UNHOLY CULT OF THE BLOOD ROSE by Cary Dollgener

The Unholy Cult of the Blood Rose, formerly Circle of the Rose

Eddie C Dollgener Jr

Quitman McDonald Publishing

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the authorâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. Copyright ÂŠ 2012 by Eddie C Dollgener Jr http://www.amazon.com/author/eddie-c-dollgener-jr

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Quitman McDonald Publishing 11856 County Road 316 Terrell, TX 75161 http://www.quitmanmcdonaldpublishing.sharepoint.com Printed in the United States of America

Neither the publisher, nor the author are not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher, or the author.

Table of Contents

Dedicati on Intro 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

100

101

102

103

104

105

Epilogue

DEDICATION

For DeeDee, in whom all my hope resides that she have a long and abundant life and be able to achieve more than I ever could with mine.

INTRODUCTION

When I started this book many years ago, I had been a young man full of dreams and inspiration. Reaching now into what I hope is the halfway point in my life, I have gained far more experience and a deeper understanding of the way life works. This book has taken nearly twenty years to reach this point to which you are now reading it. A lot has happened to this book and me over the last two decades. I have been twice married and divorced. I have a beautiful daughter whom I love dearly. I have been a mentor to several boys who have already grown up into fine young men. I have coached little league basketball. This book underwent a major rewrite seventeen years ago and then several revisions to which I thought was just not professional enough to present to any reader. In this final revision that I offer to you, the book has been polished and cleaned as well as I dare to offer. The story you are reading had a life of its own that I did not want to destroy, yet I felt it necessary to clarify some points that it made. My young life was altered by sexual abuse from a neighbor before I knew what sex was. I still carry partial memories of what had happened and it affects me to this day. Any time that I write, I put small parts of my life into the work. Only those who are close to me can see those bits and pieces of the puzzle that shapes who I am. I do not carry a grudge against that person who hurt me so long ago. God will deal with him. I do not harbor ill feelings toward God, either. I believe that what happens in the past has a definite effect on the future. What happened shaped me into the individual I am today. Some of you might be offended by what you read. I do not wish to lead you in that direction. When I started this book long ago, I had the feeling that no one knew really what I had gone through as a child. I have loving parents that I cherish deeply, but I do not think they ever really knew all that I had gone through. I guess that it was overshadowed by the plight of my sister, who had her own story to tell. Whatever the case was, I do not hold them responsible, either. I was a victim of the times. I grew up in a time when boys were not supposed to talk about bad things that happened to them. You were supposed to man up and take it on the chin. If somehow the crime was discovered, a boy could be deemed equally at fault for allowing his body to be violated, regardless of the age of the offender. Silence was preferred over rejection and humiliation. Thank God, we have grown up since then. We have learned to recognize when our children are in danger and there is no longer as powerful a gender bias when dealing with these

young victims. It would be wonderful to live in a modern time when there was no more suffering for children, and the only monsters present were those hiding under the bed and not in the house next door. When I started this book, I wanted to alert people to the dangers that all children faced, not from fictionalized characters going to extreme lengths to torture their victims, but to everyday people who frequent their lives. I hope that nothing I write in this book would ever really happen to a child. Innocence lost is a life taken. I often wonder how I would have turned out had those events not occurred in my past. In addition, I am forced to remember how a dear, sweet sister took her life because of the monsters in her past. No child should ever suffer. EVER. I completed the entire book before the events of September 11, 2001. I had sent it to the U.S. Copyright office 1997. I tell you this because a certain part of this book detailed a few of the characters watching as a jet crashed into what had been the NCNB Building in downtown Dallas. I could have taken that out of the book, but I did not. I left it in there as a tribute to the victims that died that day.

Sarah Jenkins sat at her desk carefully studying the text of her latest book. Her eyes, accentuated by deeply etched lines of worry and a deeper, almost imperceptible anger, stared at a troubling section. The heroine was close to discovering that the killer of her husband was actually her best friend. Sarah typed in a few sentences and then sat back to study the wording again. Her frown turned even more intense as she tapped one fingernail on the worn oak desk. A deep sigh of exasperation escaped with force through grim set teeth. The entire paragraph needed rewording. Gabriel shifted around from his perch near the monitor and blinked at her lazily with his yellow eyes. He arched his back and stretched before getting up to approach her for attention. Sarah smiled at him and reached out to pet his head. He began to purr softly and nudge against her hand affectionately. She rarely spoke aloud to him. The method of communication was almost telepathic. Sarah sipped at the coffee and brandy that was beginning to grow cold, realizing then that she had been sitting for too long at the desk. She glanced at the clock on the wall. Three hours had passed. Her knees creaked and popped as she straightened her legs to stand. She walked out of the study into the living room, stretching the tightened muscles in her legs and back. She looked outside the window as the day was beginning to brighten. She told herself that it would be a beautiful day to work out in the garden. The flowerbeds missed Juanâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s attention and desperately needed weeding and care. Sarah walked through the old house, a meticulously restored Victorian, into the kitchen that she had done most of the work on. The house itself had been in terrible shape when she found it. Thieves had torn through walls to steal copper wiring and then vandals, perhaps boys in their tweens trying to prove their manhood to neighborhood brethren, had broken nearly all of the ornate stained glass windows. Rats and termites had also done their share of damage to the structure. She had to spend a small fortune to bring the old home back to its former grandeur, but the price was worth the statement that the house made for her. Sarah went into a kitchen where her taste for decorating changed dramatically between formal and informal. While most of the rest of the house bore a restrictive formal appearance, the kitchen was warm and inviting. The ceilings were high in this room as well, and she had opted to paint with bright colors that were cheerful and pleasing to the eye. The cabinets did not reach all the way to the ceiling but stopped two feet short of it. Here and there she placed colorful, ornate bowls or a floral arrangement of silk flowers. She had canisters and cookie jars of many different shapes. Most were whimsical representations of farm animals.

All of these items were set on top of the cabinets at various intervals so that they were not too crowded or overpowering. The counter tops were bare of all but the essentials. She had seen many kitchens that were so crowded on the counters that there was no room for work. She had a set of canisters that held her basic cooking utensils and a coffee maker. The rest of her utensils were stored away, each in its proper place. The kitchen was a tie to her past. She remembered the little table that graced the small cottage that her grandmother had lived in. The kitchen in that house had always been warm and inviting and scented of fresh baked goods. Sarah never knew a day when there was not a cookie or pastry that the kindhearted old woman had to offer. Sarah tried her best to evoke the memories in the decoration of her own kitchen. Sarah rinsed out her coffee cup and poured herself more coffee, cream, and brandy. She walked over to the small table set into a large bay window and sat down. The windows were open and letting in a pleasant mid-morning breeze scented of azaleas, honeysuckle, and rose. She picked up the Dallas newspaper and started reading the metro page. She did not understand what really compelled her to read the crime stories usually printed on the interior pages. It was depressing to her to read about the victims of crime, especially when it came to children. Sarah looked out the window as she sipped at her coffee and scanned through the paper. Shadows danced with sunlight across the large green lawn. Low gray clouds were beginning to roll across the East Texas skies. The weatherman had called for widely scattered showers to come through the Tyler area later in the day, and he was usually right. She decided that she really needed to weed her flowerbeds before the rains arrived. Sarah rose up from the table after finishing the rest of her coffee. She was about to head to the sink with the cup when the telephone rang. She looked at the clock on the wall. It was not even seven yet. As she walked over to the telephone she wondered whom it could have been that was calling so early. Very few people knew her telephone number. She let it ring again while she checked the caller I.D. The frown of curiosity turned into a smile of recognition. She set the cup on the counter and walked over to the telephone. "Hello?" "Sarah?" The man speaking on the other end of the line had a deep, husky voice with a distinguished Hispanic accent. It was Juan Ontiveros, one of a few men she allowed close enough to be a friend. His tone of voice was mournful. It seemed as if the man was on the verge of crying. Sarah grew alarmed as her heart sank with immediate understanding. "Is it Yolanda?" Sarahâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s throat felt tightly closed as her heart began to beat rapidly, seeming ready to explode. Juan had always been a cheerful man, even on the day she had him fired from his

restaurant job. Hardly anything could shake his pleasant demeanor. Lately, though, a mutual friend of theirs was falling victim to the disease of AIDS and it was demoralizing to both of them. "She's asking for you." Juan was choking on his own tears. "I think you better come soon." "I'll be there." Sarah's eyes were watering. "Hurry." Juan sobbed with a sense of urgency. Sarah started to hang up but remembered her lunch date with Rebecca. She dialed the telephone number to her mother’s house. She wiped her eyes as she waited, growing impatient after the third ring. She almost hung up when the other end answered. Sarah dreaded what she was going to tell Rebecca, but Juan needed her. "Mother?" Sarah tried to keep herself from sobbing over the telephone. "Why Sarah!" Rebecca sounded pleased. "I'm surprised to hear from you this morning.” Then, as if she could flip an emotional switch, she sounded worried. “Is something wrong?" Sarah could not help but think that her mother’s greeting was canned. "Do you think that you could come over tomorrow, instead?" She twirled the telephone cord in her hand in nervous agitation. "Yolanda isn't expected to make it through the day. She asked to see me." "Are you sure that you wouldn't want me there this afternoon?" Rebecca sounded as if she was concerned, but Sarah knew better. "You sound like you could use someone to talk to." Sarah sighed and almost lost her composure. "I can handle this by myself, Mother. If I need you, I'll call." Rebecca was silent for a long moment. The moment seemed to last forever. The telephone was picking up some obscure radio station that played really old country songs. The lyrics were hard to discern, but the instrumentals were undeniable as guitars. "Okay, Mother?" Sarah squeezed her eyes shut. "Okay." Rebecca finally said with a soft, worried tone of voice. "Just continue to take care of yourself and push everybody else away who might have an ounce of sympathy for you." "I've got to go, Mother." Sarah sobbed. "Please understand." "Call me." Rebecca spoke with a bit of regret. "I will, Mother."

Sarah waited until she heard a click on the telephone line. She hung up her receiver and headed for the study. She filed the page she had been working on and then clicked off the word processor. She grabbed her purse and keys and headed for the front door through the parlor. Gabriel meowed pathetically as she passed him by without stopping to pet him. He must have sensed her distress, for he called after her even as she closed the door.

Juan was pacing nervously up and down the hall when Sarah exited the elevator. His wife of many years watched him from her seat near their young children, her own eyes reddened from sorrow. He looked up at Sarah with a half-hearted smile. Tears were brimming in his large brown eyes. He wiped them dry to show that he was still a man, yet more tears streamed out to replace them. He ran up to greet her. "The nurses say it won't be long, Sarah." Juan took her hands. "Yolanda keeps asking for you." "I've got to go in there." Sarah started to go around Juan. Juan gently held her back. "The nurses are in there with her right now." "When did she get worse?" Sarah looked over Juan's shoulder, but she could see nothing of the room. "Last night. She keeps hanging on, though." Juan nearly broke down. "It's like she has some unfinished things to take care of. They thought that she would die last night, but I think she was waiting to see you one last time." Sarah placed her hand upon his shoulder. "It is okay, Juan. I'm here, now." Juan sobbed loudly as he leaned against her. "I'm sorry. I cannot help myself. I just keep seeing her in that condition and I remember the vibrant, healthy girl I had watched grow up." "I know. I know." Sarah felt her protective shell threatening to crumble away, something she could not allow to happen. She led Juan to a couple of chairs in the hall. "How long?" Juan struggled to gain control of his emotions. "Sometime this morning, maybe. She looks like she is suffering tremendously." A nurse walked out of the Intensive Care Unit and looked around slowly. After setting eyes upon Juan and Sarah, the nurse, a beautiful red haired woman in her late thirties, walked toward them with the deepest look of concern upon her face. Sarah wondered if it was a practiced look or genuine. "Are you Mrs. Jenkins?" The nurse had a deep, almost masculine voice that did not fit her looks. Sarah almost corrected the woman to call her Miss Jenkins rather than Mrs. "Yes I am."

"Ms. Valdez has no other family?" The nurse raised a disapproving eyebrow. "Yolanda came into our lives a few years ago." Sarah replied curtly, although it was none of the woman’s business. It was unnerving to speak to a woman whose voice just did not fit. "She was an orphan and unable to have children of her own." "She's been asking for you." The nurse stepped back. Sarah looked to Juan, her tone and demeanor softening. "Are you going to be okay?" Juan tried to smile and urged her to go without words. Sarah stood up and followed the nurse down the hallway. Juan sat in the chair doubled over and sobbed heavily. She realized how much love that man held in his heart and she admired him for it. There were very few men like him. The environment changed dramatically as the two women passed through double doors. Grim memories caused Sarah to shiver as they walked through a dimly lit area. A kind of silence fell over the Intensive Care Unit that was different from that of the rest of the hospital. The angel of death waited here expectantly. Sarah could discern the beep of individual heart monitors and mechanical respirators. One room was silent as she approached, and she peered in apprehensively. There had been ten full rooms in the unit just the day before, but now that one was empty. Sarah shook her head and bit her lip. That room had held a little girl clinging to life by a thread. A drunk driver with two former convictions for DWI had run over her frail body while speeding through a school zone. The nurse noticed Sarah looking into the room. "I knew the bastard that killed that little girl.” Again, she spoke with the irksome masculine tinges. “Used to be a doctor at this very hospital. Ironic, huh?" "Did she suffer?" Sarah tried to force the image out of her mind. All she could see through the anger that was building within her soul was the twisted form of a child lying in a bed almost obscured by the tubes and bandages that covered her. "They say she was brain dead already." The nurse spoke with almost a loathing tone. "The bastard tried to run from the accident. I wish that they would give him the chair for this." "I would like to talk to her family and the administrator." Sarah then added coldly. "We know that doctor will walk away with a slap on the wrist." The nurse nodded her agreement in silence, and then whispered, "I could have Mr. Johnson come down later this morning. He’ll know how to get in touch with the family."

Sarah nodded thoughtfully and followed the nurse into Yolanda's room. The nurse stepped back to the doorway to leave the two women alone. Sarah's anger extinguished itself the moment she entered the room. It was darker in there to protect Yolanda from the bright lights. Only a heart monitor recorded her vital signs. Sarah approached the bed, trying to hold back the tears already streaming down her cheeks. "I'm here, Yolanda," Sarah whispered. Yolanda stirred slowly. It took great effort for her to turn over and look up at Sarah. She was only twenty-five but the ravages of the disease upon her body made her look much older. Lines had etched themselves into her flesh prematurely. The youthful vigor that had once lit up such beautiful eyes had given way to the haunted, hollow look of death. She tried to smile but even that took more effort than she could spare. "Sarah." Yolanda whispered hoarsely. Sarah leaned down and pushed the hair out of Yolanda's eyes. "Don't speak. Save your strength." "Listen to me." Yolanda urged. "There is something that you must do for me, for everyone." Sarah drew up a chair and took one of Yolanda's hands into hers, trying hard not to lose her composure. "Tell me." Yolanda drew in as much air as she could. There was a sickening rattle deep within her chest. "The Circle of the Rose ...It must not be completed. You are the one. You can stop it from happening." Sarah shook her head. "I don't understand. What are you trying to tell me?" "I was part of it. He found a way to get to me. I thought that I was safe." Yolanda raised herself up, the strength coming from the need to be heard. "In my work with the children I came across the one that Morgan is looking for. He is in an orphanage in Dallas. You must take the little boy away from there before they find him." Sarah had to regain control of her emotions. When Yolanda mentioned the name Morgan, a cold shiver ran down her spine. For a moment, all that she could do was imagining that horrid tongue pushing through wicked teeth caked with yellow gunk. A knot of revulsion churned in her gut. "Yolanda..." Sarah thought that Yolanda was delirious and wondered what she could do to calm the woman down. "Find him and protect him." Yolanda stressed.

"I can't take care of a child." Sarah spoke honestly. "I just don't think I could." She immediately regretted saying those words. "You have so much anger in you, Sarah. So much that makes you as sick as I am in your soul." Yolanda pulled even closer to Sarah. "You did more for me than anyone else ever did. I know that kind heart of yours. You could help him, too. He is so little and frail. If they get a hold of him..." "Who are 'they'? Why not call the police?" Sarah had not wanted to upset Yolanda in her state of health. She was obviously delirious. Yolanda lay back on the bed with such force that it shuddered. "They are the evil ones. Parts of the police are with them. They are everywhere and they serve Morgan." "Please, Yolanda." Sarah laid he hands over Yolanda's to help soothe her. "Calm down." "I'm not crazy, Sarah." Yolanda sobbed. "Go to my apartment. Find the key. You will see. Find him and protect him from them. Do it for me. Please." "Okay, I'll do it." "Promise me." Yolanda spoke firmly. "I promise that I will." Yolanda sighed with satisfaction and closed her eyes. Sarah relaxed a bit. She looked around, feeling a bit of guilt. As she suspected, the nurse was watching the two of them intently. She turned back to Yolanda and thought that the young woman had gone back to sleep. Sarah was about to speak a few words with the nurse when Yolanda reached up and held her hand to stop her. "I never really had the opportunity to thank you for all the help that you have given me over the years." Yolanda smiled sweetly. Sarah swallowed a lump forming at the base of her throat. It would not go away, though. "I only did what I thought was right." She thought that she would start crying again. â&#x20AC;&#x153;You are like a mother to me." Yolanda was still smiling. The pain seemed to have left her expressions. "When Enrique turned bad and nearly killed me, you were there to help me pick up the pieces of my life." "Juan was the biggest help." Sarah felt weak and out of control. Her emotions were threatening to overtake her again. "No. He was a friend to me, but you..." Yolanda touched Sarah's long red hair, feeling the silken curls for one last time. "You taught me how to respect myself again. I saw you and I knew

that I wanted to be like you.” She drew in a deep breath, gathering the last reserves of live that she had. "That's why I started working with the children. I thought that if I could help just one of them, then I would give to God what I had received. “It was hard at first. I had to learn patience. Their lives were in my hands. The angry ones I got easily frustrated with, but then I remembered how you dealt with me in times that I even thought that I hated you. I have grown to love you. "That is why you must find the little boy for me. That boy needs you. More than anything else in your life, you must do this. His name is Tommy Morgan..." Sarah froze at the mention of the boy’s name 'Morgan' as a brief, haunted memory came surging into her mind. She quickly fought it down until it receded back into the darkest corner of her mind. She wondered if the nurse or Yolanda had seen the moment of weakness. Yolanda pulled Sarah even closer to whisper what she did not want the nurse to hear. “Go to my apartment. Find that special gift you gave me so long ago. You will see.” "I will do what I can," Sarah spoke somberly. "I love you, too, Yolanda." "There is one last thing that you could do for me. Something that I had always longed for since I was a child," Yolanda whispered softly. Sarah leaned over the bed. "Whatever it is." Yolanda coughed hoarsely. "I have always wanted a mother to tuck me in and kiss me good night." Sarah tried to say something, but her voice broke apart in her throat. She stood up so that she could lean over the bed. Carefully drawing up the sheets, she pulled them up to Yolanda's chin. She tucked the sides in. Her tears burned hot as they fell upon the clean white linens. She leaned forward and kissed the young woman's forehead. How on earth could she be considered as a mother to this dying child? "Goodnight and pleasant dreams, my child." Sarah whispered with a hoarse voice. Yolanda drew in a final breath. It seemed as if she was trying to hold it in, trying to relish the last moments of life. Sarah felt the world pressing in on her. The sound of the heart monitor alarm seemed to come from another room. The look on Yolanda's face would etch itself in her memory. She looked to be finally at peace. There had been so much pain in her life and now it was over. Sarah tried to stand, but found that her legs were weak. She became angry with herself for giving in to her emotions. The nurse walked into the room and turned off the monitor. She said nothing as she exited the room, but she made sure to lay a reassuring hand on Sarah's shoulder.

Sarah gripped the rails on the bed so hard that her knuckles turned white. She stiffened her arms and tried to channel her pain into another emotion. At the moment she thought she would break down, Sarah found an exit. Enrique. Sarahâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s hatred for the man enabled her to suppress the pain she needed to release. He had been a monster. Yolanda had barely turned fifteen when he had taken her for his wife. She had loved him because he had pretended to care for her. Sarah had found out that Enrique liked his women only at a certain age. Yolanda had been a late bloomer, blossoming into womanhood when she had turned sixteen. Even after they had been married, Enrique had found other little girls on whom to take out his pleasures. Years of living in various orphanages and foster homes had left an indelible mark upon Yolanda's soul. It was hard for a child to find love in that kind of life. Enrique had been twentyseven when he began to work on a thirteen-year-old Yolanda. Their relationship lasted just four years, and it was pleasant at first. Enrique had been the kindest human being to enter Yolanda's life. He treated her with gentleness and she immediately attached herself to him, finally finding a decent rock with which to anchor her life. She had loved him so much that she was willing to allow herself to be his victim. Yolanda's love for the man turned sour quickly after they began living together. They were never officially married. He risked discovery of his illegal acts if they did try to get married. Yolanda found out quickly that there were other girls as young as she was. When she told a social worker about him, Enrique beat the living hell out of her and threatened to kill her. The knowledge of the acts that Enrique performed on other little girls burdened her soul tremendously. Taught by an earlier foster family to seek help at the church, Yolanda attended one Sunday morning. When Enrique did not return home from a Saturday night of binge drinking, she took two other girls that he had brought home from a place that he would not talk about. They walked to a small church within a short distance from the ramshackle home she shared with the sick man. It was there that Juan first met her. Yolanda and the two other girls, who could not have been more than eleven each, had remained behind after the church let out, praying fervently before the altar. She was crying terribly. It tore Juan's heart to see a young girl crying. He had asked his wife to go on to the car. He walked up to the front of the church and began to talk to Yolanda. It took Juan a small amount of time to convince Yolanda and the other two girls that he was no threat to them and coaxed them into telling him their troubles. As soon as he heard the

horrifying truth, he called the police and vowed never to let harm come to any of the girls again. The two other girlsâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; families were located and reunited, but Yolanda had no one to look after her. Juanâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s heart tore yet again, big as it was, and he immediately took the girl under his wing. Juan walked in and looked down at the withered form of Yolanda with his eyes nearly flooded with tears. "She has no more pain in her life." "She never should have met Enrique." Sarah gritted her teeth together as she fought her own tears. "I harbor no respect for him for the misery he caused her." "Please don't be angry, Sarah." Juan was beginning to shake. He started to reach out and touch Sarah on the shoulder but knew that would only make matters worse. Sarah never let anyone close enough to touch her soul. "We must forget the past and put it behind us. The pain is a poison for the future." "I've got to go! I need to think!" Sarah was trying to run away from the emotional tidal that was threatening to crash down upon her. "Will you be all right?" "I'll be okay. I've got to take care of the arrangements." Juan wished that he had some of the strength that Sarah had. He could not keep his emotions at bay as well as she did. "You go on." "I'm sorry, Juan. There is no way that I could stay here right now." Sarah felt a sense of guilt for leaving him behind. "Go ahead." Juan looked over at Yolanda. "Her suffering is over now. You gave her happiness just before she went to sleep. That is all we could ask." Sarah nodded and stepped out of the room as she could. The hospital had grown into an oppressive death chamber. She desperately needed to get out of there before she screamed out of her lungs. The nurse gave her a deep, respective look that showed her condolences. Sarah ran out of the Intensive Care Unit. She had to get out of there. Sarah reached the elevators at the end of the hall, but then had to wait for what seemed to be an eternity. The elevators were acting much slower than usual. She sighed impatiently as tears stung her eyes. No crying! Tears never helped. She paced back and forth in front of the elevators. People watched her with mixed feelings. Finally the door slid open and she had to restrain herself from rushing madly inside. It was packed full of people at that time of the morning. The doors did not open soon enough when the elevator reached the first floor. Sarah made sure that she was the first to leave. She walked across the lobby to the entrance doors. Everyone she encountered was smiling. She wondered how they could smile on such a day as this one. Tears were burning at the corners of her eyes.

Sarah pushed her way through the glass doors and stepped out into the fresh air. The street in front of the hospital was alive with lunch hour traffic. She paid no mind to the myriad of cars that drove by as she ran across the street, heedless of a car that nearly struck her. The driver had given her a warning honk. As she continued, she felt through her purse until she located her keys and pulled them out. Sarah almost panicked when she could not see her car at first. The tears were trying to form as she put her free hand to her temple in a vain effort to stop the coming migraine. She found her bumper in a sea of bumpers where she had parked. She let out one small sob as she rushed to the safety of her car. She was about to climb in when a police car pulled up in front of her car, cutting off any way for her to get out. She desperately needed to get into her car and drive away. Sarah drew up in frustration and turned on the officer just as he was getting out of his car. "Can I help you, officer?" "Yes, you can." The officer approached her casually. The man was in his mid-thirties with light brown hair. He had an athletic build complimented by his uniform. When he walked around the front of his car to confront her, she noticed right away that he could not avoid looking at her body. She noted the number on his badge and forced his last name into her memory. Haskell. As Officer Haskell approached her, he exuded a confidence that she would quickly take care of. He stopped at the hood of her car and looked down at the silver jaguar in admiration. Sarah frowned as she started to approach him, but then he smiled. The smile completely derailed the steam train she was about to hurl at him. She nearly lost the composure that she fought so hard to control. "Are you okay, ma'am?" Haskell wanted to touch the silver cat, but he knew that would be a mistake. "I nearly hit you when you crossed the street out there." Sarah tried to rebuild her attack, but he was still smiling. "My friend just died." The officer showed no sign of distrust or disbelief, but his smile disappeared. "I'm sorry to hear that, ma'am." He did not offer any reproach but looked at her with compassion. "Just be careful. You ought to sit for a minute before leaving. Collect your thoughts before driving." "Okay." Sarah had wanted to vent her rage at the police officer, but his attitude completely baffled her. The tears burned hotter. Officer Haskell returned to his car. He tipped his head respectfully to her as he stepped back in. Sarah looked at him with bewilderment as he drove away. Did it actually show in her

face that she was hurting over Yolanda's death? The police car was entering the busy street. Officer Haskell looked back over his shoulder at her before he drove away. Sarah sat in her car abruptly. The need to escape was stronger than ever. She wanted to go back in and comfort Juan, but the day was falling apart around her, and she needed to piece everything back together. The migraine creeping insidiously up through the base of Sarah’s neck suddenly burst forward. She clenched her teeth together and pressed both palms against her eyes. The pain felt as if the pressure would drive her eyes out of their sockets. She risked forcing her right eye open as she frantically searched for her purse and then through it. It seemed as if she would never find the bottle of pain medicine. For a moment, she feared that she might have left them at home. Then she latched hold of the small bottle and retrieved it. Only two tablets remained, and she frantically downed both of them. Sarah turned the ignition and the big cat purred to life. She turned on the radio to a station that played soothing music and lay back in her seat, replacing her palms upon her eyes. The radio station played a song by Kenny Rogers that was a devotion of love to a woman. The migraine was still in control and blurred the words and the tune into an old Bee Gees song. That song disappeared into grayness. When the pain began to ebb, Elvis was singing about the ghettoes. She surprised herself with a loud sob and pulled her hands away from her eyes. They were wet with tears that she should not have been crying. She sat up, disgusted with her show of weakness, and slammed the car into drive. With a violent squeal of protest from the tires pushed beyond their limits, Sarah tore out of the parking lot at a haphazard rate. She fishtailed across three lanes of traffic before bringing the car under control. One driver shot her the finger and shouted something through his side glass that could have been „Go to Hell!’ for all she cared. Several cars that she had cut off as she pulled onto the street honked their horns angrily. Sarah turned up Broadway and headed for the Troup Highway, which she knew to be empty of traffic at that hour. The traffic on Broadway was too heavy for what she needed. She nearly rear-ended two old farm trucks that wasted more gas in the exhaust than were combusted. Sarah turned onto the highway heading away from the Tyler City limits. Once she passed Troup the construction would be ended. The barricades would be gone and there would be no danger of a worker stepping out in front of her. Hardwoods gave way to deep, tall pine trees that shadowed the road most of the time. She was not aware that her foot depressed the accelerator to the floor. The Jaguar was very fast, made for speed. The trees grew into blurs as she tried to escape her pain. The road had occasional twists and curves, but the suspension was precise and kept the car firmly gripped to the surface.

Yolanda occupied her thoughts. Sarah kept seeing the woman as a young girl, living a life of terror and pain in the grips of the monster, Enrique. She had been so frail and timid. He had ruined her and given her the death sentence with the disease he carried. Sarah never wished such a disease upon anyone, with the exception of one person who deserved it. What are you running from, little girl? The voice belonged to a ghost of the past. "I’m not running." Sarah whispered to herself. You will fall and break your neck. "Daddy," Sarah did not realize that she was thinking aloud. "I’m being careful." Sarah knew where her thoughts were taking her. It always happened when her control weakened. She focused her mind's eye on the young police officer. She forced herself to think of him. She tried to remember what he looked like, the features of his face, his badge number, his name. The only thing she could see clearly was his smile with those glistening white teeth. They were not really glistening and they were not white, were they? They were an ugly yellow, probably stained from too much coffee or pipe smoke. Not all of them were there, either. One of them chipped while a silver cap covered another. They parted so that tongue could dart out snake like... Sarah shuddered in revulsion at the vivid memory. She had gripped the steering wheel with both hands so tightly that the fingertips were tingling. The shudder caused her arms to jerk. The car responded to the sudden change. She hit gravel and lost contact with solid pavement. From somewhere around her she could hear a truck horn blaring at her, but she could not locate the other vehicle right away The trees grew up close to the highway in that area and Sarah feared that she was about to plow right through them. She turned the wheel again to try to get back up on the highway. She over-corrected and crossed the road in the opposite direction. She jerked the wheel again and entered the path of an approaching school bus. She cried out to God and stomped on the brake pedal. The back of the car swung around suddenly and she could no longer see the bus. The momentum carried Sarah’s car off the pavement again just as the bus roared by her, narrowly missing the front of her car. She kept the brake pedal mashed in as far as she could press it until the car came to a full stop. "Oh God!" Sarah exclaimed when she realized that she had not been hurt. The bus had pulled to a stop a hundred yards down the road. The driver got out and approached her cautiously. Looking at him, she wondered how any parent could trust their children in his care. He had a beard that was shaggy and extended down to an exposed gut. She did not want to talk to him.

"Jeez, lady!" The man had a graveled voice that rasped against her nerves. "You nearly hit us!" Sarah's stomach churned when she looked at him. Through the narrow crack in the window, she could smell him and it reminded her of something dead on the side of the road. His face was greasier than his navel and looked like a battleground from all the pimple craters. His nose was a large, bulbous mass that looked as if it would burst open if he decided to rub it. His shirt was sleeveless and his arms appeared scarred with the tracks of needle marks. The driver kept looking back at the bus nervously. There were several children looking out the back window. They were cute and could not have been older than eight or nine. One of them waived to her, but she was in no mood to waive in return. She turned back to the man. "I'm okay, sir. I just lost a friend. I was thinking about her when I lost control of the car. Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m sorry if I frightened you or the children." The driver snorted and then spit out a thick wad of phlegm onto the shoulder of the road. "Sorry to hear about your friend lady. Don't you worry about them young uns." He paused to look up at the bus again. "We were on our way to Tyler on a field trip. Do you want me to call the police for you?" "I'm fine." Sarah wanted to end their conversation as quickly as possible. "I'll sit here and wait a few minutes before I leave." The driver stooped over to talk to her through her window. He straightened back up and scratched the enormous gut he seemed to display proudly. "Well I have a tight schedule to make. These kids have a busy day ahead of them. If you will pardon me..." "Gladly." Sarah whispered to herself when he had turned away. She finally waived to the child that had waived to her and saw a smile spread across the little girl's mouth. The bus soon left, leaving Sarah to sit alone in her car. She had no desire to drive away yet. The car was still running. She pushed a button on the dash and the top slowly retracted. The sky opened up above her. She turned off the air conditioner and let the natural air wash over her. It was warm and moist, promising of rain. The clouds were streaming northeastward but appeared to be getting heavier. Sarah shut off the motor, thankful that she had not done any damage to the car, or anyone else for that matter. A hawk cried a warning as it circled overhead. She watched it for a long time as it tirelessly hunted, gracefully swooping low through the trees and avoiding the thick branches that would have caught larger animals. It cried again as it gracefully swept in an arc up high into the air. Its wings folded and it plummeted toward the ground a hundred feet in front of her. It was a master of flight and exhibited its skill as it landed upon a copperhead attempting to cross the highway.

Only a few seconds passed for the carefully planned attack. The snake tried to strike with its deadly fangs, but the bird of prey had anticipated the move. It caught the viper's head with its powerful beak and with a quick flip of its neck, severed the snake's head from its body. The body of the snake still writhed and twisted as if it was trying to escape. The hawk took flight with its kill to a more private area to dine. Sarah had only taken three breaths. She hated snakes. They were loathsome creatures that she could not tolerate. She hoped that the hawk had an insatiable appetite for snakes. The migraine had left her, and she was grateful for that as well. She cursed her foolishness for driving so fast to get out of town. Her mind was beginning to clear. Her friend had died and she knew that she needed to help set things in order. She could not deal with the funeral procedures. Juan would have to do that on his own. She dreaded even sitting through the service. She loved Yolanda as much as anyone else did, but it would be difficult to sit through the service and keep control over her emotions. She needed to be busy to keep from falling away into the cataclysm of pain. Sarah remembered what Yolanda had asked her to return to her apartment and get a gift from long ago. The apartment was not in the best part of town and residents would be quick to take advantage of the young womanâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s passing. If anything, she needed to get there and preserve what little possessions Yolanda had. She started the car back up and turned back to town.

Susan Farnsworth sat at her desk looking at the prospective couple with deep suspicion, but she did not let it show. Too many years at her job had made her overly cautious with the people she counseled about adoptions. She adjusted the glasses she wore and opened the file folder before her. The papers were ready to be signed. She sensed something about the man and looked directly at him. They were rich, the adoptive couple, and could have chosen any child that they wanted. He was in his mid-forties and his hair was deep silver gray kept cut short and neat. He had approached the adoption process with a business-like approach. He made sure that all the funds were in order and readily available. He kept a tight schedule, but actually managed to work in more than the minimum amount of time required of him to spend with the boy they wanted to adopt. The man felt Susanâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s scrutiny of him and he shifted nervously in his chair. The woman was different. It was apparent that she spent many of her days alone at home. A cancer had destroyed any hope for children born to her. Tommy had captured her heart as he did with any other person he met. The woman had spent more time than most other adoptive parents did, getting to know him, even though he did not know how to respond to her attention. "I have been working Tommy Morgan's case for a very long time." Susan looked down at the paperwork before her. "I had a ray of hope that I had finally found a home for him when I met you. All of the others were not all that great." "Ma'am..." The man spoke with a deep, cultured Southern accent. He looked to his wife, then back to Susan. Susan hid her relief when she detected his rejection. For Tommyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s sake, she had not wanted to turn the couple down. He would have had a well-nurtured life from the woman, all the medical attention he needed, but none of the emotional support from a father figure all children required. She had never found it easy to break childrenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s hearts. It would be even harder to tell Tommy that they had backed out. She closed the folder so that nothing else would have to be said, but the man had to justify his guilty conscience as she expected. She stood up and walked back to the file cabinet. "We really liked the Morgan boy." The man cleared his throat. "After giving this considerable thought, though, we don't think that the boy will be right for us." The woman looked as if it was tormenting her to turn down the adoption. "I wanted a child who would respond to me with love."

"That boy is very emotionally unstable. He doesn't speak." The man rubbed his chin. "I am sure that Tommy will find a family that could take care of him." The woman had distanced herself from her husband. Susan put the file in its proper location and turned to face the couple, making no effort to hide her anger. "These past six months I have worked with the two of you and little Tommy. You were the first people I had ever felt some bit of hope for Tommy. You were not able to see it because you were blind to it, but I saw the subtle changes in him. He even has a friend now. I say this because I wanted you to know that you had made a difference in his life, however small it was.” She saw that her tone was inflicting pain in the woman and she decided to back off a little. “I was not going to authorize the adoption, though.” Susan turned her attention to the gentleman. “I could see it in you, sir, that you live a life too busy for children. A boy like Tommy needs a stable family life and a father who can spend a great deal of time with him. From the file about his parents, I discovered that Tommy spent a lot of time with his father and his mother. For Tommy's emotional stability, he would need a family that could provide both parents with nearly equal time. I wish the two of you the best of luck finding a child to adopt from another agency. Now if you will excuse me, I have a broken heart to mend." "Ma'am... If there was any way..." The man rose and helped his wife up, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a check. "Please take this as an apology. Half of it goes to Tommy. The other half is to be divided among the other children." Susan looked at the check for a moment. Ten thousand dollars. She would have torn the check up and thrown it in his face if she had not worked for an orphanage. There were children in the building that needed new clothes and there were quite a few beds that needed replacement. Susan made herself soften toward the man. "Thank you, sir. The children do need this. May I ask that half of what goes to Tommy to be put into a savings bond and the other half be used for a psychologist for him? Both would be most beneficial to his future." "That would be acceptable." The man took his wife by the arm. "We appreciate the time you spent with us and understand your disappointment." "Wait." The woman was fighting tears. She took up a pen from Susan's desk and wrote down a telephone number. "If he ever needs medical attention or you find a good family for him that does not have enough money for all the legal procedures, call me and I will take care of his expenses." "Thank you." Susan said softly. Nothing more could be said. There was a brief moment of awkward silence. Susan opened a drawer in her desk and placed the check inside, then closed and locked it. The woman

started to say something, then thought better of it, and allowed her husband to escort her out. Susan waited until they had left and then sat back down behind her desk. She took off her glasses and rubbed the temples of her forehead to ward off an approaching headache.

The boy was sitting up on his bed next to the third story window. He looked down on the courtyard outside. The children were playing in the warm sunshine that graced the spring day. He was too sick to go down and join them. His build was slight and his stature small. Though he was already nine, it was common for some people to think that he was seven. His short blonde hair still curled wildly. His complexion was pale and sickly. His eyes were distant and haunted. Tommy saw the couple go back out to their big fancy car and he knew. He could not suppress the tears of anguish from the disappointment. He touched the glass and leaned closer. The woman stopped and looked up at him and he could tell that she was hurting, too. She waived to him and then quickly disappeared into her car. He watched the car as it pulled away, his heart leaving with it. She had been so nice to him. She would have been perfect. Children gathered around the car and shouted. Jeremiah chased after the car all the way up the block, hurling a water balloon as a sign of protest. When the boy returned to the gate, one of the adults intended to monitor the children for safety chastised him and scolded him for acting so foolishly. Tommy turned away from the window and curled into his covers upon his bed. It was a small bed that occupied a small room. A bare bulb gave light enough to see by. He cried, but he did not sob aloud. He wondered why so many people hated him. Susan had said that it was because he would not talk. He could not tell her why he was forbidden to speak. Heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs outside of his room. Tommy raised his head up and listened closely. Already he was drawing his knees up and wrapping his arms around them. He tried to stop crying as he watched the crack below his door. In the light coming from the hall outside, he saw a shadow approaching his door. He held his breath, grabbed his sheets to cover himself, and began to shiver. "Tommy. Are you awake?" Susan asked as she gently opened the door. Tommy relaxed quickly, letting go of his knees. He sat up in his bed as Susan approached. She was trying to smile but each of them could see the pain in the other's eyes. She sat down on the edge of his bed. Her heart went out to him. She could see that he was wasting away in the prison that entrapped him. She took his small hand into hers. "I am sorry." Susan fought to keep her tears suppressed. Susan remembered the first time she had found Tommy. Just two years earlier, she had ended a long career at the Baptist Benevolence Home near the suburb of Mesquite, Texas. She

had learned of the horrors going on at a boysâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; home near downtown Dallas from some of the victims who had been able to escape the inner city Hell. Allegedly, drug lords who pimped out children to lecherous old men for easy cash ran it. Despite the name of the home, they found many young girls as well. She took over after they arrested the original caretaker during a federal raid. Officials could only describe the home as a flophouse for the cityâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s worst criminal element. What Susan learned of made her sick. A couple of children, who resisted pimping out, had their tiny bodies misshapen from severe beatings. Some of the children were emaciated. The building reeked of mold, mildew, and roaches. The children wore dirty clothing and slept on bug-infested bedding. Rats were commonplace and some actually were brave enough to walk across a foot in the daytime. It amazed her that the State of Texas had not closed the facility down sooner. The infestations and treatment of the children paled in comparison to the condition in which they found little Tommy. His room had always been on the third floor in what was little better than a musty old attic. The equipment room and a couple of storage rooms also occupied the floor. He never would have been discovered, if it had not been for a brave little girl who spoke up when the strangers entered the building. She had directed the men to the room where they kept the little boy of whom the other kids were afraid. Susan followed with the men as they went up the final flight of steps. The door to Tommy's room was locked from the outside with chains and a padlock. It was as if something terrible lay in wait on the other side of the door. After one man pried away the chain with the butt of his rifle and another rammed his shoulder into the stout wood, the door burst open into a third world prison. Something terrible had been waiting to attack when they entered. They found the child cold and naked, chained about the waist to his bed frame. The room stank of feces and urine several months old. The boy, covered in his own filth, whimpered and cringed as the strangers entered his room. So appalled by his condition, Susan would have throttled the old woman that was supposed to have been caring for the children. Susan's heart went out to Tommy in the instant she saw him. With tears streaming from her eyes, she ignored the warnings of the men standing at the door and approached the boy. When she neared him, she dropped to her knees so that she did not appear so imposing. When she went to examine the chains for a lock, Tommy lunged for her, pulling the bed as he did with a mighty strength that did not match his pint size. She caught his wildly flying arms with gentle hands, even though his could have gouged out her eyes. Amazed by his strength as he tried to attack her, she told the men to get back when they started to go into the room to help her. The stench of the room sickened her, but this child was in the worst shape she had ever witnessed. She tried to hold him close, but he fought against her.

Repeatedly Susan tried to calm Tommy by telling him that they were not there to hurt him. Half an hour would pass before he collapsed under exhaustion, yet she managed to find strength to hold him. The men brought in a pair of bolt cutters to remove the chain from his waist and free him from his physical prison. They took Tommy to a hospital to check him over. Susan had to be there with him, for he would not remain calm out of her presence. She figured that she had been the first person in a long time to be kind to him and he had entrusted only her. It was at the hospital they discovered he acted under the influence of various drugs. The real Tommy was yet to be discovered. "You saw them leaving?" Susan searched for the right words for encouragement. Tommy nodded as he wiped the tears from his eyes. Susan drew a finger under one of her own eyes. "You are really a beautiful little boy. With your wavy blond hair and your sky blue eyes, you should have been snatched up in a hurry." She cupped her hand over his. "If only you could put your past behind you...Forget what happened in the past." Tommy squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head slowly. "I know. You keep seeing the wreck over and over." She ran a hand through his hair. "I wish that your Momma and Daddy had lived. You deserve so much better than this." Tommy sat up in the bed and watched Susan with expectant eyes. She smiled at him and drew him into a hug. Tommy rewarded her with a kiss on her cheek. She would have returned the kiss, but Jeremiah tapped on the door. She reluctantly let go of Tommy and stood up to save him any further embarrassment in front of his friend. "You come down and see me if you need me, okay?" Susan received a nod in reply from Tommy. "Good." She turned to Jeremiah. "Don't keep him up too long. He is still sick and I wanted him to go to the flower gardens with us this evening." "Okay, Miss Susan." Jeremiah said politely. Susan patted Jeremiah on the shoulder as she walked by him. She still believed in giving the children touches of affection along with words of encouragement. In a world when people were distancing themselves from any incriminating contact with the children, she still knew in her heart how much affection they craved. Her children, more than others, needed to feel some sort of security in a world not very promising to them.

Jeremiah darted into the room. Tommy moved over to one side of his bed to make room for his best friend. Jeremiah climbed up onto the bed and sat beside Tommy, filled with compassion because he had wanted the couple to adopt Tommy. "I'm sorry those people didn’t take you with them." Tommy shrugged his shoulders as he looked up at Jeremiah expectantly. Jeremiah looked into the other boy's eyes. "Of course you care. And don't tell me that you don't, because you wouldn't be crying over them if it was so." Tommy sobbed quietly and rubbed fitfully at his eyes. "I didn’t mean to make you cry again." Jeremiah said with guilt. "I’m sorry." Tommy got down off the bed and hobbled slowly to a small wooden chest. Jeremiah got up and followed him. Tommy opened the bottom drawer to reveal his treasured possessions. Jeremiah helped him pull the drawer out further. The younger boy pulled out a drawing pad and crayons. Jeremiah knew what he was going to do. Every time that he was sad, Tommy drew pictures of other places to see. He most often drew pictures of houses with a family, something he longed for. Tommy sat in the middle of his floor and opened the pad to a blank page. He took a green crayon and began to color in his grass. Jeremiah sighed. Tommy would be preoccupied with the drawing until completion. He looked through Tommy’s keepsakes. An old teddy bear was losing fluffiness. There were quite a few stones of varying color and weight and a toy car with one of its wheels missing. There was even an old baseball. Jeremiah studied the baseball for a moment. He wondered why Tommy would have one when he had no interest in the sport. Even more curious was an old box of matches that he had never seen before. "Where did these come from?" Jeremiah shook the box to gauge how many were in there. Tommy glanced up from his drawing, but did not seem to acknowledge the matches. He turned back to his drawing and worked quietly. Jeremiah frowned as he put them back in their place. He looked over the other boy's shoulder to see what the picture was that he worked on. Tommy's picture was turning out to be that of a house with a dog and a cat. He was working on the image of a woman and child. The sun was up over trees shaped like Christmas trees. "Is that what you want? A home with a Momma and some pets with Christmas trees in the yard?" Jeremiah asked with genuine interest. Tommy nodded his head in reply. "What about a Daddy?" Jeremiah tapped on an empty spot between the child figure and the dog.

Tommy pushed Jeremiah's finger away from the spot and shook his head. Jeremiah frowned again, trying to interpret his friend's silent communication. Tommy touched a finger to Jeremiah's chest and then to the empty spot. Jeremiah let out a chuckle. "I can't be your Daddy!" Jeremiah ruffled the younger boy's hair. "I'm only twelve." Tommy frowned this time as he shook his head. He searched through his box of crayons and found a brown one. He drew an image of another child next to the first one and pointed again to Jeremiah. The older boy understood then what Tommy was trying to tell him. "You want me to be your brother?" Tommy nodded his head. Jeremiah sighed. "I don't know if they will let us be. You and I are different. I am black. You are white. There are not a lot of people out there who like black kids. Maybe we will get lucky and find the right person. Just don't get your hopes up too high right now." Someone knocked on the door, surprising both children. Jeremiah looked up before Tommy did and saw Martin, one of the attendants for the boys’ ward, standing there. He started to get up, but Tommy grabbed his arm with a tight grip. He felt a tremble in the smaller child’s hand and knew immediately that Tommy was terrified of Martin. "I am truly and deeply sorry that you did not get to go home with those people, Tommy." Martin walked into the room uninvited. “I didn’t realize that you had a friend, now.” Jeremiah quickly sensed something about Martin that he did not like. “We’ve been friends for a while now.” The man’s eyes seemed to look over Tommy with hunger. “Tommy and I have been friends for a real long time, haven’t we?” Martin tried to reach out to Tommy. Jeremiah felt Tommy cringe away from Martin’s approach. “We were playing a game.” Martin snorted. “You can leave now. Miss Farnsworth told me to have Tommy take a nap before the fieldtrip this afternoon. I’ll clean up this mess and put him to bed.” “No!” Jeremiah stated with indignation. “She said we could play together.” Tommy’s eyes grew wide just as Martin’s fists clenched tightly. Martin glared down at Jeremiah and his nostrils flared open in anger. Jeremiah stood his ground and stared back up at the man unafraid. Martin lashed out without warning, punching a meaty fist toward the black boy’s defiant face. Jeremiah had seen it coming long before the man had flinched and was able to dodge quickly out of harm’s way.

“You like hitting kids?” Jeremiah taunted. “Is that why all the other kids are afraid of you? What are you going do when Miss Susan finds out?” Martin was about to swing again when he caught himself. “She ain’t going to find out. Not from you.” “You hit me and she’ll be the first to hear about it.” Jeremiah crossed his arms in confidence that Martin would not swing again. Martin leaned in close with his voice in a low, threatening tone. “I’m not going to do anything to you…that would cause me to lose this job.” Jeremiah understood what was implied. “If you ever hurt Tommy, I’ll…” He had to stop himself from saying the words that would get him sent away from the home immediately. Martin realized he had gotten the upper hand and winked at Tommy. “I think Farnsworth is calling me. I’ll see you later.” He shoved a meaty finger into Jeremiah’s chest. “Stay out of my way!” Tommy sat down on the floor behind Jeremiah and watched fearfully as the man left. Jeremiah placed a reassuring hand on the younger child's shoulder. He dropped to his knees after he was sure that Martin was gone so that he could talk with Tommy. "Does he come in here a lot?" Jeremiah noticed that Tommy was trying to draw, but could not hold his hand steady. Tommy shook his head. Jeremiah watched Tommy thoughtfully. "I think I know what kind of man Martin is." Tommy looked up at Jeremiah for a moment. There was terror in his eyes, which told Jeremiah more than words ever could. Tommy swallowed a lump in his throat and shook his head again. Jeremiah reached out to steady Tommy's hand. "We can tell Susan and she will fire him and call the police. We'll never see him again." Tommy grabbed Jeremiah by the shirt to stop him and shook his head violently. He pointed to the door and then pounded one of his fists into the palm of his other hand. He then pointed to himself. "Martin won't be able to get at you again." Jeremiah tried to argue his point. "He wouldn't be able to get inside this building at all." Tommy pulled harder on Jeremiah's shirt. He was begging the older boy not to tell. He feared the consequences that would result from the truth. Jeremiah stopped trying to go to the

door. Tommy was relieved. He did not want to go through another beating that night. He could not handle two bouts of grief in one day. "Okay. I wonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t tell her." Jeremiah agreed reluctantly. "But you don't have to suffer. If you ever need me to help you talk to Miss Farnsworth about this though, do not be afraid to. I know how to deal with people like Martin. Trust me.â&#x20AC;? Tommy surprised Jeremiah with a hug. "What was that for?" Tommy pointed to himself, placed a hand over his heart, and then pointed to Jeremiah. Jeremiah blinked in confusion. "You love me?" Tommy nodded his head and then lifted the picture he had drawn. Jeremiah realized then that it did not matter whether they were black and white. They were both alone in the world and had found each other by chance. Jeremiah did not know how to reply to Tommy's new level of affection. "You love me? Like a brother?" Tommy smiled in an affirmative response. Jeremiah felt a strange sensation course through him. He wanted to tell Tommy that he felt the same way, but he could not. The words could not make their way from his heart into his mouth. The words ' love you' had lost their meaning to him a long time back. Words used by men who bought boys off the street for a couple of hours at a time, whispered into young ears while being humiliated. Words never heard from a mother who filled her soul with the poisons of alcohol or from the father who was always selling the bags of white powder, only staying home long enough to make a deal or fill his orders. Jeremiah could not say them to Tommy because he no longer believed in them. Tommy reached up and kissed Jeremiah's cheek. Jeremiah's voice caught in his throat. "Please...Don't tell anyone about this." He cleared his throat to speak better. "I have never let anyone kiss me before. I like you, though. You are little. If you had been older..." He stopped short of what he was going to say. He did not want to become a threat to his little friend. "If you want to do it again...that's okay. Just don't kiss me in front of the other kids. They will make fun of both of us." Tommy nodded his head, showing that he understood. "Lunch will be coming soon." Jeremiah wanted to get away from the uncomfortable situation. "Are you going with us to the flower gardens after lunch?" Tommy shrugged his shoulders and then yawned deeply.

Jeremiah placed a hand on Tommy's shoulder. "If you go, I'll let you ride on my shoulders. You don't have to spend any time around the others if you don't want to. But I don’t want to carry you around if you’re sleeping…so you better get back into bed and take a short nap." Tommy gave a sign of relief and gratitude. Jeremiah smiled and helped his friend back up in bed. He returned the keepsakes back into their proper place and put the drawer back into the chest. He looked back to Tommy who was already nodding off with heavy lidded eyes. "You still have a long way to go before you get healthy again. Miss Susan says that you need a lot of rest." Jeremiah drew the sheets over the younger boy. "Maybe Miss Susan will let me move my bed in here with you this evening. Then you’ll have me here to protect you from Martin." Tommy yawned again as he laid back against his pillow. Jeremiah gave him a friendly pat and the little boy returned it with a smile. Sleep stole over him as he watched the older boy leave.

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