Page 49 of No Going Back

“What about the day you got taken into care?”

Tyler closed his eyes again. He might have only been six, but he would never forget that day. The images were burned in his brain. The blood. There was so much blood. At the time, he hadn’t understood what it was. Didn’t know the loud bang he’d heard from the closet was a gunshot. Didn’t know what death was, as he’d crawled on the bed trying to wake his mom. Knowing there was something very wrong, but not knowing what.

“Tyler?”

Tyler came back to the room, tears streaming down his face. He swiped at them, embarrassed.

“Sorry.”

Claire got up, popped a pod in the coffee maker. “Don’t apologize. It’s important to get it out.” While she busied herself making the drink, Tyler took a minute to compose himself. He was grateful and wiped at his face, reeling the tears back in. God, he was a mess. When she turned back, she handed him a mug.

Taking its warmth between his hands, he nodded. “Thanks.”

“Can you tell me what you remember, where you just went in your head?” Claire sat back down.

Tyler sighed, leaning back. He didn’t want to, but hell, he couldn’t feel any worse than he did now.

“I was in the closet. Mom had a man over. There was shouting. Angry. I covered my ears to try and block it out. Then there was this really loud bang, and a door slammed.”

He paused. The scene was so clear in his head.

“I called out to Mom, but she didn’t come. At some point, I opened the door and crept out. I thought she was sleeping. She was lying down, not moving. I climbed on to the bed and tried to wake her up. That’s all I remember. I guess that’s how the police found me.”

“You were a young child, Tyler. None of what happened was your fault. You do know that, right?”

Tyler took a sip of coffee, not answering. He’d been six. Yes, realistically there was nothing he could have done, yet he still carried guilt about that day. He’d loved his mom even though she locked him in closets, hit him, and never showed him any love. She was the only thing he’d had in the world.

“You know, as children we assume that the grown-ups are always right. Why would we not? They are the adults, we trust them. Often, in cases like yours, when there is abuse, the child believes it has to their fault, that there’s something wrong with them that stops the grown up from loving them.”

Tyler winced at the word abuse. It hit him as hard as the word victim. Words he’d avoided all his life.

“Tell me about the foster families.”

Tyler leaned back, balancing the coffee cup on his knee. “I don’t remember much, other than I’d go to a house, have my own bed, get fed, even start school. But then I’d be back at the group home. Then I would go somewhere else. It was like a never-ending cycle. As I got older, I began to understand. Apparently, I was angry, unsociable, and miserable. I got into trouble at school, always picked fights. I was difficult. No one wanted me.”

“Did you ever speak to anyone about what happened to your mother, what you witnessed?”

“After it happened, I think so. But I don’t remember speaking about it after that. There were so many kids in the home.”

Claire wrote something down.

“You ended up staying in the group home?”

“Yes. When I was older, another family fostered me, but all they wanted was a slave. Someone to do all the chores. The foster dad got nasty. I ran away. After that, I finished up my time in the group home. I didn’t mind that.”

“When you left, it says you did manual labor before enlisting?”

“Yeah, I moved around a lot, getting work where I could.”

“You didn’t stay at one job?”

“No.” Tyler raised the cup and drank some coffee. Claire didn’t speak, clearly waiting for him to elaborate.

“My issues”—Tyler air-quoted —“followed me. I was angry, still picking fights, getting in trouble. Got fired and had to move on. Or when a woman tossed me out, it was better just to leave.”

“What do you mean when a woman tossed you out?”

“I’d find a girl, end up crashing at her place. Things would be going good. But then I would screw it up and they’d kick me to the curb. So, I would move on.”

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