“I'm adopting a young man who is currently in surgery and I'd love to chat about this but—”
“I'll need his name, social, and his CPS case worker.”
“I think you'll find all of that has been sent to your office. May want to check your inbox.”
“You're serious about this?”
“Deathly.”
“This is a huge responsibility.”
“Why do people keep saying that like it's something I don't know?”
He shook his head and tried to hide the birth of a smile. I’d won him over.
“Thanks. I really appreciate it,” I said.
“He'll want to know about this,” Caprelan said.
That killed some of my joy. I didn't want to talk about who we were talking about, much less talk to him. My father was no longer any of my business. Shrugging, I said, “So tell him. I have to go.”
I went to the nearest nurse’s desk.
“Good morning,” I said. Polite as all get-out. “May I have an update on Davey Aberdeen?”
It was the nurse Zelda and I had previously bribed with food. She didn't look so easily bought today, probably coming off a twelve hour shift. “You'll have to wait for a doctor, miss.”
“I'm the next of kin,” I said.
“Yeah, right.”
Dr. Tualla came through the door, fresh from surgery, stripping off bloody gloves.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I said.
“What business could a doctor possibly have in a hospital?” He snapped a glove. “Never fear, ma'am, I haven't gone near your precious waste of profitable bed space. Apparently, it was noted on the boy's case file that I was not to be involved in his treatment. I can't imagine what I've done to deserve such ill consideration.”
I hadn't put that on a file. Bless Liza, my EMT angel.
“I advised Dr. Weber to amputate the limb,” Tualla said, “which I still believe is the best course of action. No sense crying over spilled milk, wouldn't you agree?”
“I like milk.” My eyes narrowed to slivers.
“Whatever. The boy still has his ruined arm. He won't use it again, you know. A waste.”
Tualla tossed bloody gloves and carried on.
I sat in the waiting room to…wait, of course. Thought about things I could have been doing. Filing paperwork. Sleeping. Running on the treadmill. Going to the gym. Cleaning my guns. Is this is what parenting is, time wasted in anxiety?
I picked up a news pamphlet that was myopically focused on a round-up for stray pets with zero mention of the hemorrhaging expenses of our foreign wars. Since people were more afraid of stray dogs than a collapsing infrastructure and lack of personal freedom, Big Fed performed quarterly dog hunts. Canines were long since out of fashion, of course, but the wild ones continued to breed. The mongrels would be shot and incinerated to keep the city clean and disease-free.
For an instant, I worried about Rufus. The concern quickly passed. Even if someone reported the dog, Jugs would surely scare off anyone attempting to take him. Plus, the dog was at least two years old. Rainer had protected him thus far.
I read about another “Speech Protection” bill which was the precise opposite of how it sounded. The bill was clearly designed to increase censorship of documents containing government, race, or anything that's important. More books and music were about to hit the blackout list. Business would boom for Rainer and Lurch.
Why was this taking so long? Why was the rest of the world up to its normal business?
I threw down the paper.
Who the hell was Erik? The mutt barely held his rowdy temper in check. He would have tried to kill me, no doubt, if Rainer hadn't been standing there with his tranquillizer gun. And I was fairly certain he'd killed four vampires. Stunning skin, though. I'd never seen an albino in person before. Albinism was recessive and pretty rare. The system should have some record about him, provided Rainer hadn't erased everything. Unfortunately I couldn’t use the FBHS system to research anything even remotely related to Erik or Rainer.
Erik had said ‘my kennel.’ Cripes. He was a kennel master. The thought of his temper leading a crew of hungry mutts gave me fierce chills. I vowed to double the number of Ag mags I carried on a regular basis. Recalling his colorful threat about devouring me, I grew nauseated. That mutt had definitely eaten people. It wasn't a scare tactic. He and his kennel had devoured human meat, and he boasted of it.
I stood and paced, but my thoughts wandered from Erik. He wasn’t the reason I was in the hospital.
Somehow, I’d gotten suckered by the collateral damage of a bleak world. Everyone broke occasionally, weakened by inexplicable acts of altruism or self-destruction. This represented a chink in my armor. The universe conspired to weaken me with the ghastly sight of those poor boys walking a hard, filthy prison yard, awaiting massacre after massacre.
Sarakas found me and gave me a bundle of food that would make any cardiologist writhe in anguish. Greasy biscuit sandwiches with eggs and thick layers of bacon, enough cheese to glue the whole mess together and drip onto my fingers at the same time.
“Thank you,” I said to Sarakas. “Thank you so much.”
He had a sandwich of his own and a pair of coffee cups.
“The medical examiner who saw to Davey's transfer said he came straight from a solitary medi-pod to here. Very low risk of exposure to blood contaminant.”
“Oh, sure. How come they talk to you and blow me off?”
“Because I'm charming and you're a Neanderthal.” He smiled, charmingly.
“Hmph. No unexplained wounds?”
“Nothing that wasn't documented immediately following the original incident. He wasn't injured at the compound. Also, his rate of healing is not abnormal. There was a full moon, but his vitals didn’t twitch. Either the coma kept lycanthropy down, or he isn’t L-pos. Given the indicators, he seems clear. Of course, he'll have to wear a tag for six months.”
I wolfed down the decadent sandwich and nodded. All this was good news. The bad news? Provided Davey was healthy enough to walk any time soon, he'd be walking in my house. A house I filled with secrets which he'd be perfectly capable of exposing. Why didn’t I think of that? Kids these days loved to tattle on others. It was like a sport. Little lepers.
Davey would be different, I reasoned, simultaneously making plans to secure my more lurid possessions.
The house was not ready for long-term company.
“What do boys need, Andreas? Do I put covers on all the electrical outlets?”
“Food. Shelter. Nudie magazines.”
I chuckled. “Yeah, maybe not.”
“I don't think you realize what's on your plate. You're jumping into this kid's life at a point where everything is on the brink of destruction. Eighteen is usually the age that launches people out into the world, full of hopes and dreams. Davey's family was utterly destroyed. His recovery will be painful and uncertain, not to mention he must finish school. He probably has dreams of college, a car, and a girlfriend who will sneak through his bedroom window late at night. He'll eat all your food and demand emotional attention, positive reinforcement, and a hell of a lot more patience than you've got. And that's merely the normal stuff that might happen if he ever gets past the trauma. Face it, Kaidlyn. He may be irreparably broken. He's going to have the nightmares, fits, and outbursts. He'll need physical therapy and counseling. Worse, you're coming from the same type of—”
“Vanessa can help with the counseling. As for the rest, I'll roll with the punches. That's not so bad, provided he doesn't want me to pick up his underwear. What can he do that I can’t handle? I'm a big girl with guns and enough brains to tie my shoes and open child-proof painkillers.”
Davey may be handicapped. He might not even come out of the coma. Crap. He could be dead on the table right now.
“You surprise me,” Andreas mused, watching anxiety play over my face.
I shrugged.
“Actually, Kaid, it would be surprising
if you didn't surprise me. I don't know what came over you. Adoption?”
“You think I'm getting soft,” I accused. Hell, I thought I was getting soft. Downright girlie. Maternal impulses? I should have my hormones evaluated.
“I didn't say that.”
“Hmph. It's that stupid Babysitting Law.”
And watching people be tortured, and then have to gun them down. Seeing Melville chained up, lice-ridden. Leaving boys to die like animals in the compound. Seeing Davey weep in his semi-conscious state, mourning the loss of his entire life.
Sarakas smiled and passed me a cup of coffee. He'd popped the lid so the temperature dropped below scalding. I didn't sip coffee; I guzzled and chugged. The man knew me well.
“New necklace?” he said, looking at Rainer's locket device. I nodded and glanced away. “Did you buy that or did someone give it to you?”
I entirely ignored his line of questioning.
“Thank Vanessa for me,” I said. “I've been throwing extra paperwork in her lap ever since we met. She's probably like, goddamn that agent and all her reports and shit—”
“Vanessa doesn't cuss.”
“I forgot. What's the point of growing up if you can't set your own bedtime and swear like a sailor? What kind of adult doesn't curse?”
“The kind with a sophisticated mind.”
“Pffft.” I didn't argue. I wasn't sophisticated in the brain region. Or anywhere else, for that matter. “Don't you have to go to work?”
“Yes, actually. Workload is piling up like crazy. Team J lost Christian. Literally. They only found his mandible and a nub of spine. Everyone's looking for recruits. Santi put us in the raffle for a new rookie. With Vincent and Yvonne gone, we’ll need new agents.”
Great. Someone else to pretend to trust with my life until one of us died.
“Remember Koko, the guy from Utah SWAT? He wants in,” I said.
“Wasn't he an ass?”
“Not so much. He'll be in recovery for a couple months, but he's worth holding a spot for.”
“I'll tell Santi you said so.”
I licked grease from my fingers and picked a few crumbs out of the wax paper. Sarakas watched, smiling.
“I don't know where you put it all,” he said.
“Didn't you hear? Being a tactless Neanderthal burns crazy calories.”
His smile changed a bit. Censored, became something different. Sticky. I looked over my shoulder: Vanessa. Crisp and clean, hair cascading perfectly over a perfect shoulder. She approached, smiling, carrying a stack of papers. I felt butterflies in my stomach and quickly focused on something else: global freezing in Africa, the rate of inflation.
“Good morning, Kaidlyn.” She leaned over and kissed Sarakas on the cheek. Classy. Sophisticated.
She sat next to him, her black pencil skirt seamless and wrinkle-free on her lap. He offered her a sip of his coffee, but she declined with a diplomatic gesture of her head. They were so cute together. I held my coffee in both greasy hands, one swollen, throbbing, and sore.
“We need a few signatures from you,” she said.
I set the cup down and wiped my hand on my jeans. “Thanks. I mean it. You really came through for me, despite the weird situation.”
“I think it's amazing,” she said. “That boy doesn't know how lucky he is.”
“Yeah, I may have to remind him of that when he learns I can't cook.”
Jesus, I can't even cook. What business do I have taking care of a minor? My hand made the signatures anyway.
“All set and sealed,” Vanessa announced. “You are now a family of two.”
Oh dear God. What was the refund policy concerning adoption?
“What made you do this?” she said.
Davey’s before-the-massacre photo charged to the forefront of my mind. The kid had a light in his eyes that would have blinded Jesus on the road to Damascus. The world needed that kind of joy, the sort that was possible before a stranger went mutt-mad and ate everyone we loved. Before his smile died.
“I'm sorry, but you don't strike me as the maternal type,” Vanessa said.
Andreas watched me like at any moment I would explode and take us all to a fiery grave. Maybe not such a stretch of the imagination.
“True,” I admitted. “There isn't anyone else to take care of him. And the compound—uh,” Ahem. Have to remember who I'm talking to, and that she thinks a penal camp is really a school for orphans. “Complications that arise from being abandoned in a boarding school could do irrevocable damage to a grieving psyche. He's been through enough already. Plus, I shouldn't discredit motherhood until I try it, right?”
Levity failed. I squeezed the coffee cup to the brink of collapse.
I must be out of my mind.
“I'm very proud of you,” Vanessa said, in a non-condescending way that didn’t make me feel patronized. I could totally do this mother-thing. “I'll make sure the hospital has your contact number. They'll call you when he comes out of surgery.”
“A million times, thank you both.”
Vanessa inched closer like she meant to hug me. My phone rang. I eagerly snatched it up and stepped away from the incoming display of emotion. I liked Vanessa fine enough, but baby steps, people.
Caprelan said, “Odd that I didn't see these forms before.”
“Yeah, funny.”
“The truly weird thing is that someone stole all the candy from my desk while I was out. And my favorite back-up tie is missing from my filing cabinet.”
“Uh, yeah, weird.” I blinked.
“Unfortunately, the parents' insurance isn't going to pay life benefits or medical assistance since the damage was caused by a lycanthrope. Since junior isn't listed as a dependent on your insurance policy, all the kid's medical bills will be coming out of your pocket. Welcome to parenthood.”
My job paid me enough to get by with a moderate book and bullet allowance, not enough to fund the surgeries Davey would need. From here on out, I was officially broke. Like, forever.
“I'll be okay,” I said, more to myself than Caprelan.
“I'm sure you will. Darlene says hello and bring the chap over for dinner sometime.”
His wife, Darlene, was a decent cook and a wonderful lady.
“Thanks for the offer, but it's going to be a while before Davey's in any condition to go visiting.”
“Well, don't lose the invitation.”
“Thanks.”
After hanging up, I hooked my thumb at the exit. “I should go to work. I'm not doing anything productive here.”
Sarakas gave me a parting smile, soft, odd. Later, I realized I didn't know what that meant.
Chapter 33
I went to work. The picketers at the gate didn't bother me. Oddly, I didn't think much about Rainer or Davey. I tagged some potentials from one of Sarakas' overflowing case files and didn't have to punch anyone whilst doing it. Yoshino was sad about poor Thaddeus Nolan’s random home invasion, so I bought him a strawberry soda and kept my mouth shut. Daisy sent me on a call that turned out to be nothing more than a domestic violence event, and I did get to punch someone then (with my right hand). Human skulls are softer than a monster's, so I didn’t break anything. Of course, the PD showed up before I could actually give him a proper what-for and the woman didn't want to press charges all of a sudden. Go figure.
I ate lunch at a hotdog stand, wolfing down three of those bad boys before Contrell called me.
“We need to talk,” he said.
“That sounds bad. Are you breaking up with me?”
“Not on the phone. In person.”
“Oh yeah, that's bad.”
Probably, he wanted to talk about the vampire murders and knew our phone conversation could be monitored. We arranged to meet at the park near the hotdog stand, which meant I had time to buy another three. I saved one for Contrell. Licking mustard from my thumb, I waved the hotdog when he approached.
“I didn't recognize you at first,” he said. “Your hair is up.
”
Oh. Yeah. My naked neck kissed the breeze and I shrugged, scars be damned.
“Kaidlyn, do you think the vampire community will want revenge against mutts for those killings?”
“How am I supposed to know what vampires think?”
“Aren't you, well, you know...involved with one?”
“What? Oh, c’mon! That's all gossip-rag, press-induced bullshit. Vamps are creepy things, man, I swear to god. I'm not with a vampire in any way, shape, or sick-ass form.”
“Right. But if you had to guess?”
“This is really keeping you up at night, isn't it?”
“God. I mean, that's what it boils down to. Either we know God or we don't. We've had to redefine Him several times these past centuries. And then, with the Revival, we validated Christ and somehow that changed everything. So what if we're wrong? Then it all goes up in smoke and we have to try again? Find God through trial and error?”
“Crisis of faith is really not my department.”
“You're the only atheist I know. I can't talk to a priest. They'll tell me to stop doubting, have faith, and trust in what they say. I need someone who actually thinks about blasphemous questions. Oh, God, I'm going to hell.”
“Thanks, I guess.”
“You know what scares me the most about all this?”
“What?”
“God. He's, like, what? Not paying attention? Only speaking through representation? What? And if all the prophets of earth are wrong, that’s crap! If they're right, isn't that worse? How can the whole world have a religious awakening and God never pokes His head out of the clouds, not once, to put in His two cents? What if we're all, every one of us, monsters? What if He doesn't care anymore?”
“Whoa, boy. Slow down. We can't argue about any god’s intentions or utter disregard for human life. The truth is, we can't put your God on trial. Any jury in the world would convict Him. That’s the trick of morality. If the Judeo-Christian God establishes a moral system, isn’t He subject to the same standards? If the answer is yes, He’s a hypocrite. If the answer is no, He’s a hypocrite. But morality has nothing to do with religion. Most people like to feel stuff. I mean, that's what it boils down to, right? If you feel something, like there is a god, isn't that good enough? It's a decent starting place, at least. Maybe the details aren't that important.”
Scratch Lines Page 35