Page 1 of Quinlan

PROLOGUE

Damien

Twenty-three years ago

For months and monthson end, I’ve been stuck inside a never-ending nightmare.

One that finally came to an end this last weekend.

And I can’t wait to share the good news with my two best friends.

“Rome,” I call out to one of them, the first one I see at the school gates.

There’s no mistaking his light brown hair that’s buzzed close to his head. Even beneath the oversized hoodie and jeans swallowing up his small frame.

Even with a bunch of kids separating us on the way past the school gates, I see him. He doesn’t hear me, though.

“Hey, Rome. Wait up,” I keep calling him anyway.

I have to catch up to him before he disappears. I have to. I can’t hold on to the good news a second longer. I couldn’t talk to him throughout the weekend, couldn’t get in touch with our other best friend, Liam Frost, either.

Rex and Harlow Palmer—or as I like to call them, my shithead foster parents—haven’t been home from Friday evening until late night yesterday. Without those assholes around, it should’ve been easier to go visit my friends. The guilt about bailing on my younger step-siblings, Jagger and Laurel, wouldn’t hurt as much.

Except our foster parents were in the mood for punishing us before they went to spend the weekend at Rex’s parents’.

This time, it wasn’t as bad, though. They just locked us in. Disconnected the phones so we won’t call social services.

Leaving a child under fourteen alone in Illinois is illegal. I’m the oldest and I’m eleven. I learned that from reading up about laws online. Started last year in the school’s library. They would’ve been fucked if the police found us alone there.

That’s what I’ve been able to pick up so far. I would’ve probably found a way to get us the fuck out of there, or get the couple arrested.

After this weekend, I won’t need it. Not with the Palmers anyway. Hopefully with no other foster home ever.

When the monsters came back on Sunday night, they announced the best news. We’ve been saved.

“Hey, Rome!”

He’s about to go past the wrought iron gates. Kids around and between us talk and laugh and yell, but I finally realize this isn’t why he can’t hear me.

He’s focused on something else. On ignoring his hunger, no doubt. My guess, by the way my shouts go up and over his head? A full weekend of it.

He probably couldn’t escape to Liam’s like he does sometimes. He would’ve heard me otherwise.

Motherfuckers.

My gut twists. Shame burns through me. Look at me, so fucking happy when my friend is in pain. Unlike me, Rome and his sister won’t be saved. They’re stuck with their parents until they turn eighteen.

Watching him hurt wipes the smile off my face. Most days, I’m able to stick to my fake smile, at least. Not today.

Seeing Rome like this kills me. I hate this for him. I hate that he suffers so bad—that he focuses so hard on survival—that he tunes out the world. We’ve been friends since the first grade.

His parents’ fridge is full to the brim, and there he is. Starved. Again.

Sure, our counselor asks him why his cheeks are hollowed. Why his collarbone sticks out. Why he’s always furious.

He sticks to the same lie every time. The lie his dad demands he tell them.

Rome is a picky eater. Nothing our personal chef does is good enough for him.

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