Telemachus Rising by Pierce Youatt Page A

high on the wall was pointed right where I was standing.  I couldn't help imagining a breakout scenario.  Hypothetically, what would it take to escape?  It seemed like I had been through a lot of doors already.  I wasn't positive I could find my way out, even if they unlocked all the doors and set me free.  The one in front of us buzzed, and the officer reached past me to pull the handle.  We walked through to a narrow room that had a long counter on the right with a one-way-mirror office behind it.  There was a computer terminal and a height chart on the far wall.
    “Alright.  I'm going to ask you to empty your pockets and remove your shoe laces.”
    I couldn't remember ever removing the laces from the shoes I was wearing.  They felt strange on my feet with the tongues hanging out all the way to the toes.  They kept slipping off my heels like sandals as I shuffled around in them.
    “Do you mind if I keep my coat?  It's kind of cold in here.”
    The arresting officer shrugged and asked a uniformed guard coming from the office.
    “Can we let him keep it?”
    “Does it have a drawstring or anything in it?”
    “No, just the zipper.”
    They felt the pockets and checked each one.
    “You're not going to try to kill yourself with it, are you?”
    The idea hadn't occurred to me.  To be honest, I felt pretty high, but I could only imagine how messed up you'd have to be to seriously consider committing suicide over getting arrested by the local police.
    “No sir.”
    “Okay, you can hang on to it.  If you're all set, walk on down to the next yellow line on the floor and we'll do your fingerprints.”
    I remembered getting fingerprinted once on an ink pad as a cub scout.  Wait a second.  I had been here before.  We visited the jail and got fake fingerprints taken back when my...
    “I'm going to start with your right hand.”
    They rolled each of my fingers across a tiny digital device.  My prints came up on the computer screen.  The officer had to do some fingers more than once because the pads were worn down.  I don't know how they got that way.  Typing maybe?  When I was done getting printed, they took mugshots.  I figured smiling would be inappropriate.  We continued around the corner where the room seemed to wrap around the mirrored office.
    “Pick up a mat and take it with you.”
    There was a stack of gray gym mats on the floor against the wall.  They were about two inches thick.  I grabbed one and carried it with me until we got to my holding cell.  The door was mostly metal, but there was a thick glass window in the upper half.  I say it was glass, but I don't know for sure what it was actually made of.  Probably some kind of unbreakable plastic.  He locked me inside and spoke in a voice that was muffled by the door between us.
    “Based on your blood alcohol level, we're going to hold you for eight hours.  When eight hours are up, we'll check you again.  If you're still over the legal limit, we'll check you every half hour until you're safe to leave.  Understand?”
    “So what time will I be free to go?”
    “I can't see a clock from here, but it'll be eight hours from the last test we did.  So that'll be what, about ten o'clock in the morning?  We'll check you again, and if you're under the legal limit we'll let you go.”
    “Alright, thank you.”
    “Oh, and in the morning if you don't have the money to pay your bond or you need a ride, we'll activate that phone on the wall.  You can only make collect calls from it, though.”
    “Can I use my phone?”
    “We don't allow you to use cell phones once you're under arrest.”
    “Not even to get a phone number?”
    “Usually, no.  You can ask in the morning if you need to.  Maybe they'll say yes.  I wouldn't count on it, though.”
    “Okay.  Thanks.”
    “You know, sometimes good people make bad decisions.  I've arrested a lot of nice people who broke the law.”
    I nodded and he walked off.  I tossed the mat down on a