by Karen Rose
Cade got the last word every single week now.
Three
Cincinnati, Ohio
Saturday, 16 March, 1.50 P.M.
Coach Diesel hadn’t said anything since he and Michael had entered the small exam room. Michael wasn’t exactly sure what had happened in the waiting room, but there was tension between the doctor and Coach. It had started the moment they had walked through the clinic’s front door, and had gotten worse when Coach had returned from talking with the doctor in her office.
Even Joshua had noticed it. He’d kept looking from Coach to the doctor to Mrs Moody, who’d stayed quiet. Mrs Moody was sitting with Joshua in the waiting room, right now. She’d had crayons and a coloring book in her big purse, and Joshua was happily coloring when Michael had been led back to the exam room.
It seemed that Mrs Moody didn’t actually say a whole lot. Michael hadn’t seen her lips move more than once or twice since he’d run up to Joshua at the practice fields. But she smiled sweetly and her touch had been gentle as she’d checked the wound on his head.
Which hurt like crazy. His head was pounding, but it was bearable. He’d had a lot worse. He stiffened as a new thought struck. Would the doctor ask to see more than his head? Would she ask him to take off his pants?
He swallowed hard. He’d say no. He’d fight them. He didn’t need the doctor seeing that. Hell, he didn’t need to see it either. It had been over a week since the last time, and he was still seeing red streaks in his briefs.
Goddamn Brewer. Michael forced himself to breathe. To calm down. Because thinking about Brewer made him remember the night the man had been killed. Which made him think about the huge bald man who’d killed him.
Who’d returned to the house to look at Joshua. Why? Why had he done that? He’d returned Brewer’s car to the garage and left the keys on a peg near the front door before coming up to look at Joshua. Why?
Why hadn’t he simply stolen the car and sold it?
The man had also taken a suitcase and some of Brewer’s clothes with him that night – a few suits, shirts, jeans, underwear – like he’d been packing for a trip. No way Brewer’s clothes would have fit him. Brewer was five-ten with a beer belly. The man who’d killed him was closer to the size of Joshua’s coach.
And now the coach was suspicious. He was being nice and all, but Michael wasn’t stupid. He knew the big man was biding his time before pressing him for why he’d been so terrified when he had first seen him at the soccer field. He certainly didn’t want to tell the coach about the guy who’d killed Brewer. Coach already knew that his mother had thrown the bowl at his head that morning. Joshua had a big mouth.
Michael couldn’t blame his brother, though. He was only five and the coach was a nice man. I hope. Please let him be a nice man. Please don’t let him be like Brewer.
The door opened and four women entered, crowding the already cramped space. One was the doctor, two were women Michael had never seen before, and the fourth . . .
Michael blinked. The fourth woman was taller than the others and she wore a uniform. A cop.
They’d called the cops. Michael jerked his gaze to Coach Diesel. ‘I didn’t do anything,’ he signed, his heart beating like crazy once again.
Diesel nodded calmly. ‘We know.’
Dr Dani stepped close to him, leaning in to sign in very small movements that the other three women couldn’t see. It was as close to privacy as they would get. ‘She’s not here because you did anything. She’s here because your mother hurt you. She’ll take your statement. That’s all. She’s a friend of mine, Michael.’
Michael’s chest suddenly hurt and it was hard to breathe, because everything was starting to fall into place. His mother’s words bounced around his mind – if the cops took Joshua and him away from her, they’d separate them and Michael wouldn’t be able to watch over his brother. Terrible things would happen. Joshua would get hurt. Like Brewer hurt me.
That couldn’t happen. Michael could not allow that to happen. Ever.
Don’t panic. Not now. Please. ‘One of them’s a social worker,’ he signed, pointing a trembling finger at one of the women.
Dr Dani nodded. ‘And the other is your interpreter.’
Michael didn’t care about the interpreter. ‘The social worker will take Joshua. She’ll put him in foster care. She’ll separate us.’
Dr Dani held up both hands to calm him before resuming her signing. ‘I’ll do my best to see that that doesn’t happen, okay?’
Michael swallowed hard. The doctor’s best wasn’t nearly good enough. ‘I need to go.’ He tried to push past her, but Coach Diesel stood and blocked his path.
‘Michael, please. Wait,’ he said. ‘Don’t jump to . . .’ He grimaced before spelling out conclusions, his hand clumsy. ‘Not yet. Let Dr Dani help you and then we’ll figure this out. But you guys can’t go home. What if your mother throws something and hits Joshua next time?’
Michael shuddered, his eyes filling with helpless, frustrated tears. ‘She only throws stuff at me.’
‘And if she misses?’ Coach asked. ‘For now, trust us. We want to help you. Okay?’
Michael clenched his jaw. ‘I got no choice, do I?’
Both the doctor and Coach sighed. ‘Yes, you do,’ Dr Dani signed. ‘You have choices. But none of them are good ones. Sorry.’
And she was sorry, Michael could see that. Coach was sorry, too.
And his mother had nearly hit Joshua recently. In the last week, since Brewer disappeared, she had been especially out of control.
She thought that her husband had left on a trip without telling her. She thought he was having an affair. That he’d divorce her. That her kids had cost her a good life. She thought Brewer was leaving her.
Which was why the big bald killer had taken Brewer’s clothes. So that everyone would think he’d just left. And because the guy had left the car there in the garage, that Brewer was coming back. Someday.
Only Michael and the big bald killer knew different.
No one else could ever know. Because that man would come back for Michael. And maybe for Joshua.
Michael couldn’t let them be separated. He’d let the doctor stitch him up, then he’d take Joshua and run. He wasn’t sure where, but he’d find a place for them to hide.
And then? Where will you hide? How will you take care of him?
Damn, my head hurts. Wearily, Michael dropped into his chair, rubbing his forehead. ‘Fine,’ he signed sullenly.
Coach sat back down and the doctor pulled up a stool and sat in front of him. She was very pretty, but in a way that made him frown. It wasn’t the white streak that framed her face, because her brother Greg had one, too, and Michael was used to seeing it. It was something else . . .
Oh. ‘Your eyes are two different colors,’ he signed before he realized he was going to. He winced. ‘I’m sorry. I was rude.’
But it was true. One of her eyes was a deep brown and the other a bright, bright blue. Just like Greg’s.
She smiled at him. ‘They are. I was born with them. Takes folks a little while to get used to, but you should see my older brother. His are downright spooky.’
Michael wanted to ask questions, but she was pointing to the women. ‘This is Maria Catalano. She’s your interpreter.’
Catalano was older than his mother and had gray hair. ‘You’ve worked with an interpreter before?’
Michael nodded. ‘I have one in school.’ He knew the rules. She’d interpret everything anyone said so there’d be no secret conversations behind his back.
She’d also voice whatever he signed for the social worker and the cop, so he needed to keep any mutterings in his head and his hands still. He’d gotten in trouble with his teacher a few times when he’d signed his displeasure at a grade or protested an assignment. Of course he had called the teacher a bitch, an opinion
he continued to stand by. He just wished he hadn’t signed it for the interpreter to see. He made a note to keep his opinion of the adults in this room unsigned.
‘This,’ Dr Dani continued, ‘is Maddie Shafer. She’s a social worker. She’s here to support you and Joshua.’
He gave the social worker a brusque nod and figured he might as well tell the truth at this point. Some of the truth, anyway. Enough to keep Joshua safe. If they separated them . . . He’d have to deal with that later.
‘My mom did this,’ he told her, pointing at his head. ‘She’s always taken drugs, but it’s gotten worse in the last week. She’s passed out at home. But she was breathing when I left.’
The social worker nodded, her face serious. She was young. Really young.
Michael narrowed his eyes at her. ‘How old are you?’ he asked, not caring that he was being rude again.
‘Twenty-seven,’ she said. ‘I know I look young, but I’ve been doing this job for five years. I’ve already got an emergency foster home that will take both of you. This is until I investigate your mother, okay?’
Michael slumped in relief. Both of us. Then his mind jumped to the next sentence. They were going to investigate his mother.
‘She won’t like that,’ he signed. ‘She might not answer the door, even if she isn’t still passed out. If she’s awake, she won’t be nice to you. She’ll lie to you. She’ll tell you that I’m lying.’
Maddie Shafer gave him a smile that reminded him of a shark. ‘Let me worry about your mother. My priority is making sure you and Joshua are safe. Officer Cullen will accompany me.’
The lady cop signaled the interpreter, who began signing for her. ‘Does your mother have access to any weapons?’
Michael hesitated. Then nodded as he carefully considered his answer. ‘My stepfather’s gun safe is full of guns.’ One of which was under his own pillow at home. If the cops found it, they’d ask questions. They might charge him with possession of a weapon. If they pressed, he’d ask the doctor to check his other wounds. Once she saw that his ass was still bleeding, she’d be able to tell them that he had been . . .
He fought not to cringe, swallowing back the bile that burned his throat at the memory of Brewer’s rough hands. Of the pain that could still steal his breath.
Of the word that he still couldn’t say. Even in his mind.
When she saw all that, she’d tell them that he’d had a right to keep a gun under his pillow. And she wouldn’t know that he hadn’t put it there until after Brewer was dead.
Because he was still afraid that the big bald guy would come back. Which sounded completely crazy. So he wasn’t going to talk about that unless he had to.
The cop was talking again. ‘How often does she hit you?’
Again he hesitated. He wanted to make his mother sound bad enough that they’d take him and Joshua out of the house, but not so bad that they thought he was lying.
‘She doesn’t hit that much,’ he said, opting for as much of the truth as he dared. ‘She just throws things. Usually I’m fast enough to duck.’
The lady cop’s smile was sweet and sad, her eyes filled with what might have been understanding. ‘Until today, huh?’
He shrugged. ‘She’s got me a few times. Once with a vase. Once with a knife.’ He pulled up his shirt enough to show the scar on his left side. ‘It bled a lot, but then it was okay.’
The lady cop studied the scar silently before her eyes rose to meet his. ‘Did she take you to the hospital?’
‘Not that time.’
The cop tilted her head. ‘Other times?’
He nodded, once. ‘When my stepfather hit too hard. Three times that I remember. Two broken arms and a break here.’ He pointed to the bone over his right eye. That one had terrified him. He’d been afraid he’d lose his eye, and he didn’t even want to think about having to understand ASL with only one good eye.
‘Where did she take you?’ the cop asked. ‘Which hospital, I mean?’
‘Not around here,’ he said. ‘We drove a long time.’ He glanced at Dr Dani. ‘Free clinics like this one.’
Dr Dani grimaced. ‘She didn’t give your real name, did she?’
He shook his head. ‘Never.’
Dr Dani looked at the lady cop, signing and speaking at the same time. Michael wondered if Greg knew how lucky he was. Stella Rowland Brewer had never learned sign language. No more than the basics, anyway. Yes, no. Come, go. Bad.
Always bad. Michael had come to expect it. And accept it.
‘We can X-ray Michael’s bones and show the evidence of older, healed breaks,’ Dr Dani said.
‘Thank you.’ The lady cop never broke eye contact with Michael, and he appreciated it. At the same time, it freaked him out. ‘I’m not saying that what she did was okay, ever, but did she say why she was angry this morning?’
Michael wanted to close his eyes, because his head hurt. But the lady cop was watching him so steadily that it freaked him out even more.
‘The milk was bad,’ he said. Because Brewer wasn’t home to buy more.
Because he’s dead.
The cop’s lips thinned. ‘Okay. Miss Shafer and I will go to your house.’ She pointed to the social worker. ‘You’ll stay here with Dr Dani.’
Dr Dani was smiling kindly. ‘I’ll stitch you up while they’re gone. Any questions before they leave?’
Just one. ‘Yeah. Who is our emergency foster placement?’ Because Joshua’s safety was the most important thing. Just like always.
Dr Dani pointed to herself. ‘Me. Is that okay?’
‘You?’ the interpreter signed, widening her eyes to show surprise, her head tilted toward Coach Diesel to show Michael who had spoken.
Dr Dani’s smile faltered, just a little, her eyes growing cool as her gaze shifted over Michael’s shoulder to where Coach Diesel sat. ‘Yes, Coach. I’m a licensed provider of emergency foster care. I’m normally called in when deaf kids are involved.’ She returned her gaze to Michael, her eyes warming. ‘Okay?’
Michael nodded, relieved. He knew she wouldn’t try to hurt either of them. Maybe I can get some sleep. Because he’d stayed up all night, every night, watching over Joshua since the big bald man had come into his brother’s room.
Her eyes went cool again. ‘I hope that’s okay with you, too, Coach.’
Ouch. Michael didn’t need to hear to know that was sarcasm.
‘Of course,’ the interpreter signed, ducking her head a little to indicate shame. Coach Diesel had been schooled. ‘Officer Cullen,’ she continued on Diesel’s behalf, again tilting her head toward the coach. ‘I thought Scarlett was going to call Adam.’
Michael knew Scarlett was the detective who’d taken the old man to the ER. Who is Adam? But he didn’t ask. He just kept his eyes on the interpreter, because the doctor’s hands were busy taking care of him and the interpreter was speaking for her.
‘I spoke to him,’ Dr Dani said. ‘He got called to a scene, so Officer Cullen came instead.’ She pulled her phone from her pocket, brushed Michael’s hair aside, and took some photos of the cut on his head.
‘For our records and for the police report,’ she told him, angling the phone so that Michael could see the screen, too.
Wow. Michael grimaced. That was a bad cut.
The interpreter was waving her hand to get his attention. The cop was talking again, handing him a white card. ‘My numbers,’ she said. ‘You have a phone?’
He nodded warily. If she wanted to take his phone, he’d fight her.
‘Use it to text me,’ she said, ‘if you have any concerns or if you feel unsafe. Text 911 first if it’s an emergency.’
He took the card, then the one offered by the social worker, who smiled kindly. ‘Stay with Dr Dani until I come back. Have you and your brother eaten today?’
‘Joshua had breakfast,’ M
ichael said, evading the question, but the social worker’s eyes narrowed, like she’d seen right into his brain.
‘Dr Dani will get you both some food, then.’ She patted his hand. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can with information.’
‘Thank you,’ he voiced.
Once the cop, the social worker, and the interpreter had left and he was alone with the doctor and Coach, he slumped in the chair. He was exhausted.
‘I’ll do your stitches first,’ Dr Dani told him. ‘Then food.’ She set a tray holding a curved needle with thick thread, gauze, scissors, and a syringe on the counter. ‘This won’t take long. I’m going to numb the area first. You’ll just feel a pinch.’
Michael gritted his teeth against the sting of the anesthetic she injected, closing his eyes when his empty stomach began to pitch. Don’t throw up. Do not throw up.
He counted backward from one hundred, then did it again until Dr Dani touched his cheek. ‘All done,’ she signed when he opened his eyes. Then she frowned. ‘You’re very pale. Are you feeling sick?’
Michael shook his head, instantly regretting the movement. ‘No,’ he lied. ‘I think I need to eat,’ he added, which was totally true. He hadn’t eaten a real meal in days. His stomach growled even as it gurgled. Do not throw up.
Coach Diesel appeared in front of him, giving his good shoulder a light squeeze. ‘You did good,’ he signed. ‘Where would you like us to take you for lunch?’
Dr Dani’s brows shot up. ‘Us?’
Coach Diesel smiled, and anyone could see the challenge in it. ‘Yes, us. Me, you, Michael, and Joshua. Joshua is my responsibility.’ He spelled the word out awkwardly.
‘Responsibility,’ Dr Dani said, showing him the sign. ‘And no, Joshua is now my responsibility.’
‘I promised him ice cream,’ Coach said.
The doctor narrowed her eyes at the big tattooed man. ‘You did not.’
Coach glanced at Michael, blinking innocently. ‘Didn’t I?’
Michael knew that the team got ice cream after games. He had no clue if Coach Diesel had or hadn’t offered it after today’s practice, but the coach had been kind to Joshua. And to me. Guys had to stick together. So he nodded to help the man out. ‘He did. Joshua is excited about it.’