't even stop at my locker."

"Do you know why you are here?"

David nodded, "I can't say for sure, but I can guess that it must have something to do with the code red that our school had, maybe something involving suspicion."

The detective accepted the answer and continued, "Do you own any weapons? Any swords perhaps?"

David paused, Why swords? Of all the weapons to be mentioned it would seem more likely for either a gun or a knife to be thought about but not a sword.

"Yes, I do own a couple of swords," he answered the question calmly.

"Did you know a girl named," he paused briefly to take a look at a folder in his hand, "Jamie Madison?"

He let out a sigh, "Yes, I know her."

The detective shook his head, "How well did you know her? What was your relationship?"

David tensed at the word, relationship; he hadn't talked to her for years. "I knew her in freshman year, but we haven't talked since then. She was in one of my classes. And we may have dated for a couple of months. We didn't get along well."

As the confrontation went on, it became quite nerve racking for him yet, he managed to keep a cool tone and answered the questions without sounding too stressed. Finally, the detective signaled a cop to bring in an object. It was the bloody sword and cloth that covered it.

The dried blood smelled horribly strong and made him want to gag. Sparring and murder were two completely different things. Whoever used the sword was definitely a murderer, but it couldn't have been him. "Does this look familiar to you?"

David looked down at the bloody object. He answered, "Yes. It looks like one that I just received for Christmas. I misplaced it a few weeks ago."

"Oh, well, this sword was found in your locker."

"I would never use it on anyone nor would I bring it to school. I just collect them. I like learning their histories and am hoping to one day contribute them to a museum."

"Alright son, now we've got a policy about suspects. We'll call your parents and let'em know, then you'll have to stay here for 24 hours until we figure out what's happened here."

David nodded knowingly. He knew his chances of being charged for the incident had to be slim. Or rather, he felt that they should be.

The police would check the scene and the sword for fingerprints and they would discover that there were none of his fingerprints on the crime scene or even the sword. He thought hopefully, No, they would easily find the murderer. All they would need would be a sample of DNA in the blood. Or perhaps the killer made a mistake when he went into the building in the first place? Maybe it was some stranger off the street?

Then he remembered the sword was both his and found in his locker. No one knew his combination, not even his close friends. He remembered them having trouble finding it to put up a Happy Birthday card and he doubted he ever told it to anyone else.

He nodded to the cop before he was led off to one of the cells. The boy couldn't help feeling a nervous pang in his gut as he wondered how his friends would react to his arrest. Would they believe that he hadn't been involved? After all that joking about serial killers and bloody situations he wouldn't blame some of them for taking them as signs instead of jokes. But he knew there were at least two people who would undoubtedly take his word for it.

This time of year was freezing, since it was February. It was after school, and a girl with auburn hair that reached one inch past her chin and brown eyes walked toward a group of people. The girl was wearing a blue and white ski jacket and a blue hat. As she approached she noticed Mel, who had long, blond hair and was wearing jeans and a long sleeved green shirt with a black jacket, shifting from foot to foot impatiently. As the girl, whose given name happened to be Christine, walked up she noticed the solemn look on Davey's face. He made his way over to the small group and Christine watched as Mel began to interrogate him.

"What's the matter with you?" She asked conspiratorially.

"Nothing." He replied hastily.

"Did you hear, during 9th and 10th gym they wouldn't let anyone change?" Christine asked, enthusiastic about not having to swim.

As they continued on with their conversation Davey seemed rather edgy and withdrawn.

"Davey…," Mel said apprehensively with a bemused tone, "Why aren't you saying anything?"

"I have something important to tell you," he said in a low voice. "It's about David. He…he was arrested for," he paused and looked at everyone, "murder." He finished in a near whisper.

Everyone stared mouths agape. It seemed it took a long time for it to sink in because the first to speak out of the group was Mel. She turned to Davey and asked, "Wait, this has got to be a mistake, right?"

He looked like he only understood about half as much as Haley did and that was zero.

No one standing around knew what to say. Haley, a girl with wavy red hair and green eyes, just stood there looking confused. Her counterpart, Katie, was just about to say something when Mel clamped a hand over her mouth.