Chapter 6 #3
Groaning, I run both hands over my face. This is bad. So bad. “What’s it looking like?”
“I want you to talk to him first. I need to know why he had that knife before I take a stance on it. I’m willing to bet he’ll be expelled, but before I decide what to move forward with, I want your opinion.
Kyle was a good kid before his dad did a number on him.
Used to mow my grass.” He looks exhausted and just as tortured by this turn of events as I am.
“I want to help him, but endangering the other students is not something I can let slide.”
“I understand.” In the last few years, Leopold and I have worked together on more than a dozen difficult cases involving teens and difficult households. He trusts my judgement, and I trust his.
If he’s waiting to officially charge Kyle with anything, it’s because he thinks there’s hope for the kid. I can only hope he’s right. Lord, please let him be right.
Turning away from Leopold, I head for the interrogation room and pull the door open.
Kyle is staring away from the door, his expression hard, hands clasped in his lap.
His mother looks back at me from where she’s kneeling beside him.
Her cheeks are stained with tears, and based on her expression, she’s all but given up.
She stands and presses a kiss to the top of his dark hair. “I love you so much, Kyle. I’m so sorry.” She leaves the room and closes the door behind her, so I take a seat across from him.
His shoulders are rolled forward, his expression downcast as he refuses to make eye contact with me.
“Hey, Kyle.”
He doesn’t respond.
“It’s been a while. I apologize for that.”
More silence, then he offers me a quick glance. “I thought you were dead.”
An ache spreads through my chest in response to his broken tone. “For a minute there, I thought I was, too.”
“Hmm.”
“Want to talk about what happened today?”
“People overreacted.”
“You brought a knife to school,” I tell him. “I saw it. It’s a big knife. You hunting crocodiles these days?”
“It’s mine.”
“It’s a weapon,” I tell him.
“I wasn’t going to hurt anybody!” Kyle explodes out of his chair like dynamite. It scrapes against the floor and hits the ground as he pushes to his feet, hands fisted at his sides.
The door opens, and Leopold starts in, but I shake my head and hold up a hand. Slowly, he backs out. All while I remain seated, my muscles tense for a fight I sincerely hope doesn’t happen.
While I don’t fear what the kid could do to me on a normal day, Sawyer will never let me hear the end of it if I was pepper-sprayed by my neighbor and hospitalized after a teenager attacked me all in the same week.
Not to mention the damage it will cause to the fragile relationship I’ve built with this kid over the last few weeks.
“I don’t believe you were going to hurt anybody, Kyle.”
Tears stream down his cheeks now. His expression is broken and furious at the same time. “I wasn’t gonna,” he insists. “I needed it.” His voice wavers, and he pokes himself in the chest.
“Why?”
He looks away from me and shakes his head.
“Kyle.”
“No.”
“Kyle. You can trust me.”
He shakes his head, still avoiding eye contact. “It’s only a matter of time before they come for me, too.”
“Who?”
He shakes his head again and closes his eyes. His hands are trembling now, so he crosses his arms, trying to hide the vulnerability he’s feeling. Unease slips up my spine, icy fingers that have the hair on the back of my neck standing on end.
“Kyle, who is coming for you?” I press. “Your dad?” According to his mother, Kyle’s father hadn’t been abusive. At least, not until Kyle confronted him the night he left. Their altercation came to blows, and the teen was seriously injured.
Once again, Kyle shakes his head. Only, this time, he opens his eyes and looks directly at me. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “It’s all my fault.”
“What’s your fault?” Now, I stand and take a few steps closer. The cracks are there. The fissures in walls this kid has spent a lifetime building. First, to keep out his alcoholic father, then to shield his pain from a mother who is already carrying enough on her shoulders.
“They told me that Pauline would be okay. That they would make sure she was okay.”
“Who?” I repeat, moving a little closer.
He turns to me now, dark eyes full of brokenness. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
“Kyle, tell me what happened.”
“They didn’t say what they were going to do. I promise, I didn’t know. I didn’t know,” he repeats as he takes a step back. “But it’s not their fault. Please don’t take it out on them. It was just my fault.”
“Kyle, tell me what happened,” I repeat again, my tone sharpening.
“Promise me you won’t take it out on them.”
“Take what out on who?”
“Mom and Pauline. It wasn’t their fault. You should still help them.”
“Kyle. Talk.” Unease climbs up my spine at the fear on his face. Over the time I’ve known him, Kyle has never looked at me with fear. Anger, sure. Plenty of times. Distrust? Absolutely. But fear? I have never laid my hands on this kid, and I never will.
So why is he looking at me like I’m a bomb about to go off?
“I made a copy of your key,” he whispers. “They told me they needed something from your apartment, but they said no one would get hurt.” The tears continue to stream down his cheeks, and the fear turns to regret so potent it brings him to his knees.
All while I stand there, staring, trying to process what he’s telling me.
“When I heard what they did to you, I knew they’d be coming for me, too.
I couldn’t let them get me. I’ve been watching Mom and Pauline.
Because I thought they’d come for them, too.
I didn’t mean to come to school today, but Mom was at work, and Pauline went, so I wanted to make sure I was there, too.
I needed the knife to keep her safe.” He wraps both arms around himself and begins to rock back and forth.
It’s not alcohol that’s been keeping Kyle out of school.
Or drugs.
It was fear for his family.
Even though it aches, I slowly lower myself to the floor beside him, then press a hand to his back. “It’s okay, Kyle.”
“No, it’s not. They almost killed you! You almost died because of me! It’s my fault! It’s always my fault. I stole your keys. I made a copy. I put them back before you knew. And you almost died.” His words are coming out in a panicked slur now, as he talks so quickly I can barely keep up.
I can’t even fully process what he’s telling me because my only priority is talking him off the ledge he’s clearly teetering on. “But I didn’t.”
He shakes his head.
“Kyle, those men aren’t coming for you. They were caught and arrested.”
He shakes his head violently, his entire body trembling.
“They’re not coming for you,” I repeat.
“It was my fault.”
“It’s not your fault. You were trying to help your sister. I can’t blame you for that.”
“I’m so sorry,” he cries. “I’m so sorry.”
I wrap an arm around his shoulders and pull him toward me. Kyle collapses against me, and even though the contact sends a fresh wave of pain through my side, I don’t move away.
The anger I feel isn’t even directed at the kid but at the men who manipulated a troubled teenager who was just trying to help his little sister get the medical care she needs.
They took advantage of him, and it’s a weight he’s been carrying ever since. For weeks.
“I’m so sorry,” he says again.
“I forgive you, Kyle,” I tell him. “I know you didn’t mean for anything to happen to me.”
“They said you wouldn’t even be there. That they just needed something and you wouldn’t even miss it.”
And you didn’t question it because they dangled help for your sister in front of you like a carrot on a string. I bite back the response, though, because it’ll do him no good. Not when he’s already kicking himself enough.
“Listen to me.” I push him back a bit to look at him. “You shouldn’t have taken my key, but it is not your fault what happened to me, okay? That fault rests firmly on the shoulders of the men who attacked me.”
“You’ve done nothing but believe in me, and I betrayed you.”
“You made a mistake. Now we need to make sure that the ripple effect doesn’t cost you the bright future your mother, sister, and I know stands ahead of you.”
He shakes his head. “It’s all over.”
“It’s not,” I reply. “All we’re dealing with is a speed bump, okay? And what do we do with speed bumps?”
He closes his eyes tightly.
“What do we do with speed bumps?”
“Go over them slowly,” he whispers.
“Exactly. It’s not over until you give up. And I’ve got news for you, kid. I’m not giving up on you, so you’re not allowed to give up on yourself either.”