Ex-Convict Attack

Chapter 4

Not only the young man who came Gio's parents were also there. They smiled at San, who was still in shock.

"Hello, Santiago!" Gio waved. "I know you're shocked—oh, my goodness, you've had such a miserable life, haven't you." His smile was sad, but one could see no sincerity in it.

San stood up, approached the bars, and gripped the cold iron with burning anger. Her reddened eyes turned to the figure that was still smiling. "So you made me here?"

Gio raised his hands to his ears. "Wait, wait! Why me?"

San was about to reply but stopped when a grown man approached him. That face is not foreign to San's eyes because it has often been seen on television in the last few days and has become the subject of hot discussion.

That person is Anthony Wibisono, Gio's father and candidate for mayor.

A police officer approached the cell and opened it after a glance from Anthony.

"Let's talk for a moment," said the man wearing a formal suit to San, who looked confused.

San was taken to the interrogation room, and Anthony followed while Gio and his mother waited outside.

San has been quiet since he sat down and faced Gio's father. His gaze never left the figure in front of him, sharp and vengeful.

"Say whatever you want to say, Santiago."

San felt disgusted when the man called his name that way for some reason.

"I came to hear your complaint," continued Anthony.

"You are not a counseling teacher. Why should I complain in front of you?"

The bespectacled man smiled slightly. "Your appearance is enough to describe your personality. I'm impressed." He changed his sitting position with both elbows resting on the table surface. "My role is much bigger than a teacher or counseling lecturer. You know who I am. Let alone you, even all the citizens in this city, are my responsibility, Santiago."

"Is this your doing?" San ignored the man's words.

Anthony muttered under his breath, his gaze examining the figure of a young man the age of his son. Shabby clothes, pale face, and limp hair that fell below the eyebrows. "Life is about cause and effect, Santiago."

"Therefore, I ask! Was this your doing?!" His voice is deep and emphasized. His handcuffed hands flapped hard on the table.

"You should live by looking in the mirror often. It's your fault for daring to interfere with other people's lives."

San gritted his teeth. I was so annoyed he stood up quickly until his chair creaked loudly. "Fuck!" he said. Now he didn't care that the figure he was talking to was much older than him. "You guys set me up?!"

Amidst that hot situation, someone entered. The man in formal attire brought a brown envelope and gave it to Anthony. After that, he left without saying anything.

"Okay. I'll show you something." Anthony took out several photos and slightly threw them on the table. "I think this can answer all your questions."

The photos were portraits of him in a room that—San could swear, that room looked foreign to his eyes. A girl in a white nightgown was lying on the bed with large red stains on her stomach and chest. Meanwhile, San was lying under the bed with his hand holding the knife covered in red colors.

San understood that the stain was blood. But why? How could that be?

"What—" His tongue suddenly went numb, and the young man's hands, along with his eyeballs, shook. "Impossible," he muttered to himself.

"I don't think the police have shown this to you yet." Anthony leaned back and crossed his arms. His smile showed that he immensely enjoyed the expression San was showing at the moment. "Even though you are not a minor anymore until you are prohibited from seeing sadistic scenes."

"No. That's impossible!" San, with a desperate look, said that sentence over and over again. "I didn't do that! I didn't even go in there!" He looked around with tears flowing. "Policeman, listen! Not me! Swear to God, not me!"

"It's useless. No one will hear you," said Anthony. "Even if they heard you, no one would believe it." He grinned slyly. Then, the man stood up and continued, "Accept your fate of being imprisoned. After all, isn't this much better than you, who live freely but become homeless?"

Sam fell silent. His body slumped and sank back into the chair. His field of view was blank as if his life had just flown.

"All the evidence points to you. No one wants to defend someone like you." He intended to continue walking toward the exit, but he suddenly stopped. He stared at the figure of a young man who looked poor and helpless. "You know who you are, don't you? Please give up and just go with the flow."

Still, with a hunting breath, San looked at the man. The flow, he said?

"Think carefully. You can live a decent life if you follow what I say." After that, Anthony left the room.

***

It had been five days since he woke up in prison. Since then, San has received various investigations he did not know about. None of his family, uncles, aunts, and cousins visited him. Yesterday a group from the Committee for the Protection of Children and Women came and just looked around without speaking to her. Then, several high-ranking officials from the local Criminal Investigation Agency and journalists took pictures to make headlines.

San was confused, scared, and didn't know what would happen to him. No one in this place would listen to what he had to say. However, one thing he did know was that it was all planned.

Anthony Wibisono. The man frankly spoke to her and pointed out that what San was going through right now was arranged. Somehow he, Anthony, had some authority in the police and acted very relaxed when talking to him in the interrogation room.

Just thinking about it made San's head throb.

San gets the news that tomorrow the trial will be held. Later that night, someone came and claimed to be a lawyer. The Legal Aid Institute allowed him to hire a lawyer for free. It made San feel that there was hope amid despair.

"Sir-"

"Get to the point," interrupted the attorney as he opened some documents from his briefcase. "All the evidence in the hands of the police is very accurate."

San squeezed his fingers nervously. "Can… can I be free?"

"You think so?" The person responded indifferently.

"It wasn't me who did it." I don't know how many times he's said that.

"Everyone who confronts a attorney will say he is innocent."

"But not me."

"You have evidence?"

"What?"