No Going Back (Sawyer Brooks)

by T. R. Ragan

  Sawyer wrote the name down. Every new name was like finding a new piece of the puzzle. They needed to follow every lead. “I take it the Boys’ Club was trouble,” she said.

  “Worse than that. They were evil. They used to pick on one of the smallest boys in the house. A boy named Jimmy Crocket. I remember that name because Aston and the others would call him Jiminy Cricket and a slew of other names meant to be cruel.”

  “If the home was for troubled kids, why was Jimmy there?” Sawyer asked.

  “Jimmy had a difficult time. He wet his bed most nights, and he cried a lot.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a good reason for his foster parents to give him up.”

  “Sadly, there’s more to it than that. He came to live there when he was ten. He was a cutter. I had no idea what that meant until he came into the kitchen covered in mud. I pulled off his T-shirt before he could stop me. My jaw dropped at the sight of him. His skinny, pale body was covered in scars, tiny thin lines all over his chest and arms. I asked him who did that to him.” She drew in a breath. “He said cutting himself made him feel better. He used whatever he could find—a paper clip, sticks, a butter knife. I grabbed a shirt from somewhere and put it on him. We never talked about it again.”

  “What did Aston and the others do to Jimmy?”

  “It’s all too horrible to repeat. Whenever I caught the boys in action, though, I reported what I saw to the headmaster. Sadly, she wasn’t any better than Nick or Aston or any of the others.”

  It was quiet for a moment before Nancy said, “I wanted to quit, but then I would think, ‘Who’s going to feed these poor kids if I leave?’”

  “Any idea what happened to the headmaster after the fire?”

  “I believe she moved to Elk Grove.” Nancy shrugged. “She was about ten years younger than me, so that would put her in her midseventies.” She tilted her head. “Why are you asking about these kids? What is your story about?”

  “I’m here because Nick Calderon and Bruce Ward were found dead recently. Both deaths appeared to happen under suspicious circumstances. My research brought me to the Children’s Home of Sacramento and ultimately here to see you.”

  Nancy nodded. “I should be sad that they’re gone, but I’m not.”

  “I realize Jimmy was very young at the time,” Sawyer said, “but would you say he was capable of murder?”

  “No,” Nancy said without hesitation. “Poor sweet boy never stood a chance, but he’s no killer.”

  “Any idea what became of him?”

  Nancy shook her head, then raised a crooked finger. “Emily Stiller might know. She was a bossy thing.” Nancy smiled for the first time since Sawyer and Aria had taken a seat. “That girl knew how to put those boys in their place. She was Jimmy’s savior for a while.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “A few months before the fire, she ran away, and we never saw her again. Perhaps you can use your high-tech computers to find out what happened to her.”

  Sawyer smiled. “I think that’s a great idea.” She jotted down Emily’s name. “Oh, I almost forgot. I printed off a few pictures I found on the internet.” Sawyer pulled out the sheet of paper and handed it to Nancy.

  Her face softened, and her eyes grew bright and watery. “There they are,” she said. “Emily and Jimmy are sitting right there together. Oh, my,” she said as she rested a hand over her heart.

  “What is it?” Sawyer asked, then watched as Nancy Lay pointed a shaky finger at the kids. “In the background, sitting near the shade tree. That’s Stanley Higgins.”

  Sawyer took a closer look at the kid she was pointing at. He had a mop of curly brown hair and a round face. “He looks so young,” Sawyer said. “What was his story?”

  “Stanley was also bullied. The poor thing did everything he could to become invisible. I remember looking out the window one afternoon and seeing Felix and Aston throwing rocks at him. Jimmy told Stanley to run. By the time I got out there, Jimmy had a cut above his right eye.”

  “So Jimmy had a little bit of Emily in him, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, he did. He looked out for Stanley. So sad,” she said. “So long ago.” She handed the paper back to Sawyer. “I hope you find the answers you’re looking for.”

  “Thank you, Nancy. You’ve been very helpful.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  That night, Harper tossed and turned in bed. The clock on her nightstand told her it was two in the morning. She couldn’t stop thinking about Eddie Carter. He was the first of their targets to admit to wrongdoing. The Crew’s mission was to teach abusers a lesson—show them what it felt like to have no control over a situation and what might happen to them. Eddie Carter was remorseful. His regret seemed genuine. Yes, he deserved to be punished. But it was the look she’d seen on Cleo’s face that worried her and kept her awake. The clenched fists when she continuously pounded his chest. The kicking and yelling as her anger turned violent. It seemed to Harper that Cleo had PTSD. In that moment of rage, Cleo seemed to be reliving the horror of what had happened the night at the fraternity house. It was as if Cleo suddenly had been thrust into survival mode, determined to win at all costs.

  Harper knew the effects firsthand, how childhood trauma liked to rear its head when least expected. There were times when the anger would turn quickly to rage, and she would feel the urge to scream and kick something.

  She sucked in a breath and closed her eyes, determined to go to sleep and push all thoughts of Eddie Carter away. She could drive to the warehouse first thing in the morning and check on Cleo and Eddie then.

  The next ten minutes ticked by slowly.

  Too slowly.

  She opened her eyes and eased her way quietly off the bed so as not to wake Nate. Blindly, she searched for clothes and a pair of shoes before exiting her bedroom. She stepped into her jeans, then put on the T-shirt and sneakers. She grabbed a sweater from the coat hook in the entryway, then headed for the kitchen, where she found her purse and snuck out the door.

  Less than thirty minutes later, she pulled up next to the warehouse and sat in silence as she took in her surroundings, taking note that Cleo’s car was gone.

  It was in that moment that Harper realized she hadn’t thought this through. What was her plan? On the drive here, she’d imagined talking to Cleo and making sure Eddie Carter was okay. Now she found herself wishing she’d brought food and water and bandages.

  She continued to stare through the windshield into the dark.

  Maybe she would do the unthinkable and let him go. The rest of The Crew would be furious with her. But only if they found out.

  Her frustration mounted. What was she supposed to do? She couldn’t simply let the man bleed to death.

  You’re a hypocrite, an inner voice murmured in her ear.

  She disagreed. Psycho was the one who had cut off Brad Vicente’s dick. Besides, the man was alive, in prison where he belonged. And Myles Davenport would have been set free eventually. Nobody knew he would suffer a heart attack and die. He was young. What were the odds? And then there was Otto Radley, whom Harper had shot in self-defense. Not exactly self-defense, but close. If Harper hadn’t pulled the trigger, he would have killed Psycho.

  The difference between all the other captives and Eddie Carter was that Eddie Carter was sorry for what he’d done to Cleo. Harper wouldn’t be sitting here at all if she wasn’t worried about him bleeding to death.

  The point of The Crew teaming up had been to make sure their tormenters learned from their mistakes. They wanted their abusers to be taught a lesson.

  Her decision was made. She grabbed a flashlight from the glove compartment and climbed out of the car. The air held a slight chill. The frogs stopped croaking as she followed the beam of light around the side of the building to the metal door. It was wide open.

  The beat of her heart drummed faster.

  She hurried inside. The smell of bleach struck her hard. “Cleo? Are you there?” She dragged the beam of light o
ver the area where she’d last seen Eddie Carter.

  He was gone. The place was empty.

  Looking around, she found dark stains on the cracked cement that appeared to have been washed with a scouring brush. She knelt down, put a finger to the wet spot, and brought it to her nose. Definitely bleach.

  On her feet again, she moved the light over every inch of the place until she was absolutely certain no one was there.

  Filled with dread, she walked outside and continued her search. Every few feet, she stopped and listened.

  The only sounds were of wildlife in the distance. As always, the night belonged to the owls and coyotes.

  Time to go home.

  All she could do now was pray that Cleo had done the right thing and let him go.

  The moment Harper stepped through the side door into her house, she sensed something wasn’t right.

  A bright light flicked on suddenly, making her squint. Her husband stood a few feet away. “Nate,” she said. “What are you doing awake?”

  He crossed his arms. “Funny, I was going to ask you the same thing.”

  She locked the door behind her, then walked to the kitchen, where she set her purse on the counter. “It’s late. I’m tired. We’ll talk in the morning.”

  “We’ll talk now.”

  “I’m not ready,” she told him. They had already been over this, which was why Nate had taken a job in another state. He wanted answers. She knew that. But it was too early. She needed more time. They were so close to the finish line.

  “Fine,” he said. “One week. I’m going to give you one week, and then if you still aren’t ready to talk to me, I’m going to file for divorce.”

  She knew him better than anyone. He meant it. Her chest ached for him to wrap his arms around her and tell her everything would be okay. But it wasn’t okay. He’d had enough. “Please—”

  He shook his head. “That’s it. One week. There’s a blanket and pillow on the couch for you.”

  She watched him walk away. She felt empty inside, hollow. No tears came. Nate was her life force, her everything. She couldn’t let him go.

  A lot could happen in one week.

  One thing was certain. If she told him now, this minute, he wouldn’t let her out of his sight. And she had more to do. She needed to find Cleo and, more importantly, Eddie Carter. She needed to talk with the others. She needed closure. When her time was up, though, she would tell him everything, and then the choice of where they went from here would be out of her hands.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Sunday morning, Sawyer arrived at Harper’s house ten minutes earlier than her scheduled appointment with Lennon. The fifteen-year-old kid with a mop of shaggy, dirty-blond hair opened the door before she could knock. His feet were bare and he looked half-asleep.

  “Hey,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “You showed up?”

  “Of course I did. Why wouldn’t I?”

  Ella, Sawyer’s ten-year-old niece, peeked around her brother’s tall frame. “Maybe because of all the other times you told him you would take him driving and never did.”

  “Funny girl,” Sawyer said as she nudged her way inside. “Where’s your mom?”

  “I’m not being funny,” Ella continued. “Just truthful. And Mom is still asleep.”

  “What about Dad?”

  “Working.”

  “On a Sunday?”

  “He always works,” Ella provided.

  Sawyer pointed at Lennon’s bare feet. “Why don’t you get your shoes on and we’ll go for a ride. Did you eat breakfast?”

  “He had cereal,” Ella said.

  Lennon walked off, leaving Sawyer alone with Ella. “So how is school going? Any big tests coming up?”

  Ella frowned. “School is boring. My friends and I want to drop out and start a group like the Black Wigs.”

  “What did you say?” came a croaky voice from afar.

  Ella and Sawyer watched Harper approach from the hallway, tightening the sash on her pink flannel robe. Her hair was flat on one side and sticking out like porcupine quills on the other.

  “Good morning,” Sawyer said.

  Harper ignored her and instead wagged a finger at her daughter. “Did I hear you say you wanted to be a Black Wig?”

  Ella looked slightly worried, but she nodded just the same. “They’re not bad people. The bad people are the ones who don’t keep their hands to themselves.”

  “She has a point,” Sawyer said.

  “Stay out of this,” Harper ordered.

  Aria came through the front door just then. She looked around at all the worried expressions. “What’s going on?”

  “Ella and her friends want to join the Black Wigs.”

  Ella wrinkled her nose at Sawyer. “We want to start our own group like The Slayers.”

  “No,” Harper said.

  “They’re cool,” Ella argued. “Those girls are scaring all the dumb boys who did bad things to them.” She propped a hand on her hip. “You always lecture me about what to do if someone ever touches me inappropriately. If something happened to me or my friends, don’t you think they should be punished for what they did?”

  Sawyer watched as Harper grappled with what to say. Ella knew very little about her mom’s past, which sort of put Harper between a rock and a hard place. How do you teach your daughter to stand up for herself without becoming a bully? It was especially difficult when every situation called for a different approach.

  Harper lifted her daughter’s chin. “If someone ever touches you, push them away and scream as loud as you possibly can.”

  “What if they won’t stop?”

  Harper placed her hands on Ella’s shoulders. “Then you need to run. Run as fast as you can and don’t stop until you find help.”

  “Ready to go,” Lennon said when he reappeared. He stopped and looked around at all the somber faces. “What happened? What did I miss?”

  “Nothing,” Harper said before fixing her gaze on Sawyer and then Aria. “What are you two doing here?”

  Sawyer spoke up first. “I’m here to take your son for a driving lesson. We’ll only be an hour.”

  “And I’m going back to my place,” Aria said. “I saw Sawyer’s car and thought I’d just run over and say hello.”

  Harper waved them all away, then shut the door.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Sawyer asked Lennon.

  “Mom and Dad aren’t getting along.”

  “You were here when Nate returned home from his trip,” Aria said.

  Sawyer exhaled. “I guess I hoped they would have worked things out by now.”

  “Mom slept on the couch last night,” Lennon said. “After Dad left for work, she moved to the bedroom.”

  “Everything will work out,” Aria told Lennon. “You two should get going. Good luck!”

  Sawyer’s plan had been to drive to the high school a mile away and have Lennon drive around the parking lot, but he convinced her he was ready for the streets of Sacramento. Since there was less traffic on Sunday, Sawyer agreed.

  Lennon buckled up. Sawyer was glad she didn’t have to tell him to put on his blinker before merging onto the road. They drove for a couple of blocks before he was able to make a smooth stop. “Not bad,” Sawyer said.

  They drove to Midtown, where there were more pedestrians than cars and the lanes were narrow. When she shifted in her seat, she caught a glimpse of the same green car she’d seen outside her apartment and then at the prison.

  “What’s wrong?” Lennon asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “You sound like my mom. Why can’t you just tell me what the hell you’re looking at?”

  Sawyer lifted an eyebrow. She’d never heard Lennon curse before. The anger that had crept into his voice was also a surprise. And yet she understood. Harper had been keeping secrets from them all, and it was obviously getting to Lennon. “There’s a green car, one of those tiny automobiles, two cars back. I think I’ve seen that same mint-green car bef
ore.”

  “Do you think someone’s following you?”

  “I do.”

  Lennon glanced in his rearview mirror. “I see it. It’s a Kia Soul.”

  Sawyer gestured toward the road in front of them. “Just keep your eyes on the road ahead, please.”

  “Should I pull to the side of the road and see if the car passes?”

  “If you find a convenient spot to pull into, go ahead. Otherwise, forget it.”

  He came to a stop at the light. Lennon peered into his mirror.

  “Just don’t look over your shoulder, okay?” Sawyer asked. “I don’t want whoever is in the car to know we’re onto them.”

  “Got it. The driver is the only one in the car. He or she is wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses.”

  “Can you see the license plate number?”

  “No.”

  “Hair color? Facial hair?”

  “It’s too hard to see with the other car in the way.”

  The light turned green. Lennon put on the gas, then pulled into an empty spot up ahead.

  The car behind them swept by, followed by the green Kia Soul.

  “The license plate number started with 6T,” Lennon said.

  Sawyer added, “And it ended with the number three.” While Sawyer made note of it on her phone, Lennon hit the gas and jerked the wheel to the left. Sawyer fell to her right.

  The car behind them honked.

  Sawyer grabbed on to the dashboard. “What are you doing?”

  “Let’s get the rest of the license number.”

  “I’m not even sure the car was following us.”

  “Well, let’s find out.”

  Sawyer hoped they had lost the Kia Soul since Lennon didn’t have his license yet. “Maybe I should drive.”

  “I have a permit and I’m a good driver. You said so yourself.”

  “Did I say that?”

  He didn’t answer, just kept his eyes focused on the road. “I see the car,” Lennon said excitedly. “It’s stopped at the next light.” He pulled up as far as he could before stopping. “There are two cars and a truck between us.”