Betrayed by Blood (Betrayed #1)

by Victoria Renteria

  “Hi, Gavin,” I say, smiling.

  “Oh, hi, Ms. Parker.”

  Gavin peers up at me from under his lashes, causing my breath to heave from my lungs all at once. Reaching out to the wall, I steady myself. It’s as if an arrow was shot straight through my heart. His eyes are a reflection of the ones I stare at every morning in the mirror, and it’s heartbreaking, utterly heartbreaking. The pair of baby blues that are staring back at me scream of torture and untold pain. The windows of the soul that currently have me ensnared speak of a betrayal so deep, there may be no turning back.

  Willing as much courage as I have into my voice, I ask, “Gavin, what are you doing over here all by yourself?”

  Shrugging his shoulders, he stares off in to the distance, watching the kids play. Pulling a package of cookies out of my pocket, I open them, offering him one. “Want one?”

  His little face lights up and he starts nodding his head frantically. “Mmmm. These are my favorite,” I say, taking a bite and handing him the package. Wincing as he takes the package, his eyes cut to me to see if I’ve noticed. Pretending not to have seen, I zero in on a game of kickball in the distance. Gavin immediately relaxes beside me, releasing a breath. The silence stretches between us before he finally feels comfortable enough to speak.

  “Um, I guess I just didn’t really feel like playing today, Ms. Parker.” Out of the corner of my eye, I catch him rubbing his right arm again. My teeth clench and I have to inject calm into my voice and smile.

  “Hmm. Well, you could always come and help me grade papers,” I say, pausing to shrug my shoulders. “Oh! I know the chalkboard can always use a good cleaning. There’s always something to do in the classroom.” Grinning, I give him a playful wink.

  Gavin’s silent for a moment, a puzzled look on his face. “Can I really do that?” he questions.

  “If you’d like. My door is always open, you know that, right?”

  “I guess so,” Gavin says, placing a cookie into his mouth.

  Trying to lighten the mood, I change the subject. “Do you know what goes well with cookies?”

  “What?”

  “Tea.”

  His little laugh echoes around us, making my heart warm. “Ms. Parker, I think you mean milk.”

  “No, I mean tea,” I say, scrunching my nose at him playfully.

  “Ew. That just sounds really gross. I don’t think I would want to dunk my cookie into a glass of tea.”

  “How would you know unless you try it?”

  “Besides, it’s not just any tea that you drink when you eat cookies. My father used to make me Earl Grey tea and it’s very good.”

  Gavin looks at me for a moment before asking, “Do you think I could try it sometime, Ms. Parker?”

  “Of course, you should ask your mom and dad. Maybe they could get you some.”

  Gavin’s face morphs into one of pure horror. He’s quick to deflect, masking it with one of practiced calm. Sadness fills his voice when he replies, “No, I don’t think I can do that, but it’s okay. I’m not sure I would really like it, anyway.”

  “Why can’t you ask your parents, Gavin? Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, everything’s fine,” he blurts out before looking away to stare out on to the playground.

  “Gavin, you know that if anything is bothering you, or if something is wrong, you can always come to me, right? I’m here to help you if you need me.”

  “Yes, I understand, Ms. Parker.”

  Looking into his sad eyes, I see the little girl I once was reflected back at me. Tightness forms in my chest at the thought of this beautiful child coming to harm or suffering a torturous fate at the hands of a psychopath. Blowing out a breath, I look into his little face and say, “I’m serious, Gavin. Even if you just need to talk or get away for a moment, you can always come into the classroom and find me. It doesn’t matter when it is. Lunch, recess, anytime, okay?”

  Nodding his head, his eyes shine brightly with unshed tears. Gavin turns to face the playground then takes several deep breaths. Questions begin to run through my mind, making me wonder just what in the hell is going on in this child’s life.

  “You know, I have some of that tea at home. How about I bring some so we can share it and you can tell me if it makes your cookies taste any better.”

  He smiles and nods his head just as the bell rings, signaling that recess is ending. As we walk back to class, all I can think about is what has caused this little boy to wince in pain and not talk to his parents. Although I have ideas, I hope and pray it’s not what I fear.

  AS THE WEEKEND APPROACHES, ALL I can think about is Gavin and what that poor little boy may be going through at home. Ever since my conversation with him on the playground the other day, I can’t seem to get him out of my head. I just have this horrible feeling that something awful may be going on, and I’ve noticed that he has been clutching his wrist now in addition to his side and arm. I hate to admit it but I believe that he is a victim of child abuse. Despite the circumstances, I’m going to have to start digging and say something because I refuse to let that little boy stay in a situation where he continues to be harmed or abused.

  A knock sounds at the door, followed by a small voice. “Ms. Parker, can I talk to you?”

  “Sure. Gavin, come on in.” Standing, I grab an extra chair then place it by my desk.

  “Why don’t you sit down and we can talk for a little bit. Would you like a snack? I was just about to have some cookies and tea.” Smiling, I motion to the cookies on my desk. Gavin’s answering smile is all the encouragement I need. Reaching into my desk drawer, I pull out two mugs along with the thermos of hot tea that I had prepared earlier.

  “It’s a good thing you stopped by. I already had the tea ready and we didn’t get to try it the other day.” Turning my gaze back to Gavin, I notice him studying his feet. Frowning, I place the items on my desk then tap his shoulder gently. He leans forward, putting his hands on his knees, but never once looking up. A knot begins to form in the pit of my stomach as I look at this distressed child. Taking a deep breath to calm my nerves, I ask, “What is it, Gavin? I can see something’s bothering you.”

  Stammering, he shakes his head as he says, “I—I’m afraid to say, Ms. Parker.”

  Tears glisten in his eyes, threatening to spill over. Allowing him time to settle his emotions, I reach for the tea. “Here,” I say, pouring a cup of tea then sliding it to him along with a cookie.

  “My father always says that when something is bothering you, cookies and tea make it better.” I smile encouragingly even though my heart tells me that he cannot be rushed. I already have the feeling this is going to be a conversation I’m not likely to forget anytime soon.

  Inhaling deeply through my nose, I take a sip of tea and patiently wait while Gavin picks at the cookie. Looking up, he catches my eye then studies my face. After searching for several moments, he relaxes in his chair then releases a deep sigh. As I wait for him to gain the courage to tell me what he came to say, I seize the opportunity to really take a look at Gavin.

  His hair is unkempt, which isn’t unusual for ten-year-old boys. However, there are bags under his eyes indicating that he hasn’t slept well. Judging by the color of the circles, it’s been at least a good two to three days. My fingers grip the mug tighter to keep from shaking.

  Swallowing around the lump that’s taken up residence in my throat, I nod toward the tea. “Why don’t you try some of the tea with the cookie. You might be a little surprised.” Nodding, he picks up the cup, taking a small sip before nibbling on the cookie. His eyes widen just a fraction.

  “This is really good, Ms. Parker.”

  “I know. Did you think I would give you something that tastes awful?” I smile over the rim of my cup then take another sip.

  “No.” He shakes his head, slipping back into silence.

  Continuing my perusal of his little body, I notice the fading bruises on his arms. My gaze lowers when I notice him holding his cook
ie with the tips of his fingers. Studying his hands a little closer, I see several small burns marring his palms, each the size of a pencil eraser. Each wound is barely noticeable and looks to have been covered with something. My stomach lurches at the thought of the pain Gavin must have suffered. Whoever did this to Gavin did it with purpose. Each mark was strategically placed on his body to avoid detection.

  A heavy weight settles on my chest and my leg begins to shake under the desk as I watch him in silence. What kind of a sick person could do this to a child? Why would they want to? He’s just an innocent little boy. Grasping the cup even tighter, my knuckles grow white as questions roll through my mind. How would it be possible for Gavin to be in a situation where he’s put in an environment with someone clearly unstable? A person that might wish to harm a child? As I ponder all of these questions, another thought occurs to me. What if this person believes they are implementing their own form of discipline? Reality slams into me with the force of a wrecking ball. Parents. It has to be one of his parents.

  Memories resurface, flooding my mind, pushing at the wall I’ve carefully constructed. Bit by bit the wall begins to crumble, leaving a void for the shadows to come through. My chest constricts and blackness invades my vision as I grip my cup even tighter. Panic begins to swell from deep within, pushing and clawing to the surface of my recollection. I try forcing the memories away but it’s no use. Darkness consumes my thoughts, allowing all those nasty, creepy crawly things we try so hard to keep hidden a chance to escape; the things we don’t want anyone to see: the terrible pain, the blood, and the screams.

  Thrown into the past, I can feel the ghost of her hands in my hair, tightening, pulling against my scalp. Oh, God, my mind knows she isn’t here but that doesn’t stop my body’s reaction. My breathing is shallow as another memory surges forward. Boots grind against my ribcage, bones break under her weight, and I force myself to inhale deeply, trying to catch my breath. Steadily sucking in air through my nose, I realize the oxygen isn’t enough and my vision starts to fade. Somewhere off in the distance, a little voice sounds, breaking through my panic.

  “Ms. Parker, are you okay?”

  Gavin reaches up, touching my arm with his little hand. The contact is just what I need to make the lingering memories recede, although they never truly leave. When your soul is stained by blood and darkness, the smallest act of kindness allows the light to shine for a moment. “Yes. I’m fine, Gavin, thank you.”

  Swallowing a big gulp of air, my throat burns as if trying to breathe through fire. Meeting his concerned gaze, I smile silently, attempting to reassure him. Gavin lets out a shaky sigh.

  “Ms. Parker, I really like your tea and cookies,” he says.

  The corner of my lips quirk up at his politeness. He’s clearly stalling. His deflection is recognizable. Given his appearance and my observations, I assume that’s what he wants to say and doesn’t know how. With all of my experience and training, I know that with children that are abused, you have to wait for them to tell you on their own terms. You can’t lead them or they will shut down. Questions continue to plague me as I wait for him to speak.

  One thing is for certain, I cannot in good conscience let him continue to be abused. What kind of person would I be if I did? What kind of teacher would I be? Not one that I could be proud of, that’s for sure. I shake my thoughts away and decide to break the silence.

  “You know my father used to make these for me when I was your age.”

  Scowling at the floor, he clenches his cup.

  “What is it, Gavin?”

  “Nothing,” he says, still looking at his feet. A moment passes before he speaks again. “Do you still talk to your father, Ms. Parker?”

  “Yes, I still talk to him. Why do you ask?”

  “I was just wondering. Do you two get along? Or do you fight a lot?” Gavin blurts out one question after the other, rushing to get them all out in a typical ten-year-old fashion.

  Studying Gavin carefully, I take a deep breath. Unfortunately, I know where this line of questioning is headed. Clearly, there is some sort of turmoil going on with his father. If I were a betting woman, I would wager anything it’s dad that’s putting the bruises on Gavin’s little body. Now the question is: Does mom know? There’s always a possibility that both mom and Gavin are being abused. Who knows, maybe I’m wrong. What if it’s dad and Gavin being abused and mom is the abuser? Sighing, I sink back into my chair.

  “We get along very well. He’s in the Army so I don’t get to talk to him as much as I would like.”

  Gavin’s eyes grow large. “Your dad’s in the Army?”

  “Yes, he’s a Colonel in the Army.”

  Gavin’s voice dances with excitement as he declares, “That must be a really cool job to have.”

  Laughing, I nod my head in agreement.

  “Well, my dad seems to think so. He’s had the job for a very long time.”

  “I bet he’s good at protecting people.” Pausing, he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. When he speaks again, his voice is faint. Straining to hear, I lean forward as he whispers, “I bet he protected you.”

  My smile falters. He wasn’t home enough to protect me. There was a point in my life when I wasn’t sure anyone could protect me. Fortunately for me, fate intervened that day and brought him home. He has fought to be my protector ever since, even through the dark times. You never forget, no matter how much time passes. I know I’ve tried. If it were even remotely possible, the nightmares would have stopped, and I wouldn’t be plagued every day by the darkness.

  Gavin gently squeezes my elbow. “Ms. Parker, are you okay?”

  “Hmm. Oh, yes. I’m fine,” I say, giving my head a shake to clear my mental haze.

  “Are you sure?” he says, eyeing me quizzically. “You sure don’t look like you’re okay. You look like you’re remembering something bad.” Gavin becomes quiet, seemingly lost in his thoughts as he stares off in to the distance.

  Pain flashes across his face. Still staring into space, his voice is strained as he says, “I remember bad things all the time. Sometimes I try to think of other things when the bad things pop into my head, but it doesn’t always work. You don’t have to be sad or upset, Ms. Parker. I promise I’ll be here to protect you.”

  My heart thuds in my chest at his declaration. Here sits a child that’s been abused by someone, yet he’s concerned about me. A strong urge washes over me, making me clasp my hands together. I would love nothing more than to pull this child into my arms, hug him tightly and never let him go. The truth is, I have no idea what Gavin has been through. It’s clear by looking at him that it’s more that I can imagine. My gut tells me it’s worse than I fear. Reaching out, I tap his knee to gain his attention.

  “Gavin, you’re the strongest, bravest young man I’ve ever met. Thank you for being such an angel.” My voice is thick with emotion. Reaching for my tea, I take a sip, glad for a moment to blink away my tears.

  “Ms. Parker, my dad isn’t a very nice person.” After blurting out the words, he turns his gaze back to the floor.

  “What do you mean?” The calmness in my voice surprises me.

  Tension fills my muscles as I wait patiently for him to answer. Gavin remains silent. This is something he needs to do on his own. He can’t be rushed or else I risk him shutting down completely. Under no circumstances can I lead him to say anything. The last thing I need is for someone to say that I’ve shaped his story in some way. My patience pays off after a few moments. As he begins toying with the ends of his t-shirt, he says in a hushed whisper, “My dad’s not very nice. He drinks a lot.” Pausing, he looks up, staring off into the distance for a moment before continuing. “When he drinks he hits my mom. I don’t like to see her hurt and he hurts her really bad.” Sniffling, he pauses once more, taking a breath. “She doesn’t tell him to stop anymore. When she tells him to stop, he just hits her and kicks her harder. He doesn’t listen. He never listens.” Gavin shakes his head, pain etching his littl
e face.

  “Sometimes I try to protect her, but it just makes him mad. When he’s really mad, he makes me watch. I yell and scream at him to stop hurting her but then he starts hurting me. I try really hard to be brave but sometimes it’s just too much.” Taking a deep breath, his little body shudders. Gavin turns his head and our eyes meet, his unshed tears shining brightly. Rapidly blinking them away, he gives me a sad smile then turns to the window again. There is so much strength coursing through his tiny little body.

  Sliding off the chair, I crouch down in front of Gavin. It only takes a moment before he looks in my direction. My heart stutters and feels as if it’s being ripped from my chest. How much can one person endure? Several moments pass before I find my voice.

  “Gavin, I’m sorry you’re going through this. I know it’s hard. It took a lot of courage for you to come here today. I’m very proud of you,” I say, patting him on the knee.

  His eyes grow wide with disbelief. “You believe me?”

  “Of course I believe you, Gavin. Did you really think that I wouldn’t?” I say, giving him a reassuring smile. His question leaves me pondering what kind of mind games his father is playing with him. Does he really tell him that no adult will believe him?

  Ice begins to fill my veins as I continue to think about the situation. Clenching my hands to keep them from shaking, I rise, once again taking my seat behind the desk. Gavin’s little voice pierces my rage, sending a wave of calm washing over me.

  “I wasn’t sure. Not all adults want to listen to what kids say. They just tell us to go away or go outside and play.” Nodding my agreement, I hand him another cookie.

  “That is true. There are some adults like that.” Pausing, I give him a moment to swallow a mouthful of cookie before asking, “Does your mom work during the day?”

  “Yes. She works at Harvest Grocery Store on Columbia Road. She drops me off at school in the morning then goes to work. Mom picks me up every day after school, except on Fridays. Those are her busy days at work. I get to walk home those days.” Grinning, he takes another bite of his cookie before gulping some of his tea.