The Franklin Files

Members Login
    Remember Me  

Senior Member

Status: Offline
Posts: 318


     When Scott and I got inside the office, we realized this was the A/V room part of the office in the back. There was an adjacent door on the opposite side of the room which led to front part of the office where the receptionist desk was and the principal's office and all that.

     Inside this room was a 16mm film projector, and a cubby along the wall at a right angle to the door we came in, filled with small 16mm film cannisters.

     Besides that, there wasn't much else in the room.  I started taking out film cannisters from their cubby spots and re-arranging them out of what ever order that they had been placed in; probably alphabetical I supposed. I didn't want to do any real damage.

     Scott started pulling film out of the cannisters and tearing it apart.

     "Scott, what are you doing? We agreed not to do any real damage?"

     "Hey," Scott said to me, "Let me do this, you go over there and see if you can get that door unlocked."

     Scott pointed across the room, to the door that lead to the main part of the office, that was directly across the door that we came in by.

     I walked over to the door and tried and it was locked. I looked at Scott, who had moved the large 16mm film projector and its stand in to the North Western Corner of the room. Scott was standing in the far corner of the room and had pulled the film projector in front of himself as though he were using it as a shield.

     "What are you doing?" I asked.

     "Never mind, keep trying to get that door open," Scott said to me.

     "How, It's locked." I said.

     "Just keep trying," he said. And I watched as Scott went into a rage. I had never seen anything like it in him before. I had seen a little bit of it the day we vandalized the special ed' classroom but that was nothing compared to this.

     I was standing there at the door leading to the office which was directly across from the door we came in by, and Scott is huddled in the corner of the room, where he had taken about a dozen film cannisters and was tearing them and ripping them to threads and screaming and cussing, and then I watched in awe and confusion, as Scott started beating on the film projector, trying to break it.

     "Scott-- what-" I started to say when I heard talking from the other side of the door that we came in by.

      "Open the door," a voice said

     "I'm looking for the right key," another voice said.

     I head the sound of key's jangling, and key's being inserted into the lock.

     I looked at Scott, "Someone's trying to come in," I said horrified. "What should I do?" I asked.

     "Get that door open," Scott said, referring to the door that I was still standing in front of. I tried the door again; yep it was still locked but I turned and faced the opposite door, I was not going to be standing here with my back facing whoever was coming in through the other door.

     I looked at Scott and he knelt down behind the film projector so that his whole body was completely behind the projector using it as a shield. I had no idea why he was doing this.

     Suddenly, the door we came through opened up, and a uniformed Inglewood police officer came through with his gun out in front of him and pointing directly at me.

     "DON'T MOVE!" The officer yelled.

     I froze. More officers moved into the room with all their guns drawn.


     I had at that point been staring down the barrel of a .38 Service Revolver.

     "Are you alone, or is there anyone else here?" an officer asked me.

     I pointed toward Scott hunkered down in the far corner of the room behind the film projector.

     "Come on out of there," an officer said and Scott slowly came out from behind the film projector that he had been kneeling behind.


     Scott and I were separated at that point, one officer taking Scott outside and having him sit down, and another officer taking me aside to sit down quite a distance away.

     As the officer lead me outside, I saw the lead police officer who came into the room first; the one who pointed his gun at me and then yelled "Don't shoot, It's just a kid!"

     He was sitting on the edge of the grass, his knees shaking, holding his head in his hands, visibly upset. Another officer was trying to talk to him, but he wouldn't look up, he just held his head in his hands on top of his knees with his knees shaking like an alcoholic experiencing d.t.'s

     "Have a seat here, " The officer told me, "and don't go anywhere."

     After about thirty minutes, the officer came to me and told me to stand up, we were going to take a little walk. He told me they already did this with Scott, and they wanted to compare our stories.

     The two of is walked around the school grounds, by the teachers lounge where he asked me if Scott and I had vandalized that room, I said yes, then we walked by the special ed classroom and asked me if we had vandalized that room and I said yes.

     We then stood where we were for several minutes as the officer interviewed me and asked me some strange questions.

     "We're you the one who wrote the message on the wall in this classroom?" the officer asked me.

     We were still standing in front of the special ed room; the room that Scott for no apparent reason had slid a piece of folded up cardboard between the lock and latch on that day when we had vandalized the room.

     "What message?" I asked.

     "You didn't write it?" the officer asked me.

     "No," I said.

     "Did Scott write it?" he asked me.

     "I don't know what message you're talking about honestly," I said.

     "Did you see Scott write any kind of message in paint on the wall in the classroom?" he asked me.

     "No, I saw him throw some paint around but I never saw him write any kind of a message," I said.

     "And you didn't write a message on the wall?"

     "No,' I said, "What did the message say?" I asked humbly.

     "Helter Skelter," The officer said.

     "What does that mean?" I asked.

     "Never mind," the officer said. "There was some more stuff written but, we we are pretty sure the message was written by an adult."

     "Oh," I said.

     "Was it just you and Scott that vandalized the classrooms or was there an adult with you?" the officer asked.

     "Just us," I said.

     "How did you get into the office?" the officer asked.

     "There was a hole cut in the window," I said.

     "We know," the officer said, "How were you able to cut a hole in the glass?" he asked.

     "We didn't, " I said, "It was already there," I said.

     "We know you didn't cut it. It would require special tools, the window is an inch thick. You could have thrown a brick at it and it wouldn't have broken. Who cut the hole in the window?" he asked me.

     "I don't know, it was already there," I said.

     "We know an adult was helping you, you want to tell us who it was?" the officer said.

     "No adult was helping us-- the hole was already there, I swear," I said.

    "I see," the officer said.

    "Are you aware that the police we're here at the school, only about an hour ago?"

     I looked at him, my eyes wide, "NO!" I said.

     "Someone phoned in to the police an anonymous call, saying they saw an adult, wearing a trench-coat, with a gun on the school campus-- a white guy, about thirty years old, about six foot tall."

     I starred in disbelief.

     "Have any idea who that man was?" the officer asked.

     "No," I said.

     "You know, you almost got killed," the officer said to me.

     I shook my head and looked down.

     "We we're CERTAIN that an adult was doing this-- the message on the wall, we were certain was written by an adult, then we had the cut hole in the window which we saw when we were here an hour ago, and then the phone in of the suspicious person with a gun."

     I didn't know what to say.

     "We know an adult was involved, you want to go ahead and tell us who it is?"

     "I swear officer, It was just me and Scott, I don't know anything about a message on the wall, I didn't write one, and I didn't see Scott write any message, and I don't know who cut that hole in the glass-- it was just there." I said.

     "Scott said he wrote the message on the wall," the officer told me.

     "He did?" I asked surprised.

     "Yea he did, but he couldn't tell us what the message said. Only that he wrote it. Are you saying that Scott did not write that message?"

     "I never saw Scott write a message on the wall," I said.

     "And you didn't see any kind of a message written on the wall?"

     I shook my head.

     "Alright, we're done questioning you for now. You want to tell me what your phone number is so we call your parents."


-- Edited by The Phantom on Tuesday 6th of July 2010 02:34:47 PM


"Sometimes when you open your mind to the impossible,
  you discover the truth." Walter from Fringe.

Page 1 of 1  sorted by
Quick Reply

Please log in to post quick replies.

Create your own FREE Forum
Report Abuse
Powered by ActiveBoard