Page 3 of Injustice and Absolution

Five Years Ago | Age: 35

The sound of multiple pairs of feet roaring down the staircase outside of my home office pulls my attention from the financial records I’m trying to review in peace.

I look up from my computer to see Maggie chasing that boy, Fernando, down the hallway and into the kitchen.

These fucking kids.

Fury pulls me from my seat and into the foyer.

“Knock it off, and take that shit outside, goddamn it!”I holler as they disappear around the corner.

I shake my head before retreating back into my office, but the sound of wood creaking from somewhere above stops me. I quickly turn my head, ready to take a bite out of whoever else is around to continue bothering me. When my aggravated sneer catches the alarmed look on the face of Maggie’s friend, Delilah, still in the shadows near the top of the steps, my features soften a bit. Should’ve known it was her.

“I’m…” She can’t work past her fear of me enough to finish her sentence.

She and Maggie have been friends for a couple years, and she’s been around enough for me to notice that she’s different from the other kids Maggie hangs around with. Long enough that she should feel more comfortable here than she does, even around a grouch like me.

“Why do you cower like a scared, little kitten every time you’re around me?” I joke, but she remains still as a statue.

She’s skittish as fuck. Quiet as a mouse. She’s a klutzy little thing, too... Always got some sort of bump, scrape, or bruise on her.

It happens a little too often, if you ask me.

“It’s fine,” I assure her, relaxing my stance before nodding in the direction the other two went. “You go on outside.”

She nods swiftly then continues her descent, but once she appears in the stream of sunlight warming the lower half of the stairs, I notice a shadow on her face.

“Stop,” I command, my tone serious as an uneasy dread slithers up my spine.

Her body visibly begins to shake as I climb the steps to meet her. Gripping her chin between my fingers, I gently guide her face to the left, to get a better look at her most recent injury.

The outer edge of her right eye is swollen through the temple and surrounded by a dull purple and blue bruise. A fresh black eye. Couldn’t be older than a day or two.

The oddly shaped bruise is accompanied by two long, lighter bruises along the top of her cheekbone, leading to her ear. No doubt belonging to fingers as she was either slapped or backhanded by whoever did this to her. Most likely the latter.

“What happened?”

A pair of frightened, cocoa-brown eyes tick-tock their way back and forth between mine as her shaking continues. But she doesn’t answer me.

“I asked you a question.” My tone isn’t threatening, but I want a damn answer.

She takes a steadying breath before defiantly pulling her chin from my grip.

“I fell.”

Shemay only be fifteen, butI’vebeen around long enough to identify a blatant lie when I hear one. And I’m smart enough to know the difference between lying to keep yourself out of trouble and lying to cover up a dark secret you don’t want anyone to find out.

This lie falls right in the middle of both.

“No, you didn’t.”

Her eyes shoot in every direction but straight into mine, so I reclaim her chin in a firm hold, commanding her attention back to me.

“Who gave you the black eye?”

I already know I’m not going to like her answer, regardless of whether or not it’s the truth.

“I was playing softball, and the ball missed my glove,” she finally explains.

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