Chapter 13 What Falls From a Rooftop
Ryan
The rooftop was gravel-strewn and needed repairs. I pulled myself fully onto the surface. Crouched low. Scanned the area. The utility structures Hawley had mentioned stood like small concrete blocks against the gray sky. Perfect hiding spots for someone who didn't want to be found.
A blue tarp stretched between two ventilation units near the closest one.
Anchored with bricks. Beneath it, a flattened cardboard box served as flooring.
Relatively dry despite the downpour. A small backpack rested against one side, alongside an empty instant-noodle cup and a half-drunk bottle of water.
This wasn't just a temporary hiding spot. Someone had been living here.
At the far end, a metal entrance led into one of the utility structures. Slightly ajar. A chair propped against the inside handle. A crude but effective block.
My footsteps became deliberately audible as I approached. No point in startling an already frightened kid.
"Min?" I kept my voice gentle. "I'm from 51 Division. Your mother is worried sick about you."
Silence answered me, broken only by the patter of water droplets against the tarp. I sensed movement behind the entrance. Waited.
"I know you're in there. We just want to make sure you're safe."
After what felt like minutes, hesitation crept through the gap. "Is he with you? My stepdad?"
"Just me and my partner." I pressed my palm against the metal. "We're here to help, not force you back. Can we talk face-to-face?"
More silence. The mental calculation happening on the other side was almost palpable. Weighing risk against need. Fear against exhaustion.
"I'm not going back there." Stronger now, but with an unmistakable tremor.
"Nobody's making you go anywhere right now." My breath fogged in the cold air. "We just need to talk. Make sure you're okay."
The scraping sound of the chair being moved came next.
Then the creak of hinges as the entrance finally opened.
Just a crack at first, then wider. A thin boy with hollow eyes and unwashed hair appeared.
Clutching a backpack with white knuckles.
His clothes hung loose on his frame. Dark circles shadowed his face.
"I know why my mom called the police. I was never going to meet that guy online." The words tumbled out in a defensive rush. "I just needed somewhere to go."
I kept my distance to avoid spooking him. Nodded. "Can I come in out of the wind? Just to talk?"
He hesitated. Then stepped back, allowing me into the small utility room. Barely bigger than a closet. Concrete surfaces. A few electrical panels. The chair he'd been using as a brace. The space smelled of dampness and instant noodles.
"How'd you find me?" The backpack stayed clutched between us. He wouldn't let go of it.
"Good detective work." A brief smile. "Plus, you left a trail. Videos, cheap cigarettes, instant-noodle cups from the 7-Eleven downstairs."
That earned me a flicker of amusement before his face closed again.
"Your mom's been searching for you since you disappeared. She filed the missing persons report right away." I leaned against the concrete to make myself less threatening.
"Not him, though, right?" Hardness crept into his voice. "He probably said I was just being dramatic."
"Something like that." No point lying to the kid. He'd see through it immediately. "Want to tell me what happened that made you leave?"
He slid down until he was sitting on the floor. Knees pulled to his chest. I mirrored his position to give him space.
"He hit her again." The confession came after a long silence. Barely a whisper over the rain. "Worse than before. I tried to stop him, and he..." His hand drifted to his ribs. An unconscious gesture that spoke volumes.
"He hurt you too."
A nod. Gaze fixed on the floor. "I thought if I disappeared, maybe no one would be disappointed anymore. He wouldn't have excuses to hit her."
The words hit me like a physical blow.
"I know something about disappointing people."
He finally met my eyes. Really seeing me for the first time. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." My head fell back against the concrete. "Messed up big time at my last assignment. That's why I'm here at 51 now. People got hurt because of me."
"What did you do?"
"Trusted the wrong person. Said the wrong thing at the wrong time." The familiar weight of guilt settled on my shoulders. "And afterward, I thought maybe everyone would be better off if I just... wasn't around anymore."
"Did it work?" Desperate hope flickered across his face.
A laugh escaped me. Without humor. "No. Running away doesn't fix anything. It just changes the shape of the problem."
Worry creased his young brow. The pack clutched tighter against his chest.
"What about my mom?" The crack in his voice was barely perceptible. "If I go back with you, what happens to her?"
I leaned forward. Chose my words carefully. "Your mom was brave enough to file a report. That means we can help both of you."
"You don't understand." A shake of his head. "Once you leave, he'll just get angrier. He always does when people start asking questions."
Rain drummed against the metal roof. Filling the silence between us. In the dim light, faded bruises showed on his wrists. Evidence of what he'd been trying to escape.
"He told her once that if she ever tried to leave, he'd find us. She doesn't have money for us to go somewhere else. We don't have family here. There's nowhere to go." The words came out hushed. Heavy.
The desperation in his voice hit me harder than I expected. This wasn't just teen rebellion. This was calculated survival.
"What if there was somewhere safe? Not home, but not the streets either."
Hope and suspicion warred across his face. "Like where?"
"There are shelters. Places where you and your mom could stay while we sort this out. Where he couldn't find you."
"She'd never leave." The statement was flat. Final. "She's too scared."
I studied him for a moment. "But you left. That took courage."
"I left because I thought it would help. But I've just been sitting up here, worried sick about her. What if he hurt her worse because I wasn't there?" Guilt weighed down every syllable.
The responsibility he felt for others' safety was painfully familiar. Written all over his hunched shoulders and hollow stare.
"What happened isn't your fault. Not your mom getting hurt, not you having to run. None of it."
His fingers dug into the worn fabric of his pack. Knuckles going white.
"Then whose is it?" The crack deepened. "I couldn't stop him. I couldn't protect her. And now I'm hiding on a roof while she's still there with him."
The rain intensified. A chaotic rhythm that matched the tension in the small space. Water dripped through a leak in the corner, forming a small puddle on the concrete floor.
"You're fifteen. It's not your job to protect your mother from an abuser."
"Then whose job is it?" His gaze challenged me. Desperate.
"Ours. Mine." I shifted closer. Careful not to crowd him. "And right now, the best way you can help your mom is by coming with me, so she knows you're safe."
His shoulders slumped. Not surrender, not exactly, but maybe the first step toward it.
My radio crackled to life with Hawley's transmission. "Carlson. Status?"
I unclipped it from my belt. "I've got him. We're talking."
"Copy that." A pause. "Is he injured?"
A glance toward the boy, who shook his head slightly.
"He's okay. Give us a few minutes."
"Understood. Backup is two minutes out. I'll intercept and update them."
I returned the radio to my belt. Studied him as he processed everything. He'd been weighing his options since I first appeared. Now I watched him come to a decision, like watching a house of cards fold in on itself.
"That other detective, the one down there. Is he... is he like you?" The question came quietly.
"Like me?"
"Will he believe me? About my stepdad?"
The question held so much. His fear. His tentative trust. The weight of not being believed before.
"He will." Complete certainty filled my voice. "Hawley sees everything, notices everything. And he follows the evidence, no matter who it implicates."
He stared at me for a long moment. Still weighing. The utility room had become a strange confessional booth. Just the two of us, the rain, and a lifetime of decisions neither of us could take back.
"Okay." Barely a whisper above the drumming water. "I'll go with you."
Relief washed through me. "Good choice." The smile I offered him hopefully looked more confident than I felt. "We'll figure this out together, alright? First step is getting you somewhere warm and dry."
He pulled his pack straps over his shoulders. Rose. Movement careful and precise. Someone much older. Someone who'd learned early that one wrong step could have consequences.
"We need to get you down from here." I eyed the darkening sky. "Your mother needs to know you're safe. Come on. I'll help you."
He followed me to the edge of the roof. Found where the ladder descended into the laneway below. Through the sheets of rain, Hawley's figure stood exactly where I'd left him. He hadn't budged an inch, despite being soaked to the bone.
The boy approached the ladder with surprising confidence. Hands finding the familiar rungs.
"I'll go first." I swung my legs over the edge. "You follow when I'm halfway. Just take it slow, one rung at a time."
The metal was even slicker now. Cold against my palms as I started down. My shoes kept sliding on the narrow rungs. Forced me to grip tighter. To move with deliberate care.
Halfway down, the sound of climbing started above me. A glance upward showed his thin frame silhouetted against the gray sky. Moving with the practiced ease of someone who'd made this climb multiple times before.
Below, Hawley had positioned himself directly beneath the structure. Tracking our every movement. His posture had changed. The casual stillness replaced by alert readiness. Like a coiled spring.
I kept moving downward. Focus on each rung, on the placement of hands and feet. The wind had picked up. Gusting through the narrow laneway. Making the structure sway slightly.
A sudden, startled cry from above made me freeze. The boy's foot slipped on a rain-slick rung. His body lurched sideways over empty space. Fingers scrambling for purchase.
Instinct took over. One arm hooked around the metal for stability while the other shot upward. Closed around his wrist just as he lost his grip entirely. The sudden weight nearly pulled me from my perch. Sent a bolt of agony through my shoulder socket.
"I've got you." Through gritted teeth. Muscles straining as I guided his flailing arm back to safety. "Grab on. That's it. You're okay."
His fingers closed around the rung. White-knuckled and trembling. Face pale with shock. Eyes wide with fear.
"Careful. Almost there." Relief evident as he regained his hold.
My focus locked entirely on him. Ensuring he continued his descent safely. The ache in my shoulder throbbed with each heartbeat. But watching his every move with hawk-like attention pushed the discomfort aside.
In my concentration on his safety, I missed my own footing. Slipped on the wet metal as I reached for the next rung. For one suspended moment, nothing but air beneath me. Stomach lurching with the sudden loss of support.
Then I was falling. A sharp cry torn from my throat as I plummeted the last few meters. Hit something with a muffled crash. Cardboard boxes and trash bags beside the structure. The impact drove the air from my lungs. Sent a burst of white-hot fire through my ribs and wrist.
Stars exploded behind my eyes.
Can't breathe.
Couldn't move. Could only lie there as rain pelted my face and agony radiated through my body in searing waves.
Through watering vision, Hawley's face changed.
The calm, controlled stillness broke into something raw and urgent as he rushed forward, abandoning his post at the perimeter.
I'd never seen him move that fast before.
Never seen that expression. A flash of something that looked like fear before he caught himself.