Chapter 1

The stench of smoke filled the air of the bedroom; a haze hung around the ceiling. The window was open and there were three fans going, but the smoke was still apparent.

On his third joint of the night, Tristain was, and had been for a while, in his nice, happy, safe, place.

Something in the back of his mind kept telling him to stop, but he ignored the silent warnings. He was too far-gone already; maybe tomorrow he'd stop smoking weed.

Tomorrow.

He'd been saying tomorrow for the last three years.

The joint was gone- he'd smoked it all. He went to his desk where he hid his stash. The bag was empty. "Shit," he muttered. Now he had to actually go out of the house. No worries, he thought. It would be easy to sneak past his father, but Maggie, his sister, would be harder. Oh, well.

Pulling on his shoes, he managed to find his wallet. He had enough money left from his last sale to keep him in weed until Monday.

Stumbling down the stairs and out of the house, Tristain managed to find the area where his dealer always was. He tried to look cool, normal, he didn't want any dead-beat cop following his trail.

Tristain walked down the street, tripping over his feet every few steps, looking for the guy known on the street as Wheezy. He finally found Wheezy, but his vision was so screwed, he couldn't tell the slight differences in height and build.

"I need some weed, man." Tristain pulled out his wallet, pulled out all the money he had, shoved it in the dealer's hands. "Give me as much weed as this'll buy."

"Oh, I'll give you something, alright." He reached into the deep pockets of the trench coat he was wearing. Instead of weed, he pulled out handcuffs, slapped them on Tristain. "You're under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you."

"Wait. What's going on? I don't understand."

"Too stoned to figure it out? Come on." Captain Shane Williams led him to the two blocks down from the alley. Tristain followed like an obedient puppy on a leash. "Looks like I'm in for a long night," he muttered to himself as he drove to the station.

After reaching the station, putting Tristain in lock-up, and getting his information off his driver's license, Shane called his house. His daughter, Carmen, answered the phone and Shane told her to tell her mother that he would be late and to not wait up for him.

Shane sat at his desk filling out the paperwork before he called Tristain's parents. Shane knew he had to do this little chore, but it was one he detested. It ranked right up there with informing next of kin of a death. Shane knew it would be a long night.

Meanwhile, at the Mohr house, nobody knew Tristain was missing.

The phone had rung seven times before Maggie picked it up. "Hello?"

"Mrs. Mohr? This is Captain Shane Williams, of NYPD."

"Hold on. Let me get my dad. Just a minute." Maggie placed her hand over the phone as she called into the living room where Dennis Mohr was sitting, watching late night television. "Dad!"

"What?" he shouted from the couch, never taking his eyes off the television.

"Phone. It's some guy from the police department."

"What the hell does he want? I haven't done anything recently. I even paid that goddamn parking ticket." He snatched the phone away from his daughter. "What?" he barked into the phone.

"Mr. Mohr?"

"Yeah? What'da want?"

"This is Captain Shane Williams, with NYPD. We have your son detained-"

"What the fuck did he do?" Dennis demanded. He wanted a beer, goddamn, did he want a beer.

"I arrested your son on drug charges. He seemed to think I was a dealer. He was already under the influence. I brought him back here." On Dennis's end on the phone, it was quiet. "Mr. Mohr?" Shane questioned.

"Yeah, I'm here. You need me to come down and get his sorry ass outta jail?"

"Yes, sir, we do."