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The next morning Brandon reviewed his entry from the night before in his journal.

“Let me outta’ here! I have to tell you something!” he yelled again.

Just like before, about three minutes later a man appeared and let him out. Brandon was brought back to the room with the mirror, low light, and table. He pulled out his journal.

“What do you want now kid?” the man with the deep voice asked him.

“I can prove I did it.” Brandon felt weird saying this, like he was playing a role in a play, reading what he had wrote. The man remembered his line, too.

“How?”

He read his proof to the man.

“That’s how.” He concluded.

The man snatched the journal out of Brandon’s hands and read it to himself. He made a gesture to the officer standing in the corner. The officer grabbed Brandon’s arm and he sighed, thinking he had to go back to the dark room again, but this time he took Brandon to a police car. He put Brandon in handcuffs and locked the door.

They later arrived at the Alpine County Jail for Juveniles. This doesn’t look like Jorge’s house, he thought.

“Why am I here?”

“You killed your daddy, right?”

“Yes.” Brandon shamefully said.

“That’s why.”

The officer took Brandon inside and he was later locked inside a cell, he even had to go to bathroom in front of the other boys there. It was lonely and cold every night, but was even worse than the room Brandon was in before. His sleepless night was gently fading away with utter coldness. He lay in his bed crying, crying about his completely ruined life. He would never get it back, ever.