Prologue #3
“About that,” Officer Pam Gay chimes in, rushing over. “He’s anxious about going.” She motions toward the nearby ambulance. “He keeps asking for the big guy .”
I cross the littered lawn, leaving them to handle the scene.
At the ambulance’s open doors, I find the kid huddled under a blanket on the gurney, sitting slouched and curled rather than lying down, like he’s lived his life in a tiny ball.
Small. His hair is matted with scum, his face smudged with dirt, and his eyes look icy with fear.
Each cheek boasts a long scar, scabbed over and red with infection.
His fingers are skeletal, gripping the blanket tightly around his neck and holding the flashlight I gave him—inside the trailer was unnaturally dark.
The paramedic attempts to coax him to lie down while the other holds an IV, ready for application.
The kid only stares over their heads, his mouth open and lips trembling.
“We need to secure him,” she says when she sees me, “but he’s…”
Scared shitless.
With a languid glance to see who the paramedic is speaking to, the kid notices me.
He scurries on all fours to the end of the gurney before reaching out to me, his stick-like arms and legs latching around my neck and waist, regardless of my belt, vest, and radio, just like he did after I broke down the trailer door and unlocked the dog crate holding him inside.
All I said to him then was, “You’re safe now.”
It’s hard to believe that ten hours ago, I dropped Ruthie at preschool.
I still feel her chubby cheek pressing against mine for her “goodbye, Dad” hug.
She smelled like apple juice and laundry detergent and gushed about her noodle-necklace art project, presently rubbing my chest under my shirt.
She’d colored each macaroni differently to create a rainbow, which she said would keep me safe before making me promise to wear it.
Now, my hand goes to brace the kid’s back, and I feel his ribs under his filthy, adult-sized t-shirt. He feels like a heavy coat, not a child. My heart, my fucking soul, feels shredded.
“It’s okay, Adam.”
“Don’t go,” he whispers, his voice so low and raspy I’m surprised I hear it.
“Ride with us?” asks the relieved paramedic. “So we can stabilize him?”
My brow pinches atop a developing migraine, but I nod.
I relinquish the keys to my patrol car to Officer Gay.
I climb aboard, ducking to avoid hitting my head.
I tug Adam from me, setting him gently on the gurney—a move he allows, though he grabs my hand as if I’ll abandon him.
I think of Lena and how her hands shake when she panics—it hardly happens anymore.
I wish she were here. She’d know how to put this boy at ease. She’d make him feel at home, even if he no longer has one. Not that he did. Not that he even understands what home is.
“Look at me,” I tell him as the paramedic readies the needle for the IV. He doesn’t even wince as it punctures his dainty forearm between dark finger bruises where someone has gripped him and squeezed.
Motherfuckers.
The paramedic hands me a pack of cookies while asking Adam if he’s hungry. He doesn’t answer. I rip open the pack, take a bite, and offer the rest to him. He gobbles it up like he’s starved.
He is starved.
I hate this fucking planet sometimes.
At the hospital, I hold Adam’s hand through his medical evaluation.
Color returns to his face as the IV bag empties, and he relaxes.
He’s malnourished, dehydrated, and covered in cuts and bruises.
His fingers shake perpetually as everything happens, making me wonder how he has the energy.
Whenever he’s asked a question, he looks to me for approval.
I don’t know what to say to him. Of course, not knowing what to say is a frequent problem for me, but it’s worse with him. I can’t talk video games or school or TV shows with a kid who’s spent an undetermined amount of time locked in a dog crate and probably years suffering his family’s abuse.
But Adam seems okay with my silence, especially as hospital staff move in and out, each trying to connect with the kid but failing. He clicks my flashlight on and off, shining it around the room.
My contact at social services arrives. Olivia Jones is a family friend, and she’ll keep me updated on Adam’s situation. She brings a colleague, Mira, who will handle Adam’s case.
My paternal instinct wants to take Adam home, be his dad, and show him the love and care he’s never had. But that’s not how things work. Besides, I trust Olivia Jones to find him the ideal situation and get him the help he’ll undoubtedly need.
They consult with the doctor while I stay with him.
In the quiet between visitors, Adam plays with my hand, comparing his with mine.
He’s older than Ruthie, but his hand is only slightly bigger.
He seems to marvel at my size; kids often find me amusing that way.
I remember the first time I held Ruthie—she felt like a football in the crook of my arm, and I felt larger than normal holding her.
Peering up at me with her bright green eyes, watching every move I made, I felt like a hero.
Adam sees me that way, too. He imprinted me with the label the moment I unlocked the dog crate. But I’m not. I’m no fucking hero.
He gives me a curious look and motions to my neck.
I feel along my collar and find the string of Ruthie’s macaroni necklace peeking out.
I pull it free and take it off to show Adam.
He smiles, running his tiny, nail-bit fingers over the multicolored noodles, touching each one in strange delight.
He shakes the necklace, and it rattles. Then, he hugs it to himself before returning it to me.
“I can’t stay much longer,” I tell him flatly.
He nods, his smile falling.
“But I promise you’ll be well cared for,” I say, “and you’ll never go back to that house again.”
His slight shoulders release as he nods again.
I hand him the necklace. “My daughter made it. She said it would keep me safe. I want you to have it.”
His smile perks as I slip it over his head. He holds up the flashlight questioningly. “For the dark?”
“Keep it, too.”
“Thank you, Officer Wright.” His voice is raspy and unsure, but he forces the words out. “I’m lucky you found me.”
“I’m the lucky one,” I tell him.
Lucky. The word clangs in my head and burrows under my skin on the way home.
It’s after midnight. Rain drenches the windshield.
The streets are empty, but the drive feels long.
My head pounds, and pressure tightens my chest. The day’s reality hits me—I almost didn’t save him, almost left him there to die, almost failed him like everyone else in his life, almost left him behind.
My hands strangle the steering wheel. Gunfire whizzes by my ears, but it’s not real. It’s that day, surging through my usual fortress. “You got lucky, Wright. Could’ve been you,” I remember a medic saying under the helicopter’s roar as we were lifted away. Lucky. Lucky. Lucky.
It should’ve been me.
I reach home but don’t remember getting here.
I climb the stairs but don’t feel the cool night air or the rain drenching my clothes.
When I enter, the dogs bark softly, stirring Lena on the couch. She glances at the clock on the microwave.
“Ben, you’re so late. Everything okay?”
I peel off my belt, radio, vest, and shirt as I make my way to her, dropping them as I go, like burdens I can’t carry for one more second. Finally, I kneel before her place on the couch, aching with exhaustion and run ragged with emotional bullshit.
She grabs onto me, shifting her legs to pull me into her chest. It feels so good to be here—to be home—that I crumble. My arms lock hers to me, and I bury my face in her warm, soft neck.
I don’t know how long we stay this way. Today mixes strangely with that one like they’re the same event, replaying on a wicked loop, dragging me into a familiar dark place.
But Lena grounds me. I hold her as tight as I can until I feel anchored again.
When I finally drag myself off her, she smiles softly, running her fingers along my damp cheeks.
“Want to talk about it?”
“No.”
She nods. “Okay. Tell me what you need.”
My forehead drifts to hers, creating a small pocket between us. “I-I don’t know.”
“Come with me.” She tugs me along lightly by the hand. We cross through the kitchen, picking up my leftover pieces. She stops at Ruthie’s door and motions me inside. “Go kiss your daughter.”
I do as I’m told, tearing up as I lean down and graze her chubby cheek. She’s warm and fast asleep—she doesn’t even flinch at my kiss.
Returning to Lena in the hall, she leads me to our bedroom. She puts my things away and starts the shower. Zombie-like, I follow her lead, kicking off my boots and undressing. I let the hot water pour over my head, ridding me of the misery of the last few hours. Or pushing it aside, at least.
When I emerge from the shower, she hands me a towel. Then, she helps me into bed, pulling me to her chest. She rubs my head, delicately massaging my temples as if she sees my migraine underneath.
“You’re home. You’re safe. Everything’s okay.” Her words reach me despite not wearing my hearing aids.
And I want to believe them.
But in a few hours, she’ll leave for work.
I’ll wake alone. And she’ll be so busy with the million and one tasks of Saddletree Bakery and Café that even when she asks what happened today, I won’t be able to tell her, for all the chaos and noise.
Why would I darken her bright, beautiful world with that anyway?
It’ll be locked away, where all my unsaid words go to fester but not die.
The memories will return, forcing me to get small in fear of the day when my luck runs out.