Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Dragon
Seventeen years earlier…
Today is my birthday.
I’m thirteen.
And that means I move to a new group home.
I’ve been at this one since I was eight, a little kid. It’s been all right. The food sucks, and there’s never enough of it, but my bed isn’t too uncomfortable. And the guys here aren’t too bad either. I’ve been in a few fights, gotten some bloody noses and black eyes, but I’ve always held my own.
The people who work here are nice. They don’t beat up on us. Don’t abuse us. I’ve heard some horror stories from some of my friends here about what could happen. What has happened to them at other places.
But today I turn thirteen. I’m a teenager. Shouldn’t that be a big deal in a boy’s life? If I were Jewish, I’d be a man today, according to my friend John Levine. He’s a little younger than I am.
I’m not Jewish. I don’t really know what I am. My parents never went to church, so neither did I. But we celebrated Christmas.
Christmas…
That last Christmas at home, when I gave Griffin those pink pajamas, she was so happy that she had to go change into them before she opened any more presents.
Does she miss me? Does she ever ask about me?
I miss her.
But I don’t miss my parents.
They didn’t believe me. They left me here.
My friend Jimmy—who left this home a year ago when he turned thirteen—told me that if you’re not adopted by the time you’re nine or ten, you never will be.
Nobody wants a problem teenager.
I don’t particularly think I’m a problem, but you never know.
I wish I were a little bigger. I haven’t had my growth spurt yet. Some of the other guys who aren’t yet thirteen are bigger than I am. That doesn’t bode well for me going to the new place.
My counselor’s name is David. He’s a nice guy, somewhere in his twenties. He tells us we’re all worth something, and that one day, we can be anything we want to be.
Yeah, right.
“You ready, Dragon?” he says.
Does he expect me to answer? The fact of the matter is that I have no choice. I’m leaving. I’d like to stay here. It’s not great, but no one hurts me here.
Sure, I get into a fight every now and then, but we’re guys. Guys can fight and then make up and be cool—all in a matter of minutes.
I don’t answer him.
He doesn’t press it. He simply picks up my duffel bag that contains everything I own in the world, which isn’t much. Just some secondhand clothes and a few pairs of shoes.
We walk silently together out of the home. None of my friends are here to say goodbye. They’re all in school. We go to the local elementary and middle school.
I’m in seventh grade. My school won’t change. Just my residence.
I’ll be back in school tomorrow, and I’ll see my friends.
But everything will be different.
I walk with David to the van. He takes my duffel and shoves it in the back, and then he opens the door for me. I climb into the passenger seat and buckle my seatbelt.
“You remember to call me if you need anything,” he says.
“Sure,” I say.
Will I even be able to use the phone? None of us have cell phones, of course. This is a group home. It’s not like the state has funds to give us all a cell phone. A few phones are available for use, and of course we have to ask to use them. Never once in my time here have I asked. Five years, and I’ve never made a phone call. Who would I call? My parents don’t want me. I don’t have any other family.
The boys’ home for the older kids is only a few blocks away. In fact, it’s closer to school. It will be an easier walk.
David pulls into a parking spot, gets out of the van, and grabs my duffel.
I follow him into the large brick building.
And already…I know my life is about to get a whole lot more complicated.
Present day…
I walk up the rickety steps, taking care to avoid the second step, which is broken. There’s no doorbell, so I knock.
A dog barks through the door.
“Shut up, Teddy!” a woman’s voice yells. “Who is it?”
“I’m looking for Frank and Christina Delaney,” I say.
“Frank’s dead,” the woman says.
My father’s dead?
“Could you open the door, please?”
“It’s late.”
“It’s eight o’clock,” I say.
Finally, the door opens. The dog, Teddy, looks like some kind of border collie mix. And he’s really skinny. And filthy. But he’s cute in a shabby kind of way. I instinctively lean down and give him a scratch behind his matted ears.
“What do you want?” the woman asks.
She’s plump with gray hair that looks like it used to be blond. She’s wearing velour sweats, and her feet are in fuzzy beige slippers.
“I must have the wrong unit,” I say.
But then I look in her eyes.
They’re blue—the same color I remember. Not quite as light and sparkling as Griffin’s eyes, but they used to be beautiful.
Back when she was my mother.
“Christina?” I ask.
She scowls. “What the hell do you want?”
“Did you used to go by the name of Stefania Locke?”
Her mouth opens momentarily, but then she twists it into another scowl. “I’m going to shut the door in your face now, asshole. My dog here will chew you to shreds.”
Right. The dog that is currently licking my hand. Teddy looks about as lethal as a Nerf ball gun.
“Do you recognize me?” I ask.
She cocks her head, squints her eyes. “Afraid I don’t.”
I take a step forward, laying a hand over my chest. “I’m your son. I’m Dragon.”
Her eyes widen, but only slightly. “I don’t have any children.”
“Maybe it makes it easier for you to get through your life thinking like that. And I don’t know what happened to you or to Dad since I last saw you. But I am Dragon. I am your son. And you also had a daughter, Griffin.”
She stares at me then. At first it’s more like a glare, but then, after a moment, her eyes actually soften.
“Griffin?”
“Your daughter. She was taken a couple of months after you abandoned me because you thought I had done something horrific to her. I told you then that I didn’t do it, and it’s still the truth. You abandoned me anyway. Even after someone took her, and then you knew it couldn’t have been me in the first place. You never came to get me, Mother. So you’re right. Now you have no children.” I turn to walk away.
“Wait!”
I turn back. I can see the dog’s ribs. “I’m taking the dog with me. When’s the last time you fed him?”
“I haven’t had much food to feed myself,” she says.
“How do you pay rent here, then?”
“I’m on disability,” she says.
“You don’t look like you’re starving,” I say. “You don’t deserve to have this animal. Come on, Teddy.”
The dog follows me eagerly to the car. I knock on the window.
Diana unlocks the car.
“We’re taking this dog with us,” I say.
“Dragon…”
“I’m not leaving him here. The poor thing is starving. We need to stop at a store and get some dog food.”
“Of course we’re not leaving him.” She looks Teddy up and down, her eyes glistening. “I grew up around animals, Dragon. I love them. I’m not going to let this poor dog starve. I’m just not sure what to do with him is all. We’re staying in a hotel.”
Teddy scrambles into the car, and I turn to walk to the driver’s side.
To my surprise, the woman is now outside on the lawn. She motions me back.
“What is it?” I ask, walking back.
“I have regrets,” is all she says.
I stand, staring at her. At this woman who gave me life. Who was once so beautiful and happy. It can’t be easy to lose a child. Of course, she abandoned one as well.
“What happened to my father?” I ask.
“A heart attack,” she says. “A couple of months ago.”
“Do you know anything about what happened to Griffin?”
“No. Do you?” She takes a step toward me. “Do you know what they did to her body?”
“No,” I say. “But I am going to find out.”
She sniffles. “Would it help if I told you I’m sorry?”
I scoff. “No. It wouldn’t help one single fucking bit.”
I turn my back on the woman who bore me. But then I think better of it.
I have no desire to reconcile with this woman who abandoned me when I was at my most vulnerable. Who did nothing to find me once it was made clear that I had nothing to do with Griffin getting attacked.
But there might be something in her house that could help me find Griffin. Or at least learn more about her, see if there’s some connection I’m not seeing yet.
“May I come in?” I ask.
“What for?”
I don’t want to tell her that I’m trying to determine if her long-lost daughter is in fact still alive. First off, I don’t want to give her false hope in case all of these weird texts and notes are just a big red herring. And second, I’m not sure this woman deserves to know.
So I make up a quick lie.
“Because you are all I have left,” I say. “If there’s something in this dilapidated old trailer that can help me reconcile with my past, then I want to see it.”
She cocks her head. “You gonna give me back my dog?”
“No.”
She shrugs. “Yeah, all right. He’s a pain in the ass anyway. Come on in.”
The inside of the trailer is as run down as the outside. It’s cluttered with old newspapers, empty food containers, and various other debris. The air feels heavy, thick with dust and stale odors. A small television in the corner buzzes with static.
I glance around the room. No pictures on the walls, no personal keepsakes. Certainly no photos of me. Not even of Griffin. Just a tattered sofa and a worn-out recliner chair, both stained with food and time. How long has she been living like this?
Head hung low, my mother shuffles past me to sit on the recliner. She pulls out a crumpled pack of cigarettes from her pocket and lights one up without asking if I mind. The sharp smell of smoke fills the cramped space.
“You want something?” she asks, reaching for a half-empty bottle of cheap whiskey on a side-table littered with cigarette butts and dirty dishes.
“No, thank you,” I say, even though the booze calls to me like a siren’s song.
But no way. I won’t sacrifice my sobriety for this woman.
“So why’d you come?” she asks, blowing out a stream of smoke that mingles with the already heavy air. Her voice is no longer hostile. She seems weary, as if fatigue has settled deep into her bones.
“To talk,” I say, “about Griffin.”
She looks at me for a long while before responding. “Why now? It’s been years.”
Fuck it. Guess I’ll come clean.
“Because I’m close to finding her.”
Her eyes dart to mine, stark against her weathered face. “You found something?” Her tone isn’t hopeful. It’s more like she’s bracing for impact.
“There’s a lead.” I pause, weighing my words. “I want to know everything you remember about that night.”
She flinches as if I’ve struck her but remains silent.
“I wasn’t there when she was taken,” I say. “You both abandoned me because you thought I had done something terrible. But I didn’t harm Griffin, Mother. She was my sister.”
“I know,” she whispers, her eyes fixed on the floor. “I know you didn’t hurt her.”
Something wrenches in my chest. Not relief, but a deep well of sorrow for wasted years and choices we can’t take back.
“Why, then? Why leave me to fend for myself when you knew I was innocent?”
She’s silent for a long time, taking long drags from her cigarette. “It was easier,” she finally mutters.
“Easier?” I echo, my heart pounding hard. “Easier to abandon me? To let me grow up alone, knowing you thought I was a monster?”
She looks away, her fingers trembling around the cigarette. “I was scared,” she says. “I loved Griffin so much…and after she was gone, I knew that even if we got you back, I wouldn’t be able to bear to look at you without seeing her.”
Rage bubbles inside me, but I swallow it down. It won’t do any good now. “You blamed me for her disappearance.”
“I did,” she says, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I blamed you because it was easier than blaming myself.”
The confession hangs in the air between us, heavy and suffocating. I take a deep breath, trying to push down the surge of emotions threatening to break free.
“So what happened that night?” I ask again, determined to get some answers.
She draws in a ragged breath before speaking. “It was just like any other night. We had dinner and watched some TV. She asked about you. She was always asking about you, Dragon.”
“And what did you tell her? That you sent me away because you thought I was the one who crept into her room that night and cut her? Because that’s what you thought I did.”
“I… I never told her that,” she says. “I told her you were… You were away at a special school. A school for gifted children.”
“Gifted?” I can’t help but scoff at the lie. “And she believed you?”
“She was a child,” she says with a shrug. “She had no reason not to believe me.”
“And then what? What happened after dinner?”
“We went to bed. Just like any other night.” She takes another drag from her cigarette, seemingly lost in thought.
“And then?” I ask impatiently, my grip tightening on the back of the stained sofa.
“Then I woke up to an empty house,” she says.
“Just like that?” I ask, shaking my head. “You just woke up, and she was gone? No signs of forced entry? No sounds in the middle of the night? Nothing at all?”
She shakes her head, tears streaming down her cheeks freely now.
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” Her voice sounds small, lost. “I went to her room, and she wasn’t there. It was like she had vanished into thin air.”
“Did you go to the police?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
She gives a weak nod. “Yes, of course we did. But they found nothing either. No signs of abduction or foul play. Nothing.” She takes a shaky drag from her cigarette before stubbing it in an overflowing ashtray. “They told me she must have run away.”
“Run away? She was only five years old!”
“I know.” Her voice is a hollow echo. “But what else was there to believe? Griffin was simply gone.”
“And you never looked for her?” I demand, my anger threatening to spill over.
“Of course we did. But when months turned into a year and then years, we lost hope.”
“You just gave up,” I whisper, my voice barely audible. “You just gave up on her. And on me.”
Her silence is deafening, her guilt palpable. It’s the full-on admission I didn’t want to hear but needed to. And it hits me like a freight train.
“Yes,” she says finally, her voice strangled and frail. “We gave up.”
Her words hang in the air like smog, choking the already thin atmosphere.
“But I haven’t,” I say after a long pause, “and I won’t .”