“He came over, yeah,” Bobby interrupted her, and the officers began taking mental photographs of him, “but he wanted to go out to the garage again.” Bobby knew this was, in its most basic sense, a lie. The officers nodded their heads, taking in everything, and the looks on their faces could have been as serious as the apocalypse.
“Then what the hell was he doing…” She began to gasp in tears, and her daughter clung to her, eyes pouring with tears as well. “What the hell was he doing with that bag…on that street! I told him to stay away from that street! You started him up, didn’t you!?” The lamenting mother scowled at him with a thousand looks of hatred and disgust, ultimately growing unable to look at him any longer.
Bobby’s restrained look of surprise garnered attention as he sought to comprehend the scope of the situation, and the officers observing took note of his lack of conviction. Though he was wide-awake sober along with Samantha, a tunnel vision began to materialize in slow motion from his view of the room, and he thought he could hear the sound of insects crawling and the heartbeat of lice-infected mice lurking in the walls. His vision strayed past her for a second, and in the gloss of a hanging picture of which the print was encased in polished glass, Bobby contained his urge to vomit at the sight of the vile witch, mocking him and giggling in the reflection, her dreadful rotten teeth stretched beneath her rotted nose and her snaky eyes poised with a perfidious gaze, wrinkling the bruised, leathery skin enveloping their sockets. The hair on his head stood on end, and he fought to conceal the slight contortion his body made in conjunction with an icy chill that shot up his spine.