Free at Last?

I remember how I felt when I found out that Mom and I had been found guilty. Smug. I knew I had done nothing wrong and there was no way either Mom or I were going to be remaining in police custody much longer. Then, the wait. Over a month. My only friend left, the drug dealer's cell phone who kept me company in the evidence room, told me Mom cut a deal and sold me out. I told him to stop smoking what his owner sold. That would never happen. First of all, she chose me and bought me, legally or not, so I knew she must have some loyalty to me. Second, she had young Master to answer to if I did not return home safely. I was not worried.

Then one day appeared the nice investigator I remembered with the sandwiches at the raid on our home. He put me back in the box with which I was delivered to that dungeon and put me back in the trunk of his car. This was the day, I thought, that young Master would clutch my chinese-made controls and wear my headset again. When we arrived at the Special Prosecutor's office, he left me there, turned out the lights and left. The only light in the office came from a computer monitor, tuned to the "Ebay: Sell an item" page. I went into sleep mode, relieved to be in a clean place, but now figured it could be a few more days before I went home.