“Not only is it my job, but I’ve taken an interest in your case.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, but I knew he wasn’t a perv. “Why? There’s nothing special about me.”
“Not true. I know you’re smart, even though you try to hide it when you’re in class. You see the world differently than others; that kind of perspective can be valuable.”
He seemed to hesitate about saying anything more, but then did. “The place I worked before here has a special program for those like you—troubled people with potential. If you’re interested, maybe I could pull some strings. You could serve the remainder of your time there.”
Frowning, I asked, “What kind of special program?”
“It’s nothing like the Center. It’s a very progressive organization with some impressive results.”
“What, like one of those youth camps you see on documentaries?”
He nodded. “Something like that. It’s a ranch called Anak Acres.” He smiled at having caught my interest.
“Does it have horses?” I asked. I’d never seen one in real life.
“I think so.” He raised a finger when he added, “But first we need to figure out your current situation. We’d have to get the warden to agree to it.”
I held back a curse. Mr. Ulrich had offered me the one thing I thought I would never have: a glimmer of hope. I’d dropped my guard too soon.
“And,” he added, “because the program is located out of state—”
“What does that mean?”
“It’s in Utah,” he said, frowning at my interruption.
I wasn’t sure where that was, exactly—somewhere out west. I hadn’t paid enough attention in geography class. I wondered how far Utah was from Maine.
“Because it’s out of state,” he continued, “we would have to get your mother’s permission.”
My hopes fell completely.
“Yeah,” I said, “that’ll never happen.” I glared at Mr. Ulrich, instantly angry that he’d dangled a carrot I could never have.
He smiled knowingly. “I’ve been in touch with her, and explained the basics of the program. She said she’d have to think about it,” he said, giving me an expectant look.
I felt a tugging sensation in my chest. I loved my mother; I couldn’t deny it. At the same time, I pitied her—sometimes I even hated her.
She was the meekest person I knew, and she was terrified of everything and everyone. She hadn’t left the trailer where we lived for as long as I could remember. It was her whole life. The only contact she had with anyone in the outside world was the women who came in to get their hair styled for half the price salons charged.
She’d never yelled at me for anything I did as a kid, no matter how bad. If anything, I always felt she was just as frightened of me as anyone else.
Mr. Ulrich could have bullied her into agreeing to anything, if he knew what she was like. She was a pushover. I couldn’t count how many times she’d fallen for telemarketers and door-to-door sales pitches.
It wasn’t her agreement that was the problem, though.
When Mr. Ulrich said, “I’ve set up a meeting for tonight with your stepfather,” he looked puzzled by my reaction.
I shot to my feet.
“That bastard is coming here?”
Chapter Two
I didn’t have a real, biological father; at least if you went by my birth certificate. In the spot where his name should be, there was nothing. Just a blank space, as if he never existed.
Pressing my mother on his identity was maddening. Anytime I brought it up, no matter whether I tried to act innocent about it, or if I demanded the answer at the top of my lungs, she reacted the same way. She ran away from the topic—literally—and would barricade herself in her room. Sometimes I flew into a rage and banged on her door, screaming for an answer. Other times, I ran out, and wouldn’t come back for days, just to show her.
Over the past few years, I’d learned to stop asking.
Instead of a dad, I had Dwight Channing: a sorry excuse for a stepfather if ever there was one. My mother and I had lived with him since I was a baby. It was a mystery to me why she’d decided to take up with him. He was a fat, drunken slob with long, greasy hair. Always smelling of fish and saltwater—since he worked at the docks—it was rare that he was in any mood other than angry and bitter.
Though I’d become immune to it—being around him every day—all of my classmates were horrified by his appearance. He would never have been considered handsome by any stretch of the imagination, but no one ever saw past his disfigurement.
I had no idea what had happened to him, but it looked like he’d fallen face-first into a meat grinder. Dozens of ugly scars streaked across his cheeks and forehead. That was one of the reasons he kept his hair long: to hide his face.
If he hadn’t been such an ass to me all his life, I might have felt pity for him.
Sometimes, I thought he and my mother were together only because no one else wanted either of them. He was horrific looking, and she was a basket case.
I daydreamed about my real father all the time, making up reasons for why he wasn’t in the picture. Maybe he was a foreign dignitary who had only visited the States once, and now my mother was heartbroken without him. Maybe he was a brave soldier who’d died in combat, and my mother couldn’t bear to talk about it.
Other times, when I was angry, I imagined he was some kind of criminal, who’d been locked away in a maximum security prison, and my mother was ashamed of her relationship with him.
Once in a while, I woke up with the nightmare that Dwight was really my biological father. Maybe he’d taken advantage of my mother at a party once when she was passed out from too much booze, and she had no idea what he’d done. I could believe him to be the type, though I had no clue why he’d want to insert himself in our family afterward. Certainly not because of any guilt or sense of honor—I didn’t think he knew the meaning of the words.
I resented it when he tried to discipline me. I mean, my mother let me do whatever I wanted; why should he care? The last time he’d laid down the law, things got out of hand.
I’ll be the first to admit I never really cared about school. I never believed I had a future—like I could ever afford college. A high school diploma and a dollar will get you a cup of coffee these days. Instead of going to class, I usually went to the mall and panhandled. I made pretty good coin, too, until Dwight found out I’d been skipping school and tracked me down.
He ragged on me nonstop all the way home, and even when we went inside, he wasn’t close to finishing.
My mother had always left my discipline to him, and retreated to her room at the back of the trailer while he continued his rant.
After what I thought was more than enough of his shouting, I shot back at him. “It’s not like you never bent the rules when you thought you could get away with it.” I was thinking about the time he bragged about short-counting a load of lobsters from a recent job, and pawning the extras to some of our neighbors for a tidy profit.
“That’s none of your damned business,” he roared.
Smiling as I made the threat, I said, “Maybe your foreman might think it’s his business.”
“You wouldn’t dare!”
“Try me.”
For a split-second, he stood there staring at me, his mouth hanging open. Then he grew furious. “I told you before not to give me lip, you mouthy little twit.”
It wasn’t the first time he’d backhanded me, but it was the first I didn’t flinch away. His meaty hand caught me square on the side of my head and knocked me to the floor.
My brain scrambled from the blow, I couldn’t even remember my own name for a few moments.
Normally, once Dwight got physical, I would run away, and stay away for a few days until things cooled down.
This time, I got back to my feet and kicked him between the legs as hard as I could.
Unfortunately for me, I missed the target, and only struck the inside of his leg.
<
br /> I knew he would beat me senseless after that, so I finally followed my basest instinct and ran out of the trailer.
He ran after me, screaming curses, promising me how much I would be sorry once he got his hands on me. It scared the crap out of me. I’d never seen him so angry before.
My head was still ringing from the backhanded slap, and I thought I might not be able to outrun him this time.
He always kept his keys in the ignition of his truck—who’d be stupid enough to steal that hunk of junk?
I raced to the vehicle and jumped in. I only had a vague idea how to drive. Somehow, I managed to start the engine, put it in drive, and stomp on the gas just as he reached me.
He slapped a huge hand against the side of the window, and I thought the glass would shatter.
The tires spun, kicking up gravel and spraying it at Dwight, who threw both of his hands up to shield himself. I swerved out of the driveway, hands in a death grip on the steering wheel as I desperately tried to avoid running into any of the other cars or trucks in the trailer park.
I had no idea where I was going or what I would do when I got there. Through the tears streaming down my cheeks, I had a crazy thought that I would show everyone.
I headed toward the docks where my stepfather worked, and didn’t stop when I reached the piers. I wasn’t thinking of the danger. I was only thinking of how mad he would be that I’d wrecked his only vehicle.
The last thing I saw when the truck hit the water was the steering wheel jumping up and slapping me in the forehead.
When I woke, I was in police custody.
* * *
I’d spoken to my mother a few times on the phone in the three months I’d been at the Portland Youth Development Center for Girls, but she’d never come to visit.
Whenever I’d been given a day pass to go home and visit, it had been Dwight—the hateful bastard—who signed me out. On those days, he acted on what served as his best behavior. Basically, he pretended I didn’t exist, hardly saying anything to me more than what he needed to.
The last time he escorted me back to the Center, he said, “Two more weeks.” When I looked at him, the expression on his face chilled me to the core.
I figured he’d been waiting patiently until I was out from under the watchful eye of the state, and then he’d get his revenge on me. It was why I’d escaped yesterday. I didn’t want to go home.
Now, sitting in Mr. Ulrich’s office with my stepfather in the chair beside me, I forced myself to act normally, despite my feelings of anxiety.
I could tell Mr. Ulrich was uncomfortable meeting Dwight. Though he tried to maintain eye contact when he reached over his office desk to shake hands, the counselor quickly looked away. My stepfather’s shredded face made most people flinch.
“Thank you for agreeing to see me, Mr. Channing.”
“Call me Dwight,” my stepfather said in a low voice. “Mr. Channing was a lowlife who took his sweet ass time leaving this world.”
“Uh…” Mr. Ulrich shuffled one of the papers on his desk. “Dwight, according to our records, you’re listed as an official emergency contact, but you aren’t a legal guardian of Serena’s. Even though you have the authority to sign her out on passes, you can’t personally authorize her enrollment in the special program, since it’s out of state. We need her mother’s signature for that.”
“Aaron—is that your name?—like I already told you, you give me the papers, I’ll take ‘em back to Ally; she don’t like to go out far from home. When she signs the papers, I’ll be sure to bring ‘em back to you.”
“Good,” Mr. Ulrich said, forcing a smile. “I just wanted to be straight about that. The warden’s already agreed to transfer your daughter—”
“I’m not his daughter,” I said, mustering the iciest tone I could. When both of them looked at me, I asked, “What?”
Dwight’s glare lingered a bit longer before he turned back to Mr. Ulrich.
“You said she’d be gone for six months?”
“That’s the standard duration of the program.”
“Isn’t there a longer one?”
Mr. Ulrich seemed flustered at the notion. It wasn’t a surprise to me. I’m sure Dwight would’ve been happy if he never saw me again. How many times had he told me what a burden I was?
I wasn’t a hundred-percent sure whether my mother wanted me back until my stepfather said, “There’s a little hitch in your plan, Aaron.”
“Oh?”
“Like I told you, the missus don’t like to leave the house, but she wants to see her little brat one more time before she decides if she wants to send her away for so long.”
“Ah,” Mr. Ulrich said with a nod. “As part of all youth rehabilitation principles, it’s vitally important that the child sustains meaningful ties with her family. Since Ms. Rogers is unable to travel here, I’ve cleared it with the warden to let Serena have a one-day pass to visit her mother.”
“When?”
“We can release her into your custody tonight, if you like. You just have to have her back by six tomorrow night.”
Dwight gave me a sidelong glance. “Yeah, okay. I’ll keep an eye on her; keep her outta trouble.”
Mr. Ulrich smiled and looked at me. “Perhaps you could help convince your mother of the benefits of you going to Utah.”
“I guess,” I said, though I had to admit I was starting to get very excited about going to this ranch. Sure, it was still just another kind of jail, but if they had horses…
Besides, anything was better than having to go home for good. I looked at my stepfather and tried to swallow my hate. Yeah, I could handle going back for a day, if only to say goodbye to my mother one last time.
I didn’t have to tell anyone I had no plans to come back from Utah.
Chapter Three
After my stepfather drove me home in his replacement pickup—acting as if I wasn’t even there—he grabbed a six-pack from the fridge and went to the front room the moment he got in the door.
I sat with my mother at the kitchen table. She gave me a look of distress as she reached out to touch my hair.
“I thought you’d grown out of this kind of thing?”
“Mom,” I said, suddenly self-conscious. I rubbed the strands with my fingers.
“Let me bleach the green out.”
“I like it.” I spoke in a small voice and didn’t look her in the eye when I said it.
My mother didn’t mention the color of my hair again. For the next hour, we caught each other up on everything since my last visit.
As soon as I thought the time was right, I told her that I thought going to Anak Acres would be good for me.
“I don’t know, Serena,” she said. “Six months is an awful long time.”
“It’ll be the same six months if I’m at the Center.”
She looked pained. “But you won’t be able to come and visit.”
“I’ll come back a changed girl,” I said. “They have horses there.”
“I don’t know…”
Smiling innocently, I gave her a hug. “I promise I’ll be good from now on if you let me go, Mom.”
I could tell she didn’t want to discuss it anymore. She didn’t want me to go, but she didn’t want to say no to me, either. “Let me sleep on it.”
She had a client coming over for a late hair appointment—she’d already booked it, and hadn’t expected me to be home tonight. Though it was already after dark, I said I wanted to go outside for a while.
“I ain’t supposed to let you outta my sight,” Dwight said in a growl, getting up out of the recliner and coming into the kitchen.
“I’m not going to run away, if that’s what you’re worried about,” I said. “I’ll just go down the path to the ocean. I’ll be back in an hour.” I looked at my mother for support, but she was already getting her hair styling equipment set out.
I smirked at Dwight. “Unless you want to give me a beer and let me watch the game with you?”
; “An hour,” he said finally, glaring. “If you’re one second late, I’ll be coming for you…”
Though it was against my nature, I said, “Thank you.”
He waved at me dismissively and headed back to the front room. A moment later, the television volume went up, and I heard the rapid-fire babble of the sports announcer.
I touched my mother’s arm and smiled at her before leaving.
She nodded at me. “It’s good to see you again, Serena. I … worry about you.”
“I can handle myself, Mom.” On impulse, I said, “Love you.”
Speaking in a warm voice, she looked me in the eye and said, “I love you, too.”
* * *
If there was one thing I would miss about Maine, it was being near the ocean.
The smell of the sea air was comforting and familiar. I’d lost count of how many times I went to the shore—only a few minutes’ walk from the trailer park—and just hid out there, sometimes for hours. When I was upset, the rhythm of the waves slapping against the rocks would eventually calm me down.
Utah didn’t appeal me, in part because of the lack of an ocean—Dwight told me it was something of a dust bowl—but it was going to be a means to an end. Once the administrators and counselors at the camp thought I was on board with the program, they’d let down their guard. It had to be easier to escape from a ranch than from a prison.
I wondered where to run to afterward. The last place I could go was to come back to Maine. There wasn’t anything here for me. I didn’t have any real friends, which was fine by me. As long as my mother was with my stepfather, I had no other choice but to be somewhere else—after all, I could call her once in a while, just to let her know I was okay.
I’d spent all my life near the Atlantic Ocean, but I’d never seen the Pacific. Everyone said California was the place to be. Sunshine all year round; there was little or no snow; and best of all, no one knew who I was.
Smiling at having made my decision, I stood up and looked around.
Night had fallen. I hadn’t realized I’d been gone so long. Dwight would be pissed. I hurried home.
It wasn’t that I was scared of my stepfather; I just wanted my last night with my mother to be pleasant.
The Complete Book Of Fallen Angels Page 61