Crew's anger registered, but barely. I just grunted in response to the question he asked, not quite capable at the moment of understanding what it was he wanted from me. He really needed to do something about that vein in his forehead. It was getting bigger over time and might lead to serious medical issues if he wasn't careful.
And hey, why was he mad at me, anyway? Didn't I turn up a piece of evidence for him in my sadly beat up state? Something he and Dad both missed? So there, Sheriff Jerkman Turner. Go suck on that sad popsicle.
"Crew." Dad's intervention startled me, about as much as the realization I was sitting in the front room again. Wait, how did I get here? Oh, right. Mom showed up about a second after I found the syringe and called everyone to come. Or was that screamed? I seemed to recall screaming about me and the floor? Because I had been on the floor. But that was how I found the syringe.