An Interrogation

We navigated the streets of the town, a flurry of citizens darting about like ants in a disturbed anthill, their curiosity piqued by whatever chaos had unfolded behind us.

The extent of the havoc we left in our wake remained a mystery, shrouded in the shadows of uncertainty. Yet, the whispers of the town's folk hinted at a spectacle that stretched beyond the limits of comprehension.

Inside our mundane Grand Marshall, Malachi, perpetually dissatisfied, bemoaned the lack of opulence, dreaming of a vehicle dripping with wealth, a Bugatti or Lamborghini, perhaps, to match his inflated ego.

"Hey, folks," Nikki interjected, breaking the tension. "Time's ticking away in this jalopy, let's park it and get our facts straight before we dial up Mr. Drails."

"And I'm starving," Malachi chimed in, as if on cue. "We won't survive until morning without sustenance."

"Well, that's assuming you're not a vampire," Nikki retorted. "Most of us need to eat."

As we cruised along, a diner appeared on the horizon, its neon sign beckoning to us like a siren's call. Our mouths watered at the mere sight of it.

"Let's make a pit stop," Malachi declared. "Who knows when we'll stumble upon civilization again." We pulled into the parking lot, grateful for the lack of bystanders, sparing us from the scrutiny of newfound celebrity status.

Having garnered our fifteen minutes of fame just an hour prior, I had no desire to be subjected to accusatory stares. We exited the vehicle and entered the diner, eager to appease our growling stomachs.

Or rather, September did the honors, being the designated spokesperson for our ragtag crew. I, on the other hand, adopted a more pragmatic approach, selecting my meal based on price rather than preference, a habit ingrained by my thrifty mother.

I settled into a booth with Tisiah, only for Nikki to maneuver her way onto my side, claiming her rightful place beside her brother. "I'm so used to sitting across from you," she remarked casually.

I shrugged off her observation, not wanting to dwell on the significance of her seating arrangement. We lapsed into an uneasy silence, unsure of how to navigate the tension that hung heavy in the air. Eventually, Nikki broached the subject that had been gnawing at her.

"Connor?"

"Yeah?"

"How could you do that?" she demanded, her eyes boring into mine, searching for answers I wasn't prepared to give.

"I... I don't know," I stammered, my mind a jumble of conflicting emotions. "I guess I was just desperate for a way out."

"Well, that's nonsensical," Malachi scoffed. "There's no spell in existence that could warrant that level of destruction. And punching a truck? Come on, you must have a death wish."

I swallowed hard, my throat constricting with anxiety. To divulge the truth would only invite unwanted scrutiny into my family's affairs, a risk I wasn't willing to take.

"I don't know, okay!" I snapped, the pressure mounting with each passing second. I sighed heavily as my companions regarded me with a mixture of concern and disbelief. "I just did it, alright?"

"Hmm," Malachi hummed thoughtfully. "Something fishy is going on, and I intend to get to the bottom of it."

Before I could formulate a response, September swooped in with our orders, unwittingly interrupting the escalating tension. "What's going on here?" she inquired, her brow furrowed in confusion.

Malachi wasted no time in airing our grievances. "We suspect that Connor here has some sort of power, and he's hiding it from us."

"Oh, he definitely does," September agreed, unfazed by the revelation. "There's no shame in having a gift, you know."

"But if he does, that would mean he's Mr. Drails' kid, right?" Malachi pressed, his eyes boring into mine with an intensity that made my skin crawl.

"I... I don't know," I stammered, my heart pounding in my chest.

"What's your last name?" September inquired, her gaze unwavering.

Before I could respond, Nikki leapt to my defense. "You guys shouldn't interrogate him like this!" she protested. "He saved us, for crying out loud!"

"Pipe down, whiny child," Malachi shot back.

"Who are you calling a whiny child?" Tisiah bristled, her patience wearing thin.

"I did, got a problem?!" Malachi retorted, his voice escalating with each word.

The tension in the air was palpable, suffocating us with its oppressive weight. I felt a surge of frustration building within me, my ears ringing with the echoes of their bickering.

"What... is... your... last... name, Connor?!"

I could feel the pressure mounting, threatening to consume me whole. My vision blurred with rage, my hands trembling with an uncontrollable fury.

And then, in a fit of unchecked emotion, I snapped.

"What... is... your... last... name, Connor?!"

The words reverberated in my ears, taunting me with their insistent demand. Without a second thought, I lashed out, the force of my rage shattering the table into splinters.

The diner fell silent, all eyes fixed on me in stunned disbelief. I knew I had to get out of there, before things spiraled even further out of control.

Without a word, I fled to the sanctuary of the bathroom, locking myself in a stall in a desperate attempt to regain my composure.

Tears streamed down my face, my breaths coming in ragged gasps. I felt utterly powerless, trapped in a web of my own making, with no hope of escape.

And then, a knock on the door shattered the silence, a gentle reminder that I wasn't alone in this turmoil.

"Connor?" September's voice filtered through the barrier, soft and soothing.

"Yeah?" I responded, my voice thick with emotion.

"Are you alright?"

"I don't know," I admitted, my facade crumbling under the weight of her concern.

"Can you come out?" she asked, her tone gentle yet insistent.

With a heavy sigh, I relented, unlocking the door and stepping out into the harsh light of reality.

"Is everything okay?" September inquired, her eyes searching mine for any sign of distress.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I lied, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. "Just a bit stressed, I guess."

September raised an eyebrow, unconvinced by my feeble attempt at deception. "I'm not stupid, you know," she remarked dryly. "You said you were stressed just a minute ago. Are you sure you're alright? Are you sure you're not afraid to tell us something?"

I hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal. "It's nothing," I insisted, brushing off her concerns. "Just forget it."

"Alright," she relented, though her eyes betrayed her lingering doubts. "But if you ever want to talk about it, we're here for you."

"Thanks," I muttered, grateful for her support in this turbulent time.