The police are here again.

They came the second day I was in the hospital. Somehow Dad managed to get them to go away, saying I was resting.

Dad hasn't slept much, but I've slept less.

He tried to stop them again. Dad, that is. They came in anyways, asking questions.

What happened? Who did it? Where were we held? What did the culprit do while he held us?

I stare into space. I don't want to answer them. They look frustrated. One is fuming, saying things under his breath. The other is noting things down. They can't get too angry. I'm a child.

The last of them, the calmer one, is just looking. Judging. What does he think?

The questions are coming again, faster.

In reality I'm sitting politely, choosing not to answer. In my head I curl up into a ball, turning inside myself.

I hear chairs scooting back. Dad's ushering them out.

The sky is clear and sunny, but I still hear the rain, softly drumming.

Drip, drop.